It’s the Christmas season but Esther Smith’s heart is not filled with joy. Her father has announced that he’s being relocated to New York for his job and the family will be moving there. The move will separate Esther from John, the boy she loves.
Esther, played by Judy Garland in the 1944 film Meet Me in St. Louis, is the second of four daughters in the Smith family. The year is 1903. Esther’s brother and three sisters are unhappy about leaving behind their school friends and romantic partners. To make things worse, they will miss the greatly-anticipated world’s fair the following year.
On Christmas Eve, Esther soothes her little sister Tootie (Margaret O’Brien), singing to her Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. The song has since become an inescapable part of the holiday background. The music-licensing company, ASCAP, once named it the third most-performed Christmas tune.
Judy Garland, her co-star Tom Drake and director Vincente Minnelli all thought the song as originally written was too depressing and so asked the lyricist Hugh Martin to make some changes. He came back with a more upbeat version. The line “It may be your last / Next year we may all be living in the past” became “Let your heart be light / Next year all our troubles will be out of sight.”
Thirteen years later, Frank Sinatra was recording a Christmas album, A Jolly Christmas. He went back to Martin asking him to “jolly up” the line “Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow.” The composer changed it to “Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.” This became the standard version. Later, Ms. Garland sang these revised lyrics on The Judy Garland Show Christmas Special.
The list of artists who have recorded this song is almost endless, usually with the “shining star” lyric. One, Chris Isaak, recorded both versions of that verse.
And the Smith family? When Mr. Smith realized how unhappy his family was, he changed his plans, cancelling the move to New York. They all got to go to the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair.
Anita Hill, a professor at Brandeis University, grew up in Lone Tree, Oklahoma, a speck on the map, about a hundred miles east of Oklahoma City, and thirty-some miles west of Muskogee. She graduated as valedictorian from her local high school and went on to earn a bachelor’s degree with honors from Oklahoma State University. She earned her law degree with honors from Yale Law School in 1980. In 1989, she became the first tenured black professor at the University of Oklahoma College of Law.
Three years later, after a nationwide fundraising campaign initiated by a feminist group, and matching state funds, the Anita F. Hill professorship was endowed at the University of Oklahoma Law School. Oklahoma legislators promptly demanded Ms. Hill’s resignation and introduced a bill to prohibit the university from accepting out-of-state donations and even attempted to close the law school. School officials attempted to revoke her tenure. After five years of this, Hill resigned. The law school defunded the professorship in 1999, the position having never been filled.
What could a person have done to provoke such reaction in her home state? Anita Hill had the temerity to testify before the 1991 Senate Judiciary Committee, chaired by Joseph Biden, considering Supreme Court nominee Clarence Thomas, for whom she had worked when Thomas was in charge of the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. The FBI had previously questioned Hill. When that interview was leaked, the Senate committee called her to testify. She told the committee that Thomas had asked her out several times and she had always refused. His work conversations regularly addressed such topics as women having sex with animals, pornographic movies about group sex and rape, and “his own sexual prowess,” referring to himself as “Long Dong Silver,” an homage to a contemporary porn star. She also famously related his examining a can of soda on his desk and asking, “Who has put pubic hair on my Coke?”
The invective directed at her came quickly and forcefully. Thomas, of course denied it and went further, saying it was “high-tech lynching for uppity blacks who in any way deign to think for themselves.” Republican Senator Orrin Hatch said , “Hill was working in tandem with ‘slick lawyers’ and interest groups bent on destroying Thomas’ chances to join the court.” Contemporaneous opinion polls showed most people believed Thomas.
Ms. Hill took and passed, a polygraph test; Thomas refused to take a test. Four other women were waiting to testify but the committee chose not to hear them. Thomas, with all of one year’s experience as a federal judge, was confirmed. He has since distinguished himself as the least-inquisitive justice, often going months without asking a question or making a comment, and its most predictably conservative voter, including his dissent against affirmative action, something from which he benefited during his education.
A documentary film, “Anita,” about her experiences was released in 2014. HBO presented a dramatic film, “Confirmation,” starring Kerry Washington, in 2016.
Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. (The more things change, the more they stay the same.)
Eyewitness testimony has been the bedrock of our justice system. Studies have repeatedly shown, though, how unreliable our recollections can be. False memories can be slipped into our memory by third parties. Or we see what we expected to see and our mind fills in missing detail and that becomes our memory. We tend to re-tell a story according to the listener. Defense attorneys know this. With retelling, we become more certain that an erroneous recollection is true.
