Published in The Post-Star (D1)
9/25/05
The mood in an art gallery is usually one of hushed, well-ordered stillness. The images and artifacts are at arm's length, yet untouchable. Viewers see only a clutter-free space meant to mesmerize.
What you don't see is the planning and preparation that make the mood possible.
"Here we are finally, after four years," said Erin Budis Coe last week, looking with satisfaction at the nearly complete installation of "Adolph Gottlieb: 1956," the latest show she's curated for The Hyde Collection.
The new exhibit, with 23 paintings and works on paper by the abstract expressionist Adolph Gottlieb, opens today in the Wood Gallery and remains through Dec. 11.
For the public, it's a chance to get a substantive look at a year in the life of a major 20th-century artist. For the Hyde's staff, it's a chance to take a breath at the end of a journey from inspiration to reality.
Conception
"This show came to fruition basically because of this one work, and because I'm inquisitive," said Budis Coe, pointing at a 1956 gouache on paper called "Composition." It was given to The Hyde by Stephen and Nancy Sills in 1999, a few months after Budis Coe joined the museum's curatorial staff. She was thrilled by the donation.
"It was the kind of call curators dream of getting!" she said. "Abstract expressionism isn't really a strength of our collection, and I want to fill holes any place I can."
Budis Coe learned that "Composition" was one of 36 works on paper Gottlieb created in 1956, and she became intrigued by the idea of an exhibit that would reunite the works. She called Sanford Hirsch, executive director of The Adolph and Esther Gottlieb Foundation in New York City, which has managed Gottlieb's collection since his death in 1974.
Hirsch and Budis Coe decided to collaborate on an exhibit that would include Gottlieb's paintings on canvas and paper from 1956. That year, Budis Coe said, marked the beginning of Gottlieb's transition from an "imaginary landscape" style -- using strong horizon lines to counterbalance chaotic brushstrokes with more stable shapes -- to the "burst" style of paintings like "Black, Blue, Red."
The '50s were also an important period of transition in art history, as abstract expressionism displaced surrealism and shifted the center of the art world from Paris to New York.
Gottlieb and his contemporaries -- including Mark Rothko, Jackson Pollock and Wiliam de Kooning -- believed in painting "almost automatically, through their subconscious," explained Budis Coe. The result was typically a melange of shapes and colors that each viewer could intrepret differently.
Wishing, waiting
In 2001, Budis Coe wrote a wish list of works she hoped to include in the show and turned it over to Robin Blakney-Carlson, the Hyde's collections manager.
Blakney-Carlson jokes that her job title "means I go after the unpaid bills." But she's really more like a fairy godmother. It's her job to grant the curator's wishes by requesting loans of works from private collectors and other museums, coordinating shipping and receiving arrangements, and managing the budget.
Each lender has different, specific requirements for how their works should be handled, Blakney-Carlson said.
"You try to be sweet to everybody," she said, "and let them know you really care about what they're requesting. If you're arrogant, they could just as easily say, 'Sorry, nope.'"
Being sweet helped, but so did Hirsch's connections in the art world.
"We really got what we wanted," said Budis Coe. The exhibit includes works from 13 different lenders.
It took about two weeks for the Hyde staff to prepare the gallery for the exhibit, in a process that's reminiscent of "Extreme Home Makeover." They removed, inspected, and shipped out the works from the previous show ("Painting Lake George"); rearranged and painted the walls; and installed new lighting.
The borrowed pieces arrived on refrigerated trucks and were unloaded under tight security, then left to sit in their crates for at least 24 hours.
"A piece may have come from California or overseas, or it's been a rainy day, and it needs to acclimate," said Keith Jablonski, facilities manager at The Hyde.
Workers wear cotton or Nitrile gloves before touching any of the artwork, so oils from their skin don't do any damage.
"Believe it or not, human hands are fairly rough compared to some finishes," Jablonski said.
His staff must strip themselves of sharp objects before working with the art. "You don't want to be leaning over a painting and have a screwdriver fall out of your pocket."
Budis Coe placed photocopies of the paintings on the gallery walls where she thought she wanted each work placed and she used a scale model of the gallery to "play house" with the setup of the exhibition walls before the works arrived.
"You do the best you can to guess what will work, but you still end up moving things around after uncrating," Budis Coe said.
She changed her mind about the placement of one of the larger paintings because "it looked too claustrophobic on that wall."
The only snag in the process was the delay of one of the exhibit's key pieces, "Black, Blue, Red," on its way from the Museum Frieder Burda in Baden-Baden, Germany. The massive steel case enclosing the 6-foot-high painting had excited suspicion among airport customs agents, and it arrived a few days behind schedule.
"When you're in the museum business, you have to be flexible," Budis Coe said.
Work in progress
By Tuesday, the gallery's white walls were coming to life as the staff shed the paintings of their packaging. Some works were already hanging, while others, on foam blocks, leaned against the walls. White gloves and tools for measuring and hanging paintings lay on a table in the center of the room, next to a wooden crate marked "Fragile." Budis Coe looked flushed, like a new mother.
The back wall featured a striking oil-and-enamel painting -- "From Midnight to Dawn" -- with a bold black 'J' diving across a vibrant blue canvas. The work will be the focal point for viewers entering the gallery.
"We think it was probably the first painting Gottlieb completed in 1956," Budis Coe said, "so it makes sense that it should be the first thing people see."
The Gottlieb paintings are among the largest ever displayed in a Hyde gallery, she said.
She's particularly excited about "Groundscape," a 7-foot-by-12-foot oil painting on canvas that hasn't been on public display in at least 25 years.
"It's a symphony of color and brushstrokes, so spontaneous and yet so large. It's just incredible," Budis Coe said. She began college as a studio art major, but dropped it to focus on art history. "When we unwrapped this painting, it was the first time since college that I've wanted to pick up a paintbrush again," she said.
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Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Monday, September 26, 2005
ah, roommates.
Published in The Post-Star (Go! section, cover story)
9/22/05
A game of free association with the word "roommate" is almost certain to get a reaction from most people in their 20s and 30s.
Dirty dishes. Loud alarm clocks. Mysterious black stains on the furniture.
"My junior-year college roommate drank beer all the time and chewed tobacco. He would wipe the tobacco spit off his mouth with his finger, and wipe his finger on the couch," said Jim Mayette. "One day I noticed this giant black stain on the arm of the couch. ... He was kind of a funny guy."
Mayette, 26, is now looking for a third roommate to split the bills at the four-bedroom house he shares with one other guy in Greenfield. In the past, he's always been able to find roommates through friends, but by now most of his college buddies are working in other cities. This is the first time he's had to advertise for a roommate.
Newspaper classifieds and old-fashioned bulletin boards are one way to seek roommates, but you can also look online these days. At least a dozen Web-based roommate search services have sprung to life in the last decade. One of the most popular sites for young adults in search of housing is Craigslist.org, a free online bulletin board where users can list everything from spare rooms to free couches.
