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Posts Archived Under Classical Music
I'll trade you two railroads
and the waterworks for
Ventor Ave. and Oriental
(Photo by Andrea Allen)
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Friday:
We note the death of three show business giants today. First is George M. Cohan, who died in 1942. Cohan was the first Broadway star of the modern age, a quadruple-threat who acted, wrote, composed, and produced scores of plays and musicals. Unlike the energetically over-the-top Oscar-winning portrayal of him by James Cagney in "Yankee Doodle Dandy," Cohan's actual on-stage style was simple, warm, and intimate, contrasting sharply with the bombast of most other performers of the time.
In 1956, pianist Art Tatum died at the age of 47. Despite his near-blindness, Tatum was certainly the greatest jazz pianist who ever lived, if not the greatest musician, period. His dazzling runs and breathtaking virtuosity have never been equaled. Vladimir Horowitz, no mean piano player himself, was in awe upon hearing Tatum's unrivaled technique and improvisational skills, saying that if Tatum ever took up classical music, he'd quit the next day.
This day in 1960 saw the passing of Mack Sennett. In the 1910s and '20s, Sennett's film comedies were unsurpassed. He had a flawless eye for talent, discovering (among others) Harold Lloyd, Gloria Swanson, Roscoe Arbuckle, Marie Dressler, Mabel Normand, Ben Turpin, and Harry Langdon. Unfortunately, Sennett's vision did not include business acumen, and his career began a slow decline with the coming of sound in the late 1920s. He mostly retired in the mid-'30s, but spent the final quarter-century of his life making occasional cameos in other people's comedies and announcing projects that never quite got off the ground. His Keystone comedies remain the gold standard for early silent comedy.
Sennett retired in 1935, but we don't know if he ever played Monopoly, the board game that was introduced by Parker Brothers on this day in that year.
All this talk of movies has made us wonder just what’s opening today, and it’s actually a fair bunch of films (none of which are summer blockbusters, indicating it's probably the start of awards season). For example, there’s "Fair Game," starring Naomi Watts as exposed CIA agent Valerie Plame and Sean Penn as her husband Joseph Wilson; "For Colored Girls," directed by the ubiquitous Tyler Perry, and starring Janet Jackson; "Megamind," an animated superhero comedy starring the voices of Will Ferrell, Brad Pitt, and Tina Fey; "127 Hours," with James Franco as hiker Aron Ralston, who was forced to amputate his own arm when it became trapped under a boulder; and "Client 9," a documentary about former New York governor Eliot Spitzer.
If motion pictures don't appeal to you, you might travel to England, to celebrate Guy Fawkes Night, which commemorates the 16th century plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament by burning scarecrow effigies of the "Gunpowder Plot's" alleged ringleader.
Saturday and Sunday:
Saturdays in the fall are college football day, and this is the anniversary of the day in 1869 when Princeton University (then known as the College of New Jersey) traveled to Rutgers College to play the first intercollegiate football game. (Rutgers won, 6-4.)
What more appropriate way to celebrate that anniversary than by watching a modern college football game? Perhaps you could make it better by watching that game in Forest Grove, Oregon (fifteen miles west of Portland) and indulging in the Verboort Sausage and Kraut Dinner. And then throw in some delicious nachos as a part of National Nachos Day. With all the resulting wind you'll be producing, you could pick up your saxophone and blow a tune; after all it is the 196th birthday of Antoine-Joseph (Adolphe) Sax, the inventor of both the saxophone and saxotromba, and hence, Saxophone Day.
Two more birthdays of note today. Thomas Ince (1882), who in a brief 14-year career, wrote, directed, produced, or acted in nearly 200 movies, and provided the fodder for one of Hollywood's first big scandals when he met his death on board the yacht of newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst. While the official story was that Ince died of heart trouble (at the age of 42), rumors have persisted that Hearst shot and killed Ince over the latter’s undue interest in Hearst’s mistress, Marion Davies. (This incident supposedly led to the long career of gossip columnist Louella Parsons, who was a witness to the alleged crime and given a lifetime contract to shut her up.)
In 1892, Harold Ross was born in Aspen, Colorado. After working in his teen years on various newspapers and serving as an editor on the Army’s paper "Stars and Stripes" during World War I, he settled in New York, founding and editing "The New Yorker" in 1925. For the last 85 years, it's been the gold standard of American magazines, hailed for its in-depth reportage, fiction, and cartoons.
Had Ross been near a television (still a relatively new invention) on his 55th birthday in 1947, he could have watched the inaugural broadcast of "Meet the Press," which began its reign as the longest-running television show in the world that day. After 63 years, the show can still make news, unlike Sunday's big event, the end of daylight saving time.
In spite of the fact that daylight saving ends every year, for reasons we'll never be able to figure, our evening commute home is always plagued with bumper-to-bumper traffic as people apparently forget how to drive in the dark. Since we expect traffic to be bad, we'd better take off now.
See you next time!
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Jack LaLanne at a mere 92 --
and he could still take you one-handed |
It's nearly Autumn! So won't you join The Spark as we fall into the week's events?
Monday:
You'd think something from the 17th century that's been confirmed by every reliable scientist for the past 400 years would be over and done with, wouldn't you? On this day in 1633, astronomer Galileo Galilei was tried by the Vatican for teaching that the Earth orbits the Sun. Well, even though the Catholic Church eventually apologized to Signor Galilei (albeit in 1992), there are still some folks beating the drums for geocentrism. "plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose," we guess.
Galileo's trial wasn’t the only event related to stirring things up on this day, though. In 1878, Upton Sinclair was born. His muckraking and provocative style evidenced itself over nearly 100 books, the most notorious of which, "The Jungle," exposed the horrors of the meat-packing industry, and led in great part to the 1906 passing of the Pure Food and Drug and Meat Inspection Acts.
In 1885, Ferdinand "Jelly Roll" Morton was born. Morton was many things, including, a pianist, bandleader, and composer, but is best known for his spurious claims to have invented jazz.
1947 saw the death of New York's mayor, Fiorello La Guardia. The "Little Flower" was that rarest of animals nowadays, a progressive Republican who cleaned up the vast network of corruption in Big Apple politics. He wasn't a reformer 24/7, though, in that he was known to leave business matters at the drop of a hat to hop onto a passing fire truck, and in 1945, when a strike stopped newspapers from being printed, he read the comic section on the radio so readers could keep up with the action.
