Voyage From Sweden 1923 (part 1 of 3).

                                               

SS Potsdam 1900

SS Stockholm 1915

         John Oskar Lindell was born in Tullinge, Sweden on October 6, 1903. He was the first of three  sons and four daughters born to Albertina and Oskar Frederick Lindell. In 1923 at age 19, he  migrated to the United States. The first of several "travel notes" written during this trip follows. They had been carefully copied by his father and saved in his personal "little black notebook". The translation is by  John Oskar's niece Christina Spolen.

    

    The SS Potsdam was launched in 1900, sold in 1915 by Holland America Lines to the new Swedish American Line and renamed the SS Stockholm. In 1923 the"last wave" of the industrial migration from Europe occurred. Six years later the ship was sold to a Norwegian Whaling Company and in 1929 became the SS Solglimt. In 1940 she was captured by German Naval Forces and renamed SS Sonderburg. A British air strike on Cherbourg in 1941 partially sank the Sonderburg and in 1944 she was scuttled by the Germans to block the harbour. 1946 - 1947 The hulk was towed to the United Kingdom and scrapped.*

        

SS Stockholm - June 19th, 1923

         I would never have imagined that I would receive such a hearty farewell. Just imagine what a great number of friends at [Stockholm] Central Station, at Tullinge Station and at Tumba Station, where I had expected a half dozen. The boys were standing there in a long line and at Tullinge the railroad station and on the road to the goods shed it was crowded with people, who completely showered me with flowers. Now the boat shakes and therefore my handwriting gets a little crumped but I write as good as I can.

     To Goteborg I traveled together with a Swedish farmer from America, a boy a little older than me, who works on board Stockholm as a kitchen hand and a well known athlete, Hellas Persson. He is a gymnast, general athlete, good hammer-thrower and wrestler. Tell Gosta [brother] that Hellas P. had a letter of introduction from Ernst Lindblom (Sving) to Hj Lundin in America. I saw the letter. As you know mom and dad I traveled by a special train. Therefore Erland was not at the station but he went there for a later train.

     On our arrival in Goteborg the farmer, the athlete and I had coffee together. Then I went up to the Vahlstroms and met Erland on the stairs. Mrs Vahlstrom is such a kind woman. She immediately invited me to dine with them. I wanted to pay her but I was not allowed to. I was also offered to stay the night there but I had already fixed that. Tickets bought [for] America were not valid for that free stay in Goteborg (in Stockholm they could not tell). The Institute of Commerce however, has been opened for visitors to the exhibition and to emigrants. There I could sleep for 1.50 crowns per night, not on the floor as mom and dad might think but in a real iron bed.

     On Monday I had no time during the day to see the exhibition. I had to run to the office quite a few times for passport and ticket and also twice to the doctor. But in the evening Erland and I went there. Mom and dad, you could never imagine how beautiful the exhibition grounds are in the evening illumination. It's altogether like a fairy tale. I can't stop thinking of the minarets and the memory hall as it was all so extremely beautiful. Erland and I went on the switchback railway and we danced, enjoyed ourselves until midnight. I mustn't forget the three English tight rope walkers. They walked blindfolded, they biked and danced on a tight steel wire at a considerable altitude. As Erland and I walked from the exhibition we had to look back several times to admire the minarets and the memory hall because all was so very beautiful. From there I had only a 3 minute walk to the Institute of Commerce. In my hall there were 26 beds but only 10 were occupied. When I arrived after midnight everyone was snoring. Close to me was an old man with a big moustache. I wondered if he might be the farmer and in the morning I realized that it was him. On Tuesday the whole town was decorated with flags. I mentioned to the farmer that they expected the king to arrive. Then he leaned very close to me and said; "I'll tell you that I don't give a damn about the king". He did not dare speak out loud so that the by-standers would hear - a nice chap he is.

     Midsummer's Eve, Saturday, June 20th ** 

     At noon the steamer put off while the music played the Swedish national anthem; "Du gamla du fria" ["Thou ancient, thou free"]. Leonard E., Erland V and a cousin of Erland's were present at the ship.

