Well-Bred & Well-Brewed

The date is September 5th, Thursday, and today I’m traveling from Jakarta to Bali in Indonesia. 

Today is the birthday of Robert Fergusson, Scottish poet. 

He enrolled at the University of St Andrews in Scotland in 1765 at the age of about 15. While there, Fergusson narrowly escaped expulsion, made important connections and honed his writing skills. When his father passed away in 1768  he moved back home to help support his mother. 

He got involved in the bohemian scene in Edinburgh and began contributing poems to a small weekly periodical. He wrote poems both in English and “Scots.” 

Scottish bard Robert Burns cites Fergusson as a major influence on his own work, inspiring him to write in both English and “Scots” as well. Burns even paid for a new headstone for Fergusson’s burial plot. 

Fergusson achieved his legacy in a very short time - he died in 1775 at the age of 24. He was involuntarily sent to a mental hospital after a fall left him with a concussion. He lasted just a few weeks at the asylum. (Perhaps his sudden and suspicious death helped bring attention to his work?)

And today is the birthday of Amy Beach, American composer and pianist. 

Although Amy was something of a child prodigy, her parents tried not to indulge her too much in her desire to perform, believing that seceding to her demands would spoil her. They did allow her to receive proper training as she matured, and her career as an exacting pianist began when she was just 16 with a performance at the Boston Music Hall. 

In 1885 at age 18, Amy married 42-year-old Dr. H.H.A. Beach. It was his second marriage. Dr. Beach was apparently encouraging toward Mary in her music, but ultimately the union stunted the growth of her performance career. At the time, it was frowned upon for married women to perform musically unless for charity’s sake. Amy Beach then turned her attention toward composing. 

Beach’s composing ability was largely self-taught. Dr. Beach disapproved of her having a private tutor, and so Mrs. Beach read as many books as she could on the subject. Her first score came in 1892 with a public performance of her Mass in E-flat Major. It was a hit with critics who compared Beach to Bach. 

Beach’s Gaelic Symphony was her next piece. It was the first symphony composed and published by an American woman. The Boston Symphony gave a performance of the piece in 1896. The symphony gained her a reputation as an unofficial “one of the boys” of the unofficial Second New England School and the sixth member of the Boston Six. Four years later, Beach performed as the pianist in her own Piano Concerto with the Boston Symphony. 

The success of her compositions saw Amy performing more. Beach performed her own compositions in Boston, Philadelphia, New York, and Chicago to delighted audiences. 

With the death of Dr. Beach in 1910 and her mother several months later, Amy sank into a depression. She headed for Europe hoping to distract herself. 

While in Europe, she recovered from her melancholia and began to play and compose again. She was a favorite in Germany and wrote numerous compositions there. However, she wouldn’t have access to them until 1929 when her suitcase which had been confiscated at her departure in 1914 (the start of WWI), was finally released to her. 

Returning to America, Beach published more of her compositions and received a decent income off the sales of her work. Later in life she then turned toward mentorship, hoping to help other female musicians, composers, and conductors make their way through the changing music scene.

Amy Beach passed away in 1944 at the age of 77. 

A Burlesque Elegy

Robert Fergusson

On the Amputation of a Student’s hair, before his Orders.

O sad catastrophe! event most dire!

   How shall the loss, the heavy loss, be borne? 

Or how the muse attune the plaintive lyre, 

   To sing of Strephon with his ringlets shorn? 

Say, ye who can divine the mighty cause 

   From whence this modern circumcision springs, 

Why such oppressive and such rigid laws 

   Are still attendant on religious things?

Alas, poor Strephon ! to the stern decree 

   Which prunes your tresses, are you doom'd to yield? 

Soon shall your caput, like the blasted tree, 

   Diffuse its faded honours o'er the field. 

Now let the solemn sounds of mourning swell, 

   And wake sad echoes to prolong the lay; 

For, hark! methinks I hear the tragic knell; 

   This hour bespeaks the barber on his way. 

O razor! yet thy poignant edge suspend; 

   O yet indulge me with a short delay; 

Till I once more pourtray my youthful friend, 

   Ere his proud locks are scatter'd on the clay. 

Ere the huge wig, in formal curls array'd 

   With pulvile pregnant, shall o'ershade his face; 

Or, like the wide umbrella, lend its aid 

   To banish lustre from the sacred place. 

Mourn, O ye zephyrs! for, alas! no more 

   His waving ringlets shall your call obey!

