Villanova

Founded 1842. Roman Catholic. 10,842 students.

 

There is a movie about the Maine Line. Its called the Philadelphia story, but really, its the Maine Line. Villanova is the Main Line.

 

 

I’ve driven through. It gets it’s name from the rail line that once took old money from their city homes to their country, now suburban, ones. I’ve been to the schools, gawked at the homes, sat at a lot of red lights. I would rather ride the maine line than drive to it.

 

Academics are strong, basketball is strong, area ties-even stronger. I know a few grads, a few current administrators, all top notch. But as I was walking through the football stadium, being nosey watching lacrosse practice, I looked up on the football wall of fame.

Sandusky.

 

Sorry.

St. Joe’s

 

Founded 1851. Jesuit. 8,100 students. Business.

 

Mettlers Clothing: best building ever but…

I drive past the building almost every day. I walk right past almost as often. I knew it was there, I just didn’t know it was a clothing store.

It used to be a church.

I left the place with my socks still on without buying any new ones.

Now this is not to say I didn’t like it, a lot, but rather that I found no one item that I looked at, swooned, and walked away wishing the sticker price was lower. It was strangely a large collection of “meh” that when pulled together is both fantastic, but still… meh.

Now Mettlers does not just do clothing, they do design. Which makes more sense. They do great design with well informed clothing. The fact that I’m “meh” on Mettlers means it is probably well worth a visit.

 

But after some reflection I have decided what stole this visit’s fire, why I was underwhelmed. It was not the clothes or the building. Both were better than most. It was not the design, which was a sporting masculinity that I enjoyed, but it was something I like a lot, that disappointed me.

I once took an art class in college.

I was not an art major but having some artistic tendencies, I saw Drawing/Painting on the course list and decided to enroll. Besides, I had some electives to burn. I was foolish enough not to check those little numbers next to the course name, 5200.

It was for graduate students in art, not Sophomore business majors. The prof claimed I was fine and told me to stay. I’m glad I did because he made one statement that has stuck with me more than any other art lesson in my life.

When I submitted my project proposal he looked it over, shook his head, and said, “I can see what you are trying to do but you are simply not good enough to do it.”

A little stunned, I was speechless as he continued, “This is not to say you can’t produce great art, just don’t try to do things you aren’t capable of.”

I kid myself, no I believe, that I could learn to do what I originally proposed, but this was not the purpose of this class. That would be the purpose of getting a bachelors in art. But the utilitarian pragmatism of “do what you are good at” opened up unseen doors for me.

Now back to Mettlers.

I love Eakins’ artwork, especially the painting of a boxer being fanned in his corner. Mettlers had a fine hand painted imitation of that very painting. This was exactly my taste! But whoever the artist was that produced the imitation  they were no Eakins. I could see what the artist was trying to do but they were not good enough to do it.

 

For me it cheapened everything else in place.

Bryn Mawr: the Big Hill

Ten miles up the mainline from Philadelphia is Lower Marion Township. Driving up route 30 rowhouses give way to stone houses and trees. I pass St. Joe’s, the French International School, then after Haverford I take a right. There not quite all the way to Rosemont or Villanova, is Bryn Mawr.Quakers founded the school in 1885 but the board soon decided the institution would have no religious affiliation. It is the first school in America to offer a PhD to women.Bryn Mawr is one of the seven sisters. It brings to mind images of knee high socks and plaid skirts I saw none of that when I visited. I did see a chemistry lab filled with glass tubes and DNA models.

 

Race is Complicated: Mummers

It was the fourth of July our first year in Philadelphia. We went downtown to watch the parade and saw the strangest thing; a band of men wearing sequins from head to toe, carrying parasols, and playing instruments. They marched while playing saxophones, banjos, and even upright bases. I had never seen such a thing, and then a few floats later, there was another band just like the other. What was this madness?

“Oh those are mummers,” we were told . “What exactly are mummers?” we asked. “Ummm. Well, they are just, well THOSE are mummers… Just wait till New Years. It’s that right there.”

That sort of non-explanation is the norm for Mummers. They exist in Philadelphia and not so much anywhere else. There may be some variations in other places, but in Philly they are in every parade, have a long road filled with Mummers club houses, and every New Year ’s Day since 1901, there is the Mummers parade.

We went and watched the Mummers. They are, above all else, fun. Watching the Mummers you will see kids, even babies, dancing down Broad Street, hundreds of people not associated with a high school or getting paid playing live instruments, and lots and lots of bearded men is sequined dresses. We loved it.

Our curiosity piqued, we took a trip down to 2^nd st. and Washington in South Philly to visit the Mummers Museum. The art deco building housed costumed mannequins from parades past and some explanations for this Philadelphia oddity.

It is thought that the traditions grew out of the British Isles’ mummers plays. There are reports of mocking mummer plays being held in President Washington’s honor while he resided in Philadelphia. In the early 1800’s it was normal to find roving bands of men dressed as clowns causing a ruckus during the holiday season. The tradition was formalized into the parade in 1901, making it America’s oldest continuous folk parade.