Hundreds of cities around the world have their own Craigslist sites. A recent search on the Albany Craigslist site turned up more than 1,200 housing listings in this region, including about 200 in the "rooms/shared" category. One of those ads was posted by Mayette.
So far, it has netted him little more than spam e-mails coaxing him to cash counterfeit money orders from foreign countries, although other people in the area say postings on Craigslist have worked for them. Mayette is planning to try a print ad in the local newspaper next.
He's not too picky about who responds, he said, as long as they're not a smoker, a drummer, or allergic to his cat. Ideally, he'd like to find a working professional who comes from a similar educational background, but he'd settle for "not a psycho."
After what he's been through, Mayette has developed a few basic screening questions for potential roommates. Do they have pets? How about a job? Will they fill up the garage with junk? And, of course -- do they chew tobacco?
"I would probably ask for a few references from people they lived with before," he added as an afterthought.
Chance encounters
You never know what you'll end up with when you decide to share your space, but for many young adults, it's a gamble worth taking for the sake of cheaper rent.
"I couldn't have afforded to live on my own in this area," said Laura Schmuttenmaer, 22, a Skidmore graduate who recently moved into a spacious two-bedroom apartment in Saratoga Springs with a roommate, Zoe Lodbell, 32.
The two met at the coffee shop where Schmuttenmaer works. "We always chatted when she came in, and got to know each other that way. We're both nice, laid-back people, so when she needed a roommate, I said, 'Sure,' " Schmuttenmaer said. "It's worked out well."
Her friend Robert Do, 28, had similar luck. He shares an apartment in downtown Saratoga Springs with two other men in their 20s. He met the first one through a band he played in at the time, and the second was a fellow member of what Do calls "the brotherhood of bouncers" who work on Caroline Street. The three have formed a household that's "full of testosterone," Do said.
"I used to live on my own, but it wasn't as much fun," he said.
They don't argue about much, he said, except who drank the beer in the fridge. Do's only complaint is that he sometimes has to clean up after his roommates, although lately he's been "boycotting" the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.
Girlfriends can also be a nuisance. "There was one girl who moved all her little bottles of stuff into the bathroom so there wasn't even room for my shampoo. I didn't really like that," he said with a shrug.
For the most part, though, the three get along well.
"One guy is my drinking buddy, and we wrestle sometimes. I must be good friends with him, because he's broken my ribs a few times," Do said, laughing.
So happy together?
For most people, college is their first experience of living with strangers, and it can be extremely stressful. According to Kate Child, a community coordinator in Skidmore's Office of Residential Life, simple things are the most common catalysts for roommate strife.
"The disagreements are usually about things like having overnight guests, when to turn the lights out, or locking the door," she said.
Fights can be avoided, she said, when roommates create and sign a basic contract. The contract can include rules about the use of common space, quiet hours, guest policies, even shower schedules.
The college does its best to match incoming students with compatible roommates, said Child, using a questionnaire about each person's preferences.
For those approaching the roommate search after college, some of the biggest compatibility challenges are smoking and substance use, study and sleep habits, and musical tastes. Arguments often center around cleaning, Child said. She recommended that roommates create a "chore chart."
Emily Carnevale, a resident advisor at Skidmore, said communication is the key to peaceful co-habitation. "You need to be able to vocalize what your needs are, without yelling at the other person," she said.
With good communication, roommates can become each others' closest friends.
"Those are the things you'll remember later," Carnevale said, "that night when you and your roommate were just really stupid at 2 a.m. and couldn't stop laughing together."
Some people remember being up with their roommate at 2 a.m. for different reasons. Edie Mulligan, 36, had a series of problem roommates in college and afterwards. She lists them by their issues: the alcoholic, the pregnant one, the one who had a nervous breakdown.
"I consider myself a pretty easy person to live with," said Mulligan, but her limits were tested when her junior-year college roommate woke her up one night to ask for a ride to the hospital.
"She was a little large, but I didn't know she was pregnant!" she said. "I guess she was lucky to room with someone who had a car on campus."
After that surprise, Mulligan said, she was more cautious in picking roommates.
Mulligan is married now, and lives in South Glens Falls. She said it's a relief to know that she'll never have to search for a roommate again and she has some advice for people learning to live with each other: "Keep an open mind."
#
9/22/05
A game of free association with the word "roommate" is almost certain to get a reaction from most people in their 20s and 30s.
Dirty dishes. Loud alarm clocks. Mysterious black stains on the furniture.
"My junior-year college roommate drank beer all the time and chewed tobacco. He would wipe the tobacco spit off his mouth with his finger, and wipe his finger on the couch," said Jim Mayette. "One day I noticed this giant black stain on the arm of the couch. ... He was kind of a funny guy."
Mayette, 26, is now looking for a third roommate to split the bills at the four-bedroom house he shares with one other guy in Greenfield. In the past, he's always been able to find roommates through friends, but by now most of his college buddies are working in other cities. This is the first time he's had to advertise for a roommate.
Newspaper classifieds and old-fashioned bulletin boards are one way to seek roommates, but you can also look online these days. At least a dozen Web-based roommate search services have sprung to life in the last decade. One of the most popular sites for young adults in search of housing is Craigslist.org, a free online bulletin board where users can list everything from spare rooms to free couches.
Hundreds of cities around the world have their own Craigslist sites. A recent search on the Albany Craigslist site turned up more than 1,200 housing listings in this region, including about 200 in the "rooms/shared" category. One of those ads was posted by Mayette.
So far, it has netted him little more than spam e-mails coaxing him to cash counterfeit money orders from foreign countries, although other people in the area say postings on Craigslist have worked for them. Mayette is planning to try a print ad in the local newspaper next.
He's not too picky about who responds, he said, as long as they're not a smoker, a drummer, or allergic to his cat. Ideally, he'd like to find a working professional who comes from a similar educational background, but he'd settle for "not a psycho."
After what he's been through, Mayette has developed a few basic screening questions for potential roommates. Do they have pets? How about a job? Will they fill up the garage with junk? And, of course -- do they chew tobacco?
"I would probably ask for a few references from people they lived with before," he added as an afterthought.
Chance encounters
You never know what you'll end up with when you decide to share your space, but for many young adults, it's a gamble worth taking for the sake of cheaper rent.
"I couldn't have afforded to live on my own in this area," said Laura Schmuttenmaer, 22, a Skidmore graduate who recently moved into a spacious two-bedroom apartment in Saratoga Springs with a roommate, Zoe Lodbell, 32.
The two met at the coffee shop where Schmuttenmaer works. "We always chatted when she came in, and got to know each other that way. We're both nice, laid-back people, so when she needed a roommate, I said, 'Sure,' " Schmuttenmaer said. "It's worked out well."
Her friend Robert Do, 28, had similar luck. He shares an apartment in downtown Saratoga Springs with two other men in their 20s. He met the first one through a band he played in at the time, and the second was a fellow member of what Do calls "the brotherhood of bouncers" who work on Caroline Street. The three have formed a household that's "full of testosterone," Do said.
