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“The basic exercise is for us to list about a dozen meaningful events [from birth to our current circumstance] in the movement of our life up to the present point in time.  . . . it gives us a perspective of our life as a whole from the time of our birth to our situation at the time when we are listing our Steppingstones.  The listing of the Steppingstones of our life is the basic step in positioning ourselves between our past and our future.”  [“Steppingstones are the meaningful events that mark off the movement of a person’s life from that person’s own point of view . . . not objectively important . . . always personally important . . . perceived through the eyes and through the experience of the person who is living the life.”]  –Ira Progoff, Life-Study (Dialogue House, 1983)

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Ira Progoff (1921-1998) was an American psychotherapist best known for his development of the Intensive Journal Method; his main interest was in depth psychology.  A humanist, who studied privately with Carl Jung in Switzerland, he founded Dialogue House in New York City to help promote this method.  In 1966, Progoff introduced the Intensive Journal method of personal development, the innovation for which he is most remembered.  The public use of the method increased, and the National Intensive Journal Program was formed in 1977.  It supplied materials and leaders to provide Intensive Journal workshops in the United States and other countries.  The Intensive Journal education program was expanded upon in 1983 with the publication of Life-Study.  [See Wikipedia and http://intensivejournal.org for more introduction to the Method.] 

“. . .  I was drawn further toward the conclusion that a private journal is the essential instrument for personal growth . . . I began in 1957 to use a journal as an adjunct to psychotherapy in my private practice.”

[My purpose is to have you use]  “techniques to help you become your own person and find a way of living that will validate itself to you both in terms of your inner sense of truth and the actualities of your outer experience.”

“The Steppingstones of our life are those events that come to our minds when we spontaneously reflect on the course that our life has taken from its beginning to the present moment.”

List no more than a dozen:  1.    2.    3.    4.    5.    6.    7.    8.    9.    10.    11.    12.     

“We go back into the past of our lives, not because of fascination with the past . . . not to lose ourselves in the field of memory . . . [but] in order to reconnect ourselves with the movement of our personal Time/Life, and so that we can move more adequately into our future.”

“The listing of our Steppingstones is the first step that we take in order to position ourselves in the full continuity of our lives.  Each set of Steppingstones that we draw together reflects the interior view of our life as it is perceived from the vantage point of a particular moment.  By being expressed spontaneously and concisely without self-conscious analysis, the Steppingstones list gives us a direct, inner perception of the movement of our life.”     

* * *

At a Journal Workshop: The Basic Text and Guide for Using the Intensive Journal Process (Dialogue House, 1975)

The Practice of Process Meditation: The Intensive Journal Way to Spiritual Experience (Dialogue House, 1980)

Life Study: Experiencing Creative Lives by the Intensive Journal Method (Dialogue House, 1983)

The Progoff Intensive Journal ® Program:  http://intensivejournal.org/index.php

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By James F. O’Neil

“To spend too much time in studies is sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humour of a scholar. . .   Read not to contradict and confute; nor to believe and take for granted; nor to find talk and discourse; but to weigh and consider.  Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be digested. . . .  Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man. . . .”  –“Of Studies,” Francis Bacon (1561-1626).

+ + +

My first research paper, as I re-call, was finding out about Scotland.  This search had to be started in sixth or seventh grade.  I discovered lakes, cities, and climate–and probably something about wool, whiskey, and politics.  I had only the encyclopedia: that’s all we had back then.  I learned the basics from that first paper.  (I have often referred to that kind of paper as “The Switzerland Paper”: about banks, lakes, and chocolates.  And that is basic.)

swiss chololate

SOME SWISS CHOCOLATE

During high school, I am sure I wrote a few research papers (“term papers”); but I recollect one in particular for an education class: I wrote about Friedrich Froebel and the founding of the kindergarten.  I may have had eight or ten sources.  Yet what I do remember more than anything else–not the long hours writing nor the time-consuming typing on my portable 1955 (manual) Underwood typewriter nor the submitting the paper, but the thrill of being in a library, a great library, doing serious research.  I delighted being in the Chicago Public Library (downtown) and also at the Newberry Library, a special place for researchers then over age sixteen. 

newberry library chicago wikipedia

NEWBERRY LIBRARY, CHICAGO 

Throughout college, the papers came and went, and on into graduate school and post graduate work: papers, papers, papers: Shakespeare, sonnets, Jesus and school administration, Arthurian romances, the G.I. Bill, teachers and in-service activities, manic depression and school administrators, chaos and adultery, public service, the aorist tense in Greek, “Poe the Philosopher,” water symbolism in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man–and more, many more.

Some papers I hated as chores; most I loved as opportunities for knowledge and writing experience.  From this, despite the grade and the time spent, I learned time-use, planning, and library skills.  More than that, I learned organizational skills and meeting deadlines.  All this was not easy; learning sometimes hurts.  (And, I am sure, there were tears of frustration–but never a late paper.)

From this, I also developed a sense of researching–and my three questions: What do I already know?  What do I want to know?  And, What do I need to know?  Where those questions came from, I do not know.  But they have always worked for me.

Of course, I had to learn documentation skills: “the old Turabian” was all we had back then.  And I learned it–and even wrote a little research handbook for students.  Now MLA, APA, and OWL far exceed anything we had–but so has the amount of knowledge increased, with electronic access to this knowledge.  How lucky I am now to see this, to use this, to be a part of global knowledge and learning.  “I just love the Internet!”