Cartoon director Jay Ward would have turned 90 today. His off-kilter sense of humor leant itself to such classic shows as "The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle," "Hoppity Hooper," and "George of the Jungle."
But let's not forget the ladies today. Legendary actress Sophia Loren turns 76 today, and tomorrow is the 29th anniversary of Sandra Day O'Connor being approved unanimously approved by the U.S. Senate as the first female Supreme Court justice, and in 1973, Billie Jean King struck a blow for feminists everywhere when she beat Bobby Riggs in straight sets in "The Battle of the Sexes" tennis match at Houston"s Astrodome. Of course, the 30-year-old King had an age advantage over the 55-year-old Riggs, and the whole thing was little more than a massive publicity stunt, but it was still good theatre.
Speaking of theatre, in 1994, songwriter Jule Styne died. Over his nearly 70-year career, he wrote more than 2,000 songs (of which the New York Times estimated that 200 were hits) and 29 musicals, some of which -- most notably "Gyspy" and "Funny Girl" -- are among the greatest achievement of the musical theatre. He was also nominted for nine Academy Awards, finally winning for "Three Coins in the Fountain" in 1953.
Not so notable, though. is "Dancing with the Stars," which begins its new season tonight, as does the new incarnation of "Hawaii Five-O;" though without Jack Lord -- and his hair -- we don't know if it'll be able to suvrive. (They are keeping the classic theme song, though.) Maybe the brainiacs participating in the 2010 Chess Olympiad in Khanty Mansiysk, Russia, will be able to figure that one out.
Tuesday:
Tougher to figure out is the case of comedian Milton Berle. In 1948, Berle was made the regular host of "The Texaco Star Theater." Almost overnight, Berle became the biggest star on television, sparking the sale of millions of TV sets as Americans clamored to see what "Uncle Miltie" would do next. He was so popular, in fact, that NBC signed him to a lifetime contract -- a contract that expired in 1978, 24 years before Berle's actual death.
Turning to sports, we see that today is both the 40th anniversary of the debut of "Monday Night Football" as well as being Miniature Golf Day. It's also the 60th birthday of avid golfer and Chicago Cubs fan Bill Murray.
Lots of literary doings today. In 1866, H.G. Wells was born. Wells is today best remembered for his science fiction novels like "The War of the Worlds" and "The Invisible Man," but he was also a historian and social critic and commentator. Why movie producer Jerry Bruckheimer, who turns 65 today, has never made one of Wells's novels into a blockbuster film we don't know. For that matter, we have to wonder why he's never made a film of one of Stephen King's books. After all, they share a birthday -- though King is two years younger.
We should be thankful, though that Bruckheimer never turned Virginia O'Hanlon's letter to the New York Sun asking if there was a Santa Claus (published on this day in 1897) into a mammoth summer movie -- though we suppose massive explosions don't really lend themselves to stories featuring eight-year-old Victorian girls. It's actually better fodder for an animated feature, perhaps one directed by Chuck Jones, born in 1912, and considered by many to be the greatest of all cartoon directors. His "Duck Amuck," "One Froggy Evening," and "What's Opera, Doc?" are usually considered three of the finest cartoons ever made.
Wednesday:
For that matter, we have to wonder why there’s never been a movie version of the life of Revolutionary War spy Nathan Hale. Seems like there’s enough adventure there to fill out a movie, but maybe the unhappy ending -- he was caught and hanged on this day in 1776 -- put the kibosh on those plans. Still, with such a killer final line ("I regret I have but one life to lose for my country"), you’d get an interesting ending. Perhaps it would have been an interesting subject for birthday boy Erich von Stroheim (1885), but given Stroheim's excesses (the first cut of his 1924 silent film "Greed" ran sixteen hours), perhaps that's not such a good idea.
Speaking of spies, we note in passing that, in 1964, "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." debuted on NBC (much to the delight of "Mad Men's" Sally Draper, we presume).
If only Hale had lived another seven years, he might have seen Russia establishing a colony at Kodiak, Alaska in 1784 -- an event which definitely allowed what Alaskans there were to see Russia from their houses. Such an event might have been fodder for the National Geographic Magazine, except it didn't begin publishing until more than a century later, in 1888. And if any of those Russian colonists had injured themselves, well, they just would have been out of luck, since Band-Aids weren’t invented until this day in 1921. (Need we mention that Band-Aid, like Kleenex, Xerox, Aspirin, Zipper, and even Heroin, is a trademarked name?)
Beginnings and endings today: The Queen Mary began her last Atlantic crossing in 1967 on its way to Long Beach, CA, where it floats today as a hotel and tourist attraction. (The ship had made her maiden voyage on September 26, 1934, so we're pretty sure the date of the finale was intentional.)
Not quite as regal, but still a movie queen was Marion Davies, who died on this day in 1961. The longtime companion/mistress of newspaper mogul William Randolph Hearst, Davies was a huge star in the 1920s. A talented comedienne, Hearst forced Davies to play dramatic parts before she finally retired from the screen in 1937. Unfortunately for her, she was the model of Susan Alexander Kane in Orson Welles's "Citizen Kane." The comparison is unfortunate because Davies, unlike Mrs. Kane, was actually talented, smart, and witty -- but history will forever associate them together.
In 2007, Marcel Marceau died. Marceau was one of the world's great mimes, and while street mimes have given the art form a bad name, artists like Marceau were able to translate human emotions into wordless vignettes of joy, pain, love, and hate that anyone in any country could understand and empathize with.
If Jule Styne's nine Oscar nominations seem a lot, consider the case of Harry Warren, who died in 1981. Over the course of his long career, Warren was nominated for 11, and won three. A list of his hits would be as long as your arm, from "Jeepers Creepers" and "Chattanooga Choo-Choo" (the first record to sell a million copies) to "We’re in the Money" and "42nd Street." For all his success, though, he was relatively unknown, even in his heyday.