     Soon after departure the bell rang announcing dinner, consisting of spinach soup, veal steak with potatoes and rice pudding with fruit sauce. The food on board is good. I belong to the first sitting. At 7 AM oatmeal porridge, fish or meat and coffee. At noon lunch often with three courses, at 3 PM coffee with sweet bread, at 6 PM supper. Butter, cheese, anchovies, a fish or meat dish and tea. First day moderate sea, second day rough sea. Now the seasickness has started to assert itself. I began throwing up and thus only ate every second meal, third and fourth day the same, fifth day completely well again, just a little weak legs. However, I have been up every day. This is the reason I have not started to write earlier. Now it tastes good to eat again.

* See: Henrik Ljungstrom - research online; Also Wikipedia - SS Potsdam.

          Photos from Wikimedia; Also Fred Pansing - SS Potsdam

** June 23rd, 1923 ???

Soviet Students at Hartwick

     

                                                       Goritsky Monastery

                                   

                                                        Hartwick College

     The New York Times in 1990 reported that Yale and Columbia were the first universities in the United States to enroll full time Soviet undergraduates. (The USSR began allowing its nationals to study in the US for a year at a time in 1987.) Depending upon actual dates this may or may not be correct. Hartwick College and the State University of New York at Oneonta in the same year had each enrolled a full time Soviet undergraduate. This was the beginning of a short term competition to get Soviet students onto American college campuses.
     I had been invited to do some teaching and consulting in Soviet Russia in 1989. It occurred to me that with a proper scholarship offer I should be able to bring a Russian student back to Hartwick. The President of the College, Philip S. Wilder liked the idea and charged me with drafting the scholarship offer. Later that week jogging in the hills around Oneonta, the President of SUNY Oneonta Allen Donovan caught up with me on a descending road. I shared with him my plans and he responded "Bring one back for us". He then forged ahead on the ascending slope.
     Armed now with two scholarships either of which might have pleased a Big Ten quarterback I arrived in Pereslval-Zalessky. It was not clear to me how the five candidates I met were selected but I subjected each to my English language competency test - they all passed. In this group Alexey stood out - 17 years old, intelligent, energetic, adequate English skills and clearly he wanted the opportunity. He became my first choice. I mulled over the remaining candidates.and another interview was arranged - with Jon, 25 years old, adequate English, mature and already a graduate of a Soviet fixed wing training program. Jon came in second. Alexey at Hartwick majored in Computer Science. (To improve his English language skills we immediately enrolled him in calculus and physics courses - strengths of the Soviet educational system. He could probably have taught the courses.)  Jon went to SUNY Oneonta and both graduated four years later. Alexey is now a software expert living in Massachusetts and married to a beautiful Boston Irish girl - they have two handsome, blue eyed, brush cut.sons. Jon had some difficulty detaching from college life and about him I know little more.
     The following year I returned to Pereslval and interviewed several candidates. I offered a scholarship to Marina, a student at School #7. Marina's English was quite good and her intellectual brilliance was attested to by practically every teacher and administrator I encountered. They were not exaggerating. Marina came to Hartwick, majored in computer science, graduated with excellent grades (including one from me) and secured her MBA from MIT. Initially she worked in Boston for an organization concerned with cyber security issues. She has risen through the ranks and is now a Vice President at the investment bank Brown Brothers Harriman.
     The following year Elena arrived, another Computer Science major and the year after Andre who chose Economics. Their connection with the College was now the work of the Hartwick International Programs Office and my role faded away. They both graduated and disappeared from my radar. I did try to establish an exchange program with the small University of Pereslval-Zalessky - two students came for a term but the program sputtered out - problems associated with costs and language proficiency on both sides were insurmountable. But for a few more years students from the former USSR arrived via other international programs to grace and enrich the Hartwick environment. A few I remember well.
     Aidana a young lady from Uzbekistan mixed oriental beauty with Soviet naivete. When I began a seminar with "Remember - what other people tell you is interesting - what I tell you is truth!" Aidana was the only one who did not laugh. I worried about that but quickly discovered she had encyclopedic knowledge. From time to time as I would prattle on with a professorial soliloquy, I might lack (read "forget") a name, date or event. At such a moment I would point and say " Ms. (Aidana) what is the date my memory refuses to provide?" She would immediately provide the essential information - never with a smile. As the term progressed my questions to her became more complex. "Ms. (Adiana), what did I really mean by that last piece of convoluted analysis?" Gohar was from Armenia and also possessed a wonderful mind packed with information. As with Adiana she filled in the blanks in my information when asked - frequently with a smile. They were both a tremendous pleasure to have in class.
     Turana's home was Baku, Azerbaijan and she came to my office for advice. She was seeking an internship and had picked one out. What did I think of it? Her choice was a fine idea - a worthy organization. We chatted for a few minutes and I asked her to try something else. She went back to the Internship Office and completed an application for the New York City Police Department.
     A week later I received a telephone call from 1 Police Plaza. "Do you know Ms. (Turana) ?"
     I replied "She's from Azerbaijan, speaks four languages plus flawless English."
     She thoroughly enjoyed the internship and I trust learned much. Perhaps someday I shall discover what impact interning with NYPD had on her life in Azerbaijan - if any.
     Rodica came to Hartwick from Moldova. Intelligent, confident and dynamic describes her properly. In class she enjoyed challenging the professor's (my!) ideas. Rodica was also a vigorous proponent of Human Rights. This young Moldovan woman secured an international internship to travel to Armenia and assist in establishing a women's rights organization. She completed the internship (safely) returned to the United States, graduated from college and married. I can not but believe that social ripples from Rodica's visit must continue to waft across that small nation.