For, ah! the stubborn wig must now be wore,

   Since Strephon's locks are scatter'd on the clay. 

Amanda, too, in bitter anguish sighs, 

   And grieves the metamorphosis to see. 

Mourn not, Amanda, for the hair that lies

   Dead on the ground shall be revived for thee. 

Some skilful artist of a French frizeur, 

   With graceful rinklets shall thy temples bind, 

And cull the precious relics from the floor, 

   Which yet may flutter in the wanton wind. 

Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

The date is September 4th, Wednesday, and today I’m coming to you from Jakarta, Indonesia. 

On this day in 1781, 44 Spanish settlers officially founded El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora La Reina de los Ángeles, known today as Los Angeles, California. 

Compared to other settlements, los Ángeles was specifically a municipal settlement: not a Catholic mission base or strategic military settlement. It was the second pueblo in the Spanish colonization of Alta California, just after San Jose. 

The settlers were recruited from other settlements in the area with a promise of large plots of land. Per the ordinances set out by the Spanish government on how to create new towns, the main town center roads were constructed from SW to NE and NW to SE – so in an x rather than a plus-sign. To this day Downtown Los Angeles streets maintain 45-degree angles. 

Los Angeles remained a Spanish settlement for about 40 years until it became a part of Mexico with Mexican independence in 1821. Los Angeles and Alta California changed hands again in 1847 when Mexico was defeated by America in the Mexican-American war. 

Now part of America, Los Angeles saw its rise as a Southwestern mecca with the completion of the Southern Pacific rail line in 1876 and the discovery of oil in 1892. 20 years later, Hollywood’s booming movie industry proved to be a substantial draw for those seeking work. In 1932 the city hosted the Summer Olympics, and with the advent of WWII Los Angeles became a major manufacturing hub and military and shipping port.  

With a mild, sunny, Mediterranean-like climate and what seemed like endless job opportunities in a variety of fields, Los Angeles saw its population more than double from the end of WWII to 1990. 

From a small criss-crossed settlement, Los Angeles has become the second largest metropolis in the United States and is perhaps the definition of urban sprawl. In Los Angeles, there is a bit of everything for everyone.

And today is the birthday of Mary Renault, English-South African writer.

Born Eileen Mary Challans in 1905 in England, Mary graduated from college in 1928 with a degree in English. However, at the onset of WWII, Mary found herself signing up to train as a nurse. She determined she would write in her spare time. 

While in training, Mary met fellow nurse Julie Mullard. It was soon clear that there was an attraction between the two. Mary and Julie began a romantic relationship that would last their whole lives. 

Renault’s first novel Purposes of Love (1939) is based on her time working as a nurse. But it is her novel The Friendly Young Ladies (1943) published four years later and also based on her experience as a nurse, that is more autobiographical. The main will-they-won’t-they couple is lesbian compared to the straight couple in her first novel. 

Although Renault’s historical fictions were her most widely read work, it was her novel Return to Night that won a prize from Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios. The award amount was $150,000 or about $1.6 million in today’s dollars. With the winnings, Mary and Julie moved to an open-minded expat community in South Africa.

Renault has been hailed in the LGBTQ community for inclusions of gay and lesbian couples in her work. In particular, her Greek historical fiction novels depicted homosexual relationships between men. A product of her own time, Renault herself was unsure about the pride movements of the ‘70s. She did not think of herself as a “gay writer” and preferred not to be defined by her sexual orientation.

Your World

Georgia Douglas Johnson

Your world is as big as you make it. 

I know, for I used to abide

In the narrowest nest in a corner, 

My wings pressing close to my side. 

But I sighted the distant horizon 

Where the skyline encircled the sea 

And I throbbed with a burning desire 

To travel this immensity. 

I battered the cordons around me 

And cradled my wings on the breeze, 

Then soared to the uttermost reaches 

With rapture, with power, with ease!

Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

The date is September 3rd, Tuesday, and today I’m traveling from Tokyo, Japan to Jakarta, Indonesia. 

Today is the birthday of Lev Semenovich Pontryagin, Soviet mathematician. 

In 1922 or ‘23 at age 14, an explosion of a small cooking stove left Lev Pontryagin blind. His parents were not well-off by any means, but his mother, Tat'yana Andreevna, insisted Lev continue his studies. She dedicated herself to helping Pontryagin adjust to his new situation as blind. In particular, she would read to him from his textbooks and write down his answers to equations on homework. She grew to know the course materials so well she would sometimes correct his work, which naturally had mistakes, as he honed his abstract thinking skills. 