But the smell of books, walking the stacks, sitting and reading and taking notes in England at the Cambridge University Library, or at the US Library of Congress, the libraries at the University of Minnesota, and in any small-town public library does more for me than sitting at the computer, drinking coffee, doing a Google Search.  “I love the smell of a musty book in the morning!”  Nothing like doing research . . . But I found that it takes heart, organizational skills, and a sense of the past: where I came from, where I have been, what I have done.  All this enters into my questions: What am I doing this for?  What do I want out of this?  To me, that is what doing research is all about.  “What’s it to me?”

Having done professional stained-glass work, I learned the most difficult aspect of craftsmanship was not cutting the glass, not the pattern making, not the assembly–no matter how large or small the project–but choosing the right glass, the right textures, the right colors. 

glass Ready for Foil

GLASS RESTORATION PROJECT: CUT AND READY FOR COPPER FOIL, THEN SOLDER

Choosing the right glass is likened to the most difficult aspect of doing a research project: choosing the right topic.  “Choice of topic: the hardest part of all,” I say. 

I have never chosen anything dumb or stupid; I have chosen (for the most part) wisely.  Not everything came back an A, of course.  Can’t have all A’s.  But can’t have all gold medals, can’t always win the Super Bowl, can’t always be #1, and can’t always be perfect.  However, I have learned I can do my best, and have that sense of accomplishment (relief?) when I submit the project.  AHHH!  Done.  And on to the next, for there is always a next–no matter how big or small, no matter in school or on the job: “Look this up for me, will ya’?”  “You have a paper due . . .”  “I need to find . . . Can you help?”  “As a member of this parent-teacher committee, . . . ”

“Hafta’ what?”  Know facts.  Document.  Have opinions.  Present feelings.  Solve problems.  Search.  Learn.  And make a presentation: to the family, a board, a committee, a boss, a reading club, a course instructor, a hearing officer, a judge–on and on and on.  There is no easy way.  And it all begins with the basics, with “My Switzerland Paper.” 

And these are my thoughts today on doing research.

©  JAMES F. O’NEIL  2019  

PS: All of the above is rated at the 6th grade reading level: my computer figured that out; but I used to know how to do it without the computer.  I researched it . . .    

PPS: I was once told that a “good” 1500-word paper takes about 40 hours–plus typing–from choosing the topic to the last bit of punctuation.  (Getting it right takes time.)

 

 

BY JAMES F O’NEIL

“To be educated is to know how much one wishes to know and to have the courage not to be tempted beyond that limit.  [ . . . culture] teaches that there is much one does not want to know.”  –Michael Oakeshott (1901–1990) in The Ideal of Culture by Joseph Epstein (Axios 2018)

English philosopher and political theorist, Michael Oakeshott wrote about philosophy of history, philosophy of religion, and aesthetics; philosophy of education and philosophy of law.  He was Professor of Political Science at the London School of Economics, and was a Fellow of Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge.  He was the author of many works, including Rationalism in Politics and Other Essays, On History and Other Essays, and The Voice of Liberal Learning.

Some of my high school classmates and I in the past year had an opportunity to comment upon what we thought of our education, curriculum, and teachers.  The results were overwhelmingly positive towards our liberal arts education and the courses we were enrolled in.  My transcript reads like a medieval or Renaissance Trivium or Quadrivium Liberal Arts Program: grammar, logic, rhetoric; and arithmetic, geometry, music, astronomy (well, not much astronomy).

Now when I look back, our Liberal Arts curriculum was, to some extent, “lofty,” compared with that of students in other schools (like Lane Tech in Chicago)–those studying “practical arts”–or studying architecture.  (Some might have been attending private schools for pre-med, heavy on science and medicine.)

After four years, then, I graduated with a transcript heavily loaded with Latin, Greek, writing, reading, some science, history, music.  Some faculty believed that our course of study would have as an end purpose to “create” “cultured gentlemen.”  Some of my classmates, remembering these days and years, 1955-1959, more than fifty years ago, agree with their feeling of being “cultured.”

“To be cultured ideal of cultureimplies a certain roundedness of knowledge and interests . . . [yet] no one is fully rounded . . . fully cultured . . . and . . . culture, itself, remains an ideal . . . still worth pursuing. A cultured person has a standard, a recollection, through literature and history and philosophy . . . of greatness.  The cultured . . . insofar as possible, restrict themselves to knowing what is genuinely worth knowing.”  — Joseph Epstein, The Ideal of Culture

 

 

And what, at the end of four years of high school, did I have?  What did I receive, what could I do?  For one, I was self-taught in many areas: I did not know how to type (I still have not yet mastered a keyboard!), and had to teach myself.  I never learned in a classroom how to fix my lawnmower, but did install a carburetor on my ’54 Ford, and a water pump and generator on my ’57 Olds “Love Buggy.”  I had Chilton’s to help me there; reading was essential, and following directions required.

chilton's 1954-1963

CHILTON’S AUTO REPAIR MANUAL

I never played football (no football team), was a horrible basketball player (I did dribble and drool, however, from time to time); a little swimming, running, and gymnastics from gym class.  Some wrestling (heavyweight).

Nevertheless, I was able to read and speak some German; translate Cicero and Horace and some other Latin literature; and read Plato, Homer, St. Paul, and other Christian writers in Greek.  (So much of that now is “Lost in translation”: I cannot do it.)  I belonged to a Book Club, and read from a list of Summer Reading each year (complete with Book Reports submitted).  (Is there a magic list of books out there that guarantees “cultural literacy”?)  And read [“red”] and read [“red”] and wrote.