Hugh in the Ancient Inca Capital

                                           

                                   
                                                           Cusco, Peru
      It was Hugh's good fortune in 2011 to visit the historic capital of the Inca Empire - Cusco, Peru.
His mother Dr. Catherine Lindell, a restoration biologist and ornithologist at Michigan State University was scheduled to present research at the IX Congress for Neotropical Ornithology held November 8th to the 14th. It was his grandfather John's good fortune to be invited along to hang out with Hugh while his mother was professionally preoccupied. Then 9 years old Hugh was intelligent, articulate - an outstanding soccer and basketball playing violinist. I write this as a dispassionate but informed observer. The question - what can two individuals, sharing they believe keen intellects but separated in age by three-quarters of a century do together to occupy the day in a UNESCO "World Heritage Site ?*
    Peru's constitution recognizes Cusco as the "historic capital" of that nation. It has a resident population of 450,000 and 2,000,000 visitors annually. Positioned in the Andes Mountains at 11,200 feet altitude sickness is a deleterious possibility for any tourist. While Hugh and his mother adjusted rapidly to the thinner atmosphere John did not. Medical literature lists eleven symptoms of common altitude sickness. John experienced nine of them including profound weakness, skull busting headaches and explosive diarrhea. (Hugh thought the last symptom was pretty hilarious.) Cusco residents offer visitors hot coco leaf tea to ward off the effects of oxygen deprivation. While enjoying the tea immensely John derived little benefit and drained of energy sought less demanding activities.
   
                                                 

                                                                           
                                                    Hugh, Goat y dos Muchachas

    He would lead Hugh on walks to nearby parks. The Hotel Machu Picchu is located across the street from a city focal point - the Plaza de Armas. So the two would slowly proceed to the Plaza and then sit on a park bench. After John had rested they would set off over granite brick streets three additional blocks to another park - Plaza Regocijo (Place of Rejoicing!). John would find a bench and they would sit again. He tried to make it lively for Hugh by pointing out the number of seemingly stray dogs wandering about (three or four at one sitting!). Hugh would nod out of politeness while successfully masking incredulous boredom. John would somewhat recharge and they would push off across San Teresa Street, up San John de Dios Street to the Plaza San Francisco and another bench. Occasionally they would enter a building that was inevitably crowded with shops and stalls - all selling alpaca knit goods. Listlessly they wandered to and fro and would then exit. Hugh would later remark that he did not like " that tourists were so targeted to sell stuff to". It was true - so true but John and Hugh weren't buying anything. Once they stopped and purchased three ice cream cones - the extra for a dog lying on the sidewalk. The dog sniffed at their offering, refused it and went back to sleep.
    In the Hotel they would spend time lying on the beds watching televised soccer games from Mexico, Spain, Italy and Germany - betting nuevo sols (1 Peruvian nuevo sol = $.30 US) on each game. Then to speed up the action placed side bets on which team would score the next goal. This was fun. Hugh understands the value of money and was always an excellent winner. So then money was infused into other activities. Bordering the Plaza de Armas is the Basilica Catedral, a "working" church with an immense collection of religious art. One day to expose Hugh to fine art and religious ideas simultaneously John purchased tickets to La Catedral. Intuitively understanding that a 9 year old male might be bored by hundreds of paintings of angels, saints, martyrs and deities, he decided to make it financially worth his while. John promised to pay Hugh 3 nuevo sols for every art work he discovered containing someone with a smile. Over the next hour among the array of paintings and sculptures they found one definite smile and five "maybes". A heated discussion of the enigmatic "maybe smiles" ensued - perhaps it was simply a smirk by a cherub or baby contentedly passing gas. Finally Hugh was awarded 17 nuevo sols ($5.00 US).
    When Professor Lindell was available the three of course did things together. Each Sunday in Cusco there is a parade of surprising duration - two to three hours. Groups of happy, uniformed school children, patriotic and religious organizations as well as military units wind their way through the core of the city passing La Catedral. From our Hotel we crossed the Plaza de Armas and had a fine view. The marching military included a platoon of snipers in fringed camouflage along with army and police units. Of minor interest but nevertheless noted - the army units were equipped with M 16s while the police carried Kalashnikovs - a sign perhaps of intra-governmental competitiveness? The police were also led by a strikingly attractive female officer in beige riding britches and shining boots.
    At the end of the Congress they planned to take a day tour to the remains of Machu Picchu. Tickets were purchased. But neither John's mind or body would cooperate - the thought of awakening at 5:00 AM and climbing down stairs to begin three hours of travel was painful - the thought of climbing up anywhere at the site seemed masochistic. He gave his ticket to one of Professor Lindell's graduate students and they went to visit "a wonder of the world".  Later that day John went to the Plaza Regocijo, sat on a park bench and counted stray dogs, alone.
    Recently Hugh was asked what he liked about Cusco. "I liked the scenery and the liveliness of the town . . . what I didn't  like was the chaos in the streets". John was pleased he did not remember boredom.