Eventually, Pontryagin left home for college. Pontryagin did not take notes in his classes since of course he could not see. However, his professors soon noticed he had an outstanding mind. Pontryagin was able to memorize formulas and perform equations in his head, impressing professors and students alike. He graduated from the University of Moscow in 1929 at the age of 20 and immediately was offered a position at the University. 

As a professor and researcher, Pontryagin made significant contributions to mathematics, specifically in algebraic and differential topology. He enjoyed a long career at Steklov Institute in Russia and was a member of the Academy of Sciences (in France) as well as the International Mathematical Union.

And today is the birthday of Sarah Orne Jewett, American writer. 

Jewett was known during her lifetime primarily for her short stories. She was born in 1849 in South Berwick, ME, a small town in southern Maine, a short distance from Portsmouth. 

As a child she was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. Her father, the town’s doctor, prescribed walks outdoors as treatment, and so Jewett developed a deep love of nature and her small town. 

The Country of the Pointed Firs remains Jewett’s most significant work. It is a novella primarily exaulted for its description of local country life rather than its quiet plot.  Similar to her other short stories and writings, The Country of the Pointed Firs was first published in serialized form in The Atlantic Monthly in 1896, when Jewett was 46. 

Jewett, like fellow New England writer Katherine Lee Bates, engaged in what was known as a “Boston marriage.” She never married, but lived with close friend and widow Annie Fields from 1881 until Jewett’s death in 1909. 

Despite being known as a writer of American literary regionalism (writing and celebrating small towns, rather than big-city life), Jewett was well traveled. She enjoyed an extended trip to Europe with her companion Annie Fields, and the pair frequented nearby Boston, where they hosted gatherings of popular and indie American and European writers. 

At Home from Church

Sarah Orne Jewett

The lilacs lift in generous bloom 

   Their plumes of dear old-fashioned flowers; 

Their fragrance fills the still old house 

   Where left alone I count the hours. 

High in the apple-trees the bees 

   Are humming, busy in the sun,— 

An idle robin cries for rain 

   But once or twice and then is done. 

The Sunday-morning quiet holds 

   In heavy slumber all the street, 

While from the church, just out of sight 

   Behind the elms, comes slow and sweet 

The organ’s drone, the voices faint 

   That sing the quaint long-meter hymn— 

I somehow feel as if shut out 

   From some mysterious temple, dim 

And beautiful with blue and red 

   And golden lights from windows high, 

Where angels in the shadows stand 

   And earth seems very near the sky. 

The day-dream fades—and so I try 

   Again to catch the tune that brings 

No thought of temple nor of priest, 

   But only of a voice that sings.

Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

The date is August 30th, Friday, and today I’m traveling from Portland, OR to Los Angeles, CA. 

In honor of Labor Day on Monday, today we’re taking a look at how we got Labor Day. 

No one is sure who exactly the first person to propose the idea was, but anyone who has worked has probably, at one point, had the idea that everyone that works should have a day off. 

The first recorded group to hold a specifically Labor Day picnic in honor of all their workers was the Central Labor Union in New York City. They chose Tuesday September 5th in 1882 and 1883. 

As the idea and practice spread among Labor Unions, the holiday was celebrated in increasing numbers in towns and cities. By 1887 Oregon was the first state to pass the holiday into law, with the majority of states having adopted the day on their own by 1894.  Later that same year Congress passed Labor Day into law, declaring it a national holiday. 

And today is the birthday of Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin Shelley, English writer. 

Mary was born in 1797 “20 minutes after 11 at night” (according to her father’s journal). Ten days later, her mother, feminist philosopher Mary Wollstonecraft, died of a bacterial infection, leaving Mary to be raised by her father political philosopher William Godwin. 

Godwin was devoted to his daughter’s education. He gave her full access to his extensive library and often took her, her siblings and step-siblings out on “field trips.” He encouraged Mary to read her late mother’s work, particularly, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. (This and her father’s Enquiry Concerning Political Justice would be doctrines she tried to live by.)

Mary maintained a solid relationship with her father and there was a definite adoration between the two. However, when 16-year-old Mary began a relationship with the already married 22-year-old Percy Shelley, her father did not approve.  When Mary and Percy ran off together and eloped (Percy was still married), Mary’s father essentially disowned her. 