As unknown as Warren was, Irving Berlin, who died in 1989 at the age of 101 was as famous as anyone in America -- and possibly the most successful songwriter of all time. From 1911, when his first hit, "Alexander’s Ragtime Band" made him world famous, to 1961, when his last musical, "Mr. President" flopped, he wrote more than 1,500 songs, the very minimum mention of which would include "Easter Parade" "White Christmas," "There's No Business Like Show Business" and "God Bless America." Jerome Kern (no slouch at songwriting himself), said of him, "Irving Berlin has no place in American music -- he is American music."
Enough of the farewells, though. Tonight, "Hell's Kitchen" returns, and we predict that chef Gordon Ramsey will swear, call someone a "donkey," and throw someone out of his kitchen in a fit of rage. If it gets too violent, we can be sure that the new police officers and ADAs of "Law & Order: Los Angeles" will be there to ensure justice is done. Ramsey's fits may seem the work of a madman, but we can be assures he’s (probably) sane, much like Joaquin Phoenix, who returns to David Letterman's show tonight to prove that his last bizarre appearance was merely a pose for his latest movie.
We're usually pretty good at linking things and finding tenuous connections between events, but we'll present these three to you and hope you can find a connection. Today is not only Elephant Appreciation Day (and who wouldn't appreciate an World Carfree Day (not "Free Car" Day, mind you), as well as being Ice Cream Cone Day.
Thursday:
A slew of birthdays. Baroness Emmuska Orczy was born in 1865. The baroness created something that is invaluable to many writers today. She invented the secret identity. In her novel "The Scarlet Pimpernel," Sir Percy Blakeney is, to all the world, an ineffectual fop. But to the terrorized rulers of post-revolutionary France, he is an avenging angel, rescuing otherwise helpless aristocrats. All right, it's not exactly Clark Kent and Superman, but it is a trope that writers have happily used in the years since.
In 1865, Mary Mallon was born. Mallon was better known as "Typhoid Mary" for her uncanny ability to carry the typhoid virus without herself becoming ill. Unfortunately, she worked as a cook and housemaid and spread the disease, killing two and making dozens ill before being forced to spend the final 23 years of her life in isolation.
In more current birthdays, we have Ray Charles (1930), quite possibly the hippest man who ever lived, and Mickey Rooney, who turns 90 today, and while probably not hip, is certainly hale and hearty, currently working on his 73rd year in the movie business. He was one of the top stars in the '30s and '40s, and has four movies out in 2010 and another scheduled for next year. He's the Energizer Bunny of actors. Speaking of ageless performers, Bruce Springsteen is 61 today and still performs with the energy of a man half his age.
Entertainment anniversaries: 1953 saw the premiere of "The Robe," the first movie made in CinemaScope (another trademarked name!) CinemaScope was hardly the first widescreen format (1930’s "The Big Trail" was made in a 70mm process called "Grandeur," but it was the first one that stuck. Movie studios, disturbed that people were staying at home and watching television, had to come up with a gimmick that audiences could get only in a theatre; hence, the big, big screen. Of course, if entertainment was going to be like "The Jetsons," which premiered in prime time in 1962 (ABC's first series in color, by the way), maybe movie moguls only had to wait for TV shows (like 1962's "The Beverly Hillbillies," 1964's "The Munsters" and "Gilligan's Island," and 1967's "The Brady Bunch," all of which premiered this weekend) that would drive folks out of their homes and back to the movies. (Although 1968 brought us "60 Minutes," so it's not a total loss.)
Not that television has gotten any better. NBC's "Outsourced" premieres tonight, set in an Indian call center, we have to wonder if any of the characters were fired by Donald Trump, whose "Apprentice" makes its return, as well. And if you can't stand those, there's always "CSI," featuring a guest appearance by teen heartthrob Justin Bieber, whom we sincerely hope plays a murder victim. If comedy is your preference, though, you might want to dig up a copy of Richard Nixon's 1952 "Checkers" speech, wherein the then-Vice Presidential candidate made a maudlin speech to defend himself from bribery charges, admitting that yes, he’d accepted a cocker spaniel puppy named "Checkers," but that he wouldn't be giving up the dog, which his daughters loved.
In 1806, Lewis and Clark returned to St. Louis after two years of exploring the Pacific Northwest, just in time for the Autumnal Equinox, which marks, of course, the 3/4 point in the year, and the beginning of fall.
Friday:
Two civil rights landmarks today. In 1957, President Dwight D. Eisenhower sent the 101st Airborne Division into Little Rock, Arkansas, to enforce the desegregation of Central High School, and in 1962, the United States Court of Appeals ordered the University of Mississippi to admit James Meredith as its first African-American student.
In 1896, writer F. Scott Fitzgerald was born. Fitzgerald chronicled the Roaring Twenties in such novels as "The Great Gatsby" and "The Beautiful and Damned," and was soon tempted by the bright lights of Hollywood, where he worked as a frustrated screenwriter. Even though he contributed to many, many scripts (including "Gone With the Wind"), he received only one screen credit (for 1938's "Three Comrades." Seeing that today is Fitzgerald's birthday and tomorrow is that of William Faulkner, we guess it's somehow appropriate that it's also National Punctuation Day. Faulkner toiled in Hollywood, too, but is best known for his long and dense novels set in the fictional Yoknapatawpha County of Mississippi. Like Fitzgerald, he was an alcoholic, but managed to survive to 1962 (Fitzgerald had died in 1940) and was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1949. We have the feeling that many high school students would like to violate the spirit of Banned Books Week (which begins tomorrow) by removing their works from the curriculum, but we would disagree.
In the oddity file, 1947 supposedly saw the establishment of the Majestic 12 committee by President Harry Truman. The committee was allegedly organized to investigate UFO activity in the wake of the Roswell incident in New Mexico. The only problem is that there's no evidence that the committee ever actually existed -- which, in conspiracist's minds, is probably the surest evidence it existed.
As weird as the aliens who visited Roswell were (assuming they existed) are the creatures created by Jim Henson, the Muppet master who was born in 1936.
Saturday:
In 1690, "Publick Occurrences Both Foreign and Domestick," the first newspaper to appear in the Americas, was published for the first -- and only -- time. Whether it was due to bad copy-editing, we don't know.
