It’s A Great Day for Hockey

After spending my summer and fall outdoors, I’ve read several articles recently about Wisconsin hockey, and they inspired my return to writing. Of course, “it’s a great day for hockey” was the catchphrase of Bob Johnson, who coached the University of Wisconsin men’s hockey team between 1966 and 1982 and led Wisconsin to three national championships.

One of the articles appeared on November 3rd in the Wisconsin State Journal and reported on a tribute to the Suter family at the December 2nd UW-Michigan hockey game. Three generations of the family – Marlowe and his sons, John, Bob and Gary, and Bob’s son Ryan – have supported hockey in the Madison area, and the tribute to them is well-deserved. Three of the family members were on the team that won the Badgers’ second national championship in 1977, and that season is the real inspiration for this posting – because I participated, voyeuristically, in that history.

Growing up in Louisiana, I knew nothing about hockey when I arrived in Wisconsin in 1975. However, during my second year on campus, excitement about the hockey program grew as Bob Johnson returned after coaching the 1976 U.S. Olympic team. In his absence, Badger hockey struggled to a 12-24-2 record in 1975-76 under interim coach Bill “Rocket” Rothwell. I “snagged” two 1976-77 season tickets for the Saturday night series at the Dane County Coliseum, several miles south of campus (the Kohl Center did not open until 1998). The tickets were in a corner, normally a prime viewing area, but they were at ice level and behind the UW band, which meant we had to stand the entire game to view play. The other unfortunate part of our attendance was departing from the Dane County Coliseum. With over 7,000 spectators heading home at the same time and only two parking lot exits, we endured interminable traffic jams in sub-freezing temperatures waiting for my 1974 Ford Pinto’s heater to do its job. But those are the only two negative things I can remember about that season.

When I started writing this posting, I wondered if we saw the Badgers lose a game that season, which was almost the case. The first loss we saw was on New Year’s Eve to Moscow Spartak, a professional Russian team, but the game was listed as “exhibition” and the score was only 1-2. The only “official” loss we attended was to Minnesota, 4-5, on January 8. A month earlier, the Badgers had swept the Gophers on their home ice by scores of 4-3 and 7-2. Also losing at home three times on Fridays, the Badgers compiled a home record of 20-5-0. With even better away (13-2-1) and neutral site (4-0-0) records, the Badgers finished the 1976-77 season 37-7-1, winning 83.3% of their games!

The other pretty incredible thing about that season, from a purely personal perspective, is that we secured tickets to the final game of the WCHA playoffs. By compiling the league’s best regular season record, the Badgers secured “home ice” for the tournament’s duration. By the time the playoffs entered the championship round in the third week of March, fans learned that the Badgers’ home ice at the Dane County Coliseum was booked for the World Dairy Expo, and the WCHA venue was shifted to the 3,500 seat Hartmeyer Ice Arena on Madison’s east side. Over 7,000 season ticket holders at the Coliseum were invited to apply for seats through a lottery. Miraculously, we won the lottery. It was miraculous both because we got tickets, but also because our seats were in the first row behind the Badger bench on the blue line. We spent the entire game peering over Bob Johnson’s shoulders.

Of the many ways to describe the Badgers’ 1976-77 season, one might be “payback can be sweet,” courtesy of the Michigan Wolverines. That is because the Badgers opened the season at home on October 15 with a Friday night overtime loss to Michigan, 6-7, before beating the Wolverines six other times that season. On Saturday night, the Badgers returned the favor, beating the Wolverines by an identical score, also in overtime. In February, the Badgers swept the Wolverines on their home ice, 3-2 and 11-8. Besting Colorado College and Minnesota in the first two rounds of the WCHA playoffs and facing off once again against Michigan for the tournament championship, the Badgers won the total goal series 9-4 (4-0 and 5-4). Both teams secured bids to the NCAA’s “Frozen Four” national championship tournament in Detroit’s Olympia Stadium. The Badgers’ first round game against New Hampshire ended in a tie, before Wisconsin scored the go-ahead goal 43 seconds into overtime, winning 4-3. Facing Michigan for the seventh time that season for the national championship the next night, the two teams ended regulation play in a 5-5 tie, until a back-hander by Steve Alley secured the win for the Badgers 23 seconds into overtime.