"I used to live on my own, but it wasn't as much fun," he said.
They don't argue about much, he said, except who drank the beer in the fridge. Do's only complaint is that he sometimes has to clean up after his roommates, although lately he's been "boycotting" the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.
Girlfriends can also be a nuisance. "There was one girl who moved all her little bottles of stuff into the bathroom so there wasn't even room for my shampoo. I didn't really like that," he said with a shrug.
For the most part, though, the three get along well.
"One guy is my drinking buddy, and we wrestle sometimes. I must be good friends with him, because he's broken my ribs a few times," Do said, laughing.
So happy together?
For most people, college is their first experience of living with strangers, and it can be extremely stressful. According to Kate Child, a community coordinator in Skidmore's Office of Residential Life, simple things are the most common catalysts for roommate strife.
"The disagreements are usually about things like having overnight guests, when to turn the lights out, or locking the door," she said.
Fights can be avoided, she said, when roommates create and sign a basic contract. The contract can include rules about the use of common space, quiet hours, guest policies, even shower schedules.
The college does its best to match incoming students with compatible roommates, said Child, using a questionnaire about each person's preferences.
For those approaching the roommate search after college, some of the biggest compatibility challenges are smoking and substance use, study and sleep habits, and musical tastes. Arguments often center around cleaning, Child said. She recommended that roommates create a "chore chart."
Emily Carnevale, a resident advisor at Skidmore, said communication is the key to peaceful co-habitation. "You need to be able to vocalize what your needs are, without yelling at the other person," she said.
With good communication, roommates can become each others' closest friends.
"Those are the things you'll remember later," Carnevale said, "that night when you and your roommate were just really stupid at 2 a.m. and couldn't stop laughing together."
Some people remember being up with their roommate at 2 a.m. for different reasons. Edie Mulligan, 36, had a series of problem roommates in college and afterwards. She lists them by their issues: the alcoholic, the pregnant one, the one who had a nervous breakdown.
"I consider myself a pretty easy person to live with," said Mulligan, but her limits were tested when her junior-year college roommate woke her up one night to ask for a ride to the hospital.
"She was a little large, but I didn't know she was pregnant!" she said. "I guess she was lucky to room with someone who had a car on campus."
After that surprise, Mulligan said, she was more cautious in picking roommates.
Mulligan is married now, and lives in South Glens Falls. She said it's a relief to know that she'll never have to search for a roommate again and she has some advice for people learning to live with each other: "Keep an open mind."
#
Sunday, September 25, 2005
movie review: Broken Flowers
Published in The Post-Star (Go! section)
9/22/05
Broken Flowers 2005. Directed by Jim Jarmusch. Starring Bill Murray, Jeffrey Wright, Sharon Stone, Frances Conroy and Jessica Lange. 106 minutes. Rated R for language, some graphic nudity and brief drug use.
Bill Murray has gotten so good at portraying lonely, emotionally lost men that he barely even needs lines anymore. Just a sarcastic twitch of his lips or a flicker of his mournful eyes can somehow carry a scene through long moments of silence. When he does speak, he's the master of understatement.
In "Broken Flowers," Murray plays Don Johnston -- or, as he's dubbed by the girlfriend who dumps him at the beginning of the film, "an over-the-hill Don Juan." His character is given little introduction; at first he seems to exist only as a tired accessory to his expensively decorated living room, wearing an old track suit and an expression of resigned gloom.
Then a pink envelope pushes its way through his mailslot, with a message from a woman who says she became pregnant with his son 20 years ago. One big problem: It's not signed. There are so many women in his past that this presents a real puzzle.
Don's wonderfully boisterous neighbor, Winston (Jeffrey Wright), is one of the brightest spots in the movie. He's a would-be sleuth who latches onto the mysterious note and won't let go until he's pushed Don off on a road trip to visit four of his old girlfriends and "look for clues, like pink paper and red ink." The result is a series of highly awkward encounters that illustrate just how much people can change in two decades.
"Broken Flowers" isn't supposed to be a feel-good film, although it has moments of unexpected sweetness and hilarity. It refuses to wrap up neatly. Its underlying message is existential, summed up in Don's advice to a young man who he thinks might be his son: The past is gone; the future's not here yet. All you've got is the present.
Want more?
If you love Murray in "Broken Flowers," check out his similar roles in "Lost in Translation" (2003) and "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou" (2004). If you're more of an action flick type -- well, you're probably going to want to break more than flowers after sitting through this deliberately slow-paced film.
#
9/22/05
Broken Flowers 2005. Directed by Jim Jarmusch. Starring Bill Murray, Jeffrey Wright, Sharon Stone, Frances Conroy and Jessica Lange. 106 minutes. Rated R for language, some graphic nudity and brief drug use.
Bill Murray has gotten so good at portraying lonely, emotionally lost men that he barely even needs lines anymore. Just a sarcastic twitch of his lips or a flicker of his mournful eyes can somehow carry a scene through long moments of silence. When he does speak, he's the master of understatement.
In "Broken Flowers," Murray plays Don Johnston -- or, as he's dubbed by the girlfriend who dumps him at the beginning of the film, "an over-the-hill Don Juan." His character is given little introduction; at first he seems to exist only as a tired accessory to his expensively decorated living room, wearing an old track suit and an expression of resigned gloom.
Then a pink envelope pushes its way through his mailslot, with a message from a woman who says she became pregnant with his son 20 years ago. One big problem: It's not signed. There are so many women in his past that this presents a real puzzle.
Don's wonderfully boisterous neighbor, Winston (Jeffrey Wright), is one of the brightest spots in the movie. He's a would-be sleuth who latches onto the mysterious note and won't let go until he's pushed Don off on a road trip to visit four of his old girlfriends and "look for clues, like pink paper and red ink." The result is a series of highly awkward encounters that illustrate just how much people can change in two decades.
"Broken Flowers" isn't supposed to be a feel-good film, although it has moments of unexpected sweetness and hilarity. It refuses to wrap up neatly. Its underlying message is existential, summed up in Don's advice to a young man who he thinks might be his son: The past is gone; the future's not here yet. All you've got is the present.
Want more?
If you love Murray in "Broken Flowers," check out his similar roles in "Lost in Translation" (2003) and "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou" (2004). If you're more of an action flick type -- well, you're probably going to want to break more than flowers after sitting through this deliberately slow-paced film.
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local author profile
Published 9/20/05
Adolescence is awkward enough without being seen as "the fat kid" in high school.
Peter Marino of Saratoga Springs knows from personal experience how hard life can be for a young overweight kid, and he's tapped the memory of his teenage angst to write a compelling novel for young adults.
"Dough Boy," Marino's first book, is written in the voice of 15-year-old Tristan, a perceptive, sarcastic kid who is trying hard navigate his way through 10th grade without being noticed. He's overweight, and heavily self-conscious about it. What he doesn't realize is that he's also quite funny.