Researchers at Stanford University had volunteers review suicide notes and decide which were real and which were made up. They were informed of their scores; some were told they were correct in almost every instance, others that they were wrong on most of their choices. Except all the scores were fictitious and had no relation to the subjects’ actual performance. Even after being informed their scores were bogus, subjects originally given high scores still persisted in believing they were exceptionally perceptive, much better than average in determining what was true.
Which brings us to Fox News and its loyal viewers…
Right-wingers have been frothing about the nefarious deal Hillary “Lock her up!” Clinton made, selling U.S. uranium to Russia in exchange for large contributions to the Clinton Foundation. Fox News has been relentless in promoting the story, feeding the outrage against Mrs. Clinton. But then Fox talking head Shepard Smith went on the air and, point by point, took apart the story. He dispassionately pointed out that Clinton was not Secretary of State when the sale occurred, that the State Department was only one of nine Federal agencies involved, that the company, Uranium One, was mostly Canadian owned, that none of the uranium in question would leave the United States. Et cetera.
Sonoma County artist Tom Swearingen knows what he’ll be doing for the next year: painting roses. Since retiring from the Santa Rosa police department several years ago, Tom has become known for his “Playful Realism” paintings. His “Photorealism” work includes a series of police badges, trains, and also many visual puns. In the aftermath of the devastating fires that left many homeless, he has committed to painting a “Rose of Resilience” each day for a year. For $95, a patron of the arts could commission a rose and specify the flower and background colors. All $95 goes to the North Bay Fire Relief Fund. Village Art Supply has donated canvases for the project. He quickly received orders for all 365 paintings, raising $34,540.
A few miles west, in the town of Sebastopol, Patrick Amiot and Brigitte Laurent, have used their neighbors’ yards for installations of their self-described “Junk Art.” For years their whimsical sculptures have delighted passers-by on Florence Avenue. Amiot’s work can also be seen in public places around the area. One of their major works, a full-sized carousel, to honor immigrants, was unveiled last year on Canada Day in Markham, Ontario.
The husband-and-wife team decided to create a monument honoring first responders to the recent fires. Built with fire extinguishers, fuel canisters, woodstove parts and other detritus, the twelve-foot-high firefighter stands adjacent to the SMART commuter light rail in downtown Santa Rosa.
My daughter Maureen has completed her 17th marathon, this one in New York. Here is her report.
One week ago I completed the New York City Marathon. As you know, I decided to raise money for Team Fox for Parkinson’s Research, in honor of my father. I was amazed and overwhelmed by your generosity – together we raised $3,375! I want to thank you again for contributing, it means so much to me.
For those who are interested, I wanted to let you know how it went on November 5th. The NYC marathon is the largest marathon in the world; this year, 50,766 participants finished the marathon. The course starts on Staten Island and makes its way through all five boroughs, to finish 26.2 miles later in Central Park. Security is very, very tight – even more so after a man drove a rented pick up truck onto a crowded bike path in lower Manhattan on October 31, killing eight people and injuring eleven more. To get to the starting line, runners must take a bus or ferry provided by the marathon organizers. I caught my bus at 6:30 am and it took nearly two hours to get to the start village on Staten Island. I passed through a metal detector with my clear plastic bag holding my supplies – you are only allowed to take bags provided by the marathon organizers. There were police and National Guards everywhere, some holding big rifles. I was in the third wave, so I spent the next couple of hours waiting for my 10:40 am start time.
It was an overcast day, not windy, moderate temperature. We started on the Verrazano Narrows Bridge and immediately crossed to Brooklyn. My plan for the run was to keep to a steady, easy pace, with hydration breaks every two miles. I know all about the pitfalls of getting caught up in the moment and starting out too fast, and I did a good job of pacing myself across the bridge. As we crossed the bridge, the only spectators were police and city employees, there for security, but they still cheered the runners as we passed; one police officer was blasting “Eye of the Tiger” from his squad car, the first of three times I would hear that song.
When we reached Brooklyn, we started seeing people lining the course, cheering, waving, holding signs, playing music, and giving high fives. This was my first glimpse of what I had heard so much about – the incredible atmosphere of the NYC Marathon, where nearly the whole city comes out to cheer and celebrate. We continued through Brooklyn into Queens, and I was doing well sticking to my plan. Because of security rules, I could not wear my hydration backpack and instead had to use a belt with a water bottle; I had my electrolyte drink in my bottle, and took water from the stations on the course, which meant I had quick walk breaks every couple of miles – I’m not coordinated enough to drink from a cup or bottle while running. But these little breaks were probably good for me.