Another way to describe the Badgers’ 1976-77 season, and borrowing a phrase from futbol, might be, “it’s a beautiful game.” During that season, the Badgers scored more goals than any other WCHA team, and their total equaled 103 more goals than they surrendered (264-161). That margin also led the league and was considerably larger than the margins posted by Michigan (49) and Notre Dame (44), the two closest rivals. Of their 264 goals, 93 came on the power play, converting 39% of their opportunities, with many of those goals credited to the line of Steve Alley, John Taft, Craig Norwich, Mike Eaves, and Mark Johnson.  Norwich was a defenseman but, nonetheless, led the team in points with 83 (18 goals and 65 assists), and the team’s scoring leader was a freshman, Mark Johnson, with 36 goals.

The “real” beauty of the Badger team was that they outskated their opponents. Many teams could not skate with the Badgers and resorted to a physical style of play, leaving the Badgers in need of an enforcer to counter other teams’ physicality, which brings us back to the Suter family. Bob Suter accepted that role, leading the team in penalties, and was described by Coach Johnson as fearless. When he skated over to the penalty box to serve time for an infraction, he was greeted by his dad, Marlowe, who ensured that each guilty Badger served his full allotted time before returning to play. Bob’s older brother, John, also played on the 1976-77 team. Both Bob Suter and Mark Johnson went on to win Olympic gold medals, playing for the 1980 “Miracle On Ice” team. Unfortunately, Bob Suter died unexpectedly in 2014, and a memorial service was held for him – where else – at the Dane County Coliseum.

The 1976-77 season was a magical time to have season tickets to Badger hockey, and I count myself fortunate for that experience.

I don’t have any hockey-related music from my past to end this posting. However, I recently received a concert promotion for Daryl Hall, who is touring with Todd Rundgren. I love Rundgren, and since I haven’t posted anything since June, I’ll conclude by saying, ”Hello, It’s Me”.

What, Another Posting About Religion?

A May 22nd New York Times article on the leader of the Russian branch of the Eastern Orthodox Church, Patriarch Kirill I, prompted me to return to a rabbit hole that I resisted exploring when I researched last month’s posting. My fascination with this topic is due to my realizing how radically the church-state relationship has changed in post-Communist Russia.

In 1917, the Communists viewed most social, economic, and government institutions as relics of a bygone era that the revolution would replace. Religion was no exception, and by the end of 1917, marriage and divorce laws had been repealed and only civil marriages were recognized. In 1918, the government proclaimed the separation of church from schools and the separation of church from state. The proclamation’s intent was not so much to separate church and state, but to destroy the church by “penning it into a corner where it … would wither and die.” Lenin summarized the Marxist view of religion thusly:

Religion teaches those who toil in poverty all their lives to be resigned and patient in this world, and consoles them with the hope of reward in heaven. As for those who live upon the labor of others, religion teaches them to be charitable in earthly life, thus providing a cheap justification for their whole exploiting existence and selling them, at a reasonable price, tickets to heavenly bliss. Religion is the opium of the people. Religion is a kind of spiritual intoxicant, in which the slaves of capital drown their humanity and their desires for some sort of decent human existence. (Donald W. Treadgold, Twentieth Century Russia, Third Edition, 1972, pages 248-249)

Because Lenin viewed the revolution as a political and economic struggle, but not a religious struggle, he was willing to allow the Church a marginalized existence on a temporary basis, although later, Stalin instituted more aggressive policies against the Church. However, both Lenin and Stalin underestimated the staying power of the Orthodox Church, despite the state seizing its property, undermining its organization, and purging its leaders.

Today, the Russian Orthodox Church boasts 100 million followers, or about 70% of Russia’s 144 million inhabitants. According to the Times, Kirill became the Church’s patriarch in 2009 after embracing a deep conservatism that criticized both Protestant religions for admitting women to the clergy and the West for forcing traditional societies to accept gay rights and other “anti-Christian” values under the guise of human rights. Under his leadership, the Russian Orthodox Church has sought to expand its influence, with Kirill aspiring for Moscow to become the “Third Rome” (if you don’t know about the second Rome, keep reading).