Today's birthdays include two actors who portrayed movie superheroes: Mark Hamill (1951) and Christopher Reeve (1952). (We were surprised to realize Hamill was older.) Mark portrayed Luke Skywalker, the would-be Jedi with father issues, and Reeve was obviously best known as Superman. Hamill's career has continued to the present, most notably as The Joker in "Batman: The Animated Series," where Reeve's was cut short by his 1995 equestrian accident that paralyzed him from the neck down. His charity, the Christopher and Dana Reeve Foundation, is still dedicated to finding treatments and cures for paralysis caused by spinal cord injuries.
Heroes of even another sort will appear in Indianapolis when UFC 119 begins and big slabs of beef will try to pound each other into submission, a tactic that would most assuredly not be approved by birthday boy Shel Silverstein (1930), whose wicked wit has enlivened many a childhood (and adulthood, for that matter).
It's also National One Hit Wonder Day, dedicated to those whose fame came and went in the twinkling of an eye, a description that would not apply to Barbara Walters, who, born in 1929, has been appearing on American television screens since 1961.
Sunday:
In 1774, John Chapman, aka "Johnny Appleseed," was born. Chapman was an early conservationist, who walked across colonial America, spreading, yes, apple seeds, vegetarianism, and a gospel of ecology and health.
In 1871, Winsor McCay was born. The father of the American animated cartoon, McCay was a cartoonist and draftsman almost without peer, whose idea that drawings projected in sequence could give the illusion of movement created a billion-dollar industry.
1872 saw the opening of the first Shriner's Temple in New York City. We have to wonder what Shriners rode around in before those little cars were invented.
In 1898, Jacob Gershowitz was born in Brooklyn. When he was 17, he published his first song as George Gershwin, and American music has never been the same. To this day, his songs are the backbone of the "Great American Songbook," and have been recorded and performed countless times. If he wrote nothing else, his opera "Porgy and Bess" would stand out at the greatest achievement in the history of the musical theatre. (There are some who would claim that place for "West Side Story," which opened in 1957. These people are wrong.)
In 1902, Levi Strauss died. His fame can be judged when you count the number of people who have had articles of clothing after them at all, let alone their first names.
Jack LaLanne was born in 1914, and he's still going strong. At 96, he still starts every morning with a brisk 90-minute session in the weight room, followed by a half hour walking or swimming. His lifelong commitment to health and fitness is a model to anyone of any age. He once said that he can't die, since it'd be bad for his image. We wouldn't bet against him.
We end this week by going from the sublime to the ridiculous. On CBS, "The Amazing Race" returns for its latest season, offering contestants the chance to see the world while humiliating themselves and suffering from killer fatigue.
On the other hand, over on Fox, the cast of "Glee" will guest on "The Simpsons." One show that's downright annoying and another that's long since passed its sell-by date. But, hey, that's showbiz!
And on that note, we bid you a fond adieu until next time.
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Welcome back to The Spark. It's a brand new week with some brand new chances to dig deep into upcoming events and anniversaries. Let's begin, shall we?
Monday:
Today is International Chocolate Day, a chance to indulge your sweet tooth and not feel guilty -- or, at least, unduly guilty. We don't know if the holiday is timed to coincide with the 1857 birthday of Milton Snaveley Hershey (the man who founded both the Hershey chocolate company and the town of Hershey, PA), but if it isn't, it's a sweet coincidence. (Of course, it's also Fortune Cookie Day, so it may not be honoring him, after all.)
In our youths, this time of year was always looked forward to anxiously, as the new television season was starting. For example (as we’ve noted previously, both "Law & Order" (1990) and "Scooby-Doo, Where Are You?" (1969) began their seemingly endless runs on this day, as did "The Muppet Show" in 1976.
The season still starts this week, but it's nowhere near as exciting as it used to be. Regardless, it's not without interest. For example, Martha Stewart's new show premieres on the Hallmark Channel, and both Oprah and Mary Hart begin their final seasons on their respective shows. (In the latter cases, we guess that hoping for such events paid off -- especially with this being Positive Thinking Day).
Maybe the most notable thing to happen on this day was in 1814, when lawyer Francis Scott Key observed the British attacking Fort McHenry in Baltimore and was so moved by the stars and stripes surviving intact that he penned a poem that soon became known as the "Star-Spangled Banner," which was eventually adopted as the American national anthem in 1931.
Tuesday:
We begin the day by noting some passings. First, in 1927, Isadora Duncan died. Duncan is usually considered the mother of modern dance. Her bohemian lifestyle and exuberant dancing made her world famous -- as did her death, when a scarf she was wearing became tangled in the wheels of the automobile she was riding in and broke her neck.
Next is Irving Thalberg. Thalberg was a film producer at Universal and MGM in the 1920s and '30s, who turned out such classic films as "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," "The Big Parade," "The Broadway Melody," "Tarzan the Ape Man," "Grand Hotel," and "A Night at the Opera." After his premature death in 1936 at the age of 37, F. Scott Fitzgerald immortalized his in his novel "The Love of the Last Tycoon," which painted him as one of the few men who was able to hold the formula for successful motion pictures in his head.
On a lighter note, it was on this day when major league baseball owners, in an attempt to break the players' union, cancelled the rest of the 1994 season – including the World Series.
Not all the news of this day is bad, though. For example, in 1961. Wendy Thomas, namesake of the eponymous hamburger restaurant chain, was born, just a year after the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries -- or OPEC -- was founded -- well, maybe that second one isn’t so good, after all.
How about we finish the day by remembering the 1985 premiere of "The Golden Girls," or by telling you to get out the vote, as there are primary elections in Minnesota, Delaware, Washington DC, Maryland, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New York, Rhode Island, Vermont, and Wisconsin?
Wednesday:
Today’s birthdays include:
Marco Polo (1254), the Venetian who was one of the first Westerners to explore China and Central Asia, and who later inspired kids playing in pools to shout his name.
In 1907, it was Fay Wray, the actress who so captivated the original King Kong and whose screams pierced the eardrums of the world. (Peter Jackson even wanted to cast her -- at the age of 96 -- in his ill-fated remake of "Kong," but she unfortunately passed away before filming could begin.)
Jackie Cooper (1922) was one of the first child stars of the talkie era. Beginning at age 7, he worked as an actor, writer, producer, and director until his retirement in 1989. He was the youngest performer ever to be nominated in a leading role for an Academy Award (for 1931's "Skippy").