To get to Manhattan, we crossed the Queensboro Bridge, on the lower deck. The bridge is about a mile long, with a long, steady incline for much of the way across. There are also lots of metal seams in the bridge, and you really have to watch your step; by now, it had been misting for quite a while and everything was wet. I saw a woman ahead of me slip and fall on the ramp coming off the bridge; she jumped right back up and continued running, so I hope she was all right.
I knew my sister, brother-in-law, and my husband were going to try to see me at the Queensboro Bridge, and I was right on schedule, but the crowds were so huge, I could not see them. Nor did they see me – unlike other marathons, I was always running in a pack, it never really thinned out. From there we turned up First Avenue and the crowds were tremendous. The Queensboro Bridge had taken a lot out of me, and while I felt as though I had recovered, by mile 18, things started to hurt – not that I was injured, but that my legs just started to hurt, perhaps due to lactic acid build up. By the time we reached the Willis Avenue Bridge to cross into the Bronx, I was having to take more frequent walk breaks, and my goal of finishing under 4:30 was starting to look out of reach.
We were only in the Bronx for a couple of miles before crossing the Madison Avenue Bridge back into Manhattan, making our way to Fifth Avenue, and heading towards Central Park. Even though I was now hurting pretty badly, I was still able to enjoy running through Harlem, where a woman on the sidelines, seeing I was struggling, stepped off the curb to blow her whistle and yell encouragement to me; those moments give me a lift that I can’t describe. By now, probably at least five hours after the first wave of elite/professional runners started the marathon, the crowds were still out there, cheering us on, all the way through Central Park, and across the finish line. My official time was 4:44:37 (30,414th place!).
Because of security, I could not meet my family at the finish line; but they got to see me cross the line, thanks to my father getting tickets for the finish-line grandstand. Knowing that my family is waiting for me helps me to push through. I can’t say enough about how much it meant to me to have them there. And, thankfully, I eventually found them – I had to walk another half a mile to exit the park – and we all went out to celebrate.
A couple of additional thoughts:
I was pretty excited to run NYC this year in particular, because several of my running heroes would be there, including Shalane Flanagan, who lives and trains in Portland. When I finally found Kevin after exiting Central Park, one of the first things he told me was that Shalane won! She is the first American woman to win the NYC marathon in 40 years, and it was a commanding win – she finished a minute faster than the second place woman. (If you need a pick-me-up, watch her cross the finish line.)
And I have to give so much credit to the City of New York. To put on such a huge event, to keep everyone safe, to have it run so smoothly – and to do it all with such good cheer, is an amazing accomplishment. Every New Yorker we encountered seemed so proud of the marathon, so supportive, so happy to have us there. I have never experienced anything like it.
Thanks again to everyone who supported me on this journey. Please visit my personal page.
The Garden of Eden is situated a bit above Interstate 70, 235 miles east of Kansas City, about 150 miles northwest of Wichita. If this surprises you, possibly you’re thinking of a different Garden of Eden, maybe the one that was temporary home to Adam and Eve.
After serving in the Union Army during the Civil War, Samuel Perry Dinsmoor moved to Ohio, then Illinois where he taught school and married Frances Barlow Journey, a widow with two children. The marriage produced five more offspring. They later moved to Kansas and took up farming outside the town of Lucas. After retiring from working with the soil, the Dinsmoors moved in to town and, at age 62, S.P. began work on his twelve-room log cabin, the twenty-seven foot “logs” being carved limestone. Finished two years later, in 1907, Dinsmoor began offering tours and for the next twenty-two years added 150 sculptures representing his views on religion and politics. The artist created mammoth insects, angels with massive wingspans, forty-foot -tall trees and frolicking children. Numerous political messages included a waving concrete U.S. flag and a crucifixion of Labor by Doctor, Lawyer, Preacher and Banker. Life-sized statues of Adam and Eve greeted visitors at the main gate, Eve offering visitors an apple. Town leaders forced Dinsmoor to cover them with concrete loincloths. An “all-seeing-eye-of-God” was hung from a branch on the “tree of life.” The “eye” included a hose that ran from the basement of the house so that Dinsmoor could shout at passersby, pretending to be God speaking to them.
Dinsmoor also built a forty-foot tall mausoleum for himself and Frances. When his wife died, eighty-year-old S.P. married the family’s twenty-year-old housekeeper whom he had impregnated. They had two more children. He died at age eighty-nine and is interred in an open casket on top of his first wife. His widow sold the property to pay taxes.
The property was abandoned until 1969 when a new owner reopened it. In 2012, recognizing its artistic value, the Kohler Foundation financed its restoration, including removal of clothing from statues, returning them to their natural state as Dinsmoor had intended.