Monthly Archives: November 2015

Dollhouses and Miniatures — A Sign of Christmas

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Christmas comes, we are reliably informed, but once a year. And with it comes the annual holiday show of dollhouses, miniatures, and model trains at Curtiss Museum. I was there a week or so back, so now I’ve seen twenty shows in a row.

It all started back in the “old museum,” the former Hammondsport Academy on Lake and Main Streets. Someone decided that they should do something a little different and reach out to another audience. Someone came up with the thought of a dollhouse show, and some space was made, and a new holiday tradition was born.

In another building and another century, the show is bigger than it was both in numbers and in concept. Model trains have long been part of Christmas, and several very nice layouts are scattered through the exhibit space. One of them pretty much fills the cupola from Glenn Curtiss’s house.

A long-time favorite is a huge sawmill layout, taking pride of place in the lobby. Miniatures fit in with dollhouses and model trains, but they take a different tack. Miniaturists strive to recreate a scene… perhaps an imaginary one… and draw you into their world. Another miniature in the show is a working carousel. “Best of Show,” in my personal opinion, is Mickie Vollmer’s deliriously busy barnyard scene. (Joyce likes Mickie’s library best.) We also find miniature soldiers on exhibit.

The dollhouses run the gamut from light “art” pieces, designed for adults to admire, to massive carpenter-built playthings that have cheerfully survived the enthusiasms of generations of children. Some are commercial products, each rivetingly familiar to one generation of girls or another. There’s even a nineteenth-century Bliss house, one of the first mass-produced dollhouses.

Christmas to me is a blend of the comfortingly familiar on one hand, and the excitingly new on the other. Jim Sladish’s model train layout is an old friend, and so is a barn built by Dick Hamilton. Dick and Myrtle both passed away since last year’s show.

Something new calls out for attention right by the admissions desk. It’s a roadside diner, with cars in the parking lot, hot dogs on the grill, and customers at the counter.

I saw former Hammondsport art teacher Bob Magee at the show, and he showed me a special offering of his own. When Randy Kuhl was in Congress he asked Bob to create a large ornament for a White House Christmas tree representing all 435 House districts. Bob’s globe shows Glenn Curtiss, grapes, and glassblowers. He wrote the George W. Bush Presidential Library, which quickly unearthed it and lent it for the exhibit.

This special exhibit segues nicely into some of the museum’s permanent exhibits. A one-horse open sleigh is festively decorated, and the miniatures slide into a large selection of antique toys and dolls – not to mention that there are plenty of model airplanes, of course.

As far as I’m concerned, the miniatures show is an integral part of the holidays. Take a look, and see if you think so too.

The Rochester Children’s Book Festival — At Last

On November 7 we finally did something we’d been talking about for nineteen years, and visited the Rochester Children’s Book Festival. It was great!

 

Never having been, we weren’t sure just what to expect, except for one expectation that proved true – happy crowds! The first person we met was one of my former students from Genesee Community College, volunteering at the entrance table, so that was fun. The crowd as a whole was a mix of professionals (librarians, teachers, and such), parents, and children. Some of the kids were obviously old hands. Some kids just devour books, and many of them would get quite a charge out of the Festival.

 

Monroe Community College hosted the event, a salient feature of which was “the Mall” – a large space with dozens of authors, all surrounded by piles of their books, ready to talk books, sign books, and visit with adults and kids alike. Authors are here by invitation only, so it’s not your local-person-with-self-published-book crowd, but some of the country’s biggest names in children’s books.

 

We spent a few minutes visiting with James Howe, author of “Bunnicula” and other series, gentle light-hearted horror spoofs that often have kids, even little kids, quaking with laughter. Our younger son Erik certainly did, nearly thirty years ago. We loved telling Mr. Howe about it, and he loved hearing it.

 

I stood in line fifteen minutes to get a book signed by Jane Yolen. She’s one of the best-selling writers in the country, but that fact gets missed because her output is “only” children’s books. She and her daughter Heidi Stemple (also an author) signed books nonstop for over four hours. Ms. Yolen’s best-known work is probably “Owl Moon,” a hauntingly beautiful picture book. (Heidi is the little girl in the story.) But I bought, and Ms. Yolen kindly signed, “Foiled,” one of my favorite graphic novels – a new departure for her. We discussed the prospects for a third volume. Joyce and I were also delighted to visit a little with Nikki Grimes, creator of superb picture books – fiction, non-fiction, and poetry.

 

Two people in the Mall wanted to talk about my Hammondsport Storytelling Festival sweat shirt. One was a producer for the PBS Story Corps, and the other was an author who wanted to ask some of my thoughts on storytelling. She confessed that she’s fine reading books aloud, but just can’t seem to make storytelling work.

