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muse-letter \’myüz-‘le-tər noun
1: a personal message, inspired by a muse of one's own creation, addressed to a person or organization, in the course of which, the sender becomes absorbed in thought, especially turning something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively.
2: a letter from a poet, or one who envisions oneself as such, in which he or she “muses” on that which is perceived to be news, or newsworthy, usually in some ironic or absurd way.
muse-letter \’myüz-‘le-tər noun
1: a personal message, inspired by a muse of one's own creation, addressed to a person or organization, in the course of which, the sender becomes absorbed in thought, especially turning something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively.
2: a letter from a poet, or one who envisions oneself as such, in which he or she “muses” on that which is perceived to be news, or newsworthy, usually in some ironic or absurd way.
pre November 2018
Parts of the site under reconstruction
New York Harbor,July13,,2011 photo by Ron Vazzano
finito
Anatomy of a Fall, not from Grace but from a Grating
My fall was not Luciferian. Hardly biblical, allegorical or metaphorical. But literal. And how does the old trope go? “You slip on a banana peel...that’s comedy. I slip on a banana peel... that’s tragedy.” But that was no banana peel. That was a grating on a sidewalk on tony Fifth Avenue. And suddenly I was heading south as gravity stepped in to introduce itself.
No, it was not the end result of the usual senior citizen suspects: lightheadedness, loss of balance, a slip (more the domain of a bathtub), a hip and or other bones giving way, or simply not being watchful of what’s up ahead, because the mind tends to wander with or without the aid of dementia. No, it is not old age. I once tripped on a step at Dodger Stadium during a 1981 World Series game, bloodying my nose, and causing me to miss a few key innings while in the park’s infirmary. I was 36 at the time. Where was I?
I was moving along at my usual brisk pace, knowing exactly what was up ahead. Tommy Bahama’s. My destination. But I tripped over a section of a grating that was sticking up ever so slightly, it appears. But that’s all it took. The shoe caught (yes, at such times blame the shoes), and the rest is history. Or rather, emergency. As in, hospital Emergency Room. As in, Purgatory. Where I would imagine one would spend less time atoning for one’s sins before being released, then that spent in a hospital emergency room before given clearance to go home. And there’s no paperwork in Purgatory either.
Have you ever “taken a spill”? It’s weird, isn’t it? It begins suddenly and so jarringly—it seems almost unfair—and you think this can’t be happening. But here’s an actual shot someone took of me with an iPhone, to catch this tragedy in real time.
For a moment, you expect to right yourself. But the reality finally sets in: "I’m really falling!" Face-first. Followed by a scream, a yell or an expletive. I chose the latter two. Or they chose me. Muscle memory of past unpleasantries kicking in, I suppose.
Of its own accord, my hand reaches out to break the fall. And you think it's been successful in avoiding the worst. But here comes the face. And you think, oh no not the face too?! And this all unfolding in a couple of seconds at most.
In my case, the face came out in good shape. Though at first I wasn’t sure. I probed hoping that no geyser of blood was eminent. Because if the nose encounters an obstacle with some force, there will be blood. Lots of it. Which is the last thing you want if you don’t have a handkerchief or pack of tissues. Especially on a Fifth Avenue sidewalk. How déclassé. But I did have a mask in my back pocket. Which I used to dab at some blood stemming from a couple of facial scrapes in the areas of the lips and chin (See. Masks can be valuable in limiting a spread). But thankfully, teeth remained in place. Later on, a nurse in ER said “I can’t believe you didn’t hit your nose.” (Ahem. Are you implying ma'am, that mine is somewhat extended? And that the geometry of it all should have rendered a different outcome?).
A thank you to those two good Samaritans out there who helped pick me up and to whom I quickly assured I was alright. The humiliation one feels at such times knows no bounds. And if a limb were hanging by a thread, we’d assure those at the scene that we were ok, You cannot leave the “klutz zone” fast enough. Right? Or is that just me?
Bottom line, that noble hand that bore the brunt of the fall, was fractured in three places. And before the doctor began his work of fashioning a splint (thankfully, "we won't always have [plaster of] Paris"), I wisecracked: "I know. “You may feel some discomfort.” To which the good doctor responded, “No. You’re going to feel pain.” And he delivered on the promise.
All of this is by way of saying that this MuseLetter will contain material excerpted from past issues, and a couple of things from the "taxi squad." Only a portion of this month's Muse had begun prior to my fall, and a particular essay will be posted incomplete. Though the gist, without any twist, will remain. For even the construct of this “Poor Me” preamble has taken a while to chisel out, in the silence of one finger "typing." Though even with two hands, I can at best, hunt-and-peck.
