South Pacific

Did you know that the 1958 musical, South Pacific, starred a Hungarian-American? Mitzi Gaynor is allegedly of Hungarian descent, and has referred to herself as a "Hungarian Virgo". Her performance in the film made her an icon, and to this day she appears in events celebrating the film.

There are some great songs in the film. But what is really interesting is the race-relations sermon that is part of the story. Stationed on a South Pacific island as a nurse during WWII, Mitzi falls in love with a French resident of the island. However, Mitzi's Arkansas upbringing makes her reject him when she learns that he was previously married to a Polynesian woman and has two children by her--children that Mitzi cannot accept. And Mitzi's difficulty is not that Frenchy had another woman (who died, of course), but that Mom and the children are "colored". However, as is inevitable in musicals, Mitzi comes to her senses and love triumphs over prejudice.

The filmmakers did not do all their homework, however. The group of Sea Bees who make up the chorus of the musical includes a black sailor. The film was made after Harry Truman integrated the Armed Services in 1948. However, it is supposed to be about WWII, when there were no integrated units. So having a black sailor is incongruous. However, given the theme of the story, it's probably OK -- if integration is good enough for the Navy, it should be good enough for the girl from Arkansas.

Snow-- the morning after

Update from the kitchen window: 17 inches fell at MSP before stopping last evening. Snow removal guys came to plow us out last night with a very loud snow blower. Sound is magnified at 3 AM, which is when they showed up. They abandoned ship, and snow blower about 30 minutes later, leaving us with a partially plowed driveway.

OLGS is out trying to make do with our much lighter snow blower, although he's leaving the driveway in the hope that the snow guys will return with heavier equipment. He's just going to do the sidewalk. Always the good neighbor.

This is the biggest snowstorm we've had since moving to our Mpls. house. Makes me feel like a real Minnesotan.

Too cold to snow?

View from the kitchen window
When people from New England, where they get lots of snow, ask me how I like the snow in Minnesota, I always tell them that it's too cold and dry to snow much. The difference between here and there is that when it does snow, the snow remains on the ground until April. In contrast, the 10 inch snows that regularly occur in Massachusetts disappear within a week or two.

My tune has changed. Right now it's snowing again, and we are on track to have the snowiest December in many years. The Twin Cities are shut down in expectation of 12 inches or more. It's blowing and drifting, as they say on the road conditions report. This is probably snow scam -- weather people are never happier than when a disaster is looming. But there are five inches on the ground at 9 AM with no sign of stopping anytime soon.

What's going on? Looks like global warming to me. It is now warm enough to snow, and snow hard. Kinda exciting, and reminds me of my childhood in snowy Central Mass.

Who ever thought there would be an upside to climate change?

F.I.S.T.

Want an obscure Sly Stallone movie? Try F.I.S.T., starring Rocky as a thinly disguised Jimmy Hoffa, who, in this movie, is a Hungarian-American, or hunky, named Johnny Kovak. This is a legit entry into the Hungarian movie pantheon because it was written by Joe Eszterhas, a Hungarian immigrant and Cleveland reporter who went on to write the screenplays for more famous films, such as Basic Instinct.

The reason we watched this otherwise forgettable movie was the presence in the cast -- and credited, too -- of Rev. Alphonse Skerl, pastor of Holy Trinity Roman Catholic (Hungarian) church in East Chicago, Indiana. OLGS has met Father Skerl, who was very helpful when OLGS visited the parish in search of records for his current project studying Hungarian immigrants to the U.S.

Father Skerl appears in F.I.S.T. (Federation of Interstate Truckers) at least three times as the family priest. However, the time period of the movie being primarily pre-Vatican II, the good father speaks Latin rather than Hungarian during Mass. OLGS reports that Father Skerl still speaks Hungarian, despite his being in the U.S. since 1956.

People watch movies for the strangest reasons.

Thief of Bagdhad

A deviation from the plan of watching the films of Pressburger-Powell, the Archers. The Thief of Bagdhad, released in 1940, was produced by Alexander Korda, who left what is now Hungary in 1919. After working in the film industry in Vienna, Berlin and Hollywood, he began producing movies in England. His first, The Private Life of Henry VIII, was a big hit and has been credited with turning the moribund British film industry around.