Kirill’s ideology resonated with Vladimir Putin, who returned to the presidency in 2012, after a four-year hiatus. The Church’s conservatism and view of itself as moral leader dovetailed nicely with Putin’s embrace of nationalism and his vision of a restored tsarist empire over all lands with a Slavic heritage or with an Orthodox faith. A mutually beneficial relationship resulted with Kirill providing Putin “spiritual cover” for the state’s authoritarian abuses and with Putin ensuring the Church had resources for its expansionist endeavors. Meanwhile, Kirill has amassed sufficient wealth to be considered a target of western sanctions.

Over time, the Kirill-Putin relationship has evolved into one of non-equals, and today, the Russian Orthodox Church is considered a captive of the state. In a March Zoom meeting with Pope Francis on resolving the 1,000-year schism between the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Churches, “Kirill spent 20 minutes reading prepared remarks, echoing the arguments of President Vladimir V. Putin of Russia that the war in Ukraine was necessary to purge Nazis and oppose NATO expansion,” according to the Times. Pope Francis responded, “Brother, we are not clerics of the state.”

This is not the first instance of the Russian Orthodox Church employing a conciliatory position with the Russian or Soviet state. However, this relationship might have more distant historical roots, possibly dating to the 4th century when Roman Emperor Constantine converted to Christianity. Soon, Christianity spread over the entire Roman Empire, which surrounded the Mediterranean Sea. Latin was spoken in the west, and Greek was the language of the east. Near the same time, the Empire fell into turmoil, particularly in the west, in part due to its invasion by barbarians. In response, Constantine changed the name of the eastern city of Byzantium to Constantinople and made it a second capital. Henceforth, each of the two capitals governed its half of the Empire.

As conditions continued to deteriorate in the west, including much of Italy, the west eventually was left with no overreaching government authority, in part due to the emperor residing in Constantinople. However, the Christian Church and its organization of bishoprics continued to exist in the “old empire,” and Rome remained the focal point of the western church because that was the location of St. Peter’s martyrdom after Christ bestowed upon him the spiritual authority of the Church. Peter’s Roman successors inherited his “Petrine supremacy,” which was accepted by other western bishops. In time. the bishop of Rome assumed authority for Rome’s civil governance, as well as its spiritual oversight.

The Greek patriarchs in the east refused to accept the supremacy of the Roman bishop, and for three centuries, the Church’s two branches drifted apart. By the eleventh century, the division was deemed irreparable, and the Christian Church officially divided, under the Schism of 1054, with the Latin or Roman Catholic Church in the west and the Greek Orthodox Church in the east. This evolution demonstrates how the Roman Catholic Church came of age without being under the rule of any secular power, while the Eastern Orthodox Church matured under the authority and influence of the Emperor in Constantinople.

My family will accuse me of writing this posting solely for the purpose of featuring the following song, over which I frequently obsessed. Kudos to They Might Be Giants for popularizing a song, written in my birth year by Jimmy Kennedy and Nat Simon, that was so clever that Tiny Toon Adventures made it into a cartoon, it’s Istanbul (Not Constantinople)!

Lagniappe #1, Eastern Orthodox Church. The Eastern Orthodox Church has 220 million members and is organized into 14 self-governing regional churches, each with its own bishop and holy synod. In addition to the Russian Orthodox Church, some of the other regions are Cypriot, Georgian, Greek, Serbian, and Ukrainian. After centuries of tutelage under the Russian branch, the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople allowed the Ukrainian Orthodox Church to sever its ties with the Russian church in 2014. Oddly, orthodox Christianity was first introduced to Russia in 988 A.D. under Prince Vladimir of Kiev.

Lagniappe #2, Rest in Peace Andy Fletcher. I regularly trash 1980s music, but Depeche Mode is an 80s band that I find hypnotic. It is a British electronics-heavy band, that made its mark with a heavy reliance on synthesizers, hitting its stride when it veered away from pop music and adopted a darker, more serious tone. Andy Fletcher was a founding member and has been described as “the glue that held the band together” and “the heart of Depeche Mode.” He passed in late May at the age of 60. In keeping with this posting’s religious theme, take a moment to enjoy Depeche Mode’s hit song, Personal Jesus. (Fletcher is on synthesizer and wearing sunglasses.)

Does Man Make History, Or Does History Make the Man

Yes, I know better than to use gender specific pronouns, but that was the question posed by LeRoy Musselman on the final exam for “20th Century Russian History” in 1975. I thought of the question because this is my birthday month and my birth year, 1953, was also the year of Joseph Stalin’s death. All of us have probably been thinking about Russia since its invasion of Ukraine three months ago, and this posting offers some insight into not-so-recent Russian history and how it relates to today’s events.