"I wanted to try to capture that sense of a kid who's very self-conscious because he doesn't look the way he's supposed to look, but through his experiences he starts to develop a sense of individuality," Marino said. "He learns about what individual truth is, versus generic truth."
Tristan's parents are newly divorced, which adds another emotional layer to the plot. He lives with his mother and her boyfriend, an affable guy named Frank whose own carefree attitude toward his weight is a relief to Tristan.
But then Frank's hyper-nutrition-conscious teenage daughter, Kelly, joins the household. And things get worse when Kelly starts dating Tristan's best friend.
Kelly's exuberance for fitness and tactless comments about Tristan's weight are painful to read, but Marino's not pulling them out of thin air. He created Kelly's character as a composite of real people he's encountered, Marino said, and an incarnation of the "war on childhood obesity" that he sees in popular culture.
"Very often, when we hear doctors and nutritionists talk about obesity, they make it sort of black and white," he said, "and there doesn't seem to be any sense of the idea that people come in all shapes and sizes."
He's concerned, he said, that campaigns against obesity are actually "making it harder for fat kids, by making them more anxious and more conspicuous."
Marino, 45, has tried writing books before, but he couldn't get published, he said, because he was approaching the process in the wrong way. After reading a book on writing by Anne Lamott a few years ago, Marino said it hit him that: "Writing is important for its own sake, not because it might sell." He needed more than a good idea; he needed a subject that contained a personal truth.
"I started thinking back, and remembered that I was never more self-conscious than in the last few years of high school," Marino said. "It seems to me that it's how a kid looks that most affects how he is treated by his peers, more than political persuasion or even sexual orientation."
Reflecting on his own embarrassing experiences as a teen gave Marino a window into Tristan's fictional world.
Marino wrote the "very, very rough" first draft of "Dough Boy" in four weeks in 2001, over a winter break from his job as an English professor at Adirondack Community College. It took four more years before the book became a printed reality, but "Dough Boy" was published this month by Holiday House and will be released in bookstores Oct. 15.
#
Adolescence is awkward enough without being seen as "the fat kid" in high school.
Peter Marino of Saratoga Springs knows from personal experience how hard life can be for a young overweight kid, and he's tapped the memory of his teenage angst to write a compelling novel for young adults.
"Dough Boy," Marino's first book, is written in the voice of 15-year-old Tristan, a perceptive, sarcastic kid who is trying hard navigate his way through 10th grade without being noticed. He's overweight, and heavily self-conscious about it. What he doesn't realize is that he's also quite funny.
"I wanted to try to capture that sense of a kid who's very self-conscious because he doesn't look the way he's supposed to look, but through his experiences he starts to develop a sense of individuality," Marino said. "He learns about what individual truth is, versus generic truth."
Tristan's parents are newly divorced, which adds another emotional layer to the plot. He lives with his mother and her boyfriend, an affable guy named Frank whose own carefree attitude toward his weight is a relief to Tristan.
But then Frank's hyper-nutrition-conscious teenage daughter, Kelly, joins the household. And things get worse when Kelly starts dating Tristan's best friend.
Kelly's exuberance for fitness and tactless comments about Tristan's weight are painful to read, but Marino's not pulling them out of thin air. He created Kelly's character as a composite of real people he's encountered, Marino said, and an incarnation of the "war on childhood obesity" that he sees in popular culture.
"Very often, when we hear doctors and nutritionists talk about obesity, they make it sort of black and white," he said, "and there doesn't seem to be any sense of the idea that people come in all shapes and sizes."
He's concerned, he said, that campaigns against obesity are actually "making it harder for fat kids, by making them more anxious and more conspicuous."
Marino, 45, has tried writing books before, but he couldn't get published, he said, because he was approaching the process in the wrong way. After reading a book on writing by Anne Lamott a few years ago, Marino said it hit him that: "Writing is important for its own sake, not because it might sell." He needed more than a good idea; he needed a subject that contained a personal truth.
"I started thinking back, and remembered that I was never more self-conscious than in the last few years of high school," Marino said. "It seems to me that it's how a kid looks that most affects how he is treated by his peers, more than political persuasion or even sexual orientation."
Reflecting on his own embarrassing experiences as a teen gave Marino a window into Tristan's fictional world.
Marino wrote the "very, very rough" first draft of "Dough Boy" in four weeks in 2001, over a winter break from his job as an English professor at Adirondack Community College. It took four more years before the book became a printed reality, but "Dough Boy" was published this month by Holiday House and will be released in bookstores Oct. 15.
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Saturday, September 24, 2005
women in wartime
Published in The Post-Star (B1)
9/19/05
It’s not easy for anyone to march 10 miles a day without hiking boots, but try pulling it off in petticoats.
It’s no picnic living off small rations of salt pork and rice, and sleeping beneath cloth tents in unfamiliar fields. But in 1777, some women had no choice but to follow their husbands or brothers into battle during the Revolutionary War.
This weekend marked the 228th anniversary of the Battles of Saratoga, events that changed the course of history by turning the tide against the British. More than 1,000 visitors came to the Saratoga National Historical Park on Saturday and Sunday for a real-life glimpse of how soldiers — and those who supported them — might have lived during that battle.
At a re-created encampment on a hilltop in the park, the smell of campfires and the sound of cannon fire greeted visitors. So did the sight of more than 50 re-enactors in period costume, drawn from members of the 25th Continental Regiment, the 2nd Continental Artillery Regiment, the Oneida Indian Nation Living History Program and park staff.
The men played the most obvious roles, dressed in full military regalia with muskets at their side. But a closer look into the encampment revealed an underpinning that is often overlooked in the history books.
Women who tagged along with regiments, by choice or by necessity, were called “camp followers.” They played vital roles as nurses, launderesses, seamstresses, butchers, cooks and perhaps even de facto therapists.
“At first, General Washington wasn’t in favor of camp followers; he saw them as baggage,” said Chris Depta, an office manager from Newport, west of Albany, who volunteers as a re-enactor with the Oneida Indian Nation Living History Program. “But after a while, he realized that the men were actually better off with the women’s support, and he decided to allow a small percentage of them to travel with each unit.”
Sometimes, being supportive cost the women their lives. According to seasonal park ranger Jennifer Richard-Morrow, a few women were found dead on the battlefield with cartridges in their hands. “They were bringing more ammunition to the soldiers,” she said.
The women were allotted half-rations of any available food, and their children just a quarter-ration, said Richard-Morrow. It was a tough life, but circumstances often forced women to become camp followers.
“If your home was burned down by the British, you’d be a refugee. You’d have no choice,” Richard-Morrow explained.
Romance might have also played a role. “Occasionally, there would be a woman who followed her husband to battle just because she couldn’t bear to be parted from him,” she added.
For 12-year-old re-enactor Alyssa Northup, dressing like an 18th-century girl is “really fun,” but she knows the reality of war wasn’t.
Alyssa wore a linen jacket and skirt sewn by her aunt, Depta, and looked content to sit by the campfire weaving cord around a wooden fork called a lucet.