* See Cusco, Peru - Wikipedia
Photos - Dr. Catherine Lindell

Sandhill Cranes in the Meadows

                                 

    In the Meadows Community reside at present four, possibly six Sandhill Cranes. The "four" make up one family. Sandhill Cranes have lived in Florida 2.5 million years. The oldest known fossils of these Cranes were discovered by paleontologists in the 1980s at the Macasphalt Shell Pit. There were a number of shell pits in Sarasota and Manatee Counties that today have given way to Nathan Benderson Park, its lake and "world class rowing facility".* The Park is less than a mile west of my "villa" style condo in the Meadows. Sitting in the office  one can observe numerous bird species attracted to the Meadows wetlands; Ibis in groups of three to eight, blue and white herons, limpkins, ducks, anhingas, egrets, wood storks, and occasionally starlings by the hundred. There is the periodic flash across water of a bald eagle, an osprey or the angelic glide of a pelican. Small bird species and alligators are also in residence.
            

     Sandhill Cranes (Grus Canadensis) attain a height of 3 to 5 feet, weigh 6 to 14 pounds with a wing span of 5 to 6 feet. They mate for life and require a wetlands habitat with shrubs and trees. Their chicks walk from the nest within eight hours of hatching able to swim. After nine or ten months the juveniles will leave their parents. They begin to breed at age 7 and have a life expectancy of 20 years. These Cranes are omnivorous - they will eat almost anything; insects, snails, reptiles, amphibians, small birds and mammals, seeds and berries. *
    The presence of various bird species in the Meadows is the result of  some luck and good planning. The 1960s was the period of "urban renewal" in American cities. Much of the renewal resulted in apartment buildings that often became slums; old neighborhoods razed to construct four lane arterials to connect sprawling suburbs; the stores and services of the traditional "downtown" areas decayed or relocated. At about this time urban planners began to focus on "British New Town" designs. The objective of British planners was to enhance "livability" in new and refurbished urban spaces. A "new town" required the incorporation of certain features to whit; open spaces, (parks, nature preserves, a golf course) curving lines are more interesting than straight - so streets and sidewalks should be curved, twisting. "Livability" is enhanced by diversity in the population. Thus housing should be unique in design and mixed in value - single family houses, townhouses, condos and villas. Services (grocery stores, medical facilities) should be readily available and accessible by public transit as well as automobile and in a perfect world, bicycle and walking.
     In the early 1980s, Taylor Woodrow, a British developer began construction on 1,650 acres in northern Sarasota County - the Meadows. As of 2015 this development consists of 700 single family homes ranging from McMansions to the merely expensive. There are also  2,800 condos and villas - all organized into 50 different condo and homeowner associations. Meadows residents number around 7,500 for at least part of the year. There are 14 miles of sidewalks and 17 miles of roadway - all serpentine. Admittedly this has caused some confusion among delivery services and visitors - but then solved with the advent of GPS. The Meadows has 82 ponds. Our resident Sandhill Cranes spend some nights on an island in the middle of a pond next to a fairway. There is also a small nature preserve, a children's playground, and a butterfly garden. There is a "services" village with a bank, two restaurants, one deli, a dental office, travel agency,  masseuse - and a school bus runs through it. Yes, there is a country club with 3 golf courses, (two are now public) 17 tennis courts, a swimming pool, fitness facility and three additional restaurants.
    The British planners got it right - The Meadows is a most comfortable place to live and various bird species agree. On an April morning 2014, I had to dismount my bicycle at a small traffic jam - three cars on Marshfield Street.. A Sandhill Crane has just stepped off the curb and begun a cautious street crossing. A few feet behind another crane, most likely a female, moved slowly into the street. Next came two short, dun colored haystacks with beaks and stick legs. Once safely across the procession proceeded down a cart path and disappeared.. Traffic resumed passing the MCA sign "Caution-Sandhill Cranes".
                           