The designers of the 1992 Disney film Aladdin watched the Thief of Bagdhad very carefully. The thief is cute and cunning, the Princess'father is a fat, dithering fool who nevertheless loves his daughter deeply, and Jaffar has very long fingers. The genie is not as benign as Robin Williams, and the Prince and the thief are two different characters, but both differences seem inconsequential. Chases through the market, playing hide and seek with the guards and stealing food were shamelessly copied by the 1992 version, and a good thing, too. They are funny.

Hungarian Exodus to Hollywood

Now that winter, more specifically ice and snow, are settling in, it's time to devise a way to amuse myself but still feel productive. Those Puritan genes are coming to the surface.

Emeric Pressburger

So, to support OLGS in his ongoing efforts to master all things Hungarian, I have resolved to watch films involving Hungarian emigres in Hollywood. The list is vast, with a seemingly endless supply of directors, screenwriters, producers, actors, musicians and others becoming part of the US film scene from the silent film era to post-1956. And the US was not the only landing spot for Hungarians who turned out to have remarkable talent for all aspects of film-making; many of them headed for England, adding to the richness of British movies.

I am starting my odyssey with the films of Emeric Pressburger, who on his own and with Michael Powell wrote, directed and produced movies in England from the 1930s to the 1960s in England. Probably the most famous result of the Powell-Pressburger collaboration was the 1948 film, The Red Shoes, based on the tale by Hans Christian Andersen.

A lot has been written about The Red Shoes, which was recently restored and re-released by the Criterion Collection. I'm not equipped to judge it as a ballet movie, but it had its charms, nevertheless. A couple of interesting things to watch: the behavior and recreation of the corps de ballet, the set designers and others foreshadows later beatniks. Lots of late night drinking and partying, something that I didn't think dancers did much of, not that I know many dancers, but...

The other thing is the color. Everything has a sunset glow, and the colors are intense. Really intense. OLGS noted that perhaps they hadn't quite gotten technicolor right. Or it could be the remastering. For whatever reason, it's kind of hard on the eyes, although the dancing is nice. Credit Moira Shearer for that.

Snow!

First snow of the season. Wet, heavy, heart-attack snow. Tree-damaging snow. Hazardous to electrical wires snow. Snow-emergency snow. Snow that requires the first use of our newly hired plowing service ("I don't start plowing until the snow stops." Makes sense, but what if there are twelve inches?) Snow that is so close to water it will all turn to ice once it melts, rendering me a shut-in until March. Cookie-baking snow. Stay in and watch movies snow. Soup making snow. Snow that keeps the cat Mitzi inside for the rest of the winter. Snow that brought Joe College Grad home in search of "boots" (a pair of suede Nike skater shoes -- "They're great, Mom. I've used them for two winters, and they don't smell when they get wet.")

It's beautiful.

Remembrance of Things Past

Although the arrival was not timed, I appreciated the appearance of the Kramer movie, It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World with an amzing cast. Classic 60s caper comedy, with:

Spencer Tracy
Milton Berle
Sid Caesar
Edie Adams
Ethel Merman
Jonathan Winters
Mickey Rooney
Buddy Hackett
Phil Silvers
Dorothy Provine
Dick Shawn
Terry-Thomas

And this is just the main cast. The secondary players include the likes of Don Knotts, Jimmy Durante and Jim Backus.

The reason I was so glad it showed up now -- having been languishing in the Netflix queue for years, it seems, is that this is one of the movies my dad took me to see. This, along with "The Shaggy Dog", are iconic events in my childhood.

Be careful what you take to your kids to see. They may manufacture a memory out of it 50 years later.

Funeral planning

What do you do after a death in the family? There are so many details to attend to. Some family members care about the details, others do not. But the details have to be attended to by someone.

You can leave much of this in the hands of the funeral director, who will, for a price, take care of almost everything. The professionals will find a minister, let you use their facilities, provide refreshments, etc., etc. They will not, at least in Massachusetts, sell you a marker, as per state law. Instead, they will refer you to a favored place. I assume they get a kickback, but someone has to do it.

We were referred to Empire Granite, serving Worcester since 1896. And the facilities had not been changed since then. However, the salesperson (did I mention that it is definitely a family business?) quickly figured out that we did not want two granite hearts or entwined flowers and pointed us at something that everyone could agree on. Folks in his business have to be good at reading people, and he was.