Would she have wanted to live back then?
“Probably not,” said Alyssa, looking up from her lucet with a grin. “It seems like it was a lot of hard work.”
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9/19/05
It’s not easy for anyone to march 10 miles a day without hiking boots, but try pulling it off in petticoats.
It’s no picnic living off small rations of salt pork and rice, and sleeping beneath cloth tents in unfamiliar fields. But in 1777, some women had no choice but to follow their husbands or brothers into battle during the Revolutionary War.
This weekend marked the 228th anniversary of the Battles of Saratoga, events that changed the course of history by turning the tide against the British. More than 1,000 visitors came to the Saratoga National Historical Park on Saturday and Sunday for a real-life glimpse of how soldiers — and those who supported them — might have lived during that battle.
At a re-created encampment on a hilltop in the park, the smell of campfires and the sound of cannon fire greeted visitors. So did the sight of more than 50 re-enactors in period costume, drawn from members of the 25th Continental Regiment, the 2nd Continental Artillery Regiment, the Oneida Indian Nation Living History Program and park staff.
The men played the most obvious roles, dressed in full military regalia with muskets at their side. But a closer look into the encampment revealed an underpinning that is often overlooked in the history books.
Women who tagged along with regiments, by choice or by necessity, were called “camp followers.” They played vital roles as nurses, launderesses, seamstresses, butchers, cooks and perhaps even de facto therapists.
“At first, General Washington wasn’t in favor of camp followers; he saw them as baggage,” said Chris Depta, an office manager from Newport, west of Albany, who volunteers as a re-enactor with the Oneida Indian Nation Living History Program. “But after a while, he realized that the men were actually better off with the women’s support, and he decided to allow a small percentage of them to travel with each unit.”
Sometimes, being supportive cost the women their lives. According to seasonal park ranger Jennifer Richard-Morrow, a few women were found dead on the battlefield with cartridges in their hands. “They were bringing more ammunition to the soldiers,” she said.
The women were allotted half-rations of any available food, and their children just a quarter-ration, said Richard-Morrow. It was a tough life, but circumstances often forced women to become camp followers.
“If your home was burned down by the British, you’d be a refugee. You’d have no choice,” Richard-Morrow explained.
Romance might have also played a role. “Occasionally, there would be a woman who followed her husband to battle just because she couldn’t bear to be parted from him,” she added.
For 12-year-old re-enactor Alyssa Northup, dressing like an 18th-century girl is “really fun,” but she knows the reality of war wasn’t.
Alyssa wore a linen jacket and skirt sewn by her aunt, Depta, and looked content to sit by the campfire weaving cord around a wooden fork called a lucet.
Would she have wanted to live back then?
“Probably not,” said Alyssa, looking up from her lucet with a grin. “It seems like it was a lot of hard work.”
#
a little history lesson
Published in The Post-Star (B2)
9/19/05
Most people learned in school that the Revolutionary War was a conflict between British troops and American colonists, but they might not know the colonists had help from the Indians.
“That part usually gets left out of the history textbooks,” said Nate George, a re-enactor with the Oneida Indian Nation Living History Program who helped to re-create an American encampment this past weekend at Saratoga National Historical Park to commemorate the 228th anniversary of the Battles of Saratoga. About 20 volunteers and staff from the Oneida program participated in the event, alongside members of the Massachusetts 25th Continental Regiment and the Fort Edward-based 2nd Regiment of Continental Artillery.
George dressed for the re-enactment as an 18th-century Oneida warrior, in a large linen shirt, leather leggings and center-seam moccasins. A spray of red horsehair and porcupine quills adorned his shaved head, and he wore a shield-like gold neckpiece called a gorget to signify his status as a leading warrior. It was a striking image and one George enjoys resurrecting for today’s public to educate them about the Oneida’s role in Revolutionary War history.
“We need to tell the stories that aren’t written,” George said, adding the Oneida rely on a rich oral history because they believe “it’s the passion behind the words that gives them their meaning and you lose that when you write them down on paper.”
The Oneida were among the first allies of the colonists during the war and helped them win the Battles of Saratoga. The alliance was a difficult decision for the Oneida, because there was no consensus within the six-tribe Iroquois Confederacy that united the region’s Indian population at the time. After trying unsuccessfully to stay neutral, the Oneida chose the colonists’ side as “the lesser of two evils,” George said.
“It seemed the colonists were fighting for the same things we were — freedom and a place to raise a family,” said Kathy Kuhl, who also works for the Oneida program, and made beadwork at the park event. “But they made promises to us that were broken as soon as the war was over.”
Time doesn’t heal all wounds. The United States and Britain may be old chums these days, but the Iroquois Confederacy was never re-established after the war. The division left the Indians politically weak, and they lost most of their land as a result.
According to Kuhl, the Oneida’s lands were reduced from 6 million acres to just 32 after the war, although they recently purchased another 1,700 acres.
Disputes over land rights and property taxes continue between the federal government and Indian nations such as the Oneida.
“We still live with this every day. My home is part of a disputed area,” said Cindy Allers, a corporate buyer from Deansboro, near Utica, who volunteers as a re-enactor with the Living History Program. “There’s no easy answer.”
#
9/19/05
Most people learned in school that the Revolutionary War was a conflict between British troops and American colonists, but they might not know the colonists had help from the Indians.
“That part usually gets left out of the history textbooks,” said Nate George, a re-enactor with the Oneida Indian Nation Living History Program who helped to re-create an American encampment this past weekend at Saratoga National Historical Park to commemorate the 228th anniversary of the Battles of Saratoga. About 20 volunteers and staff from the Oneida program participated in the event, alongside members of the Massachusetts 25th Continental Regiment and the Fort Edward-based 2nd Regiment of Continental Artillery.
George dressed for the re-enactment as an 18th-century Oneida warrior, in a large linen shirt, leather leggings and center-seam moccasins. A spray of red horsehair and porcupine quills adorned his shaved head, and he wore a shield-like gold neckpiece called a gorget to signify his status as a leading warrior. It was a striking image and one George enjoys resurrecting for today’s public to educate them about the Oneida’s role in Revolutionary War history.
“We need to tell the stories that aren’t written,” George said, adding the Oneida rely on a rich oral history because they believe “it’s the passion behind the words that gives them their meaning and you lose that when you write them down on paper.”
The Oneida were among the first allies of the colonists during the war and helped them win the Battles of Saratoga. The alliance was a difficult decision for the Oneida, because there was no consensus within the six-tribe Iroquois Confederacy that united the region’s Indian population at the time. After trying unsuccessfully to stay neutral, the Oneida chose the colonists’ side as “the lesser of two evils,” George said.
“It seemed the colonists were fighting for the same things we were — freedom and a place to raise a family,” said Kathy Kuhl, who also works for the Oneida program, and made beadwork at the park event. “But they made promises to us that were broken as soon as the war was over.”