In 1917, Russia experienced two revolutions. In March, the first revolution culminated with the abdication of tsar Nicholas II and the end of the Romanov dynasty. Authority was assumed by a Provisional Government formed from the Duma, a weak parliamentary body that had been created under Nicholas in 1905 to forestall revolution. The Provisional Government envisioned a Constituent Assembly as its successor but was unsuccessful in establishing that body. The second revolution occurred in October.

The Provisional Government regarded itself as just that – provisional – and refused to take any substantive action addressing the issues of the state or its people, instead opting to defer to the soon to be created General Assembly. Meanwhile, Russia’s military effort in World War I disintegrated, discipline eroded, and desertions ensued. Unrest arose in agrarian areas as peasants began dividing the property of their landlords among themselves. Shortages of goods and high inflation occurred, and the borderlands embraced their own nationalism and sought autonomy. During this period, the Bolsheviks ensconced themselves with soviets - geographic organizations of workers, initially from the industrial sector and later spreading to other economic sectors. On November 6, the Bolsheviks began seizing areas of Petrograd (St. Petersburg), took control of Moscow a week later, and controlled most Russian cities within a month.

Several points regarding the period between the two revolutions are noteworthy. First, the Social Democratic Labor Party, which included Bolsheviks, Mensheviks, and Social Revolutionaries, embraced the Provisional Government but generally refused to participate in it. The Party viewed the government as an embodiment of capitalism, and under Karl Marx’ theory of economic evolution, capitalism must succeed feudalism, such as occurred under the Romanov Dynasty, before socialism could emerge. Thus, the Provisional Government was a necessary precursor to socialism. Second, the interim allowed numerous exiled revolutionaries to return to Russia, including Leon Trotsky, Joseph Stalin, and Vladimir Lenin. Finally, during this period, Lenin issued his “April Thesis” which laid the groundwork for the October Revolution by labelling the war as imperialist and the highest stage of capitalism and also demanding that the Bolsheviks begin opposing the Provisional Government and instead, support the soviets. Also, the April Thesis sought to rebrand the Social Democrats as Communists.

Some revolutions are initially successful but ultimately fail because there is no body to assume the responsibility of governing in the aftermath. Before the revolution, Vladimir Lenin devoted considerable effort to how the party should behave once it had attained power, and he possessed the organizational skills to prolong the revolution’s gains. (This gives some indication as to how I answered Mr. Musselman’s exam question in 1975.)

At the time of the revolution, the authority to govern was derived from the soviets, and the soviets were structured as the instruments through which the Communist Party governed the country. The soviets assembled as numbered congresses (Congress of Soviets), which elected a Central Executive Committee, which elected a Council of People’s Commissars (cabinet) headed by a Chairman (often referred to as Premier). Vladimir Lenin became the first chairman in 1917, serving until his death in 1924.

This governmental organization roughly paralleled the party’s structure already in place. Since before the revolution (1912), the Bolsheviks had employed a Central Committee, elected by the party congresses to make broad policy decisions between congresses. This body continued after 1917. However, by 1919, the Central Committee had become unwieldy due to its size, and the Eighth Congress of the Party created a Politburo with a smaller size and a more frequent meeting schedule. Over time, the Politburo became the party’s central decision-making body. The Politburo, as well as the Party, was headed by a First Secretary (later General Secretary). In 1922, Joseph Stalin became the initial First Secretary, retaining that designation until his death in 1953.

After Lenin’s death, the post of Chairman was assumed first by Alexy Rykov (1924-30) and then by Vyacheslav Molotov (1930-41).  Stalin succeeded Molotov in 1941, becoming the first person to simultaneously lead the Party and government. The only other individual to hold both posts was Nikita Krushchev, who became the Party’s First Secretary upon Stalin’s death and became Premier of the Soviet Union in 1958 (see Lagniappe).