Some Thoughts from Previous Fourths
I’ve excerpted a few fragments from previous MuseLetters about or relating to, directly or indirectly, the Fourth of July. They are as diverse as the spill from a fireworks display. Hardly sky-shattering, but colorful. At least to this eye. With a couple being the product of an imagination in cartoonish illustration.
Fun Fact for The Fourth from Philadelphia (2006)
George Washington was the Ninth President of the United States
Contrary (to Popular Belief), which happens to be the book title from which this was excerpted (Joey Green; Broadway Books; 2005), George was not the first.
Here is how that goes, as taken directly from Mr. Green’s book. Follow the bouncing ball:
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The United States was established on July 4, 1776. George Washington was inaugurated thirteen years later on April 30, 1789.
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During the intervening years, the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia drew up the Articles of Confederation (the first American constitution.)
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In 1781, Maryland representative John Hanson was elected the first president of the Congress of the Confederation. His official title was “president of the United States in Congress Assembled.”
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After Hanson, seven other men served as president:
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Elias Boudinot
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Thomas Mifflin
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Richard Henry Lee
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John Hancock (and we thought he just had fancy penmanship)
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Nathaniel Gorham
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Arthur St. Clair
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Cyrus Griffin
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In 1787, congress held a constitutional convention. The delegates wrote the current constitution, ratified by the states in 1788.
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The following year, the ratifying states elected Washington our nation’s ninth president (but the first under the new constitution).
More information than many of us will ever want to know. And aside from John Hancock, hardly a household name among them. And some would contend that the number is more like fourteen if you throw in first President of the First Continental Congress which first assembled in 1774. But “eight is enough.”
It does serve as a reminder that history and government are not simply about key dates and known names that are mandated for memorization while in grade school. (Or at least once were). It is also very much about what transpired before and after. And by extension, how they shaped the ideals of what we claim to be. Simply put, the birth of the United States did not come about with the arrival of George Washington (the step-father of our country?).
Liberty to Reopen on the 4th (2013)
In the aftermath of hurricane Sandy, many people are still trying to get their lives in order; still trying to get their homes back up and running. And so few will realize or care at such times, if a park or monument has been closed to the public “until further notice.” Yet, perhaps that can be put aside for a day, and take a certain joy in, if nothing else, the news concerning a cherished symbol of our country. The Statue of Liberty will re-open on July 4th. Appropriately enough.
It will resume its beckoning of the tired and the poor yearning to breathe free, or breathe at all—given the 354 winding steps leading up to the crown. A daily quota of only 240 people will once again be allowed to make that huddled climb. And I will be among them. What better place to be on such an auspicious occasion, in what arguably is one of the greatest monuments ever known to mankind. Let me count the ways.
It is hard to think of any other structure that in totality, embodies such a broad expanse within the human spirit. It is about art, engineering, poetry, an ideal tied to a universal impulse—freedom. It has a relevance that lives in perpetuity... it has utility, and it speaks of generosity and appreciation. All within a perfect setting that personifies what it has come to represent. A monument not built in self-glory, but rather received as an homage in the form of an unconditional gift from another nation. France. A gesture almost unfathomable in today's world, if you think about it.
In a post 9/11 world, the Statue of Liberty had also become to be as much about resilience in the face of attack, as about immigration. The stringent security measures that now accompany a trip to the island, especially one including a visit to the crown, makes one ever more aware of all that this statue stands for.
Here in 2022, I've come to think of it as the "embodiment" of America's soul. And wonder now, what is to become of it. The soul. Not the statue.
2013 cont'd
At times, I've even imagined it in mythical terms: "... a never ending battle for truth, justice and the American way."
Oh, and in deference to Lynda Carter and Gail Gadot, a belated hail to Wonder Woman in her red, white and blue!
2017
See what these superheroes see. "Take in the sights from the torch balcony at the Statue of Liberty, where the public has not been permitted to visit in person since 1916, and see unique, one-of-a-kind perspectives of the torch, crown, face and tablet, in addition to ultra widescreen panoramic images and live HD streaming video." (You may have to endure a commercial first, which super heroes are able to bypass).
The Fourth of July: A Smattering of History and Pop Culture (2018)
Independence Day, is to holidays, what bacon is to food: a delightful indulgence lacking in any subtlety. Who doesn’t like bacon? Or fireworks? Both containing an ample amount of nitrates.
It’s a day of celebration usually made manifest with barbeques, picnics, reunions, baseball games, concerts, the patriotic anthems of John Philip Souza, and all capped off by end of day with the “Oohs and aahs” to a dazzling display of pyrotechnics overhead. And to varying degrees, it’s been that way since day one.
John Adams in writing about this day in a letter to his wife Abigail (why he would need to write to his wife, and her alone, as opposed to sharing his sentiments with the rest of the new country via publication, is a question), had this to offer:
“…it will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival.