Time doesn’t heal all wounds. The United States and Britain may be old chums these days, but the Iroquois Confederacy was never re-established after the war. The division left the Indians politically weak, and they lost most of their land as a result.
According to Kuhl, the Oneida’s lands were reduced from 6 million acres to just 32 after the war, although they recently purchased another 1,700 acres.
Disputes over land rights and property taxes continue between the federal government and Indian nations such as the Oneida.
“We still live with this every day. My home is part of a disputed area,” said Cindy Allers, a corporate buyer from Deansboro, near Utica, who volunteers as a re-enactor with the Living History Program. “There’s no easy answer.”
#
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
aging rockers
Published in The Post-Star (D1)
September 17, 2005
This time, he's got a wedding gig
Here's what Alanis Morissette has in common with a 58-year-old local entertainer who plays Elvis tunes at ski resorts -- they've both been asked to open for the Rolling Stones.
Canadian alt-rocker Morissette will warm up the stage for the legendary Stones when they play the Pepsi Arena in Albany today, but local performer Bobby Dick and his band, The Sundowners, aren't jealous. Been there, done that.
The Sundowners opened for the Stones 40 years ago -- in April 1965 -- at the Palace Theatre in Albany. Dick was only 19 at the time, and the Stones were just another popular British band.
"They hadn't separated themselves from the pack yet as being superstars," said Dick, who sings and plays bass guitar. Tickets for the 1965 show cost just $2.50, compared to the $100 to $350 tickets for this weekend's concert.
The Sundowners, now called Bobby Dick and The Sundowners, got the gig through a connection at the local radio station that sponsored the Stones' two-night appearance in Albany. They shared the opening-act spotlight with another local club band, The Knickerbockers, and covered hits by Elvis and The Beatles.
These days, the four-member band still plays all over the region at bars, parties and ski resorts, although only two of the original members -- Dick and guitarist Ed Placidi -- remain. With three guitars, a drum set, and a knack for vocal harmony, the group covers everything from the Beach Boys to Phish.
"Anything to keep from getting a day job," joked Dick, 58, who handles his "aging rocker" status with self-deprecating humor.
"It seems like the older we get, the better we have to be," he said. "There's always that look out there in the audience, I see it: 'Oh my God, where have these guys been?' But imagine if you didn't know who the Rolling Stones were, and they walked into your local ski resort and started setting up. You would give Keith Richards the same look."
When he heard the Stones were coming back, Dick said he considered asking if they needed an opening act, but The Sundowners were already booked for a big wedding in Lake George on Saturday night.
"I thought about doing it for nostalgia's sake, but I just know that if I had to tell this bride, 'I won't be there for your wedding,' it would be a terrible thing," said Dick. "It's a shame it wasn't on a Tuesday or Wednesday night instead."
#
September 17, 2005
This time, he's got a wedding gig
Here's what Alanis Morissette has in common with a 58-year-old local entertainer who plays Elvis tunes at ski resorts -- they've both been asked to open for the Rolling Stones.
Canadian alt-rocker Morissette will warm up the stage for the legendary Stones when they play the Pepsi Arena in Albany today, but local performer Bobby Dick and his band, The Sundowners, aren't jealous. Been there, done that.
The Sundowners opened for the Stones 40 years ago -- in April 1965 -- at the Palace Theatre in Albany. Dick was only 19 at the time, and the Stones were just another popular British band.
"They hadn't separated themselves from the pack yet as being superstars," said Dick, who sings and plays bass guitar. Tickets for the 1965 show cost just $2.50, compared to the $100 to $350 tickets for this weekend's concert.
The Sundowners, now called Bobby Dick and The Sundowners, got the gig through a connection at the local radio station that sponsored the Stones' two-night appearance in Albany. They shared the opening-act spotlight with another local club band, The Knickerbockers, and covered hits by Elvis and The Beatles.
These days, the four-member band still plays all over the region at bars, parties and ski resorts, although only two of the original members -- Dick and guitarist Ed Placidi -- remain. With three guitars, a drum set, and a knack for vocal harmony, the group covers everything from the Beach Boys to Phish.
"Anything to keep from getting a day job," joked Dick, 58, who handles his "aging rocker" status with self-deprecating humor.
"It seems like the older we get, the better we have to be," he said. "There's always that look out there in the audience, I see it: 'Oh my God, where have these guys been?' But imagine if you didn't know who the Rolling Stones were, and they walked into your local ski resort and started setting up. You would give Keith Richards the same look."
When he heard the Stones were coming back, Dick said he considered asking if they needed an opening act, but The Sundowners were already booked for a big wedding in Lake George on Saturday night.
"I thought about doing it for nostalgia's sake, but I just know that if I had to tell this bride, 'I won't be there for your wedding,' it would be a terrible thing," said Dick. "It's a shame it wasn't on a Tuesday or Wednesday night instead."
#
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
profile of local playwright
Published in The Post-Star (D1)
September 10, 2005
When James Brady’s play, “Cajun Poker,” was published last month by Norman Maine Publishing, it was billed as “a unique tragedy” set in New Orleans — “the land of voodoo queens and slot machines.”
A few weeks later, the New Orleans of that description has become a wistful memory in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, giving Brady’s play an unexpected poignance.
“There’s hundreds of things in there about the history of Louisiana, the politics and the people, so there’s an awful lot that applies to what’s going on right now,” Brady said in a phone interview from his home in Shushan.
“Cajun Poker” focuses on a man whose wife dies unexpectedly when he’s out drinking, which Brady hopes addresses a universal theme. “It’s about dealing with guilt,” he explained.
His ideas stem from personal experience or current events, he said, but they transform into fiction. The idea for “Cajun Poker” came from his grandfather’s reaction to the death of Brady’s grandmother.
“I remember that he didn’t respond like he should have, didn’t get her to the hospital, and that guilt seemed to haunt him.”
Another of Brady’s plays, “The Big Dance,” was published last month by Brooklyn Publishers and recently produced at the University of Miami. It’s about a college basketball recruiter who is desperate to attract a talented high school player.
Brady had noticed a news article that referred to college recruiters as “grown men fighting over a 17-year-old kid,” and began asking himself: “How far will a coach go to sign a kid? How dirty will he play?”
The result of his musings was “The Big Dance,” which won first place in Adirondack Community College’s Ten-Minute Play contest in 2003.
Brady has written 15 plays since the early 1990s, when he abandoned a 20-year career in computer programming to pursue a master’s degree in playwriting from Rutgers University. His plays have been produced around the nation, mostly in colleges and universities, although the royalties are certainly not a living wage, running from $25 or $50 per night of each production. The rest of his income comes from teaching math and algebra at a community college in Bennington, Vt.
Now 53, Brady said he wonders if he should have waited so long to begin writing plays.
“I obviously have more experiences to draw from, but I don’t have the stamina of some of these younger playwrights — I can’t pull all-nighters
anymore,” he said.
Then again, he reflected, “I was pretty idealistic when I started. I thought I was going to go straight from Rutgers to Broadway.”