Mary and Shelley lived together for the next two years and encouraged each other’s writing. Though Shelley was often unfaithful to Mary, she stuck with him, claiming to believe in the concept of “free love,” though she did not practice it herself until later in life. The two married in December 1816 after the suicide of Shelley’s first wife. Mary was 19. 

Mary Shelley’s most iconic and influential novel Frankenstein, (or A Modern Prometheus,) was famously first drafted during a rainy summer spent at Lake Geneva in the company of Lord Byron. Mary and Percy did not stay at Lord Byron’s rented villa, but their close proximity and tendency toward political chatter saw them quickly develop friendship. It was during one of the rainy stretches that Lord Byron suggested the party each come up with a ghost story. Mary at first was self-conscious that she wouldn’t be able to come up with anything. (At 18 she was the youngest of the group, and her anxiety over the “challenge” is completely understandable, especially being surrounded by two already established writers, and having to compete with her step-sister for Percy’s wandering eye.) But after a day of musing and brainstorming, she came up with Frankenstein. What she originally thought would be a short story developed over the next few years into a full-length novel. 

Frankenstein was first published anonymously, and was well-received, with critics speculating Percy Shelley as the author. It appeared to dip in popularity with critics when Mary Shelley was revealed as the true author. However, Frankenstein has since become part of the English canon and is sometimes credited as the first English science-fiction book. 

Mary and her father’s relationship was mended with her marriage to Percy. Godwin lauded praises on his daughter’s work – his opinion was perhaps the one she valued most after Percy. Godwin once wrote to his beloved daughter: 

"[Frankenstein] is the most wonderful work to have been written at twenty years of age that I ever heard of….you have pursued a course of reading, and cultivated your mind in a manner...most admirably adapted to make you a great and successful author. If you cannot be independent, who should be?"  

Stanzas ("Oh, come to me in dreams, my love!")

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Oh, come to me in dreams, my love! 

I will not ask a dearer bliss; 

Come with the starry beams, my love, 

And press mine eyelids with thy kiss. 

’Twas thus, as ancient fables tell, 

Love visited a Grecian maid, 

Till she disturbed the sacred spell, 

And woke to find her hopes betrayed. 

But gentle sleep shall veil my sight, 

And Psyche’s lamp shall darkling be, 

When, in the visions of the night, 

Thou dost renew thy vows to me. 

Then come to me in dreams, my love, 

I will not ask a dearer bliss; 

Come with the starry beams, my love, 

And press mine eyelids with thy kiss.

Thank you for listening. I’m your host, Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely holiday weekend.

The date is August 29th, Thursday, and today I’m coming to you from Portland, OR. 

Today is the birthday of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr, American physician and writer.

Born in 1809, he had the good fortunate to attend small but good schools in Boston. From a young age, Holmes was noted as a very talkative lad. It was the only sticking point for his secondary school teachers, who admired his quick mind. 

At sixteen Holmes enrolled at Harvard University. He carried on his love for reading and chatting by joining the “Puffmaniacs” a group of students who would sit around talking about all manner of things while smoking, presumably, pipes. 

Struggling in his law studies some years later, Holmes occupied himself with writing poetry. He discovered he rather had a knack for it. By 1830 he had become a well-known and in-demand poet in a young America. 

However, Holmes ultimately settled on a career in medicine and wrote in his free time. He was often called upon to compose poems for special occasions and so felt he was a “florist of verse.” He knew invitations came with the expectation that he would read a relevant poem of his own creation. 

Along with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, John Whittier, James Lowell, and William Bryant, Holmes is known as a Fireside Poet. His poems generally used conventional rhymes, a strong sense of rhythm, and wholesome “family-friendly” subjects. 

And today is the birthday of Vivien Thomas, African American medical researcher and assistant surgeon.

The grandson of a slave, Vivien Thomas had dreams of becoming a doctor. However, the Great Depression in 1929 thwarted his plans of a medical degree. He stopped taking classes at what is now known as Tennessee State University and instead found work as a lab assistant to surgeon Alfred Blalock at Vanderbilt University. Although he was classified as and paid like a janitor, by the mid-1930s, Thomas was doing the work of a postdoc under the tutelage of Blalock. 

When Blalock accepted a position at John Hopkins, he insisted that Thomas be hired along with him. At John Hopkins, Blalock and Thomas were approached by Helen Taussig to develop a procedure that would save newborns with blue baby syndrome. Blalock directed Thomas to begin experimenting with procedures on dogs. 