"Skippy" was based on a comic strip of the same name that also gave its name to the peanut butter brand (a fact which has caused a some controversy over the years), but peanut butter also plays a weird part in the death of Jumbo the elephant. Jumbo was the star attraction at the London Zoo in the 1860s and '70s. P.T. Barnum, seeing the marketing possibilities, bought Jumbo in 1882 for $10,000, and brought the pachyderm to America where he became a huge hit -- even lending his name to large-sized items. Unfortunately, Jumbo was hit by a train in 1885 and crushed. His skeleton was donated to the American Museum of Natural History in New York, but his hide was stuffed and eventually donated to Tufts University, where it was displayed until 1975, when it was destroyed by a fire. But Jumbo's ashes were recovered and now reside in a 14-ounce jar of Peter Pan Crunchy Peanut Butter in the office of the college's athletic director, where Tufts athletes still rub the jar for luck.
Three literary birthdays: James Fennimore Cooper (1789), who wrote "The Last of the Mohicans" and other adventure novels, and who was later eviscerated by Mark Twain, who called him one of the worst writers who ever lived.
Robert Benchley (1899) was a master of an-but-dead art form, the short humorous essay. Working initially as drama critic for the original "Life" magazine and "The New Yorker," he eventually became a character actor whose droll cameos enlivened any movie.
And in 1890, Agatha Christie was born. The mistress of mystery, she turned out 80 novels featuring Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, and others, along with a number of plays -- one of which, "The Mousetrap," has been running continuously in London since 1952 -- to become (according to Guinness), the best-selling author of any kind in history, with over four billion copies of her books sold.
In 1902, the trio of Joe Tinker, Johnny Evers (pronounced "EE-vers," if you please; not "EVV-ers"), and Frank Chance pulled off their first double play for the Chicago Cubs. They were later immortalized in a poem by columnist Franklin P. Adams.
More TV. In 1949, "The Lone Ranger" premiered, just a day after the 35th birthday of star Clayton Moore, who made a lifelong career of portraying the masked man.
Speaking of birthdays and TV stars, in 1971, "Columbo" first aired, the day before Peter Falk turned 44. Falk will be forever identified with the detective whose cigar, rumpled raincoat, and equal amounts of annoyance and inquisitiveness endeared him to millions.
The 1965 debut of "I Spy" was notable for two things. One was that it did a lot of its filming overseas, an unheard-of practice for the time. The other -- and far more important one -- is that it was the first series to feature a black actor (Bill Cosby) and a white actor (Robert Culp) as co-stars in equally important roles. There had been other shows featuring black actors, but, until then, all had traded in stereotypes and comic relief.
Finally, in 1971, Greenpeace was founded, dedicating itself to increasing public awareness of such issues as global warming, deforestation, overfishing, commercial whaling and nuclear power.
Thursday:
Lots of music today. First of all, the 1782 death of Farinelli. Farinelli was the stage name of Carlo Maria Broschi, who was probably the greatest castrato of all time. While it seems barbaric now, castrati were boys with beautiful soprano voices whose, um, manhood was cut short before adolescence in order to maintain the purity of their tone with the power of masculine singing. He traveled throughout Europe, becoming (somewhat surprisingly) a ladies' man, and retired a wealthy man.
While Farinelli sang opera, it was different from what we know today; not really the sort of thing that's much heard these days at the New York's Metropolitan Opera House, which opened in 1966 at Lincoln Center with the world premiere of Samuel Barber's "Antony and Cleopatra."
About as far away as you can get from the Met, Riley B. King was born in 1925 on a plantation in Mississippi. At the age of 21, Riley began singing on the radio in Memphis, and gained the nickname "Beale Street Blues Boy," which was later shortened to "B.B.," and combined with his last name, gave us B.B. King, one of the greatest blues singers and musicians in history.
At the other end of the spectrum from the blues and opera are cheesy animated musical TV specials such as the kind brought to us by Jules Bass, who was born in 1935. With his partner Arthur Rankin, Bass formed an animation company that gave us such "classics" as "The Year without a Santa Claus" and "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."
Such shows could really drive a person to drink, so if that's the case, you may want to head to Denver, where the 2010 Great American Beer Festival will get underway today, featuring brewers large and micro, bringing you the finest in suds. (Not to mention Oktoberfest, which begins in Munich, Germany, tomorrow for the 200th time.)
We don't know if they indulge in the occasional brewski, but if they do, Queen Elizabeth will be meeting Pope Benedict today, and that would seem to be the right time to hoist one.
Friday:
Since April 2, 1956, many Americans have been following events in Oakdale, IL with great enthusiasm, but that all comes to an end today when "As the World Turns," the venerable soap opera, airs its last broadcast. Its death is another nail in the coffin of daytime drama, which once gave millions hours of entertainment, but is now just a relic of an earlier era or broadcasting and American history.
Speaking of American history, it was on this date in 1787 that the U.S. Constitution was ratified, setting in motion a series of debates that continue to the present day as to just what the Founding Fathers did mean. With such confusion, it's no wonder that in 1859, the otherwise-harmless Joshua A. Norton declared himself "Emperor Norton I" of the United States. Norton was humored by his fellow San Franciscans and treated with honor, and was given all the perks of royalty with none of the responsibilities. When he died in 1880, he was given a funeral whose procession stretched for two miles and drew 30,000 spectators.
A less inglorious send-off was received by guitarist Jimi Hendrix, who died of an overdose of sleeping pills in a London hotel in 1970. Hendrix's flashy and virtuosic musical style has influenced almost every rock and jazz guitarist since.
Lastly, we note that Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement, begins at sundown.
Saturday:
Beginnings of note today:
In media, in 1851, The New York Times began publishing. While the "Grey Lady" is still the "paper of record," we also have to wonder if it, soon, will go the way of the soap opera. (We hope not, as we still enjoy settling down on a Sunday with the Times.) And, in 1927, the Columbia Broadcasting System, better known as CBS, went on the air for the first time. On another network (ABC) in 1964, "The Addams Family" premiered. The series, based on the New Yorker cartoons of Charles Addams, took a delight in black humor and the wholesomely perverse, and inspired the current Broadway musical.