   
     During the succeeding nine months the two chicks became handsome juveniles. Many residents have seen the family in various locations - always on the move - always eating.  At dusk on occasion one can watch a Crane fly over - legs extended straight back, wings effortlessly propelling them forward, amid noisy honking by the leader of what might be precise directions - they are a splendid life form. When they parade by your window - stopping perhaps to devour a grub - they add immense beauty to life - 2.5 million years and they abide. As I type these words the four have just flown by my window - the leader squawking a blessing.

* "All About Birds" Cornell Lab of Ornithology - on line. International Crane Foundation - on line.
    Southeastern Geological Society; "SMR Aggregates Inc.- Sarasota, FL - on line
     Photos by Wikimedia.org and John Lindell
   
 

What Happened Next? - Incomplete stories

                                                           

   
                                                             Hartwick College

    Most educators would like to know how the lives of their former students (or at least most of them) proceeded. Former students are incomplete stories. It is of course  impossible over decades in education to remember then all but the names and images of a remarkable number do stick, I guess for life. Those in memory are associated with academic performance, some particular event or had a facet of personality that was engaging. I would like to know what came next - how did they play the hand life dealt them.
     There are many former students about whom I know what happened. Wit * for instance was a fine undergraduate - intelligent and conscientious. I remember him sitting in my office explaining how he would deal with a particular project and thinking, "My God but he is organized!" Wit was also an extremely nice guy. In our last meeting at Hartwick College he informed me he had been accepted into a training program with the Small Business Administration. I congratulated him and we parted company. After more than 30 years we reconnected for lunch. At SBA Wit had just retired from a position that gave him responsibility for a hunk of the north eastern seaboard. I met his wife, we reviewed the decades and it was fun. Wit was still the fine person I had known. For me it was most satisfying.
     There are many about whom I know nothing and am enormously interested in discovering - what happened? A few examples: Gerry sent me a note post marked Saudi Arabia during Operation Desert Shield. He informed me that after graduation he had joined the Army and was sent to language school to learn Arabic. Now armed with a liberal arts education and basic Arabic he was assigned to a 101st Airborne unit. There job was to establish roadblocks and Gerry's job was to be one of the first soldiers to board a stopped bus for inspection. Gerry wrote, (paraphrase) "Professor I want you to know that I am sometimes nervous, careful, but I treat EVERYONE on board with GREAT RESPECT!" Knowing Gerry I could not imagine him doing otherwise. But how did his tour end? What did he do next?
     Chris graduated and joined the Peace Corps. After training he was assigned to a nation in West Africa. One day he took time to write me a note, (paraphrase) "Dear Professor John O, - It is hot as hell. I am sitting on the ground in the shade of a hut writing. I have just completed an exhausting morning helping people make mud bricks. How did I get into this situation? I think I hold you partially responsible!"  But what did Chris and his friends do with those mud bricks? What did Chris do after Africa? Keith, another graduate also went to West Africa in the Peace Corps. A reserved young man he had a sense of humor similar to Chris, Keith was assigned to teach sex education. "Observea vous!  "La condom!" I do know that  Keith became a great public school teacher.
     I did not know Taylor well. He was a first year student I selected to participate in my New York City program. He came from a small community on Oneida Lake in central New York State. Taylor was a smart, quiet product of upstate. The program was ten weeks in duration and the twenty-five students were housed in a five story dorm on East 72nd Street owned by the about to be extinct Finch College. This was Taylor's first visit to "The City". It did not take him long to adjust. An afternoon four weeks after arrival I emerged from the Lexington Ave Subway station near our residence. There was Taylor leaning against a nearby wall - his new leathery look suggested the shops of East 8th Street in Greenwich Village and in his ear a silver loop. Taylor was involved in a discussion - providing lengthy subway directions to an upscale couple. I was momentarily shocked by his new found understanding of the NYC subway system and yes, his attire. We nodded as I passed. Clearly New York had launched a refurbished and confident Taylor. At the end of the term Taylor transferred from Hartwick to a college on the west coast with a visual arts program. Two years later a piece of his work was part of an exhibition at Hartwick's Anderson Center for the Arts. Where is Taylor today and what is he doing? Where are those tourists? Are they still trying to find a way out of the subway system?
     Deborah, a black student, intelligent, engaging personality and beautiful - Halle Berryish - she had it all. Shortly after graduation in May I was driving down Dietz Street in Oneonta, N.Y.. On the sidewalk to my right I saw the back of a GI walking along totting a duffel bag. As I drove by I heard "Professor Lindell! Professor Lindell! - Goodbye! Goodbye!" I glimpsed over and saw Deborah in camouflage fatigues, field cap and duffel bag.
     "She's in the ARMY!" I slammed the brakes to avoid a crash - then continued through an intersection. For the rest of my life I shall regret not turning that damn car around, going back and offering her a ride to the bus station. And what came next for Deborah?