Krushchev was a “completely uneducated coal miner” from the Ukraine, who rose through the Party’s ranks by demonstrating Party management skills and gaining a reputation in agricultural policy. Under Krushchev’s rule, the Soviet exorcism of Stalin commenced, including the removal of Stalin’s body from the mausoleum in Red Square. In addition, Krushchev enhanced Soviet prestige with the launch of Sputniks I and II, assistance for Egypt’s construction of the Aswan Dam, and periods of détente with the West – Krushchev was the first head of a Communist state to visit the U.S., and he oversaw the installation of the White House/Kremlin hotline. These periods of détente were interspersed with periods of conflict including his dispatching Soviet troops to quash the Hungarian uprising in 1956, the construction of the Berlin Wall, and the installation of Soviet missiles in Cuba.

I was in the third grade at A.C. Steere Elementary School during the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962 and remember preparing for a potential Soviet attack by storing gallon jugs of water in my school locker and performing air raid drills by diving under my desk. Barksdale Air Force Base, across the Red River from Shreveport, went to DEFCON 2 (war is imminent) during this time. Fortunately for the world, President Kennedy initiated a blockade of Cuba and issued an ultimatum to the Soviets to withdraw the missiles. By acceding, Krushchev initiated the end of his rule. His final two years in power were marked by disagreements and increasing tension with the Communist Chinese and poor agricultural harvests. In October 1964, the Party had enough, and the Politburo removed Krushchev and replaced him with Leonid Brezhnev as Party Secretary and Alexei Kosygin as Premier.

I know I took a long time getting here, but the Poliburo’s replacement of Krushchev is this posting’s primary point. Say what you will about the shortcomings of the Soviet system, there was a mechanism for removing a head of state.

And of course, this history lesson evokes several musical reminders. If you have a fondness for “bad” music from the 1980s, maybe you remember After the Fire’s only hit. In 1982, the British band released Der Kommissar, which had originally been released by the Austrian singer Falco in German.

Lagniappe: In addition to Stalin assuming the dual posts of First Secretary and Premier, the border republics were also consolidated in 1922, giving birth to the Soviet Union, or USSR. And if you want more music, another British band had a song with USSR in its title.

New York Times Obits

Each day, I peruse the obituaries. Blessed with good health, I feel that my death is a way off, so I’m surprised by friends and acquaintances who have already passed. Those without similar experiences may have little interest in the obits, but maybe should consider those in The New York Times. The Times’ obits introduce readers to people who may not have been mainstream newsmakers but, nonetheless, achieved interesting accomplishments and perhaps have profoundly affected our lives today.

Two examples are historian Charles G. Sellers, whose obit appeared September 25, 2021, and pathologist Johan Hultin, whose obit appeared January 28, 2022. Sellers is known for helping “overturn the consensus that democracy and capitalism developed in tandem by showing in fact they were more often at odds.” His 1991 book, The Market Revolution: Jacksonian America, 1815-1846, demonstrated that the rapid expansion of capital and industry not only created a new economy for America but also unraveled the country’s social fabric. His work was subsequently described as “the thesis that launched a thousand dissertations.” Hultin studied the 1918 pandemic flu virus by unearthing graves in the Alaskan permafrost beginning in 1951 and sampling victims’ lung tissue. This allowed scientists to sequence the gene that allowed the virus to enter cells, which led to the sequencing of all eight of the virus’s genes.

Over the last six months, The Times has published obituaries for four individuals who have made significant contributions to the world of music. Rather than recount their entire lives, the following material describes one aspect of their obituary which I’ve found interesting.

Sandra Jaffe. Sandra and Allen Jaffe were returning to Philadelphia from their honeymoon in January 1961, when they detoured to New Orleans to visit one of Allen’s army buddies. Entranced by a jazz combo “jamming” in an art gallery, they extended their honeymoon to hear the combo’s return engagement several days later. When the gallery owner told the Jaffes that he was relocating his business to larger quarters and that he would rent them his current space for $400 per month, New Orleans’ Preservation Hall came into being. Preservation Hall has remained an iconic destination in New Orleans’ music scene for over 60 years, despite measuring only 31 by 20 feet, accommodating only about 50 patrons per performance on six benches, lacking air conditioning until 2019, and not serving alcohol. You can tell that this rendition of “Tailgate Ramble” was recorded by the Preservation Hall Jazz Band at Preservation Hall because there is no P.A. system. Initially, Allen assembled the musicians and performed with them, and Sandra assumed a managerial role, which included serving as bouncer and standing at the door with a basket accepting donations. When Allen passed in 1987, Sandra continued to operate Preservation Hall, and when Sandra eventually relinquished her management role, she remained involved, even sweeping the sidewalk out front. Today, the Jaffes’ son, Benjamin, manages the enterprise, and admission charges have replaced the donation system, with fees ranging from $25 for general admission to $50 for reserved seating. However, throughout its history, Preservation Hall has not wavered from its dedication to preserving traditional jazz. Sandra Jaffe passed in New Orleans on December 27, 2021, at the age of 83.