In 1895, Daniel David Palmer gave the first chiropractic adjustment in history to one Harvey Lillard, in Davenport, IA, which is now the home of the Palmer College of Chiropractic.
In 1905, in Stockholm, Sweden, Greta Gustafsson was born. By the age of 19, as Greta Garbo, she was one of the greatest movie stars in history. Iconic and reclusive, she grew tired of the film industry and retired in 1941, and spent the half-century of her life avoiding the press and public.
Not so reclusive is birthday girl June Foray. Born in 1917, Foray is the voice behind most of the female characters in the classic Warner Bros. cartoons, not to mention playing both Rocket J. Squirrel and Natasha Fatale on the "Rocky and Bullwinkle" show. And she’s still working in her 90s!
One of the unluckiest men in sports history was born in 1925. Harvey Haddix was a pitcher for, among other teams, the Pittsburgh Pirates. On May 26, 1959, Haddix accomplished something no other pitcher in history has ever accomplished: he pitched 12 innings of perfect baseball; that is to say, he faced the first 36 batters without allowing a baserunner. Unfortunately, the Pirates being the Pirates, they didn't score any runs for Haddix. The 37th batter got on on an error, and was bunted to second. The no-hitter was still in place when Hank Aaron was walked, but the next batter, Joe Adcock, hit a home run to end the game (and even that went screwy went Adcock passed Aaron on the basepaths and was called out).
That game was tragic for Haddix, but nowhere near the tragedy of actress Peg Entwistle who, in 1932, despondent over her lack of success in the movies, committed suicide by jumping from the letter "H" in the famous Hollywood sign.
Sunday:
We end the week by letting you know that it's the beginning of TV Turnoff Week, which asks parents and kids to turn off the boob tube and read, play, talk, or just sit in quiet contemplative silence. Given that it’s Adam West's birthday (1928), his culpability in the "Batman" TV series of the '60s, makes it easy to think about never watching television again.
If you do watch, though, the Martin Scorsese-produced "Boardwalk Empire" premieres tonight on HBO. Being that it's from Scorsese, you can almost predict that it's about gangsters -- this time in the wide-open Atlantic City of the 1920s.
Speaking of thugs and villains reminds us that, in 1959, Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev was prevented him from visiting Disneyland. Police authorities cited security concerns, though many speculated it was punishment for his being the top Communist. (Though to some of us, having to go to the Magic Kingdom at all would be punishment indeed.)
To round out the week, we give our hopes that, at some time during the day, you'll celebrate International Talk Like a Pirate Day by shivering your timbers, avasting your keelhaul, or doing whatever it is buccaneers do.
See you next time!
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The most famous shot in "A Trip to the
Moon." Special effects have gotten
slightly better in the century since. |
Welcome once more to The Spark, your weekly digest of events and happenings and information in the Yahoo! Directory to help you appreciate them more.
As we begin this last Spark before the Labor Day holiday, we have to ask just where in the heck the summer went. Seems like it was Memorial Day about five minutes ago, and now kids are back in school and Fall is lurking around the corner.
Anyway, let's look at the week ahead.
Monday:
It's a day for monsters and creators. In the former category, we have Benedict Arnold, who on this day in 1780, secretly promised to surrender the Continental Army's fort at West Point, NY, to the British. Arnold was an egomaniac, who was frustrated with the lack of attention he had received, and what better way to get attention than to commit treason?
Speaking of outsized egos, we note that today would have been the 127th birthday of Huey Long, the "Kingfish" who ran Louisiana like a private fiefdom until he was gunned down in 1935. Long ruled the state as both governor and senator, and his campaign slogan of "Every Man a King" mixed populism and fascism in equal measure.
But let us not mention only those who destroy, let's celebrate those who create. When thinking of monsters, one almost automatically turns to thoughts of Dr. Frankenstein and his creation, for which we owe thanks to Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, born in 1793, she wrote her novel, "Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus," at the tender age of 18.
And where would kids (and parents) be today without Babar? Laurent de Brunhoff (born in 1925), is son of Jean de Brunhoff, who created the elephant king, and who continued his adventures when his father died.
Of course, those kids grow up to be teenagers and young adults, and where would they be without Robert Crumb, who turns 73 today? Crumb was in the vanguard of the underground comix movement of the 1960s, and he’s still active and creative, and his influence on modern pop culture is incalculable.
And what would pop culture be without the Beatles? One hesitates to guess, but you can try to get a handle on it this week at the International Beatle Week in Liverpool, England.
Of course, the Beatles played in the Ed Sullivan Theatre in New York when they made their American debut in 1964, and that theatre is today home to the Late Show with David Letterman, which made its own debut in "the Ed" in 1993.
A nice contrast to end the day. Gazillionaire Warren Buffett hits the big 8-0 today, and out in the Nevada desert, Burning Man begins. The best thing we can say about Burning Man is that it gets all those people who want to go to Burning Man in one spot away from the rest of us.
Tuesday:
More monsters. In 12, Gaius Caligula was born. Though the surviving sources are incomplete, Caligula was one of the most notorious Roman emperors of them all, known for the stories of his cruelty, instability, and sexual perversion. (We won’t deal with them here, but you can find the stories easily enough.)
But Caligula isn't the only monster we note. On this date in 1888, Mary Ann Nichols was murdered and became the first of known victim of Jack the Ripper.
And, of course, in 1928, Berlin saw the premiere of Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill’s "Die Dreigoschenoper" (known in English as "The Threepenny Opera"), with its main character, the vicious murderer Captain Macheath, better known as "Mack the Knife." In 1959, Bobby Darin had a huge hit with that song (which is really odd, when one considers it's about a mass murderer killing people), and Friday will see the 51st anniversary of that song being banned by WCBS radio in New York City. At the time, there had been a series of teenage stabbings in the city, and the station didn't want to those crazy teens any ideas.
And while marijuana possession is small potatoes compared to all of the above, we see that, in 1948, actor Robert Mitchum was arrested in a Hollywood drug bust, and was eventually sentenced to 60 days in prison, a scandal which in those days threatened to kill his career, but nowadays would rate only a passing mention on "Entertainment Tonight."
All this talk of criminals and murderers makes us long for a hero, and fortunately, in 1942, "The Adventures of Superman" radio series began airing on the Mutual Broadcasting System.
Wednesday:
All we have for today is that in 1902, George Melies’s "A Trip to the Moon," was released in France and became the world’s first science fiction film.
Thursday:
So, in 490 BCE, the Athenian army was at Marathon, battling with Persia. The herald Pheidippides was sent to Sparta for help. He ran the 150 miles in two days, but because of religious laws, the Spartans couldn't send any help, so he ran back. In spite of not having the extra troops, Athens won the battle. And poor Phidippides took off again, this time running the 26.2 miles from Marathon to Athens to carry the news of the victory. He gasped out his last words, "We have won," and dropped dead of exhaustion. The lesson: do not underestimate the usefulness of warm-ups and warm-downs.
In 1666, the Great Fire of London began in the wooden house of King Charles II's baker. By the time it ended three days later, more than 13,000 houses, including St Paul's Cathedral, had burned to the ground -- but amazingly, only six people had died.
If you were living in England in 1752, tomorrow would have been September 14th. While most of the rest of the world had switched from the Julian Calendar to the Gregorian Calendar in 1582, the stubborn Brits had stuck to their guns. But, after nearly 200 years, there was an eleven-day discrepancy between the two calendars, and the English had no choice but to convert. There were actual riots, as people cried, "Give us back our eleven days!" But it was to no avail. Great Britain and her colonies were dragged kicking and screaming into the 18th century.
Speaking of fighting against reality, in 1934, singer Russ Columbo accidentally shot himself to death. Columbo was a wildly popular singer and actor, and when he killed himself (with an antique gun that was supposedly unloaded), his friends thought the news would prove fatal to his mother, so for the last years of her life, those friends created an elaborate ruse, sending postcards and letters from far-off locations, and using his records to simulate a radio show. In 1944, Mrs. Columbo died, never suspected that her son had died a decade before.
Friday, Saturday, and Sunday:
Let's talk about pioneers this weekend.
First, there's Louis Sullivan, born in 1856. Sullivan is, for all intents and purposes, the man who invented the skyscraper. Since Chicago had had its own giant fire in 1871, Sullivan had the opportunity and the laboratory to erest steel-framed buildings that towered over anything built before.
In 1833, 10-year-old Barney Flaherty answered an ad in "The New York Sun" and became the first world's first newsboy, which is why we celebrate Newspaper Carrier Day today -- at least for those relatively few Americans who still have newspapers carried to them.
Sunday would have been the 163rd birthday of Jesse James. Jesse was not the first Western outlaw, but he was the first to become world famous while plying his dubious trade.
1885 saw the opening of the Exchange Buffet in New York City. It was the first self-service restaurant (read, "cafeteria") in the United States. We don't know if they served chocolate (we'd guess yes), but whether they did or not, it's World Chocolate Day Friday, so you can serve yourself and indulge.
In 1888, George Eastman registered the trademark "Kodak" (for the clicking sound a camera's shutter makes) and received a patent for his camera that used rolled film. Eastman's "Brownie" camera came from the factory loaded with enough film for 100 photos. When the roll was complete, the customer would mail the whole camera back to the factory in Rochester, NY, where the pictures would be developed and sent back along with a new camera.
Sunday is the 81st birthday of comedian Bob Newhart. Newhart is a two-time pioneer, having been in the forefront of the stand-up comedy revolution of the 1950s, when he transformed himself from "button-down accountant" to a comedian with the top-selling album in America. Then, in the '70s, his sitcom, "The Bob Newhart Show," set new standards for writing, ensemble acting, and just plain goofiness.
The weekend before Labor Day always marks the annual Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon. While it's easy to criticize the telethon for its corniness and out-of-date show business aesthetic, it's impossible to deny Lewis's commitment and ability to raise money -- nearly a billion-and-a-half dollars since 1966.
Lastly, we'll note the 98th birthday of the late avant-garde composer John Cage with 4 minutes and 33 seconds of silence.
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Don't even think of throwing
a tomato at Klaatu |
Welcome back to The Spark, your weekly guide to Yahoo! Directory resources for the week's events. It’s not a jam-packed week, we’ll admit, but in the words of Spencer Tracy, there’s not much meat on it, "but what’s there is cherce."
Monday:
In the late 1890s, Fannie Farmer wrote a wildly-popular and influential cookbook; a book which virtually guaranteed results by standardizing measurements. On this day in 1902, she opened her own cooking school, "Mrs. Farmer's School of Cookery," beginning a mania for cooking, food, and recipes in America that continues to this day.
In 1912, dancer Gene Kelly was born in Pittsburgh. Kelly was (in our opinion) the second-greatest dancer in the golden age of movie musicals. Not content to be merely a hoofer, Kelly soon moved into co-directing (with Stanley Donen) his films in an attempt to make dance in film not just entertainment, but art. And in such films as "Singin' in the Rain," "The Pirate," and "An American in Paris," he succeeded.
As popular as Kelly was, his fame paled in comparison to that of Rudolph Valentino, though. Valentino emigrated from Italy in 1913 with virtually no money, and by 1921, he was one of the biggest stars in the history of the movies, and certainly one of the greatest screen lovers ever. He died of peritonitis in 1926, setting off a frenzy that makes Michael Jackson's death look like a chamber of commerce picnic. 100,000 people showed up at the funeral, and when the body was taken to Los Angeles by train, probably hundreds of thousands more turned out in hopes of getting a look at the coffin.
Two championships this week, one ending and one beginning. In Las Vegas, the Miss Universe pageant will name its winner (still no word if extraterrestrials will show up), and in Paris, the World Badminton Championships will begin in an attempt to find the greatest shuttlecock artist of them all.
Tuesday:
A day for noting historical events. In 79, Mount Vesuvius erupted in Italy, with an explosive force some 10,000 times the force of the atomic bomb that destroyed Hiroshima. Although the explosion wiped out the cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum, it was a boon for modern archaeologists, since those cities were almost perfectly preserved in cocoons of lava and ash.
In 1456, Johannes Gutenberg finished printing his first edition of the Bible. That Bible was double-edged: movable type made knowledge easier to disseminate to the masses, but those masses couldn’t afford to buy such expensive books.