It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized (italics, mine) with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more.”
Actually, some of this prose could rain on any parade. Day of deliverance? Solemn acts of devotion? And God Almighty? No separation of church and state?
* * *
On the way down to Battery Park at the tip of Manhattan, one might drop by Fraunces Tavern, where in 1783, General Washington bade farewell to his officers of the Continental Army. I wonder how they divvied up the tab? (“Who had the turtle soup?”). All those “Continentals” strewn across the table. And I also wonder if there was a political debate over how much to tip?
Then it’s on to Federal Hall on Wall St. where he was inaugurated in 1789. It’s a worthy reminder, that they chose a presidency as a way to lead the country. It could easily have gone in other directions. And no guarantee of a democracy, a fragile concept, as we now appear to realize.
* * *
Fireworks later that night? The throngs that gather for an on-site viewing are polite but can be crushing. An alternative to viewing this Macy’s extravaganza… a widescreen TV. (As a side note, here in 2022, “silent fireworks”—a seemingly oxymoron—are beginning to come on the scene. And I wonder at some point, if Macy’s will go that route?)
Followed or preceded—perhaps with a box of Cracker Jack (introduced in 1893 at the Chicago World’s Fair) at hand —by still another viewing of that American classic, oh so grand:
“My mother thanks you, my father thanks you, my sister thanks you, and I thank you.”
Quote of the Month
Artist: Eric Drooker
Captain Ahab
Moby-Dick or, the Whale
Chapter 37
High Noon at 70
I first saw "High Noon" not all that long after its release in July of 1952. I was only seven. I got it! I loved it!
What's not to get? What's not to love? A Western with bad guys that the good guy kills in a gun battle? Good always triumphs over Evil, as I was being taught by the nuns at school. No? Ah, but there was much more beneath the surface that I would come to see and understand in subsequent viewings over the years. And the power of this classic film, (27th on the American Film Institute's Greatest American Films of All Time), was re-enforced in my return to it as it now approaches its 70th anniversary on July 24th.
Oscar-wise it garnered seven nominations winning four, including Best Actor (Gary Cooper), Best Song ("The Ballad of High Noon"), Best Score (Dimitri Tiomkin) and Best Editing. It also marked the debut of Grace Kelly, just 21 years old in her first featured role. Cooper was 50 at the time and there was some concern at first, given this age differential, in that they play a newly wed couple in the film.
Not everyone loved High Noon. John Wayne told an interviewer that he considered it "the most un-American thing I've ever seen in my whole life." It was reported he had been offered the role and turned it down. He later teamed with director Howard Hawks to make Rio Bravo in response. Why Duke felt this way, is pretty obvious given his well-known political persuasions, set atop of what was transpiring at the time.
As excerpted from a piece in The National Book Review (2017)...
A theme and situation so relevant, seventy years later.
Interestingly, Cooper still took on the role.
"During this painful era, (McCarthyism and Blacklisting) Carl Foreman reconceived the script of High Noon as a direct parable of Hollywood and its interaction with HUAC. "
"Cooper’s politics leaned as far right as Foreman’s leaned left."
"In the movie, the hero is a sheriff who faces down sinister outlaws alone, after the cowardly townspeople refuse to help him — a clear allegory for the cowardice exhibited by another well-known town."
--- Ron Vazzano
Bursting with Pride So Gay (2011)
With the annual New York Gay Pride Parade having just past, this is reprised from a July 2011 MuseLetter.
In the course of a Sunday walk, I suddenly found myself ...within a swarm of passionate bystanders craning their necks for a glimpse of the flamboyant parade passing by. Yes, it was annual Gay Pride Day. Which on the heels of this headline from The New York Times that Saturday, made this one especially euphoric and poignant within the gay community:
NEW YORK ALLOWS SAME-SEX MARRIAGE,
BECOMING LARGEST STATE TO PASS LAW
Imagine in 1969 during the Stonewall Inn riot—when the gay community, for the first time, fought back rather than accept being beaten—that a Gay Rights movement would come to be born on that night. And then imagine if someone had told you at the time, that the day would ever come when the "sacred institution" of marriage (the sacredness somewhat sullied by the more than 50% of them that end in divorce), would be made available to those of the same sex. What would you have said? And yet some 42 years later, it would come to pass.
I could not help but smile as I always do, when people take to the streets, not in anger—we saw too much of that in the sixties— but in celebration. And this one seemed especially meaningful. You had to be there to feel it in the air, which only by happenstance did I. And I—straight as the proverbial arrow— was happy for them. And in turn for ourselves. And for our state. And for our country.
Capt. Nemo played by James Mason
in deep-doo doo in the deep blue sea.
Ron Vazzano
Ron Vazzano
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