After Thomas completed a number of successful surgeries on dogs, Blalock was confident that a similar procedure would work on affected babies. Of course, this is an oversimplification of what was a harrowing effort, but suffice it to say that Blalock, Thomas, and Taussig succeeded in understanding the problems of blue baby syndrome and finding the first surgical procedure to cure the condition.

A colleague of Blalock's at John Hopkins, Dr. J. Alex Haller, remembered, "Dr. Blalock once said that Vivien Thomas' hands were more important to him in the development of the blue-baby operation than his own -- and he meant it."

The Last Leaf

Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

I saw him once before,

As he passed by the door,

And again

The pavement stones resound,

As he totters o’er the ground

With his cane.

They say that in his prime,

Ere the pruning-knife of Time

Cut him down,

Not a better man was found

By the Crier on his round

Through the town.

But now he walks the streets,

And looks at all he meets

Sad and wan,

And he shakes his feeble head,

That it seems as if he said,

“They are gone.”

The mossy marbles rest

On the lips that he has prest

In their bloom,

And the names he loved to hear

Have been carved for many a year

On the tomb.

My grandmamma has said—

Poor old lady, she is dead

Long ago—

That he had a Roman nose,

And his cheek was like a rose

In the snow;

But now his nose is thin,

And it rests upon his chin

Like a staff,

And a crook is in his back,

And a melancholy crack

In his laugh.

I know it is a sin

For me to sit and grin

At him here;

But the old three-cornered hat,

And the breeches, and all that,

Are so queer!

And if I should live to be

The last leaf upon the tree

In the spring,

Let them smile, as I do now,

At the old forsaken bough

Where I cling.

Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

The date is August 28th, Wednesday, and today I’m coming to you from Portland, OR. 

On this day in 1963 Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. gave his “I Have a Dream” Speech as part of the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. 

MLK addressed a crowd of approximately 250,000 from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. The whole March is generally regarded as the impetus for the passing of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. 

As a Reverend, MLK’s speech contained plenty of language from the Christian Bible. It also contains allusions to Shakespeare, as well as the popular hymn “My Country ‘Tis of Thee,” the American Declaration of Independence, and President Abraham Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation. 

As MLK walked off the stage to a moved crowd, he gave the typed copy of his speech to the volunteer security guard George Raveling, who still has it. 

In the days following the speech, television, radio stations, and newspapers (including The New York Times, The Boston Globe, Los Angeles Times, and The Washington Post) alike praised King’s eloquence and delivery. The speech made such an impact on the “American consciousness” as to compel the FBI to add MLK to a list of persons who were threats to national security.

In lieu of a poem, today we’re featuring an abridged version from the “I Have a Dream” Speech. I’ll do my best to do it justice. 

Excerpt from “I Have a Dream” Speech. 

Five score years ago, a great American…signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free…One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity…

In a sense we've come to our nation's Capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir.

This note was a promise that all men…would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note… Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check; a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation…

Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy… Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream… 

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal." … 

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character…

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exhalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and…all flesh shall see it together.

…With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony…

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true…

…when we allow freedom ring…from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children…will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

The date is August 27th, Tuesday, and today I’m coming to you from Portland, OR. 

On this day in 1927 in Canada, five women filed a petition to the Supreme Court of Canada. Their petition asked, "Does the word 'Persons' in Section 24 of the British North America Act, 1867, include female persons?"

The five women were Emily Murphy, Irene Marryat Parlby, Nellie Mooney McClung, Louise Crummy McKinney and Henrietta Muir Edwards. They are sometimes known as “The Famous Five” or “ The Valiant Five.” 

The petition was part of a larger movement toward expanded equal rights for women in Canada. Though women had the right to vote in Canada, they were still barred from serving in politics, specifically, the Senate. Over six months later, the Supreme Court of Canada ruled that women were not “persons.” 

They kept on keeping on though, and finally in October 1929, the British Judicial Committee of the Privy Council overturned that decision, setting the precedent that women are indeed persons. What a concept!

And today is the birthday of Kenji Miyazawa, Japanese writer. 

Miyazawa was born in 1896 in Hanamaki, Iwate, a rice-growing region in the northern half of Japan. Miyazawa was the oldest son of a wealthy pawn-broker, and Miyazawa quickly developed a distaste for what he saw in his father as an obsession with wealth and social status. 