Rosa Lee Hawkins. Between the late-1950s and mid-1960s, “girl groups” were one of the formats that dominated pop music. Characterized by strong voices and vibrant harmonies, the girl group sound is further described by the Pop History Dig website as having “a fresh optimistic buoyancy to it, with lyrics that were mostly innocent and naïve.” Their sound relied on producers to assemble the separate components – writers, composers/arrangers, musicians, and singers – leaving the artists at the mercy of the producer and record company. Initially, girl groups were an East Coast phenomenon – the Chiffons from the Bronx, the Shirelles from New Jersey, the Sensations from Philadelphia, the Cookies from Brooklyn, and the Ronettes from Spanish Harlem – until Motown’s Berry Gordy replicated the sound in Detroit with the Marvelettes and Martha and the Vandellas, and Phil Spector did the same in Los Angeles with the Blossoms featuring Darlene Love. New Orleans would not be left out. In 1963, two sisters, Rosa Lee and Barbara Hawkins, and their cousin, Joan Marie Johnson, performed in a high school talent show. While they did not win the talent show, their performance caught the ear of a scout from Redbird Records and led to a recording contract. Discovering that their first choice for a name, the Meltones, was already taken, they became the Dixie Cups. In 1964, they released “Chapel of Love” which vaulted to the number 1 spot on the Billboard 100, replacing the Beatles’ “Love Me Do.” The song was later used in Stanley Kubrick’s 1987 movie, “Full Metal Jacket.” Rosa Lee Hawkins passed in Tampa, Florida, on January 11, at the age of 76.

Don Wilson. Surf music gained popularity in the early 1960s and is most often associated with Southern California. One group that did not fit this characterization hailed from the Seattle area, where the climate afforded two bricklayers with outdoor jobs plenty of time to practice playing music. The Ventures was formed by guitarists, Don Wilson, on rhythm, and Bob Bogle, on lead. Lacking a drummer or bassist to establish a “beat,” Wilson took on that role by developing a strong, driving playing style that characterized the group, which later added Nokie Edwards (bass) and Skip Moore (drums). Recording on their own record label in March 1960, The Ventures released “Walk Don’t Run,” which was their modification of a song by jazz guitarist Johnny Smith that had also been recorded by country-great Chet Atkins. The song gained little popularity until Seattle radio station KJR began playing it as the lead-in to its news segment at the top of every hour. That popularized the song in the Seattle area and also caught the ear of Dolton Records, which signed the group and re-released the song. “Walk Don’t Run” soon made Billboard’s Hot 100 chart and remains one of music’s most recognizable surf songs. Don Wilson passed in Tacoma, Washington, on January 22, at the age of 88. 

Terence “Astro” Wilson. If you thought UB40 was a Jamaican reggae band, you got the reggae part correct. UB40 was a group of multi-racial musicians of English, Welsh, Irish, Jamaican, Scottish, and Yemeni parentage, formed in Birmingham, England, in 1978. Besides all being musicians, their common characteristic was being unemployed, prompting them to base their name on Britain’s Unemployment Benefit Form 40. Terence Wilson was the group’s trumpet player and background vocalist and became known as “Astro” because he wore Doc Martens “Astronaut” boots as a child. In 1983, UB40 released their “Labour of Love” album, which included a cover of “Red Red Wine” after hearing Tony Tribe’s ska version of the song. Of course, the original version was written and performed by Neil Diamond as a melancholy ballad, characterized by Diamond’s dramatic vocal performance. His version reached #62 in 1968 on Billboard’s Hot 100 Chart, and Tony Tribe’s 1969 version climbed somewhat higher to #46 on the UK Singles Chart. UB40’s 1983 release of “Red Red Wine” was a “short” version that enjoyed only moderate success in the U.S. after topping the charts in Britain. This version initially edited out toaster Astro Wilson’s verse where he raps, “Red Red Wine, you make me feel so fine/You keep me rocking all of the time.” After performing this longer version at Nelson Mandela’s 70th birthday concert, A&M Records decided to include that version on the group’s “Labour of Love II” album in 1988. The album became a #1 Billboard hit in the U.S. and sold over a million copies in the UK. Shortly thereafter, Neil Diamond began performing the UB40 version of the song in concert. Terence “Astro” Wilson passed on November 6, 2021, at the age of 64.