September 10, 2005
When James Brady’s play, “Cajun Poker,” was published last month by Norman Maine Publishing, it was billed as “a unique tragedy” set in New Orleans — “the land of voodoo queens and slot machines.”
A few weeks later, the New Orleans of that description has become a wistful memory in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, giving Brady’s play an unexpected poignance.
“There’s hundreds of things in there about the history of Louisiana, the politics and the people, so there’s an awful lot that applies to what’s going on right now,” Brady said in a phone interview from his home in Shushan.
“Cajun Poker” focuses on a man whose wife dies unexpectedly when he’s out drinking, which Brady hopes addresses a universal theme. “It’s about dealing with guilt,” he explained.
His ideas stem from personal experience or current events, he said, but they transform into fiction. The idea for “Cajun Poker” came from his grandfather’s reaction to the death of Brady’s grandmother.
“I remember that he didn’t respond like he should have, didn’t get her to the hospital, and that guilt seemed to haunt him.”
Another of Brady’s plays, “The Big Dance,” was published last month by Brooklyn Publishers and recently produced at the University of Miami. It’s about a college basketball recruiter who is desperate to attract a talented high school player.
Brady had noticed a news article that referred to college recruiters as “grown men fighting over a 17-year-old kid,” and began asking himself: “How far will a coach go to sign a kid? How dirty will he play?”
The result of his musings was “The Big Dance,” which won first place in Adirondack Community College’s Ten-Minute Play contest in 2003.
Brady has written 15 plays since the early 1990s, when he abandoned a 20-year career in computer programming to pursue a master’s degree in playwriting from Rutgers University. His plays have been produced around the nation, mostly in colleges and universities, although the royalties are certainly not a living wage, running from $25 or $50 per night of each production. The rest of his income comes from teaching math and algebra at a community college in Bennington, Vt.
Now 53, Brady said he wonders if he should have waited so long to begin writing plays.
“I obviously have more experiences to draw from, but I don’t have the stamina of some of these younger playwrights — I can’t pull all-nighters
anymore,” he said.
Then again, he reflected, “I was pretty idealistic when I started. I thought I was going to go straight from Rutgers to Broadway.”
Monday, September 12, 2005
Cambridge, NY opens its doors to evacuees
Published in The Post-Star (A1)
9/12/05
A few days after Hurricane Katrina clobbered the Gulf Coast, an idea struck Cambridge resident Ted Berndt as he listened to his car radio. He heard an interview with an woman from Idaho who had driven to New Orleans to pick up a family of evacuees and bring them back to her home as a place of refuge. She didn't know them; she just wanted to help.
"She said, 'Wouldn't it be great if a whole town did this?' " Berndt recalled. "And I thought, 'Hey, why don't we?' We've got the resources and the big hearts to help people in need."
Berndt, 40, turned on the persuasive charm he learned in his career as a pharmaceutical salesman and began making calls. Within six days, he had rounded up a dozen potential host familes and a volunteer staff, found an office, opened a bank account and created a Web site to carry out what he dubbed "Operation Respite." His goal was to bring 10 families displaced by the hurricane to the tiny town of Cambridge, where they will stay in volunteers' homes for up to three months.
As Berndt soon found out, some things are easier said than done.
Operation Respite picked up a dizzying momentum after CNN aired a segment about it Tuesday. The phone in Berndt's new office wouldn't stop ringing with offers of assistance. Local businesses donated goods and services, churches chipped in with fund-raising and several more residents offered space in their homes.
Tina and John Imhof were among the first to respond to Berndt's request for volunteers. They own an empty apartment above the Curves fitness facility that Tina runs, which they've started fixing up for any evacuees who might need it.
In case people arrive before the apartment is ready, they also are clearing out three bedrooms in their large house. Two of their children have grown up and moved out, and their remaining daughter, Abby, said she has "absolutely no problem" with the idea of sharing her home with strangers. "We have the extra space, and they need it, so why not?" she reasoned.
The Imhof family has no special connection to New Orleans -- it seems no one in Cambridge does -- but as Tina put it, "the pictures speak for themselves."
While host families cleaned their spare rooms last week, Berndt and his co-coordinator, David Brushett, wrestled with the logistics of finding and arranging transportation for a group of suitable evacuees -- or, as Berndt bluntly call them, "warm human cargo."
They worried it could take weeks if they waited for the Red Cross and FEMA to respond to their requests.
Then, on Tuesday, she called. A woman in Virginia saw the CNN segment and got a big idea of her own. She told Berndt she was a rescue worker who had located three buses of evacuees ready to head somewhere for temporary housing. This was what Berndt had been hoping for, "an end-run around the bureaucracy" of FEMA and the Red Cross.
"It sounded too good to be true," said Berndt. "And as it turns out, it was." The woman, who Berndt won't identify by name because he can't be certain if she was being truthful, called at least a dozen times that afternoon with increasingly ludicrous stories about what was happening to the buses of evacuees that were supposedly heading to Cambridge.
The buses were trapped at the Mississippi border because the state was under martial law. The Army had quarantined them for E.Coli. She was hiding in her bathroom from federal agents. When she asked for a few thousand dollars to evacuate a dialysis patient by helicopter, Berndt decided he'd had enough.
"She got more outlandish as the day went on, and I think she was basically pulling tidbits of information off the Internet and magnifying them. It was crazy," Berndt said. "It's frustrating because we tied up four or five hours and let some other opportunities go in the meantime. ... I wonder if we should have just flown down to Houston ourselves to find people," Berndt said.
Brushett said he and the other volunteers at Operation Respite were "pretty down and dejected" when they realized they had been misled by the mysterious caller, but he thinks the experience provided a good reality check. "We're farther ahead now because it forced us to think about what we would have to do if people were really arriving in 48 hours."
On Wednesday evening, about 50 people came to a hastily convened meeting at Cambridge Central School, many of them still expecting a bus of evacuees to arrive that night. Berndt offered a military-style "incident action plan" for Operation Respite and did his best to answer residents' questions.
But he couldn't answer the one question everyone was most curious about: Is anyone ever coming?
"We hope so," said Berndt. "We're still trying."
Now, Operation Respite is focusing its efforts on cooperating with government agencies, while also staying in touch with "people on the ground" at shelters in Houston and Louisiana who are trying to organize buses. Berndt has contacted everyone he can think of who might be able to help -- even Oprah.
"It might never happen," acknowledged Berndt after last week's meeting. Hearing this, Brushett added, "But you know what? It's still awesome. We still came together as a community."
9/12/05
A few days after Hurricane Katrina clobbered the Gulf Coast, an idea struck Cambridge resident Ted Berndt as he listened to his car radio. He heard an interview with an woman from Idaho who had driven to New Orleans to pick up a family of evacuees and bring them back to her home as a place of refuge. She didn't know them; she just wanted to help.
"She said, 'Wouldn't it be great if a whole town did this?' " Berndt recalled. "And I thought, 'Hey, why don't we?' We've got the resources and the big hearts to help people in need."