I learned these things by reading faded signs on dusty displays in a museum whose heyday appeared to be at least a decade ago. In one corner of the museum I was able to try a costume on. I pulled on a long glittering skirt with feathers around the hem, donned a sparkly vest, and placed a tall multicolored feather crown upon my head. I danced and posed for my wife as she took pictures. Wearing this fine regalia I squinted to read a faded sign off in one corner. As I did I removed my crown and began feeling sick.

The sign explained the origins of the Mummers signature dance or “strut”. The dance is a variation of the cake walk, a dance or strut popularized in black face minstrel shows in the very early 1900s. The Mummer strut is traditionally done to the tune Oh Dem Golden Slippers, a blackface standard. The sign also explained that from day one, till a city order in 1964, the parade was done in black face.  The Mummers fought the ban but eventually lost. I am told there were once black Mummer brigades but they were banned in the 1920′s.

Standing there in sequins and feathers I felt betrayed.

It was in a back corner of the Mummer Museum when I realized that in this very black city, I had never seen a black Mummer. It is possible one exists but I think the academic term for them is “statistically insignificant”.

I have met plenty of Mummers. Since reading that sign I have asked, and listened, to what Mummers say Mummery is all about. I have talked to people who have never read a thing I have written or have a clue to whom I am married, and not once has anything remotely racist been uttered. I hear lots of talk about tradition and fun. I have heard and read about music and family.

I like all of those things.

I have never read anything about black people or hate. It is as if anything racist was scrubbed off along with the black makeup. I have never even heard a mummer bring up the black face past. I am even willing to wager that most all of the Mummers under the age of 25 have no idea of the racist history or know what a minstrel show ever was. So in a very real way to them, and to most everyone, the Mummers are very much just family, tradition, music, and fun.

What a great object lesson about race in America.

The Mummers parade is fantastic, it is also very deeply and firmly sprung from racist roots.

So what is it now?

I am watching the parade now as I write this. I love it. I just saw a brigade perform a skit where a mass of commoners used a giant gold dollar sign to lure a donkey and an elephant into a trap where they could both be struck over the head by the liberty bell. I would encourage anyone and everyone to attend. It is guaranteed fun no matter who you are.

But were I ever invited, or had the opportunity to become a Mummer, I do not think I would do it. I cannot escape the memory of what I felt when all bedecked in glitter I read that faded sign.  Watching the parade today I have not seen a black face, painted or otherwise. The bands and brigades are formed as clubs and other organizations. Many are tied up in family traditions and bloodlines. Black people need not be barred for these sorts of things to stay all white. The white people need not really be racist for a black person to not feel comfortable or welcomed.

So in this way the parade is like most everything.

Does what something used to be, forever taint what it is now?

How do we enjoy today when maybe yesterday isn’t all the way gone yet?

Happy New Year… I’m spending the rest of today enjoying the parade.

Tis’ the Season

Working for an academic institution means keeping an academic calendar. I’m not sure how exactly my calendar is academic but I do know I get a nice long Holiday.

So what shall I do with this time? Be useful?

Of course not.With my time I have had fine dinner conversation with an Argentinian student who got in a very public argument with his homeland’s president, then another someone who is in part responsible for bringing us such fine products as the Pillow-pet and Stompies, then yet another conversation with a different Argentinian who thinks it likely that those who argue with the president are avoiding taxes… oooh juicy!

Yet amid this life of excitement and intrigue, I mostly run errands.

It is called “Red-ing” terminal despite it being spelled Reading. I am giving this language lesson to you despite my being on academic holiday. What a workaholic I am.

The sociologist Elijah Anderson considers this place one of the “Cosmopolitan Canopies” or places where all demographics intermingle peacefully. He has obviously never been here at lunch time during the flower show and I am guessing he has no explanation for this:

Yes friends, those are chocolate dipped onions. It is the Vegas of foods, sugary coating on something innately smelly. I should not judge; I have never tried one. But I have been to Vegas so it is the onions who get a pass on this one.

In the heart of the market is a place worth paying for parking. DiNic’s.Pull up a stool next to these guys or get it to go, but order the roast pork with broccoli rabe. Don’t go treating broccoli on a sandwich like a chocolate covered onion, give it a try. The travel channel did and then named it the best sandwich in America.

I’m not sure the Travel Channel got it completely right, but it is surely top ten.

In the event you find yourself in the area and want to buy me something, a natural desire, here is what I want:I will wait with anticipation for your gift. Don’t worry, I’m patient.

My days are not all errands. I’m painting again. More to come on that shortly.

O yes, and Mr. Yankee-Whiskey-Papa… well done sir. Well done.

The Sun Sets on Summer

If you have friends with children you know summer is over. Facebook feeds now consist of 60% photos of kids on the first day of school and 40% “shares” of how Obama is really an alien from Mars waiting to destroy the United States and eat all those children… who he will be able to easily find since we all posted on Facebook that they are in school.

I have not posted such a picture but only because the event hasn’t happened yet.  The sky is red but the sun hasn’t slipped over the horizon just yet.