I hope these histories demonstrate that reading the obits need not be mournful, but rather allow us to celebrate the deceased accomplishments. Like all my postings, I could have gone on and on, recounting contributions by Ronnie Spector of the Ronettes, Dusty Hill of ZZ Top, and James Mtume. Just for grins, you might want to search for Mtume’s hit “Juicy Fruit.” It was so 1983.

Why Do You Think They Call It Dope?

This continues last month’s posting about Greg LeMond’s three Tour de France victories by exploring professional cycling’s “dark era” between 1991 and 2012. This period was characterized by the widespread use of blood doping and performance enhancing drugs (PEDs), as well as the failure of professional cycling to police itself. Sadly, LeMond may be better known for crusading against these infractions than for his three Tour victories.

As the 1991 Tour de France commenced, LeMond considered himself in better shape than in 1989 or 1990 and comparable to his condition in 1986, before his hunting accident. He started strong, capturing the overall lead after Stage 1 and regaining it in Stages 8 through Stage 11. Entering the Pyrenees for two days, LeMond finished about seven minutes behind each day’s stage winner and found himself just over five minutes behind the overall leader. When the Tour entered the Alps in Stages 17 and 18, he lost more time and found himself in tenth place, 14 minutes behind eventual winner, Miguel Indurain. Over the final stages, LeMond rallied to finish in seventh place, a bit more than 13 minutes behind Indurain.

Tour de France winners are typically determined in time trial and mountain stages, which are extreme tests of riders’ endurance. In the intervening stages, contenders ride surrounded by their team in the peloton, keeping track of rival contenders and conserving energy. However, the 45.4-mile individual time trial in Stage 8 of the 1991 Tour was not followed by a recovery day, and LeMond later commented, “the race never got slower, never slowed down on certain days, which it did traditionally, because everybody got tired at the same time.” One year after he won the Tour and his team won the top team classification, “not one of us could follow the pace in the pack,” he later told the French newspaper, LeMonde.

LeMond’s competition on the Tour was truncated by an era of other cyclists’ use of PEDs, and he retired from professional cycling in 1994. PEDs in professional cycling has too long a history to recount here, so I’ll skip the use of drugs such as strychnine and cocaine and concentrate on the more recent past. When the Tour de France initiated drug testing in 1966 after professional cycling banned PEDs in 1965, amphetamines were cycling’s drug du jour. As stimulants, amphetamines cause athletes to tire more slowly, so their appeal to cyclists in multi-stage endurance contests, such as the Tour, is obvious. Involvement by the International Olympic Committee led to improvements in drug detection methods, and by 1967, amphetamines became one of the first products detected through drug testing. However, pharmaceutical advancements soon produced other drugs that both enhanced performance and proved more difficult to detect, and enforcement efforts waned.

Physiologically, performance in endurance sports requires both muscle mass and aerobic capacity. Although first used in “strength” sports, anabolic steroids, particularly synthetic testosterone, creeped into professional cycling in the 1980s, and steroid use became widespread in the 1990s. Testosterone proved particularly beneficial to cyclists because it not only increased muscle mass, but also accelerated recovery. Testosterone gained even more favor when cyclists discovered that the drug remains active for only a short time and that they could thwart the urine test developed to detect its presence by using “masking” drugs to flush the drug’s remnants from their systems.

Also in the 1980s, biosynthetic human growth hormone (HGH) became commercially available and, by the 1990s, found its way into professional cycling where it was often paired with anabolic steroids. Human growth hormone is produced in the pituitary gland and regulates muscle and bone growth. As an FDA approved and regulated drug, the biosynthetic version was developed to treat children with growth deficiencies and later, became used to combat HIV-related weight loss. However, professional cyclists used it to build muscle and improve athletic performance, but this effect has not been proven and demonstrates the extent that professional cyclists would go to gain a competitive edge.