 

There are also three tracks of workshops or readings by the authors, adding up to something like thirty choices for the day. Joyce and I each wandered off to what interested us, but we did take in a couple of them together. One was Kevin Kurtz reading his non-fiction picture book about deep sea life. (Joyce had him speak at Bath’s Dormann Library once.) The other was the Yolens, talking about the use of birds in their books, from “Owl Moon” right up to today.

 

Kids were stocking up on books, and taking in the workshops, along with all the grownups. It’s not for everyone, but many kids who voraciously books would get quite a charge out of it.

 

Heidi Stemple told me that they’ve been to this festival often, and they really love it, because it’s so well organized. I agree. There’s one set of registers as you leave the Mall, so you can buy all of your books at once. It takes place right next to the campus cafeteria, so you can get some lunch or snacks, as long as you’re not too persnickity about choices.

 

So now, on to the Rochester TEEN Book Festival in May!

“When Jim White Played”: The Birth of Major League Baseball

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When you’re in at the creation of something new, it’s easy to rack up a lot of “firsts.” Glenn Curtiss did this — which doesn’t take away from his accomplishments. But the field was wide open to make a mark.

The same may be said of James “Deacon” White of Caton, who supposedly learned to play baseball from returning Civil War soldiers. In 1868 he went pro (two of his brothers would do the same.) Back then most top teams were amateurs, with a stiffening backbone of paid professionals. Eventually, though, there were all-pro teams, and finally an all-pro league. Deacon Jones arguably started Major League Baseball by having the first at-bat in the first inning of the first game between two all-professional teams (playing for Cleveland, against Fort Wayne in 1871).

In addition to this, his Major League career included:
*The first hit (a double), which was also
*The first extra-base hit, and of course simultaneously
*The first on-base.
*The first catch (remember that these were bare-handed days).
*The first player to ground into a double play. (They can’t ALL be good news.)
*The first Most Valuable Player recognition (1875).
*Member of the first National League pennant team (Chicago White Stockings, 1876).
*The first catcher to crouch right behind the plate, rather than standing farther back. (This maneuver terrified umpires, crowd, and players alike.)
*The first catcher to use a mask (though he felt it restricted his view, and soon gave it up).
*By some reports, he was the first pitcher to throw a curve.

Deacon White went pro in 1868, then spent fifteen years in the majors (starting when they did, in 1871). In those bare-handed days the Deacon played all nine positions, though he was known mostly as a catcher. He later managed minor-league teams, and had 2067 hits in his career. Late in his career his team sold him, but he held out successfully until he got a share of the proceeds. Deacon White freely confessed that he wasn’t the player he’d once been, and had probably been overpriced in the deal, “but no man is going to sell my carcass unless I get half.”

One first he did NOT make was the first class (1939) in the Baseball Hall of Fame. This fact appalled him, but by then almost seven decades had gone by since that first game in Fort Wayne. He had passed from being a star to a legend to a memory to a footnote. He was finally admitted in 2013, becoming the oldest player ever enshrined (born December 7, 1847). Since almost everyone in baseball came in later than he did, and since nearly all of them were BORN later than he was, that’s one distinction he seems very likely to keep.

Neither I nor Steuben County Historical Society had anything to do with his Hall of Fame honor, except by being thrilled. But earlier this year I did get involved, when I was checking some Jim White facts of the Hall of Fame web site. There I “learned” that he had been born, and had died, in Canton, New York.

I took a long time composing a letter, since I figure that the Baseball Hall of Fame is inundated with angry nitpicking factual arguments. So I stressed how pleased we were with everything, and pointed out that while there WAS a Canton, New York, it’s noplace near here, that he had been born in CATON, New York, and died at his daughter’s home in Aurora, Illinois. I got a very nice letter back thanking me, and assuring me that they were making the changes immediately.

So imagine my chagrin when I discovered that they had Aurora right, and Illinois right, and Caton right, but now it said Caton, OHIO. Another carefully composed letter, which this time wasn’t answered (which was fine), and the web site was quickly set to rights.

Shortly afterward I got an e-mail from a man at a historical society in Oregon. He had found a history of a church in Caton, and waned to send it on. I told him he should be pleased with himself for having sussed out the right Caton from clear on the Pacific Ocean, when the Baseball Hall of Fame was having trouble keeping up from the same area code.

I love the ending of a long-ago poem, “When Jim White Played.”

And while o’ course, the players now
Are men o’ grit and might,|
Somehow the game ain’t played the same
As ‘twas by old Jim White.
— Dale Lancaster, 1936

We have sources for all these “firsts,” but “firsts” are very tricky things… they’re often based on legends, affection, nostalgia, and optimism. If anyone has any corrections, we’re happy to hear them. “Deacon,” by the way, was a nickname, rather than an actual title. Straight-arrow churchgoer Jim White was sort on an oddity among the rough-and-tumble 19th-century pros.