But it was his father’s wealth and social status that afforded him educational opportunities. As a child and tween, Miyazawa attended lectures organized by his father for the Buddhist monks in the town. He went on to be a bright student at Morioka Agriculture and Forestry College. Miyazawa was quite attuned to the hard times suffered by rice farmers and his education focused on modern methods of farming. 

He moved back home to Hanamaki to help care for his sick younger sister. He took up a teaching position at the local agricultural school. When his sister succumbed to her illness and passed away, Miyazawa was devastated. He remained in his hometown and his teaching position for a few more years, during which he would self-publish a collection of poems and write children’s stories. 

Miyazawa’s writings were not critical or financial successes during his lifetime, but they survived as part of the Japanese pastoral. In the 1960s, a number of his poems were translated into English by American poet Gary Synder, resulting in increased interest in Miyazawa in both Japan and America. 

Be Not Defeated by Rain

Kenji Miyazawa

(translated by David Sulz)

Be not defeated by the rain, Nor let the wind prove your better.

Succumb not to the snows of winter. Nor be bested by the heat of summer.

Be strong in body. Unfettered by desire. Not enticed to anger. Cultivate a quiet joy.

Count yourself last in everything. Put others before you.

Watch well and listen closely. Hold the learned lessons dear.

A thatch-roof house, in a meadow, nestled in a pine grove's shade.

A handful of rice, some miso, and a few vegetables to suffice for the day.

If, to the East, a child lies sick: Go forth and nurse him to health.

If, to the West, an old lady stands exhausted: Go forth, and relieve her of burden.

If, to the South, a man lies dying: Go forth with words of courage to dispel his fear.

If, to the North, an argument or fight ensues: 

Go forth and beg them stop such a waste of effort and of spirit.

In times of drought, shed tears of sympathy. 

In summers cold, walk in concern and empathy.

Stand aloof of the unknowing masses:

Better dismissed as useless than flattered as a "Great Man."

This is my goal, the person I strive to become

Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

The date is August 26th, Monday, and today I’m coming to you from Portland, OR. 

Today is the birthday of Zona Gale, American writer.

Zona Gale upon returning to her small hometown in Wisconsin at the age of 28, she found it rife with material.  She moved home and devoted herself full-time to writing. 

Gale attended the University of Wisconsin in Madison, WI receiving a Bachelor’s and Master's in literature. Before settling back into her hometown she wrote for newspapers in New York City and Wisconsin. 

As she worked on her novels, Zona Gale published poetry and short stories, using connections from her newspaper days to find periodicals to submit her work. She published her first novel in 1906 and found national success with her 1920 novel Miss Lulu Betts.

Miss Lulu Betts told the story of a young single female who is able to pull herself up by the bootstraps despite the limited opportunities afforded by her small Midwestern town. 

Gale adapted Miss Lulu Betts for the stage where it enjoyed further acclaim. Gale received the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 1921 for it, making her the first female to be awarded the prize for drama. 

Zona Gale was an active proponent for women’s rights in her home state of Wisconsin. An unmarried woman, in a small Midwestern town, it's likely Gale was met with a certain amount of contempt by neighbors. She enjoyed frequent travels to New York City and California both for business and pleasure. 

In total, Zona Gale wrote 12 novels, numerous short stories, and 7 plays in addition to a collection of poetry. 

Today is the birthday of Joseph-Michel Montgolfier, French inventor. 

Born in 1740, Joseph-Michel was the 12th born of the 16 Montgolfier children. He was apparently a dreamer from a young age. With an older brother lined up to overtake the Montgolfier family business, perhaps Joseph-Michel didn’t feel the need to pick up financial or management skills. And when his older brother unexpectedly passed away, it was Joseph-Michel’s younger brother, Jacques-Étienne, who was selected to lead the family business when the time came. 

Joseph-Michel Montgolfier had an early interest in aeronautics. As a young teen he built himself parachutes, once jumping from the top of the family home to test one.

One day, Montgolfier was contemplating some laundry drying on a line over a fire. He noticed that several items were billowed open and would float up. Intrigued by the phenomenon, he constructed a small wooden rectangle and fastened fabric about the top of it. He lit a crumpled-up piece of paper underneath the thing and was delighted to see the fabric billow open and the whole thing lift off the ground. 