But, as with everything, a visit to a new kind of salesroom is also a lesson. For example, did you know why joint headstones have the other spouse's name and birth date already engraved? It always seemed tacky to me. However, if you don't do this, you will probably have to take the marker down when the next person dies, and in the case of Empire Granite, send it back to Vermont where the work is actually done. Most folks, including me, don't want this additional expense. Hence the premature listing of the other spouse. Apparently just entering the death year is something that can be done without removing the stone entirely. And now you know.

Another thing that someone has to do is plan the memorial service. What hymns, if the dear departed liked to sing hymns, which was true of my father? I can't stand Fairest Lord Jesus, which he apparently liked -- who knew? So my mother and I compromised on some other warhorses that we both liked.

And then the readings and speakers. That was easier. A few Psalms (although they had to be from the King James -- find a Unitarian minister who can do that!), something my dad had written, some reminiscences from a former colleague -- and we were done. Then off to the social hour, pie and ice cream, my dad's two favorite foods.

Still in the hopper -- find a few musicians to lend gravitas to the occasion. We have a piano player -- no organ, which is too bad. Gotta get the program printed. Hope that someone sends flowers, even thought the obit says no flowers! Need to arrange some photos, especially the cute ones from the 20s and 30s for folks to look at while they are eating pie. I'm sure there are other things to do, but if we don't, the event will still happen.

I'm thinking of writing up my insights into funeral planning. Oops--guess I've already done that. The big lesson in all this is that you have lots of different people to please. In this case, my mother, my brother, my uncle (who is performing the role of master of ceremonies at the memorial service) and I had to agree. So far it's worked out fine but there is still time for something unresolvable to arise. We'll see.

End of an Era

My dad died on October 15. It was a remarkable journey in some ways, but a frustrating one in many others, especially for my mother, who took care of him long after he was unable to care for himself. My brother and I have so many conflicting thoughts about this: how does one measure quality of life? What constitutes heroic measures? When is enough enough? Why does Medicare pay for hospice and not a nursing home?

However, there is nothing we can do to answer these questions right now. Time to plan a memorial service. Talked my mother out of a sappy hymn, replaced it with some old warhorses with strong chords and less sectarian lyrics. At this stage, little things mean a lot.

We're back

Domestic Tranquility is back online. So many challenging, enjoyable and stressful events of the past few months, it's hard to know where to begin. Middle age is not for sissies -- actually, when one qualifies for membership in AARP, is middle age the right term?

The short list:

Many, many trips to Boston and Worcester to visit the folks. Logan Airport is still under construction. Dad is quite demented, with a 24/7 caregiver. Mom has been soldiering on, but broke her hip a month ago and has been in and out of hospital and nursing home

Middle son graduated from the University of Minnesota with a major in History and a minor in Environmental Studies. OLGS and I are very proud of him.

Chinese exchange student Kevin graduated from St. Paul Prep and returned to Shanghai. We hope he comes back -- we haven't heard whether he will be going to St. Thomas University in St. Paul.

OLGS and I made our annual pilgrimage to Washington County, Maine. Still desolate, poor and without cell phone towers. Big secret: go to the IGA parking lot in Eastport and you might get lucky. It worked for us. We stayed in three very different places: Micmac Farm, a B & B in Machiasport that was the house built by my great, great, great grandfather in 1786 (he lived a long time and had many children); a room over a tavern in Lubec, Cohill's Inn; and a B & B in a beautiful Victorian house filled with antiques -- Kilby House in Eastport. All nice, and each one was different. We braved the new ICE passport regulations and drove into Canada to visit the summer home of FDR on Campobello. Apparently we were not the first folks to do this -- the customs officials had a pre-printed flyer for people without required identification trying to enter the US. Another big secret-- they can't keep you out.

Then to the beautiful country wedding of my nephew. Great food, amazing cakes baked by the bride, and the groom and his entourage wore kilts. There was a bagpiper. Fortunately, it wasn't too hot -- the piper was in full regalia. College friends of the groom camped out in tents by the river, a settlement quickly termed Hooverville by my sister in law. After the ceremony was over, the food eaten and the band gone, the young people hung out on the riverbank. Us oldsters didn't really want to know what was going on.