Ten Extra Years of Life

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Ten years ago this day… on November 1, 2005… my adrenal system crashed. By June, when my problem was finally diagnosed and treated, I had lost sixty pounds, I couldn’t stay awake, I couldn’t get warm, and I couldn’t even sit up without support.

Addison’s Disease, which turns out to be the problem, is so vanishingly rare that most doctors never see a case in their entire careers, but Dr. Werner Brammer and Dr. Randy Weidner, along with their colleagues, figured it out at what was becoming the last minute… I doubt I’d have lived another month. It’s incurable, but treatment turns out to be simple: steroids twice a day, and sometimes more often. I started taking them on a Saturday, and on Tuesday suddenly discovered that I had some spring in my step.

So the last ten years have been a gift, and I tried to evaluate whether those years have done anybody any good besides me – had I made anything of those years, that made it worthwhile having me in the world?

Way above anything else I might have accomplished is the fact that I was able to help my wife through her own series of crushing health problems… broken elbow, two broken ankles, two cataract surgeries, melanoma surgery, a heart attack, repeated heart episodes, two ablations and three cardioversions. I’m beyond grateful that I could be here to help her through it all.

I was able to step in and start managing my father’s affairs, once he could no longer do so. In time we had to lay him to rest, but at least he was spared having to do the same for me.

Both our sons got college degrees during this decade. I got to celebrate that, and even help them a little along the way.

I’ve written and published four books, plus hundreds of smaller pieces, and given dozens of public presentations. While I don’t delude myself that these are earth-shaking, I think that they all help build up community. I’ve also published a few editorials on much more serious topics.

I’ve preached hundreds of sermons, and in doing so I’ve tried to encourage people to face their own needs openly, rather than pretending (to themselves or to others) that everything’s fine. In my case this includes sharing about my Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which turns out to be a related condition to Addison’s.

I’ve taught hundreds of students at the Dansville campus of Genesee Community College. In particular I’ve taught many of them about our Constitution, and about Islam. In both cases there’s too much ignorance in our country, and too many lies being told. And I’ve cast ballots I’d have otherwise missed, trying to vote for reconciliation and rationality, rather than for fear, division, and dishonesty.

I’ve served on the board of Steuben County Conference and Visitors Bureau, helping bring business (almost none of which profits me) to our area. And I’ve been able to help the Steuben County Historical Society stay strong. And I’ve contributed a lot of information to the Grand Comics Database.

So, OK, I give myself a pass. I’ve contributed something to make the time worthwhile. But I want very much to celebrate those who’ve helped me through.

*Werner Brammer and Randy Weidner, who got me diagnosed and treated.

*My wife, who’s been with me every step of the way, and accepts my limitations, and watches me like a hawk.

*Our son Erik, who does the same.

*Our son Josh, who helped look after me for much of that first year, and who helped me out with long auto trips that I couldn’t have managed on my own. Once I was on the road to recovery Josh also got me out hiking again – in the middle of winter, no less! But it’s made all the difference in the world.

*The great people who maintain our hiking trails. Within a month of starting treatment I was doing the Mossy Bank Park trails non-stop. Josh got me going to re-hike the Keuka Outlet Trail, which was kind of my milestone. After that I started in on branches of the Finger Lakes Trail system. I completed the Bristol Hills Trail, did the entire Crystal Hills Trail and the entire Interloken Trail, and now I’m halfway through the Letchworth Trail.

*My students and colleagues at Genesee Community College, who exercised great care for me as they watched me rapidly decline.

*Our friends at Pleasant Valley Mennonite Church, who suffered along with us and helped us at every step.

*All my comrades at the AddisonsDisease.net listserve. It’s such a rare disease that there aren’t the usual support groups; my wife suggested I look on line, and there I found a community from across the globe.

*Those who pushed through the Affordable Health Care Act, finally making it possible for me to get health insurance. I imagine this will disgruntle a lot of people, but as a guy with a chronic fatal pre-existing condition… which prevents him from working full-time… I’m glad I’ve got it.

*My cousin Heather King in Los Angeles, with her encouragement and her writings.

*Our cat Gabriel, who I’m grieved to say his since passed away. He was my friend when everyone else was off to work and I lay exhausted in bed, shivering even though piled high with blankets and wondering if I’d live through the afternoon. Gabe would press up against me and keep me company, and just a little warm.

Next to my bed I keep an empty Ovaltine jar. That was about all I could make myself eat or drink in those ghastly days, and I keep it to remind me how special THIS day is. And the next one. And, God willing, the next. And I hope to make them worthwhile for someone in addition to me.