With his brother Jacques-Étienne, Joseph-Michel Montgolfier was able to develop hot air balloons, launching the flying craze in Europe. After successfully sending up a few animals in one of their balloons, in 1783 a Montgolfier hot air balloon was the first manned flight recorded in Europe. 
 

The Dining Room

Zona Gale

I laid the blue dishes on the table.

The dining room was still and sunny.

Zinnias were in a brown basket,

The grape-fruit plant was glossy in a window.

Skillful fingers had wrought the border of the curtain.

My grand-mother's blue pitcher was on the side-board.

There were chestnut leaves in the brown rag.

Barometer and thermometer recorded miracle on the rose wall.

Dark wood paneled and beamed us in together.

As I worked with these exquisite patient familiar things let me within.

They let me look with their eyes, feel with their beating pulses of hurrying molecules.

I perceived how locomotion and consciousness and self-consciousness have advanced us.

By what means shall we go forward now?

Does anyone wonder at my slow patience as I wonder at the slow patience of these exquisite and familiar things?

Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening!

The date is August 23rd, Friday, and today I’m coming to you from Portland, OR. 

On this day in 1944, King Michael of Romania ousted the military dictatorship and declared war on Germany, switching sides from Axis to Allies. 

At the onset of the war, Romania monarch Carol II, Michael’s father, was forced to abdicate after a military coup. Ion Antonescu (eyon Antonescuu)became dictator and had Michael crowned as king, though he only served as a figurehead. Antonescu allied with Nazi Germany in WWII. 

By 1944 the Romania was in turmoil. King Michael was able to successfully bring together Ally sympathizers to overthrow Antonescu. King Michael then declared war on Germany, effectively switching sides in the war. 

One historian has estimated that this event shortened the war by about six months, preventing countless more lives from being lost. (Romania unfortunately did not fair well in the treaty they signed with the USSR.)

And on this day in 1973, the Salad Bowl Strike began in California. It was the largest strike of farm workers in US history. 

The United Farmworkers of America (UFW) had tried repeatedly to negotiate with farmers for better working conditions for labors. When the negotiations had clearly failed, union leader César Chávez led the Salad Bowl Strike in which 5000-7000 laborers walked off grape and lettuce farms in protest against poor working conditions. 

The price of iceberg lettuce skyrocketed as a result and crops began to rot in the fields. 

Although the Salad Bowl Strike did not see immediate success, it became an important lesson for the United Farmworkers. During the Salad Bowl Strike, UFW’s reputation suffered as their picketing and boycotting led to violence in some areas. Union leader Chávez came to the conclusion that to make real progress he’d have to push for legal reform. 

In 1975, the UFW decided on a small march as a show of protest, rather than organize large numbers of picketers and boycott-ers which could lead to unintended riots and/or violence. Leaders of the UFW marched from San Francisco to Modesto in California, about 100 miles. By the time the small group reached Modesto, they weren’t small anymore. Nearly 15,000 people had joined the march along the way and the new governor of California was quick to push for labor law reform. 

And finally, in more recent history, on this day in 1991, the World Wide Web was open to the public. 

The Web began as a closed system for sharing documents and research at CERN, the European Organization for Nuclear Research in Switzerland. It was created by Tim Berners-Lee, an employee at CERN, who had grown increasingly frustrated with not being able to access the latest information needed in his line of work. He wrote multiple proposals for the creation of a “web” where information could be shared and accessed with linked sources, or “hyperlinks.”

The World Wide Web is a cornerstone of the Information Age. It has become vital to the spread of information and education as well as the increased globalization of the planet.

The Eagle of the Blue

Herman Melville

Aloft he guards the starry folds 

Who is the brother of the star; 

The bird whose joy is in the wind 

Exulteth in the war. 

No painted plume—a sober hue, 

His beauty is his power; 

That eager calm of gaze intent 

Foresees the Sibyl’s hour. 

Austere, he crowns the swaying perch, 

Flapped by the angry flag; 

The hurricane from the battery sings, 

But his claw has known the crag. 

Amid the scream of shells, his scream 

Runs shrilling; and the glare 

Of eyes that brave the blinding sun 

The volleyed flame can bear. 

The pride of quenchless strength is his— 

Strength which, though chained, avails; 

The very rebel looks and thrills— 

The anchored Emblem hails. 

Though scarred in many a furious fray, 

No deadly hurt he knew; 

Well may we think his years are charmed— 

The Eagle of the Blue.

Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely weekend. 