I remember so admiring some of my teachers, my favorites, as “cultured gentlemen.”  How did they know so much?  Be so smart?  Teach music, then Greek?  Play the piano, and read and teach and speak Latin?  Such talents.  Teach us writing skills in one class, German conversation in another.  Religion and Spirituality (Catholic school) in one class, then English composition in another.  Some were my models, my heroes, and one or two my “saints” who let goodness and worth and value shine through.  And then it was over. Graduation.

“Off we go!”  No military service.  Into college I went: liberal arts: English major, philosophy and education minors: 143 credit hours.  More “liberal education” (I’m known in the Alumni Directory as “James F. O’Neil BA, LAS ’64”: Liberal Arts and Sciences.)  Then after a few part-time jobs while I was “finding myself,” a full-time teaching job in a boys’ high school, English, of course.  Then a few years later (after my MA ’66), teaching English as a career in college settings: Am Lit I, Comp 101 (never the Romantics; no one wanted Milton and the Eighteenth Century: “I’ll do it.”). Maybe after a few years, nearing tenure, a course in Contemporary Novel.  After a while, I moved on . . .

After years in a community college position, getting quite adept at teaching technical writing to nursing students, police officers, business majors, and others in Associate in Science programs, I got a call to “come up to the majors.”

“Do you have what it takes?” asked one.  “It will require much preparation,” another cautioned.  “You seem to be qualified from your credentials and your experience,” the Dean remarked.  “We could use you this next term while Professor XYZ takes a leave.  Are you interested?”  “I say ‘Yes.’  I’m in.”  Thus began my new life as a teacher of humanities, for some years, for a while at least–until I retired.

* * *

Our textbook, for years: CULTURE AND VALUES: A SURVEY OF THE HUMANITIES, Ninth Edition: This text takes you on a tour of some of the world’s most interesting and significant examples of art, music, philosophy, and literature, from the beginnings of civilization to today.  Chapter previews, timelines, glossaries of key terms, Compare + Contrast, new Connections and Culture & Society features, and “Big Picture” reviews all help make it easy for you to learn the material and study more effectively.  Links to full readings and playlists of the music selections discussed in your text are available online in MindTap, where you will also find study resources and such tools as image flashcards, guides to research and writing, practice quizzes and exercises, and more.

Was I ready?  Could I do it?  I could not read music.  I was in the high school choir, in the church choir; but I always memorized the notes.  (I could sing, though–a lovely 1st tenor.)  I loved music and song!  I knew my composers, and classical pieces.  I learned rhythm, melody, and harmony.  What else?

I knew the difference between LISTEN to this and HEAR this!  I had had a record player from once-upon-a-time, had the first CD player in town (Yamaha $539), always had FM music playing.  I wrote a paper about West Side Story and Romeo and Juliet!  In high school I attended operas, and concerts, and had begun a record collection.  I really am/was a movie lover.  A reel lover!  And I had a few subscriptions to movie magazines at one time.  (My favorite actress?  Kim Novak, of course, when I was VERY young.  And, yes, Casablanca is a favorite–as is The Hours.  Did I fail to mention Meryl Streep?)

How much more did I have to know to be able to lead a class of students through a college semester, HUM 2230 17th Century to the Present?  I would have to do much reading; but the syllabus was already prepared, the textbooks were chosen,  I would simply have to gather up my wits about me (years of standing before classrooms of students and writing lesson plans), and prepare my Pearls of Wisdom.

Using the text, with my “culture” and “learning,” I created a course that would follow major themes of architecture, art, music, film, literature, philosophy, history, and religion‑‑primarily those from Western traditions.  I was even able to end the course with James Hilton’s Lost Horizon and with Arthur C. Clarke’s Childhood’s End.  The course was supposed to enhance a student’s interest in examining some of the most compelling questions (and facts) about living the life of culture–physically, intellectually, spiritually, emotionally–by reading, viewing, listening, and–most importantly–by thinking.

And so it went, one semester, then another.  I got better and better at it.  More confident, that is, in my qualifications to teach humanities.

This Backward Glance over it all, My Memoriesofatime as a Humanities Teacher, was occasioned by that recent high school survey, causing me to bring it bring it all together here: All those courses enumerated on my transcript.  The college teaching listed on my résumé.  (A major bonus occurred in 2000, when the president of the college asked me to begin an honors program that would incorporate classes at Cambridge University.  While there in England during summers, tutoring students, I was able to attend seminars in music, art, literature, and history.  I was overwhelmed and honored.)

My first thought was to title this story “The Pitfalls and Dangers of a Classical Education.”  My story would have begun about the little boy from the South Side of Chicago, growing into a student of Latin, Greek, and German, and the classics.  The young reader of How to Read a Book would become a lover of literature, even an attendee at the Chicago Opera House.  Then he would evolve into a classroom teacher, with Palmer-Method penmanship, and SQ3R study skills.  Perhaps a too ho-hum story, about a little learning being a dangerous thing?

Then I thought, maybe my story would be “When I Consider How My Light Is Spent.”  This story would be told, not by an idiot, but by a seventy-eight-year-old man, no tale of sound and fury, but the story of a great-grandson of one of the Chicago Haymarket Rioters, a Bohemian kid from Chicago, a hard-working paperboy, Boy Scout, Baltimore-catechist, literature-lover, grammarian, teacher-husband-father, graduate student.  This story includes anecdotes about hospital orderly work and, yet, at the same time, his reading Chardin, Joyce, and Milton.  In this story, he formulates “My Three Favorites of All”: Othello, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, and The Power and the Glory.  Then age sets in.

No, age has not set in.  Not in this story, for I do not yet “wear my trousers rolled.”  (I do wear shorts a lot.)  In fact, I consider myself a rather distinguished fellow: still concerned about teaching the classics in the classroom; still reading history essays and studying film; writing book reviews–and my own bloggy-“memoirs.”  (At the same time, the technology of media and YouTube have helped me and my hands install faucets and a garbage disposal.)youtube image

THE FAMILIAR “GO!” OF YOUTUBE

I dabble a bit, yet, in philosophy, less in theology. Even less in modern contemporary novelists (whose books might be purchased but sit on a shelf unopened, or are archived in my Kindle.)  I am, perhaps, even a bit “still crazy after all these years.”

“All these years” is my strength, the 45-plus years in education with my Renaissance-type education and training, my skills and techniques as classroom teacher, seminar instructor, and my being an educated man.  This story is mine.

At the end of the film Saving Private Ryan, one of my all-time “favorite” war films, the veteran of D-Day walks among the crosses and graves at Normandy. saving private ryan poster

He, Private Ryan, comes to that white cross of his squad leader Cpt. John Miller, killed many, many years before, June 13, 1944.  Private Ryan, in emotion, says, “I hope . . . I earned what all of you have done for me.”  Ryan has led a good life; he is told he is a good man.

 

What more could I ask for?  My life experience is nothing at all comparable to what those soldiers endured.  Yet I can be empathic during these last moments of the film.  I can say of my teachers, with honesty, that I hope I’ve earned what they have done for me.  I, too, hope I have instilled “culture” into others as it was instilled, I believe, into me.  And that likewise, I do hope my many students can . . . well, . . . you know . . .

©  James F. O’Neil 2019

 

 

BY: JAMES F. O’NEIL

“Your blood type is the key that unlocks the door to the mysteries of health, disease, longevity, physical vitality, and emotional strength.  Your blood type determines your susceptibility to illness, which foods you should eat, and how you should exercise.”  — Peter J.  D’Adamo, Eat Right for4Your Type (1996). 

blood typesI remember the first time I donated blood.  College.  I was 19; it was a warm afternoon there in St. Louis.  I was nervous.  I didn’t faint.  I was lucky.  And I was O+.

I received blood transfusions from my mother–at my grandma’s home–when I was very young.  I had Scarlet Fever, I was later told, and was very ill.  I don’t remember much of that early age, except sleeping alone in grandpa’s front bedroom (Grandma Schuma was an invalid and slept in her own bedroom), eating pork chops that I hallucinated had ants crawling on them, and horrible-burning-going-down pineapple juice.  I didn’t ever have much blood trouble growing up, with surgeries or cuts, or needing blood.  So my blood donations later were common when I could give.

However, looking back now, I have learned since 10th grade that Type Os have a deficiency in clotting.  When I was a sophomore, I had tonsils removed.  The surgery and ice-cream follow up went fine.  At home, after a few days in the hospital, I had some bleeding.  Our doctor came to our home (!) and gave me an injection of Vitamin K.  Now it all makes sense: I needed some extra clotting factor.

My wife-to-be is still O-(negative).  What did we young-in-lovers know “back then” (in memoriesofatime) of O+ plus O- = risky birth or possible birth defects because of the Rh factor?  No one told us those details in pre-Cana, or pre-marriage counseling.  The doctor did, after the birth of our first child.  For many years, it remained a mystery to doctors why some women who had normal first pregnancies developed complications in their second and later pregnancies, often with a result of miscarriage–or even the death of the mother.

“The Rh factor is an antigen occurring on the red blood cells of many humans (around 85 percent) and some other primates.  It is particularly important as a cause of hemolytic disease of the newborn and of incompatibility in blood transfusions.”

[From Mayo Clinic, 14 June 2018]: “During pregnancy, problems can occur if you’re Rh negative and the baby you’re carrying is Rh positive.  Usually, your blood doesn’t mix with your baby’s blood during pregnancy.  However, a small amount of your baby’s blood could come in contact with your blood during delivery or if you experience bleeding or abdominal trauma during pregnancy.  If you’re Rh negative and your baby is Rh positive, your body might produce proteins called Rh antibodies after exposure to the baby’s red blood cells.”

“The antibodies produced aren’t a problem during the first pregnancy.  The concern is with your next pregnancy.  If your next baby is Rh positive, these Rh antibodies can cross the placenta and damage the baby’s red blood cells.  This could lead to life-threatening anemia, a condition in which red blood cells are destroyed faster than the baby’s body can replace them.”  And much more at: https://www.mayoclinic.org/tests-procedures/rh-factor/about/pac-20394960. . .)

“Better wait two or more years.  Then no more children,” the doctor told us.  “But we’re Catholics. . . .”  Our second child two years later (O+) was born without complications.  Our last child.  We were lucky.  The United States has a high birth mortality rate, due to complications, some of which have to do with poor pre-natal care.  We were lucky.  In the meantime, we learned that my wife has “gold” in her veins, O-, with some special little good stuff needed and used for prenatal transfusions.  Her gift to others.  In addition, we continue to be blood donors when we can, when we are healthy, or have not had some funky medication or injection for illness or old age.

In addition, when we grew older (than youngsters), we never knew anything about digestive problems and blood types until one gastro doctor mentioned it after a routine colonoscopy.  We began to read, explore, become enlightened, and had our “Ah-ha!” moments.  Here we could see ONE “diet solution to staying healthy, living longer, and achieving ideal weight.”  Forget the last item.  That’s not why we do it.  We know now certain foods affect our Type Os–and we can tell, can feel it.

We shall survive.  I used to believe that Bar-B-Q was one of the four main food groups.  bbq ribsOn the contrary, fewer and fewer trips now to Sonny’s Bar-B-Q.  However, I can have as much liver and onions as I want . . . or buffalo . . . or rabbit . . . and most seafood.  Now that’s not a bad diet, with some salad, avoiding caviar, barracuda, and octopus.   

Seriously, it is not all that bad.  We have made up some 5 x 8 cards: “GOOD.”  “OK.”  “NO.”  We know now most of the No’s, and we know the good fats and bad fats, good carbs and “really good carbs,” like chocolate peanut butter pie, which is “really bad bad carbs.”  Shopping has gotten easier since I am not often allowed in the grocery store, or need to be put into restraints while in the candy aisle.  No problems whatsoever in the fruit department (except for those little bags of sugar called “grapes”).  grapes

Oh, we don’t go crazy-ill, lapse into anaphylactic shock, or have tremors or spasms.  We don’t like to call it a “diet.”  It’s a plan, our life style.  In the scheme for us, we are meat-eaters, depending on lean chemical-free, grass-fed meats, and poultry and fish.  We don’t do well with dairy products and grains.  But we will never starve; for we love spinach salads, broccoli, kale, and chicken.  Soy “milk” is good, as is feta cheese.

Nevertheless, we still have to watch what we eat, or there will be chemical consequences in our systems.  Even though wheat products are no-no’s, I love my happy breakfast cereal, Cheerios!–and Frosted Mini-Wheats (not daily!)–but very limited. cheerios

Certain nuts and seeds are “good”; we must avoid others.  With a weakness (addiction) towards sweets (sugar), hold me back from Apple Fritters!  Or chocolate (of any kind)!  Help me avoid anything “white” (hot dog buns? white chocolate, too?)!  Can sheer will power enable me to continue my path of sobriety (scotch and bourbon: sugars)?  Must the gods help?!  Orate pro me!  Mythological Apollo, the Bearer of Truth, is my go-to guy.  He represents the therapeutic healer of mind and body, among other attributes.

 

gods_goddesses_chart tccl arcc albany edu

[from tccl.arcc.albany.edu]

 

I’ll take any helps I can get.  That involves diet, exercise, dietary supplementation, stress control, personal qualities (INFJ?), and weight management.

My understanding of my blood type now makes complete sense to me, though I may not always be doing something positive about, say, the exercise regimen or the weight control.  Do I really want to be again that pimply-faced memoriesofatime-kid who went off to college weighing 160 pounds?  180? 210?

'David'_by_Michelangelo_JBU0001

How about 225?  And so forth.  I can never forget I am an evolutionary product, Type O, the oldest and most basic blood type, survivor, hunter, Cro-Magnon, NO FEAR!, meat-eater, mesomorph, Crood! 

It’s Me:

THE BIG O+:  Michelangelo David-Fat

© JAMES F O’NEIL  2018 OCTOBER

 

 

 

 

 

BY: JAMES F. O’NEIL

How is one to assess and evaluate a type face in terms of its esthetic design?  Why do the pace-makers in the art of printing rave over a specific face of type?  What do they see in it?  Why is it so superlatively pleasant to their eyes?  Good design is always practical design.  And what they see in a good type design is, partly, its excellent practical fitness to perform its work.  It has a ‘heft’ and balance in all of its parts just right for its size, as any good tool has.”  –Alexander Lawson,

Anatomy of a Typeface, p.345 (1990) anatomy of a typeface

When I began as a school administrator in Minnesota in 1973 (many memoriesofatime), many school districts had already put aspects of Title IX into the school district curriculum, aside from sports.  Shop classes and Home Ec classes were “integrated.”  At the same time, to be “fair,” some schools had even added required typing for all 10th grade students so that the traditional course was not any longer “girls only.” 

On any given school day, one could hear the clacking sound of typewriter keys from the typing room, set aside with 25-35 desks and manual typewriters, and, perhaps, five or so Smith-Corona electric machines for advanced proficient students.  One might observe a business teacher, male or female, pacing in the aisles, checking the work of the students, or even observe a few male students who were longhair throwbacks of the 60s, now required to wear hairnets lest their locks become tangled in the inner workings of the keys of the machines.  It did happen.

So most Minnesota high school graduates of that era learned non-sexist equality gender-free typing.  On the other hand, high school students in Florida, at the same time, had one required course in the curriculum, not typing, not World History, not English 10, but rather “AVC”: “AMERICANISM vs COMMUNISM.”

Following the Bay of Pigs Invasion in April 1961, the 1961 Florida Legislature passed a law [233.064 (1961), Florida Statutes] mandating all junior and senior public high school students in Florida take the six-week course, Americanism vs. Communism.  The course remained an educational requirement until the law was repealed in 1983 and replaced with a mandatory economics course:

avc bulletin 2

“THE FLORIDA LAW SECTION 230.23 (4) (1), Florida Statutes: Americanism vs. communism; required high school course  1. The legislature of the state hereby finds it to be a fact that a. The political ideology commonly known and referred to as communism is in conflict with and contrary to the principles of constitutional government of the United States … b.  The successful exploitation and manipulation of youth and student groups throughout the world today are a major challenge, which the free world forces must meet, defeat, and c.  The best method of meeting this challenge is to have the youth of the state and nation thoroughly and completely informed as to the evils, dangers, and fallacies of communism …  2.  The public high schools shall each teach a complete course of not less than thirty hours, to all students enrolled in said public high schools entitled “Americanism versus communism.”  3. The course shall provide adequate instruction in the history, doctrines, objectives, and techniques of communism and shall be for the primary purpose of instilling in the minds of the students a greater appreciation of democratic processes, freedom under law, and the will to preserve that freedom.  4. The course shall be … in comparative governments and shall emphasize the free-enterprise-competitive economy of the United States … which produces higher wages, higher standards of living, greater personal freedom  and liberty than any other system of economics on earth.  5. The course shall lay particular emphasis upon the … false doctrines of communism.  6. The state textbook committee and the state board of education shall … prescribe suitable textbook and instructional material … using as one of its guides the official reports of the house committee on un-American activities and the senate internal security sub-committee of the United States congress.

communism bookONE EXAMPLE OF ADOPTED TEXT

7.  No teacher or textual material assigned to this course shall present communism as preferable to the system of constitutional government and the free-enterprise-competitive economy indigenous to the United States. 8. The course of study hereinabove provided for shall be taught in all of the public high schools of the state no later than the school year commencing in September 1962.”

 What a shock for me when I moved to Florida to teach: I began in the summer of 1980 registering students for classes.  I discovered only ONE required course: “AVC.”  (However, to be fair, I point out that the schools were going through a transition to have the law changed.)

Imagine me, on the other hand, in 10th grade, 1956-1957, parsing and declining Latin and Greek, and studying other sophomore grade subjects, like geometry.  Yet no typing classes.  In fact, I never had a typing course and had/have had to hunt-n-peck my way through QWERTY after receiving a Christmas present Underwood in 1956, useful through high school, college, and most of graduate school.  (I still have many of the papers to prove it.)

underwood typewriter

JUST LIKE MY PORTABLE UNDERWOOD

That machine, truly a collector’s item that still worked, is long gone now, purchased by a “picker” collector who knew a good deal when she saw the sixty-year-old beauty, with Courier typeface–one typeface that many of us were used to, Courier.  What type?

“Courier is a monospaced slab serif typeface designed to resemble the output from a strike-on typewriter.  The typeface was designed in 1955, later redrawn for the IBM Selectric Composer series of electric typewriters” (Wikipedia).

Those lucky few advanced typing students in the 1970s in Minnesota were later allowed to demonstrate their excellence on the Selectrics.  In addition, secretaries throughout the nation were purchasing “golf-ball” heads with various fonts never before readily available on “normal” typing machines for their newly acquired office machines.

IBM GOLFBALL.jpg

IBM SELECTRIC “GOLF BALL” TYPE FACES

Although IBM commissioned the design of the original Courier typeface, the company deliberately chose not to secure legal exclusivity to the typeface, nor seek any copyright, trademark, or design patent protection.  So Courier typeface cannot be trademarked or copyrighted and is completely royalty free.  It soon became a standard font used throughout the typewriter industry. 

courier and courier new.jpg

 A variant, however, 12-point Courier New, the U.S. State Department’s standard typeface until January 2004, was replaced with a 14-point, more “modern” and “legible” font, Times New Roman: “Of all the typefaces developed during the past seventy-five years [Times (New) Roman], is the one most frequently singled out as typifying the twentieth century” (Lawson 270). Times_New_Roman_versus_Georgia

Different fonts, italics, and speed helped make the transition to the keyboard of the PC, with QWERTY, and many, many choices of fonts, sizes, and black letter.  Now, What’s your type?  can be GEORGIA, Arial, Garamond, or PALATINO–and many more to mention here, upper case-lower case, that suits your fancy, or whatever serif-non-serif required by APA, MLA, CMS, or an office handbook, available on word processing programs, from A-Z, like Algerian to___–and in colors!

Technology is so much with us, “To boldly go where no man has gone before!”  “The computer is the most advanced typographic product yet to appear; it would seem to be the culmination of almost five and a half centuries of progress in the transfer of the scribal hands to the printed page.  Engineers have thus provided the means for printers to continue enriching the heritage they have provided humankind.  Now the responsibility falls on the printers to control the new technology and make it serve the great legacy of their time-honored craft” (Lawson 403).

© JAMES F. O’NEIL  2018

 

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“To succeed in life, you need three things: a wishbone, a backbone, and a funny bone.”  –Reba McEntire

“Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind.” –Bertrand Russell

“To write what is worth publishing, to find honest people to publish it, and get sensible people to read it, are the three great difficulties in being an author.”  –Charles Caleb Colton (1780-1832)

“Every movie has three things you have to do – you have to have a compelling story that keeps people on the edge of their seats; you have to populate that story with memorable and appealing characters; and you have to put that story and those characters in a believable world.  Those three things are so vitally important.”  –John Lasseter

[Find more “threesie” quotations to read at https://www.brainyquote.com]

When did we first learn to compare, one thing with another, to another?  When, then, did we find not an “either…or,” but a third possibility?  When did we begin  “Hot” “Wet” “Sweet”?

We are inextricably bound together by “Threeism.”

https://memoriesofatime.blog/2014/10/21/earth-wind-and-fire-what-about-threesies

. . .

Good, better, best…THE BIG THREE: Harvard, Princeton, Yale…sex, drugs, rock-n-roll…food, shelter, clothing…beginning, middle, end…B,L,T (bacon, lettuce, tomato)…taste, chew, digest…ill, worse, worst…loaf of bread, jug of wine, and thou…bad, worse, worst…A B C’s…animal, mineral, vegetable…bad, worser, worstest…C² = A² + B² …dome, arch, spire…poetry, fiction, drama…fact, value, policy…foreplay, play, after play…to, two, too…earth, wind, fire…positive, comparative, superlative…The Lion, The Witch, The Wardrobe…veni, vidi, vici…purpose, worth, technique…fears, concerns, beliefs…peak, pique, peek…trifecta, triune, trilogy…Father, Son, Holy Spirit/Ghost…peanut butter, mayonnaise, banana (sandwich)…legislative, executive, judicial…there, their, they’re…morning, noon, night…enjoyment, enrichment, insight…eminent, immanent, imminent…Good Morning, Good Afternoon, Good Night.

Finally, when approaching a piece of literature or work of art, or when seeing a movie, don’t forget The Three Levels of Meaning/Understanding: What’s there for sure; what I bring to it; what it means to me.

 

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BY: JAMES F. O’NEIL

 “. . . I’ve been to the mountaintop.”  “I saw beautiful spacious skies, amber waves of grain, and purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain!”

July is nearly over.  Some summer vacations have finished, some already begun; all the same, some are still being planned.  “Beginning in October 2018, there will be direct flights from TPA/TIA [Tampa] to Gatwick [London].”  “I cannot wait!  I’d go in a heartbeat.” “But there is so much to see and do yet in the United States, why travel overseas?”  “There is also direct flight service by Icelandic Air to Reykjavik.”  Someday, maybe.  “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine,” says Rick Blaine in Casablanca.  Something like that, I say, “of all the Oh!-The-Places-You’ll-Go places I have been, including Hurley, Wisconsin (pop.  1540); Fargo; Raymond, Mississippi (pop. 1933); Bethesda, Ohio (pop. 1256, more with fracking crews); Las Vegas; Yeehaw Junction, Florida (pop. 240), I’ve been to more than others have; others, for certain, out-place me.  However, I’m not in any way in contention for a carbon-platinum Frequent Flyer Rewards Card in my wallet.

Getting from one place to another, nevertheless, has always distressed me, sometimes when I was younger, to the point of actually fainting before a trip, in anticipation.  (I do recall a near-meltdown not too many years ago while frustrating with packing a very large suitcase that would not hold everything, including my large bicycle seat.)  I hate packing, hate to pack.  I’d like to go, to arrive with my toothbrush and shaving kit–and with my medications, of course.  No luggage.  No carry on.  Maybe a book (paperback Proust, probably–or congested Kindle).  Then check in, relax, afterwards to see whatever I came to see.

What have I seen, from the top (35,000 feet: clouds and oceans, lakes and mountains) to the under (Eurostar–London to Paris–under the English Channel; the Metro; the “L” under the Chicago River)?  I have fashioned a memory-filled checklist, culled from journals, from Day-Minders and ticket stubs, in no particular order, priority, or chronology.  I am sure that as I write this (and later edit and revise) I’ll remember something, like “I forgot Prabhupada’s Palace of Gold, in West Virginia, the center of the Hare Krishna movement,” or “Remember that really great Cajun restaurant where we ate crayfish down by the bayou in Savannah?” “Yeah!  That’s when they were filming Forrest Gump outside our hotel.” 

“How old was I when . . . ?”  “Were the kids with us when we drove to . . . ?”  Our first trip (in 1977) to Florida, to Disney World, to Cape Kennedy, our first “grits.” “What are they?”  [NOT, “Girls Raised In The South.”]  “Oh, that’s Cream of Wheat.  Butter, please, and maple syrup, too.  Thanks.”  So, “Once upon a time,” [read aloud]: “I have, we did, we have . . . traveled to, stayed at, climbed, flown to, rode, ate at, moved to, drove, watched, swam in, driven along, peeked over, touched, walked the, accelerated in, viewed, sped upon, stopped, adored in, looked upon, rode in, stood beneath, rushed, stepped over, rested, visited, stood before, paused, leaned over, slept in, toured, crossed, ran alongside, wandered, cruised, stalled, transfixed . . . .  [Pick a verb.  Find a place, setting, activity (surely your mind’s eye already sees, the heart already races, the memory is activated).  Locate a picture or photo to accompany a special memoryofatime.  Open up a box of Nostalgias to munch on.  Have fond, sweet (though maybe icy, rainy, cold, slippery?) memories.]

For one, Stonehenge: BIG ROCKS, and Salisbury Plain, and the Romans in Bath.  On Chesil Beach (with Ian McEwan, no doubt, having walked upon the same stones), putting a few in my pocket for my travel collection.  And stony Hastings Shore, the English Channel lapping upon the feet of the bathers in the cold water, my thinking about Detective Chief Inspector Christopher Foyle and World War II.  One warm July Sunday, while on a noontime walk, seeing Stephen Hawking on a Cambridge street.  Three summers in Cambridge: university library, along the Cam River, bicycle riding to Grantchester, studying and tutoring, Selwyn College, trains to London for excursions, Globe Theater, writing, awe-ing, and . . . . 

I have also looked out upon the Pisgah National Forest, from the parapets of one of America’s finest castles, the Biltmore House.  The view was holy, overwhelming, awe-some in the glory of the Creator. 

However, most breath taking for me in life was standing alone before my trek up the dunes in the Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado. 

SAND DUNES BY JEFF COTNERCOM

GREAT SAND DUNES PHOTO by JEFF COTNER

There I stood, amazed, a people-ant to those looking down upon me; yet from my perspective, those specs beyond, above, showed how insignificant I was, am, in relation to the forces and effects of time and Nature.  So I climbed and climbed.  No steps, like at Ephesus.  Steps.  To the Parthenon.  Huffing and puffing, like climbing those steps inside the Washington Monument many (younger) years before, or those leading to Monks Mound, “at one hundred feet, it is the largest prehistoric earthen mound in North America”: Cahokia, near St. Louis.

MONKS MOUND WIKIPEDIA

MONK’S MOUND from WIKIPEDIA

Reaching the “top” of the Dunes, I became engaged with a sense of cosmic realism.  I was a part of it all.  I looked out upon . . . the waters surrounding Mont Saint-Michel in France;   mont saint-michelor came upon the Pacific Ocean for my first glimpse at Seaside, Oregon, with its Lewis and Clark Expedition history.  On Goat Island, visiting a few times the crashing and splashing and misting and forcings of the Niagara River at Niagara Falls. 

Sue and Jim at Goat Island, Niagara Falls, NY

SUE AND JIM (YOUNGER THAN NOW)

Was I able to “slip the surly bonds of earth . . . And while, with silent lifting mind I’ve trod // The high untrespassed sanctity of space, / Put out my hand, and touch[ed] the face of God. . . ?”  

interior-hagia-sophia HAGIA SOPHIA

With God-places, I’ve stood within and beneath the great domed Hagia Sophia in Istanbul-Constantinople, have been shoeless in the Blue Mosque; prayed in Chartres Cathedral; knelt in Ely Cathedral, Westminster Abby, Notre Dame in Paris; walked the aisles of St Louis (Missouri) Cathedral and the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine in New York City. 

I have wandered in wonderment, showered so often with kaleidoscopic colors of light from the stained glass magnificently built by crafters in so many “houses” of worship, like Saint-Severin in Paris.  Glass in Saint- Severin by Jean René Bazaine 1970.JPG

Outside, I looked UP: “Up we go!” “Into the next car, please.”: The London Eye.  “Look up!”: The Eiffel Tower: “No, I cannot go.  You ride up if you want.  But I will walk with you on top of the Arc de triomphe.”  “Sorry.  The Arch is closed today.  High winds and a storm coming” the St. Louis trip frustrating, though we saw enough of the Ole Man [Mississippi] River.  In 1966, I looked up upon the Empire State Building.  That was An Affair to Remember, my first visit to New York City.  (I didn’t ride up.)  But I was never Sleepless in Seattle, looking up at Mount Rainier, a glacier, and viewing Mount St Helens (not a far trip away).

So I’ve come to the end of the “Rick Steves Road Trip for Jimmy O’Neil”: vacations, trips, travels, excursions, journeys, stays, visitations, visits, pilgrimages–all part of a lifetime of activity, though a small part.  But when I consider how much time is spent in planning and preparing, from initial thought or utterance–“Where should we go this winter?”  “Where do you want to go for our anniversary?”  “Should we go to . . . again?”  “How much time do we have to . . . ?”–to the final credit card payment for the last meal of the trip or something bought in the duty-free shop, a vacation takes a long time in a person’s life.  No wonder we are so worn out after we return home, to rest.

Sometimes, though, the vacation place is “restful” itself, the reason for the trip itself: no touring, no running around, no shopping, just being there.  A beach.  A mountain cabin.  A quiet Walden Pond.  A cave.  A cave?  A cave on Paros Island, in the Cyclades Islands.  In May 2005, five of us adults took a memorable trip to our Greek cave.

A non-stop overnight flight from New York to Athens.  (I hate packing.)  A long bus ride from the airport (schlepping luggage) to the Port of Piraeus in Athens.  Then a ferry boat ride–BIG ferry boat, with people, trucks, cars–in the late afternoon with a dark night arrival (nearly missing our stop), finding a rental car (four sardines, holding luggage, speeding along curves and hills on dark roads, black-black outside), arriving at a car park in an asleep town, almost midnight.  “We have to do what?  Carry our suitcases up and around the hill to get to our place?”  Cursing all the way, punctuated with laughter about how we found this place.  Dogs barking at us, disturbing them, cats hissing as we snaked around homes, through alleyways, on walkways, tripping occasionally on a front stoop in the dimly lit “neighborhood.”  Huffed and puffed (of course) to the top, at the end-stop of the street.

PAROS CAVE-HOME.JPG

VACATION CAVE-HOME, PAROS ISLAND, GREECE in the HEART of the AEGEAN SEA

“What is this, a real cave?” as we entered through the front doors.  A cave-home, a home carved out from the promontory overlooking the town (LEFKES/LEFKOS).  Modernized: plumbing, furniture, fireplaces, electronics, electricity, rooms.  “AWESOME!”  I said, as I put my suitcase . . . no closets.  Platform queen-sized bed with solar tube skylight through the mountain above us, allowing light in, allowing us to view stars all night.  Two baths and showers.  Lemon trees outside, with a spectacular view of the entire town, whitewashed-in-Greek.  A 20-minute walk up or down to the chemist or bakery with chocolate croissants daily, or fresh baguettes.  Or the market.  Or to the rental car.  (We did not remain cave dwellers for the week: we explored the island, did visit another island and old Portuguese fort, sat on a beach, ate in different restaurants, visited a famous Roman quarry, among other activities–and even made fresh lemonade daily.)

What a unique opportunity that I will never forget, what an experience like no other in my entire vacation-ing life.  “Where ya’ been?” “I have been to the mountain.”  I have.  At the very top, UP, far beyond our cave, topped with giant (dormant) wind turbines.  I have been to the top of the mountain.  And it was good.

LEFKES on PAROS 2005.JPG

LEFKES on PAROS ISLAND, GREECE, 2005

 …

ADDENDUM

The Summer of 2018 will be memorable for no vacation.  Foot surgery instead forced an in-bed holiday.  Four to six weeks of no weight bearing, occasional icing, and some few hydrocodone tablets kept down travel costs considerably.  However, the electric bill may have spiked due to an overuse of audio and video, like Spotify, Pandora, Netflix, and Amazon Prime. 

© JAMES F. O’NEIL 2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

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