* In my classes over the years I referred to students individually as "Mr. surname", "Mrs.", "Miss" and in later years "Ms".
I liked the formality and respect conveyed. Now in pieces that refer to former students I use only first names for privacy reasons. In addition I might use the wrong name. For over 30 years I kept a careful paper record of the performance of each student in every class; test scores, research grades, attendance. For off campus programs there were additional notes for each student - how each performed in the USSR, Japan, New York and a flood disaster research project  in New York State's southern tier. Around 1995, an administrative department at Hartwick College asked to borrow my student file. I agreed. The department took my files, used them and then had the files shredded. I had no duplicates. Some may cheer especially privacy advocates. But if in a past, present or future piece I use a wrong name I have no one to blame but my own naivety, lack of foresight or failing memory.
    

Greenwich Village Education

                   

                             

                                                     Washington Square - Wikimedia

                            I am always ready to learn although I do not always like being taught. Winston
                           Churchill *

    On a Wednesday in late August 1959, I moved from the darkness of the Broadway Central Hotel to a sunny room in Mrs Eller's fifth floor apartment on East Fourth Street. She had a son in 8th grade who would teach me to play chess - trashing me for three months before losing a game. Mrs Eller rented another room to Carl, a struggling NYU law student. Carl would provide me with information about alcoholism that will last a life time.
    The day after unpacking I enrolled in a Master's Degree program in the Department of Government at New York University. Returning to my room I stopped in a Second Ave drug store. On the way out the druggist asked me to give his regards to Mrs Eller, "a good woman". How did he know where I was staying? A most clever and intuitive individual I thought. Next stop was a small restaurant a half  block away.
    "I'd like a fish fry."
    "We don't have it. How about gefilte fish?"
    "Sure, sounds good." I had never heard of gefilte fish. "I'm new in town."
    "I know. You want horseradish with that?"
    Seeking a piece of deep fried haddock with fries drenched in ketchup and a side of slaw. I accepted an Ashkenazi appetizer - poached white fish with horseradish and ice tea.
    As he slid me the bill "Your Mrs Eller's new tenant - right?"
    "How did you know?"
    "Small town" he smiled.
    By November I was on occasion leading four or five foreign graduate students on tours of midtown Manhattan and the Village - Gerdes Folk City on East Fourth; The Five Spot for jazz; Cesare Borgia's and the Commons coffee houses; or the always popular - a bar with loose but expensive women. I would instruct my charges, "we buy one beer at the bar, meet the ladies, get our knees scratched and on my signal we all leave." Only once had I to gently remind a delighted Ethiopian army officer, "We are departing."  Occasionally  a Gray Tour bus would roll by windows full of faces. I would  feel sorry for those on board - they were missing much.