The date is August 22nd, Thursday, and today I’m coming to you from Portland, OR. 

Today is the birthday of Ray Bradbury, American author. Bradbury is best remembered for his novel Fahrenheit 451. 

When Ray was 14, the Bradbury family moved to Los Angeles from their small town in Illinois. Ray’s father had been out of work and was searching in booming Southern California. 

When his father came home one day and announced he’d found a steady full-time job, Ray was ecstatic. The young Bradbury had already fallen in love with Hollywood. 

Bradbury was an avid reader of science fiction and fantasy and a regular at book stores and libraries. In high school he was active in the poetry club and drama club, as many are wont to do in Los Angeles. 

Graduating high school during the Great Depression, Bradbury admits that the family simply didn’t have money to send him to college. In lieu of university, Bradbury claims to have gone to the library 3 times a week for 10 years post-graduation. 

When he was disqualified from serving in the US forces due to poor eyesight, Bradbury doubled down on devoting himself full-time to writing. 

Bradbury’s first novel, The Martian Chronicles, was written out of necessity. He and his wife Maggie were expecting their first child. Bradbury was consistently publishing short stories, but with a baby on the way, the couple was going to need a larger income. 

Bradbury took a bus from Los Angeles to New York City in order to find a publisher for his short stories. After being turned down by more than ten publishers, he found hope in a meeting with an editor at Doubleday. The editor told Bradbury that short stories weren’t going to get him very far - he needed a novel to show around. Bradbury did not have a novel. The editor then suggested that Bradbury put together a bunch of his short stories in a collection about life on Mars. 

That night, in his room at a YMCA in NYC, Bradbury typed up an outline for what would become The Martian Chronicles. He stayed up all night and showed the outline to the Doubleday editor the next day. The Doubleday editor gave Bradbury $750 as an advance.

Over the course of Bradbury’s 70 year career, he wrote over 600 short stories and published 27 novels and collections of his work. Fahrenheit 451 remains Bradbury’s best-selling book, with an estimated 10 million copies in circulation. More on Fahrenheit 451 in October on the anniversary of its first publication date. 

Today is the birthday of Claude Debussy, French composer. Debussy most popular tune is “Clair de Lune,” third movement of Suite bergamasque, which he composed in 1890 at the age of 32.

Despite having undeniable talent on the piano Debussy received mixed reviews from his instructors at the Conservatoire de Paris. Some labeled him an excellent student, attentive to direction, where others found him lazy and defiant. He was eventually disqualified from the piano department on account of failing his piano performances. However, he was able to remain at the Conservatoire and enrolled in harmony and composition courses. 

A mentor helped Debussy find summer work as a private piano player for a wealthy household. Debussy quickly found that he wouldn’t mind living in such splendor. Another summer he was placed at the home of Nadezhda (nu-desj-dah) von Meck the patron of Tchaikovsky. 

Debussy spent his 20s and 30s finding his own musical voice. His compositions showed promise and he was well regarded by fellow composers and musicians. However, his more “bohemian” style had yet to be widely accepted. At age 40 in 1902, his operatic rendition of the play Pelléas et Mélisande (Pellia(s) e Mill-e-sand(r)a) gained him acceptance into the international music scene. 

For more on Debussy, see today’s show notes or visit our website wellbredandwellbrewed.com.

Debussy was a certified romantic. He fell hard and fast for talented female conversationalists, whether they were married or not. A few of his personal affairs in his 20s and 30s were possibly the reason he didn’t make it big sooner. They were chiefly a distraction to Debussy who appears to be prone to obsession. 

His final affair with a married Emma Bardac would result in her divorcing her first husband and marrying Debussy. The couple was forced to flee Paris for London for a time while the drama cooled. They had a daughter together, Debussy’s only child. 

In London, Debussy’s work, including compositions from his 20s and 30s, began to gain recognition and his reputation flourished. Sadly, he also was diagnosed with colorectal cancer. A surgery in 1915 stopped the pain temporarily, but Debussy would succumb to the cancer three years later in 1918. He was 55. 

I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing

Walt Whitman

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing, 

All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches, 

Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green, 

And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself, 

But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its friend near, for I knew I could not, 

And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss, 

And brought it away, and I have placed it in sight in my room, 

It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends, 

(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,) 

Yet it remains to me a curious token, it makes me think of manly love; 

For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space, 

Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend a lover near, 

I know very well I could not.

Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening.