Grand opera at its best

Amelita Galli-Curci & Tito Schipa: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xjL9v9eIMcU&list=RDeYoImoWH3F0&index=3

Poem by Ibn Arabi

My heart has become a receptacle of every form; It is a pasture for gazelles and a convent for monks and a temple for idols and pilgrims’ Ka’ba and the tablets of the Torah and the book of the Quran. My religion is the religion of love whichever way its camels take; for this is my religion and my faith.

Mitsi, our '36 Ford and my first trip to South Dakota, Colorado, New Mexico, Wyoming, Montana and Utah

In the year 1947 my father purchased a 1946 eight cylindar 100 horse power engine for his 1936 Ford convertible. He had the car painted eggshell blue color. It had a rumble seat. He fitted the vehicle with a cover so that one could ride in the rumble seat in any weather. He also had a luggage rack made with straps to hold the suitcases. Here is a photo of my maternal grandfather C Frank Worman:

Thus outfitted my father and mother and I traveled west from Manhattan, NYC, to Allentown, Pennsylvania where we visited Aunt Edna Schatz (424 north 10th street) and my grandfather C Frank Worman (337 north 8th street). My grandfather was a contractor, he had built the house, doing some of the construction work himself. He was also an amateur photographer. The photo of my grandfather was taken during a trip to Texas that my parents did a few years before I was born. After a few days we journeyed onward via the Pennsylvania Turnpike in Mitsi to Pittsburgh, PA, where we stayed with Martha and Ellis Kleckner. The Pennsylvania Turnpike was an exciting road, it was the first high speed limited access divided highway in the country. Ellis was an officer in the Pittsburgh Steel Company. Ellis had a rifle which he fired into the sky, it then being the 4th of July. From Pittsburgh we journeyed through Ohio and the mid-west via Route 66 to Albuquerque. There, we visited with my sister Reva and her husband Ralph Edgel and their two children, Stephen (my age) and Reed, his younger brother. They lived at 601 Vassar Drive N.E. From Albuquerque we drove northwest to Salt Lake City, Utah, where I met my grandmother Marion Elizabeth Mitchell Hand. She like my grandfather Worman I knew only in their last years when they were mostly bedridden. On the way to SLC we stopped to visit with my sister Leola and her family in St. George, Utah. In the Sale Lake area we stayed with my Uncle David and my sister Marion in Sandy. Our trip back home took us through Wyoming, Montana and South Dakota. I remember Devil's Tower, Yellowstone National Park, Jenny Lake, the Tetons, Glacier National Park and Deadwood S.D. where Wild Bill Hikok was shot in the backand killed by Jack McCall while gambling with cards. It seems that for once he sat with his back to the entrance foor. I attended a reinactment of the trial of Jack McCall. It still takes place in Deadwood in 2026: https://www.deadwood.com/business/pastport/trial-jack-mccall/ My parents traveled to the Golden West with me in Mitsi during three successive summers, 1947, '48 and '49. Each time we made the journey I was excited to arrive in South Dakota, the beginning of the Rocky Mountaiins. I liked the rumble seat though most of the time I sat between my parents and played Zit and Zat. The first person to see a white horse would call out "zit" whereas a black horse was a "zat." Onde day I saw 84 zits but no zats.

topic: A-Z

seDhiou123@$ or $@ or 456 + grandfather and the bird

"What a Fillip Hearing from You"

Professor David Daitches Raphael said to me when I greeted him by phone some sixty-plus years after our previous contact. https://philosophynow.org/issues/112/DD_Raphael http://www.scottishphilosophy.org/philosophers/d-d-raphael/

Gun Running in the Peace Corps

One Sunday morning I noticed a small canon on the lawn in front of the Governor's Mansion in the Casamance Region of Senegal. There being no one in sight I managed to get the canon into the back up the Peace Corps pick-up truck. I drove south and crossed the border into Portuguese Guinea. Here it should be noted that there was a rebel force in that country seekiing to take over the government. My unlawful entry was noticed by border guards who, when they saw the canon in the bed of the pick-up, ordered me to get the hell back to Bignona. I guess I was lucky that they realized I was just having some fun.

a Jeep Up a Tree and under the Wave

I was entrusted with a jeep pick-up truck by the Peace Corps in Senegal inasmuch as I was a lead person in our construction team of volunteers. The jeep had a winch attached to the front bumper. Ome boring Sunday afternoon I threw the cable over a sturdy branch of the tree and hoisted the jeep into the air. One of the PCVs playing around with a jeep played chicken with the waves on a beach near Dakar. A rogue wave finished the jeep.

Kramer Story

When I was about three years old one of my father's students, a rather arrogant man, asked me for a glass of water which I fetched for him. A little later he asked me for another glass of water to which I repled , "I cannot reach the chain."

Spaghetti Story

My father told me that when he first came to New York he had never eaten spaghetti. He saw it at a nearby table and ordered it. His companion, a musician who had hired my father to perform for a $100 fee suggested that he use a spoon to roll the spaghetti into a neat bite sized roll to make it easier and neater to eat. Afterwards, the check bounced for lack of funds; thus, my father said it cost him a hundred dollars to learn how to eat spaghetti.

Ketchup Story

My father told me that when he was a student in New York one day at lunch in a restaurant he sampled the kitchup that was provided to each table. He had never tasted ketchup; he liked it and took a second tablespoon of the ketchup. When the check came for his lunch there was a twenty-five cent charge for ketchup.

My experience as a member of a college fraternity at Hamilton College:

In October 1958 the Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity expelled its Hamilton College chapter in Clinton, New York, for insisting on a non-discrimination policy for admitting members. The national fraternity insisted that its members be Christians who are either white or native American. The expelled chapter reorganized itself as an independent society called the Gryphon Society.

The AT

Remembering our wonderful hikes on the Appalachian Trail
 

 My memory of Bob Fry goes back to our camping days at Adirondack Camp for Boys. I remember singing in the choir of the Church of the Heavenly Rest. This was when I was 10, 11 and 12. We were paid 35 cents an hour then up to 65 cents an hour for rehearsals and church sessions. Bob was there, too, with the music directors Charles Walker and John Harms.

Sea Ranch, California

 

A Birthday

• Recently, I celebrated a splendid birthday occasion with my former law office partner (Oregon) and her husband (who accompanied me to Senegal). We were on the the coast of California at a delightful area known as Sea Ranch (above). She has the same birthday, day and year, as I have. We have been getting together every five years somewhere in the world for the occasion.

My fifth birthday remains vivid because a native American of the Lakota Sioux Nation, Chief Rising Sun, entertained at my party. I will be celebrating my 85th birthday (inshallah) with my former law office partner (Eugene Oregon 1980-1981) and her husband with whom I remain a close friend. She shares with me the same birthday, day and year.

People place and sayings that I remember

Photo below taken between 1904 and 1910 shows my father holding one of his children. 

My Friend Togwell Jackson

My Friend Togwell Jackson and his wife Chung-Ja::

Togwell and I met while we were students at Trinity School in New York City when we age 14 (ninth grade). I remember lunches at his home on Riverside Drive -- often a hearty soup prepared by his mother. My final conversation with Togwell took place on Wednesday July 3rd 2024, a day before he died and 70 years after our first meeting. He was a good friend. In recent years we had many long conversations, often concerning U.S. politics, particularly matters surrounding Donald Trump whom we both loathe. Togwell's sense of humor would always brighten my day, no matter how gloomy my mood might be; I am thinking of his dry wit now as I write this. He recently expressed a desire to continue creating cartoons.

 OPEN LETTER TO BACK PAIN SUFFERERS

In January, 1981, shortly after the law firm where I worked dissolved, as I was riding a bike through the streets of Eugene, Oregon, I stopped short to avoid hitting the back of a car. I felt something "go" in my back, but it didn't hurt then. A few hours later, I was in agony on the floor in my home. Shuffling and doubled over, I managed to get to the office of a sports medicine physician. He did nothing but examine me. He gave me neither medicine nor any physical adjustment - just told me to take it easy. This made me very anxious, since he didn't seem to think anything of my predicament.

At that time, I thought it was an isolated episode that would go away and not re- turn, for I had not experienced back pain for 20 years. My back was "out" and would re- turn to normal. The pain diminished, but persisted. So, I went to an osteopath, who gave me the physical adjustment I wanted and also a muscle relaxant. Now, I felt "treated." I relaxed, and after a few days of slow going, I was normal. I put the incident behind me.

But not for long. Several months after I returned to New York and my old job, I awoke one morning unable to get up. The pain was quite fierce. I at once identified the cause: raking leaves in the yard. This time I went to a chiropractor, who adjusted my back and took x-rays. The results were alarming and depressing. He told me I had de- generative disc disease and that the condition was chronic and incurable. But there was hope for a fairly normal life if I followed instructions and took care.

Over the ensuing six years, I went to a chiropractor every time my back "went out," that is, several times a year. Each bout lasted from three to twelve weeks. I could not do many things that I enjoy doing. Physical exercise was dangerous. Running was out of the question. Hiking was problematic; I worried I'd have to be rescued on some ridge in the White Mountains, as once I almost did.

Carrying, lifting, driving, even sitting in a theater became increasingly difficult, painful and fearsome. Doing research in a library was extremely uncomfortable - espe- cially standing in the stacks. Going to meetings anywhere that I did not have the right kind of chair presented significant problems. Every day I had to spend from a half hour to two hours lying on a pad on my office floor. I missed work several weeks a year and almost routinely had to leave early or arrive late. My life was carefully arranged to pro- tect my fragile back. Nevertheless, the pain became continual and worse around 1986. The doctors told me that I could expect a gradual worsening of the condition. I felt pretty bad since I was only 46. I wondered about what my condition would be at age 52 or 55.

During one particularly awful episode, I consulted an orthopedic surgeon, who paced, looked very grave and told me I would be in deep trouble without surgery. In des- peration, I consulted a neurologist, who assured me I could control the problem with cer- tain exercises and swimming. I followed his suggestions and swam 5 or 6 times a week, though I dislike swimming for exercise. But the episodes continued, fierce and lengthy.

One day in late '86, coming out of the courthouse in White Plains, someone asked me how I was doing. I didn't lie. She suggested I see the physician that she said had cured her husband of back pain, John Sarno. Dr. Sarno was a professor of Rehabilitation Medicine at the New York University School of Medicine. He practiced at the Rusk Insti- tute of Rehabilitation Medicine.

Dr. Sarno's theory is that except for rare cases, back pain is caused not by struc- tural defects in the back (which, of course, do appear in various scans). Rather, pain em- anates from the back, shoulders, neck or legs, etc., as a result of mild deprivation of oxy- gen in the affected area of the body. This condition is produced deliberately by the brain for the purpose of distracting one from repressed emotionality, including repressed anger. The name that Dr. Sarno has given to this condition is tension myositis syndrome (TMS). Thus, the tension that causes back pain is not tension of which one is readily aware. In order to sustain the deception, the brain associates back pain with various triggers, such as raking leaves or twisting - almost anything will do. TMS is a stratagem of the brain to protect itself from what the brain considers a threat of an overwhelming nature.

Curing back pain results when one rids oneself of the self-deception involved. Once one understands that the pain is harmless, because it arises from a stratagem of the brain, the syndrome loses its efficacy. What a pleasure it was to lose the fear of deteriora- tion and pain and to realize that I could safely resume all activities. I have done so and I have had no debilitating back pain since 1988, when I attended Dr. Sarno's program.

Dr. Sarno first conducts a physical examination and takes one’s history. If he makes a diagnosis that the pain is a result of TMS, the patient is asked to return to the N.Y.U. Medical Center to attend a class in which Sarno teaches how and why the pain is produced. It is the knowledge of how TMS works that dissipates the deception and hence the pain, which no longer can serve any function. I was examined by Dr. Sarno in Jan- uary, 1988. In February, I attended his lectures with about 50 other patients. Subsequent- ly, I attended several of his Tuesday afternoon seminars and within a couple months I no longer had back pain.

In 1988, when I was a patient and student of Dr. Sarno, he avoided the term “psy- chosomatic,” because, he said, that word was loaded with inaccurate meaning. He fo- cused on back pain exclusively and preferred simply to use “tension myositis syndrome,”or “TMS.” If I recall correctly, his treatment lectures and his 1991 book (Healing Back Pain) only tangentially speculated that TMS may be part of larger medical phenomenon. But with publication of The Divided Mind, in 2006, Dr. Sarno has produced a landmark work encompassing the field of psychosomatic medicine.

I think that Dr. Sarno’s work is profound. I urge you to read The Divided Mind, The Epidemic of Mindbody Disorders, Harper Books, 2006. Dr. John Sarno was a practic- ing physician at N.Y.U Medical Center’s Rusk Institute for Rehabilitation Medicine. He was also a professor of Rehabilitation Medicine. He died in 2017.

By: John Hand — johnhand@gmail.com

I read an excellent book on race in America entitled Caste, by Isabel Wilkerson. It got me thinking about my experiences of racial incidents. Here are a few of them.

Perhaps not today but when I attended college in the late 1950s, for many students fraternities and sororities were essential to the college experience and often a material element forwarding one’s career. They were not just places where we ate and slept — they were integral to the social life of the college or university. They provided their members with valuable contacts not only during college years but thereafter. They contributed significantly to the success of many of their members in getting good jobs and starting businesses in the years after college. They were also part of the caste system. I pledged Lambda Chi Alpha (LXA) at Hamilton College. There were a few black students in the class of 1961, I did not know any of them. One day in 1958, Timothy Scholl, LXA chapter president called a meeting to discuss a provision of the charter of the national fraternity: the policy barring black people from membership. I had not given any thought to race at Hamilton; the subject simply did not come up. We were unanimous in agreeing with Tim Scholl that we should not be bound by such a rule. We voted to extend membership regardless of race or color. The national fraternity revoked our participation in LXA and we became a local fraternity named Gryphon Society.  

During my college years I had two other incidents that involved matters of race. 

The late 50s saw civil rights activists marching and picketing against racist practices. In 1958 or early 1959, after we became a local fraternity, Tim Scholl again called us together, this time to go into nearby Utica and picket the F.W. Woolworth store because of its segregated lunch counters in the South. There was no reaction by the store manager or by the passersby as far as I remember.

The other incident occurred in 1965 on my way home by bus from a Peace Corps training assignment in New Orleans. I had to change buses in Jackson, Mississippi but there was something like nine or ten hours to wait for the connection. I checked into a hotel. When I got to my room I looked at the paper that came with my key and was surprised to see that I was a “member” of the hotel. I guess this was the way that the hotel thought it could evade the 1964 civil rights act prohibition on discrimination in public accommodations.