Berndt, 40, turned on the persuasive charm he learned in his career as a pharmaceutical salesman and began making calls. Within six days, he had rounded up a dozen potential host familes and a volunteer staff, found an office, opened a bank account and created a Web site to carry out what he dubbed "Operation Respite." His goal was to bring 10 families displaced by the hurricane to the tiny town of Cambridge, where they will stay in volunteers' homes for up to three months.
As Berndt soon found out, some things are easier said than done.
Operation Respite picked up a dizzying momentum after CNN aired a segment about it Tuesday. The phone in Berndt's new office wouldn't stop ringing with offers of assistance. Local businesses donated goods and services, churches chipped in with fund-raising and several more residents offered space in their homes.
Tina and John Imhof were among the first to respond to Berndt's request for volunteers. They own an empty apartment above the Curves fitness facility that Tina runs, which they've started fixing up for any evacuees who might need it.
In case people arrive before the apartment is ready, they also are clearing out three bedrooms in their large house. Two of their children have grown up and moved out, and their remaining daughter, Abby, said she has "absolutely no problem" with the idea of sharing her home with strangers. "We have the extra space, and they need it, so why not?" she reasoned.
The Imhof family has no special connection to New Orleans -- it seems no one in Cambridge does -- but as Tina put it, "the pictures speak for themselves."
While host families cleaned their spare rooms last week, Berndt and his co-coordinator, David Brushett, wrestled with the logistics of finding and arranging transportation for a group of suitable evacuees -- or, as Berndt bluntly call them, "warm human cargo."
They worried it could take weeks if they waited for the Red Cross and FEMA to respond to their requests.
Then, on Tuesday, she called. A woman in Virginia saw the CNN segment and got a big idea of her own. She told Berndt she was a rescue worker who had located three buses of evacuees ready to head somewhere for temporary housing. This was what Berndt had been hoping for, "an end-run around the bureaucracy" of FEMA and the Red Cross.
"It sounded too good to be true," said Berndt. "And as it turns out, it was." The woman, who Berndt won't identify by name because he can't be certain if she was being truthful, called at least a dozen times that afternoon with increasingly ludicrous stories about what was happening to the buses of evacuees that were supposedly heading to Cambridge.
The buses were trapped at the Mississippi border because the state was under martial law. The Army had quarantined them for E.Coli. She was hiding in her bathroom from federal agents. When she asked for a few thousand dollars to evacuate a dialysis patient by helicopter, Berndt decided he'd had enough.
"She got more outlandish as the day went on, and I think she was basically pulling tidbits of information off the Internet and magnifying them. It was crazy," Berndt said. "It's frustrating because we tied up four or five hours and let some other opportunities go in the meantime. ... I wonder if we should have just flown down to Houston ourselves to find people," Berndt said.
Brushett said he and the other volunteers at Operation Respite were "pretty down and dejected" when they realized they had been misled by the mysterious caller, but he thinks the experience provided a good reality check. "We're farther ahead now because it forced us to think about what we would have to do if people were really arriving in 48 hours."
On Wednesday evening, about 50 people came to a hastily convened meeting at Cambridge Central School, many of them still expecting a bus of evacuees to arrive that night. Berndt offered a military-style "incident action plan" for Operation Respite and did his best to answer residents' questions.
But he couldn't answer the one question everyone was most curious about: Is anyone ever coming?
"We hope so," said Berndt. "We're still trying."
Now, Operation Respite is focusing its efforts on cooperating with government agencies, while also staying in touch with "people on the ground" at shelters in Houston and Louisiana who are trying to organize buses. Berndt has contacted everyone he can think of who might be able to help -- even Oprah.
"It might never happen," acknowledged Berndt after last week's meeting. Hearing this, Brushett added, "But you know what? It's still awesome. We still came together as a community."
video review: The Station Agent
Published in The Post-Star
9/9/05
The Station Agent 2003. Written and directed by Thomas McCarthy. Starring Peter Dinklage, Bobby Cannavale, and Patricia Clarkson. 88 minutes. Rated R.
In this deeper-than-average comedy, Peter Dinklage plays Finbar McBride, a shorter-than-average man whose social life is even more stunted than his physical height. His stoic dignity makes it hard to put your finger on why you recognize him -- could this really be the face of the disgruntled dwarf who climbed onto a boardroom table to berate Will Ferrell's character in "Elf," another 2003 comedy? Indeed it is. But this time, Dinklage's screen presence is 10 feet tall.
The film centers on Fin's attempts to become a hermit of sorts in a ramshackle train depot he inherits from a friend (his only friend, apparently), who shared his obsession with railroads. By escaping to a boring little enclave of New Jersey, Fin hopes to find relief from the stares and snickers that have followed him all his life.
Instead, he finds Joe (Bobby Cannavale) -- a hot dog vendor with the personality of a golden retriever, who is completely unfazed by Fin's taciturnity -- and Olivia (Patricia Clarkson), a middle-aged artist whose heart is locked tight with grief after the death of both her child and her marriage. A slow crack in Fin's shell of solitude begins in the moment when Olivia makes the request that he's kept bottled inside himself for years: "Would you mind not looking at me right now?"
In the end, buoyed by Joe's unapologetic love for life, both Fin and Olivia find out that sometimes getting what you want isn't what you want after all.
This quiet gem of a film was a hit at Sundance a few years ago, and now lies buried amid the older releases at Blockbuster. It's worth uncovering.
9/9/05
The Station Agent 2003. Written and directed by Thomas McCarthy. Starring Peter Dinklage, Bobby Cannavale, and Patricia Clarkson. 88 minutes. Rated R.
In this deeper-than-average comedy, Peter Dinklage plays Finbar McBride, a shorter-than-average man whose social life is even more stunted than his physical height. His stoic dignity makes it hard to put your finger on why you recognize him -- could this really be the face of the disgruntled dwarf who climbed onto a boardroom table to berate Will Ferrell's character in "Elf," another 2003 comedy? Indeed it is. But this time, Dinklage's screen presence is 10 feet tall.
The film centers on Fin's attempts to become a hermit of sorts in a ramshackle train depot he inherits from a friend (his only friend, apparently), who shared his obsession with railroads. By escaping to a boring little enclave of New Jersey, Fin hopes to find relief from the stares and snickers that have followed him all his life.
Instead, he finds Joe (Bobby Cannavale) -- a hot dog vendor with the personality of a golden retriever, who is completely unfazed by Fin's taciturnity -- and Olivia (Patricia Clarkson), a middle-aged artist whose heart is locked tight with grief after the death of both her child and her marriage. A slow crack in Fin's shell of solitude begins in the moment when Olivia makes the request that he's kept bottled inside himself for years: "Would you mind not looking at me right now?"
In the end, buoyed by Joe's unapologetic love for life, both Fin and Olivia find out that sometimes getting what you want isn't what you want after all.
This quiet gem of a film was a hit at Sundance a few years ago, and now lies buried amid the older releases at Blockbuster. It's worth uncovering.
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