New York, New York

We've been back for a couple of weeks, but there is still a slight glow left over from our recent trip to NYC. Here's the executive summary:

Journeyed via Midwest Airlines to LGA. OLGS got us in a gypsy cab that quickly took us to our hotel in lower Manhattan, with a view of Ground Zero and the New Jersey skyline.

Then off to Avery Fisher Hall to hear the New York Philharmonic, surrounded by lots of the matinee set -- elderly ladies in fur coats, a few dragging long-suffering husbands behind them.

Stroll to Cafe Luxemburg on W. 70th Street. A nice bistro; the cool bit was that the wait staff, all uniformly young and beautiful, were getting instructions about the menu for the dinner hour. I wonder how much of that they actually remember. Then back downtown.

Saturday AM, off to the Whitney Museum to meet OLGS's cousin Blanche and her husband and son for brunch. I had the blintzes, to which husband Charles, who is 18 years my senior and a doctor, said, "You must be on Lipitor. No way you could eat that stuff without it." I mumbled something about good genes and continued stuffing my face.

Took the bus uptown to Columbia, across 110th street, to visit the statue of great Hungarian Louis Kossuth on Riverside Drive. Took pictures of OLGS standing in front Tom's Restaurant, famous among Columbia students long before it became a fixture in Seinfeld.

Then cab to the Ethel Barrymore theater to see new play by David Mamet, "Race". Theater packed, play OK but a little forced. Audience tittered at slightly funny bits to relieve tension caused by talking about uncomfortable subjects.

Then strolled around Times Square, visited a deli, primarily for a bathroom stop but also for cheesecake, then hopped a bus downtown. This is the way to see New York if you don't walk. Bus crawled down Broadway, past innumerable shops with trendy clothing, interior decorating boutiques, bookstores, etc. Who buys all this stuff?

By the time we got to Fulton, it was dark. We hopped off the bus, briefly stopped in our hotel room, and then cabbed to Chelsea to visit some friends. Nice dinner in a restaurant featuring local food. We were by far the oldest people there.

Sunday--Church at Trinity Church -- Washington slept here... Sermon had something to do with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and how he would be appalled by life in 2010. At least that's what I think it was about. Then brunch at another bistro. When we came out, it was pouring. We cabbed up to a movie theater, the Angelika, where we saw a film about the last year of Tolstoy's life with the incomparable Helen Mirren. You could hear the subway rumbling under the theater. I liked the movie, OLGS did not.

When we came out of the theater, it had stopped raining. Off to the Strand bookstore (18 MILES OF BOOKS). I bought a paperback to read on the plane, OLGS bought hundreds of dollars worth of books on Hungarian history and Hungarian emigration to the US. "It's all deductible," says he. Back to the hotel to get our bags, and then a cab to LGA. Pouring again. OLGS talked cab talk with the driver, who seemed to be pleased to have a former NYC cabbie in his backseat. Then onto Midwest Airlines, and thence home via Milwaukee.

And if I had several million dollars, I'd move there in a heartbeat.

Here is New York

OLGS and I went to NYC to celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary -- wow! I was insufferable at work on Thursday. "Sorry -- I can't make that meeting. I'm going to New York, you know." "Sorry -- can't take you home Friday night -- I'll be in New York." I couldn't help myself.

And here we are. Still the greatest city in the world.

New Year's Wish

It is now cold in Minnesota, and the natives are walking around all puffed up -- and it's not just those down jackets. Rather, it's pride in their ability to endure. When reporters describe the panic visited upon Washington by two or three inches of snow, Minnesotans smile knowingly and suggest that if they were in charge of snow removal in our nation's capital -- and probably much else -- things would be at least different, if not better. And they may be right.

But we are too tolerant, if such as thing is possible. Terminally nice Minnesotans meet idiocy with shrugs of the shoulders or a muttered, "That's different". That may be as exercised as they get. So if someone seems like an OK guy, like Governor Pawlenty, or a great mom, like Representative Michelle Bachmann, we forgive their nutso ideas.

My wish for 2010: that Minnesotans rediscover their progressive roots and start recognizing the need to care for people they may not like, who may be unworthy and who may even cost them a little money. These are small prices to pay for rediscovering their once celebrated dedication to the common good. That's a nutso idea I can support.

Happy New Year.