Speaking of double edges, in 1891, Thomas Edison applied for a patent for the movie camera, but it couldn’t have been of much use, since he didn't apply for the patent for film until 1897.
In other patent news, in 1869, Cornelius Swarthout received his for inventing the waffle iron, making sure Southerners can enjoy breakfasts any time of the day. And while they were never patented, it was around this day in 1853, that Native American Chef George Crum invented potato chips at Moon's Lake House in Saratoga Springs, New York. (Which is why you'll still sometimes see them referred to as "Saratoga chips."
And if you want a way to work off the calories from all those waffles and chips, you can emulate Duke Kahanamoku, whose 120th birthday this is. Kahanamoku was the native Hawaiian native who, if he didn't invent surfing, certainly popularized it.
Wednesday:
More food events today. In Buñol, Spain, La Tomatina begins, as thousands gather to, yes, throw tomatoes at each other. Why this is considered a good idea, we can't say. For those in a mood for a less-messy celebration, we point you to Mitchell, SD, where the annual Corn Palace Festival kicks off with a concert by Kenny Rogers. Every year, Mitchellites decorate their Moorish "Corn Palace" with husks of corn to create fabulous edible murals. This year’s theme is "Through the Ages."
In birthdays today, we begin with two men who are best known for two sentences. The first is actor Michael Rennie (1909). Rennie had a reasonably distinguished film career after World War II, but it was his appearance in 1951's "The Day the Earth Stood Still" that cemented his iconic status. Starring as the alien Klaatu, his instructions to the late Patricia Neal to give to the robot Gort, "Klaatu Barada Nikto," are known to even those who never saw the movie. The second is Walt Kelly (1913). In the 1950s and '60s, it would have been hard to find any American who was better-known than Kelly. A writer and cartoonist, he created the "Pogo" comic strip that, for years, poked fun at American society and politics. In 1970, to commemorate the first Earth Day, he pictured the strip's eponymous possum hero confronting the disaster his swamp home had become and proclaimed, "We have met the enemy, and he is us ..."
Two other birthdays are for men who are known for their overall bodies of work rather than for individual utterances: Composer and conductor Leonard Bernstein (1918) and Sean Connery (1930). Bernstein had a fairy-tale beginning to his career when, in 1943, he took over conducting the New York Philharmonic on a national radio broadcast as a last-minute substitute for music director Bruno Walter. The reception was overwhelming, and over the next half-century, Bernstein turned out symphonies, operas, and musicals like "West Side Story," and spanned the globe conducting orchestras and educating the public as to the power of classical music.
Connery had a brief career as a stage actor and bodybuilder before landing the role of James Bond in 1962. Although he's been mostly retired from acting since 2005 (not wanting to deal with the "idiots in Hollywood"), his role as Bond ("...James Bond") will forever define him -- well, that and his appearances on Jeopardy! ...
In these days of controversy of the 51 Park center in New York, we were struck that on this day in 1902, the first Arabic daily newspaper in the U.S., "Al-Hoda," began publication in New York City.
Thursday:
Today would have been the 70th birthday of Don LaFontaine, whom you know, even if you think you don't. LaFontaine was the movie trailer voice-over guy, who transfomed the phrase "In a world where ..." from a cliché to a monument.
In 1946, George Orwell's "Animal Farm" was published, much to the chagrin of schoolkids everywhere. Not that it's not a fine and important book, but it's gotten classified as just another notch in the summer reading belt and lost a lot of its power. Speaking of animals, there's that old saying that every dog has his day? Well, since today is National Dog Day, we guess this is it. And speaking of dogs, it was on this day in 1957 that the Ford Motor Company rolled the first Edsel off of the assembly line. And speaking of disasters, we can't help but think that the recent oil gusher in the Gulf was made possible at least in part by the good folks of Titusville, PA, who began operating the world's first oil well on this day in 1859.
Readers of a certain age will feel ancient as we note that Macaulay Culkin turns 30 today.
Friday:
The only things to note today are the birthdays of two men who couldn't be more different. In 1912, the King of the Jungle was "born" when Edgar Rice Burroughs' "Tarzan of the Apes" was published. And it's the 58th birthday of Paul Reubens -- better known in his persona of Pee-Wee Herman (and need we mention that Pee-Wee will open on Broadway in Ocotber?)
Saturday and Sunday:
This is a weekend to celebrate the births of groundbreaking creative artists.
In 1828, it was Leo Tolstoy, who's best known for his long and complex novels like "War and Peace" and "Anna Karenina" that deeply explore human psychology and relationships.
In 1898, writer and director Preston Sturges was born. Sturges had a streak of cinematic creativity in the 1940s that has never been matched, turning out a string of ten comedies that remain unrivaled for their characters, dialogue, and sheer lunacy. By 1948, he was all but washed up, but in the years before, he was unrivaled.
Actress Ingrid Bergman was born in 1915. After acting in 11 Swedish films in the 1930s, she was signed by American producer David O. Selznick, and spent the next 40 years making film classic after classic. From "Casablanca" to "Notorious" to "Murder on the Orient Express" (for which she won an Oscar), she left a series of indelible performances.
In 1917, comic writer and artist Jack Kirby was born. Kirby was "the King" of comics, with an imagination that was as limitless as the cosmic stories he illustrated. The list of characters he created or co-created -- Captain America, the Fantastic Four, the Incredible Hulk, and the Challengers of the Unknown -- is enough to make any creator wish he'd have come up with just one of them.
1920 saw the birth of saxophonist Charlie Parker. Although deviled by drugs and alcohol in his brief 34 years, his postmodern method of playing jazz and bebop has influenced players ever since. Unfortunately, his genius came at a great cost. He lived high and hard, and when he died in 1955, the coroner estimated his age at between 50 and 60.
Speaking of "War and Peace," we should mention that, in the former category, Saturday will see UFC 118 and in the latter, Sunday is the 47th anniversary of Martin Luther King's March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom.
And, finally, we note that on this weekend in 1922, the world heard its first radio commercial. The ad, which aired on New York station WEAF, was for the Queensboro Realty Corporation of Jackson Heights, who was trying to sell folks on their Hawthorne Court apartment complex in Queens.
Who knew then that one company's $100 investment would later turn into a multi-billion-dollar industry that would influence us all -- or try to?
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