Race Street Pier

Seersucker and white shoes are now faux pas and tweed will be here soon. Whatever. I say we go with these guys.

Penn’s Landing

Next week our schedule will be dictated by the district and a teacher, last week it was whatever fun we could glean from the internet. Mrs. Hammas shouted down the stairs, “what about dragon boat races?” I couldn’t hear her as I was sitting in the one square foot of cool space in my house, the spot right in front of the window unit, so I just shouted back, “what?” Which was interpreted as a yes.

Dragon boats out-pacing the U.S.S. Olympia

Her idea was a win.

 

As is always the case in a large city such as ours, when kids have no summer structure they start to tear down any structures they can find. Twas a shame that when visiting a local museum we found kids had scribbled graffiti in the wet cement, or plaster… or bronze. Whatever.

A friend asked me “who is Podin?”

Eating outdoors will soon be replaced with a cafeteria for the kids and for me… mostly airline food. I think the little ones and I will both pack sack lunches.

But in all this ending there is hope. Football season has begun, which defines hope, and even better, the city has shut off the fire hydrants.

Cooler days are coming

So What Exactly Do You Want to Do?

So what exactly is it you want to do?

When asked this question, honesty is likely not the best tactic.

I am usually a complete supporter of honesty as the best policy. For instance if I ask someone to watch my children I would much rather have an honest, “I do not like your children,” than to have one think that sentence silently but only say, “sure”. I appreciate the disingenuous individual’s intent to be nice and do a favor, but the end result is normally a resentful friend and my children subjected to an evening with an individual who does not like them. In such an instance, just say no. I appreciate an individual who says no; it means I can trust them when they say yes.

Sitting in a chair before a person of some power, evaluating me for possible employment or maybe just assisting me in gaining employment, I have been asked, “So what sort of work are you looking for exactly?”

Were I to be honest I would reply, “Anything that provides a paycheck and does not require me to perform tasks I despise.” That would be shallow truth. Make no mistake, it is truth. I have had one of the jobs I say I do not want and all involved would agree it was a mistake.

Deeper truth would be me expressing my desire to achieve some tangible but  unnamed greatness that I have fooled myself into believing I am capable. Somewhere deep inside I have this nagging idea that I am capable of contributing to society in a way greater than a blip in mid-management or humbly bringing checks back to my wife and children after a day’s toil in cubicle fields.

I want to shove American society toward racial inclusiveness and crush the obstacles standing in the way of poor people’s pursuing opportunities for self determination. I want to write the next great American novel, paint a work of art worthy of a museum or maybe just mass popular consumption, and I want to play middle linebacker for the Bears.

I want to see every world capital. Istanbul, Jerusalem, Rome, Buenos Aries, Rio, Delhi, and Cleveland. I have this idea where I throw a dart at a map, where the dart hits becomes my starting point. Me and my friends then fly to that point spin a bottle, and hike 100 miles in that direction making  as straight a line as possible, just for the experience of it. I also want to spend a month in Tonga playing rugby on a local men’s club. That one may need to be last on my list.

I have no desire to ride motocross, which for some reason makes me think I should at least try it, but do want to jump out of an airplane. I want to sail from Maine to Miami. I want to learn how to sail. I want to spend evenings at cafe tables having great conversations with my wife and Saturday mornings going out to breakfast with the whole family.

I don’t really want to be famous or rich, but I do want to live free from financial restrictions and be able to influence greater society.

That is what I want to do.

Sitting in a chair in front of a potential employer I can’t say all that. I have to say, “sure I’d love to watch your kids.”

Why the City?

A question asked me some years ago still echos in my head. “Why would you choose to live in the inner city if you didn’t have too?

While my daily life puts me in regular contact with the homeless, that is not all you meet.

 

Athenaeum of Philadelphia

Perhaps you are smarter and more informed than I, we can have that argument later, but while walking with my wife through Washington Square one evening I came across a word I had never heard before.

Athenaeum founded 1814.

It was inscribed on a bronze plaque with no other explanations. Intriguing.

Athenaeum of Philadelphia

I had lived most of my life just calling the library “the library”, till arriving in Philly when with a snicker I read every sign that read “Free library”. I never knew any other kind. Till now.

Apparently the word means a place where printed materials are kept, available for reading. Turns out this private circulation library is open to the public 9-5 Mon-Fri.

Staircase to the stacks.

You must buy a membership to check out a book, and they say there is a members only reading room, but any old person, like me, can stroll right into this room.

main reading room

If I make an appointment I can do research here.

research room

I didn’t read a thing on this trip, I just strolled around being a creep with my iPhone.

in the chess room

While I may not be the best, I enjoy a game of chess. I am horrible playing chess with friends, better in the park, I have no idea how good I am here but i intend to find out.

chess room

Why have I never heard of this place? I am not all knowing but I believe I am slightly more informed about this city than the average Joe; so how did I miss this all these years?

Stacks in the research room

It was some years ago that in like fashion I discovered Philly’s civil war museum complete with Honest Abe’s death mask. I found this one slightly more interesting. I’m not sure why, but seriously, how did I miss this?

Death mask from Napoleon