    During my last Master's interview with the Chairman of the Government Department (spring, 1960)  I was offered a graduate assistantship. I declined, returned upstate, married and we started a family. In 1964 I returned to NYU and had my first interview with the new Chairman of the renamed Department of Politics. He spent twenty minutes explaining everything I needed to accomplish in the PhD program or he promised to throw me out. For the next seven years of full and part time graduate work my status was technically a graduate student, but in reality I was mostly the enemy. I jumped through all the hoops; courses, French and Russian language exams, comprehensive written exams (3 of 17 passed), a comprehensive oral exam, ("He's too glib.") and finally the dissertation stage. My adviser Ellsworth Raymond, a Soviet specialist (currently experiencing I trust the eternal beatific vision) was always supportive. But another member of my dissertation committee at an advanced stage of my work demanded a three page abstract, "Exactly what are you doing?"
    I produced an exquisitely drafted three page statement and sent it off to the three committee members. Two members returned the document and gave me permission to proceed. Four weeks passed. I still had not heard from this nemesis. So I sent him another copy. By return mail I received my abstract. He felt that my project was "junk, meaningless, awful!"  I retired to my couch to decide whether hanging or self-immolation should be my next step.
    A few days later the second abstract arrived in the mail. "This looks OK" he wrote. It's improved. Proceed on." It was of course an exact copy of the first. I received my PhD in 1972. My formal education concluded - no sense of accomplishment but remarkable relief. The dissertation remains on the bottom shelf of a bookcase. To this day I cannot touch it without feeling a slight wave of revulsion.
    On a warm evening in the mid 1980s, Ray and I were strolling in the vicinity of  McDougal and Sullivan streets. Ray is a friend of many decades. At the time we were both divorced and courting. Joyce and Patti were walking and chatting in front of us. Ray was attracted by Patti's fine mind and I guess her lush great looks - think Claudia Cardinale or Penelope Cruz. On her shoulders rested a fur wrap. As we moved through the streets it occurred to me that wearing an animal skin in Greenwich Village could be problematic. So I planned - if there was a confrontation with an enraged animal lover Ray could defend her while I took Joyce and went for help.
    Joyce had a regal quality. She wore stylishly classic  fashion - hair long the color of sunlight (her hair dresser was at the Plaza Hotel). She was stunning but so was her model, actress daughter. Joyce also had a son who was Hollywood, leading man handsome. To be brutally frank when I was with the three of them I felt ugly.
    Ray had not made a dinner reservation while I was confident we could find something. The street in front of us became clogged with people and nearly impassable. "Where will we eat?" I did not notice the restaurant "Angelo's" that was attracting a mob. But I did see Joyce and Patti talking with a nattily dressed man. "Lotharios and mashers everywhere!" I  lamented, "Everywhere!" As Ray and I pushed to catch up, the ladies began following this individual - he led them through Angelo's front door and they disappeared. "What about us?" We were also nicely dressed. No one stopped us as we entered passing a fit praetorian type whose name had to be Vinnie. We joined the ladies at a brightly illuminated table with surprising space around us. There we enjoyed a pleasant if average dinner that was followed by an unforgettable bill. The lesson - always have a destination. A few weeks later it was reported that President Reagan dined there.

    * Brainy Quotes - online.

Great Educators

                                                                   

                                           

                                                                Hypatia  370 - 415 CE  - photo universogtp.com
                                                                

     

       
      The education process can be viewed as rather straight forward - individuals learn by doing. Reading, talking, writing, calculating and experimenting will usually lead to higher levels of performance and understanding. The educator's role is to push for increasingly informed activity - seeking most often to counteract the fabricated babble of secular and religious ideologies that range from the pedantic to the murderous. There were several excellent educators in my past, many who were average and a few horrific. But three individuals remain in vivid memory for there efforts in shaping this dolt and changing parts of his life.
     Waldo Chamberlain was in 1959, a Professor in the Department of Government at New York University. Chamberlain had been the Chief Documents Officer at the founding conference of the United Nations in San Francisco in 1945, then Director of Documents before moving to NYU.  I participated in two of his graduate seminars and he was my MA thesis adviser. Chamberlain was a shorter gentleman, who spoke with precision and brevity. He assigned tasks - then students did everything - the research, reporting and discussing. Chamberlain would sit in the seminar and when necessary identify unexamined issues. Personnel from the UN and other IGOs were swelling NYU's  Government Department classes - Egyptians, Nigerians, Ethiopians, Italians, South Koreans, Saudis, Israelis, Chinese (Taiwanese). On occasion we would have guests from UN delegations sit in to listen to research of particular concern to them. Chamberlain treated everyone with great respect. But he also enjoyed requiring students to consider the "other" side. He would assign an Ethiopian to represent Italian interests or an Israeli to research Egyptian problems. The first research paper I prepared for Professor Chamberlain was twenty-two pages plus bibliography. I worked hard on it - I wanted to impress him. One week after submission it was returned and I remember my shock - never had so much red ink been lavished on twenty-five pages. He nailed me for everything from contradictory and weak documentation ("Who's s/he?" - "No primary sources available?") to the use and  abuse of colons, semi colons, commas and periods. Never again would I use the word "interesting". Reworking the paper for resubmission I realized that no past professor or teacher had ever reviewed my work so intensively. Later I wrote Professor Chamberlain a short letter expressing this fact and thanked him. His writing and research lesson was applied by me (with less talent and less effect) to the work of my students over the next forty years.
     Jacob Oser was a Professor of Economics at Utica College of Syracuse University. Oser wrote several books but the title of one conveys the intensity of the man, Must Men Starve?  The book skewered Malthusian theory. Oser was an organized, humorous lecturer. "Hold your AT&T owned phone straight out in front of you. Drop it. Notice what happens. Nothing - they own it! Now hold your GE portable radio out in front of you. Drop it. Notice what happens - trash! What does this tell us?" As fine as Professor Oser was in the classroom, out on the street his influence helped change the direction of my life.
     1962 - The Freedom Riders project sought to desegregate public facilities in the south. Efforts were made up north to raise money and volunteers. I now had a Master's degree in Government and was selling business equipment for IBM. At the office I had a gray, steel desk with a small sign on it that said "Think". My socks were black and long - over the calves. After attending an IBM sales school somewhere in  New Jersey I was back in Utica and working. At 12:45 PM on a sunny day I was preoccupied - walking down Genesee Street carrying a canvas bag containing an IBM Selectric typewriter. My demonstration was scheduled for 1:00 PM. Then "JJJooohhhnnn! John! Over here!" There Professor Oser in a slightly baggy suit and a huge smile was holding a tin cup. "How are you?" Fifty feet away stood a shiny, yellow school bus and emblazoned on the side, "FREEDOM RIDERS". We shook hands, exchanged pleasantries.
     "What are you doing?" he asked. I was ashamed to tell him - but did. He seemed quite pleased. So while Jacob Oser in and out of the classroom was trying to make things better and earn a living, I was just attempting to earn a living. Within two months I had resigned from IBM and secured a teaching contract (for less pay) with the Utica School District. I wanted to be like Jacob Oser.
    Now the more mundane. A powerful learning experience can occur quite abruptly. At age 17, still in high school I joined the US Naval Reserve. A few months later in Brooklyn Navy Yard I boarded a ship for my first training cruise and was assigned to work on the mess deck. The ship was a Cannon Class destroyer escort, the Snyder, DE 745. It carried a crew of 15 officers and 200 enlisted men of which perhaps were 90 were reservists. So with three other sailors I began my training - sweeping crumbs around and smearing steel table tops - I even remember admiring the glossy sheen my rag left behind with every swipe. But someone became displeased, the noncom in charge disappeared and a thickset Second Class Gunner's Mate named Teachout took over. Teachout respected no one and was something of a bully. Rumor was that his demotions were running ahead of promotions and he much enjoyed drinking. His vocabulary was circumscribed but utilizing streams of obscenities Teachout was extremely funny.
     Four of us were standing with him in front of a deep sink. With a smile he said, "Now we are going to begin cleaning the mess deck. First we need hot water and soap!" We watched the mixture of steam and suds bubbling up. He then took my hands in his and plunged them into the cauldron. "Now this is hot!" I yelped and he thought that was hilarious. Next I was on my hands and knees in a corner scrubbing away filth with a tooth brush. The mess deck became a model of cleanliness - but three times a day hordes of sailors would descend those ladders to eat and occasionally vomit - we cleaned again and again. I have not forgotten what constitutes a "clean" mess deck, galley or kitchen. I learned how to clean - "First we need hot water and soap!"