Blood doping had been part of the Tour before the 1990s. It is the introduction of additional red blood cells into a person’s blood stream, either as transfusions of someone else’s blood or re-infusions of the cyclist’s own blood. The science of doping is straightforward. Red blood cells carry oxygen to muscles, and muscles use oxygen to transform nutrients into molecular fuel that enables muscles to perform. Higher red blood cell levels mean higher oxygen amounts delivered to muscles, allowing them to perform harder and longer before fatigue, thus increasing endurance. For cyclists, transfusions and re-infusions posed logistical issues because blood has a shelf-life of only several weeks when it is outside the body, and it must be kept at temperatures of about 40° F, or less.

In the 1990s, these procedures fell out of favor with cyclists due to the emergence of a new drug, rEPO, or simply EPO. Developed for patients with chronic kidney disease and anemia, EPO became available in 1989, as a synthesized naturally occurring hormone, erythropoietin, which stimulates bone marrow to produce red blood cells. Cyclists on EPO were able to increase their hematocrit level, the percentage of blood comprised of red blood cells, to 55% to 60%. This compares to an average hematocrit level for a typical adult male of 38.3% to 48.6%, according to the Mayo Clinic. However, clotting occurs when hematocrit levels get too high, and the deaths of nearly 20 European cyclists over a 4-year period were associated with EPO. For many professional cyclists, this risk was outweighed by EPO’s enhanced performance boost and the recognition that there was no test to detect the drug. By the mid-1990s, EPO use by professional cyclists had become common, along with amphetamines, steroids, and human growth hormone.

Perhaps no single event is more indicative of drug prevalence among professional cyclists than the Festina Affair. Just before the start of the 1998 Tour de France, custom agents at the Belgian-French border uncovered a cache of drugs and drug paraphernalia in a vehicle of the Festina cycling team. Tour officials expelled the entire Festina team, and subsequent testing revealed the presence of HGH, amphetamines, steroids, corticoids, and EPO in its team members. As the investigation spilled over into other teams, a number of riders withdrew from the Tour. Arrests followed, and teams, riders, managers, and doctors were banned from the 1999 Tour.

By 1997, the Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI), cycling’s world governing body, became concerned about the prevalence of EPO in the peloton, but its enforcement efforts were hamstrung by lack of a test to detect the drug. Since EPO has the effect of increasing the number of red blood cells, UCI elected to suspend any rider whose hematocrit level exceeded 50%, although this gave riders the license to dope up to that level. Fortunately, two French doctors developed a urine test for EPO in 2000, and the first positive test by a cyclist promptly occurred in 2001. Later in the same year, Lance Armstrong recorded a positive test in the Tour of Switzerland, but his result was classified as negative because his red blood cell level did not cross the test’s established threshold.

The first EPO test was time consuming and difficult to administer, but testing enhancements soon followed. This led to re-tests of cyclists’ urine, stored from prior year events, and in 2005, Armstrong again tested positive, based on a 1999 sample. However, there was no established procedure for dealing with re-tests, so no penalties were imposed. As EPO testing improved, many cyclists returned to re-infusing their own blood, which testing could not detect. UCI responded by monitoring cyclists’ level of “young” red blood cells and establishing an acceptable range for them. Cyclists could be disqualified when young red cells measured either at a high level, indicating the presence of EPO, or at a low level, indicating a likely blood re-infusion. Thus, testing evolved into examining the effects of drugs on the blood, rather than looking for drugs in the blood.

In 2006, Floyd Landis became only the third American to win the Tour de France, but his team announced that his urine tested positive for testosterone after Stage 17. The French government’s anti-doping lab performed a second test and confirmed the positive result in August, after the Tour’s conclusion. In response, UCI stripped Landis of his Tour victory, and he was banned from professional cycling for two years. When Landis’ request to return to professional cycling in 2010 was rejected, he began to implicate his former teammates, including Lance Armstrong. This prompted investigations by the World Anti-Doping Agency, the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency (USADA), and several U.S. government agencies.

On August 24, 2012, USADA determined that in addition to other infractions, Armstrong had used “prohibited substances and/or methods including EPO, blood transfusions, testosterone, corticosteroids, and masking agents” during his career. Further, it “disqualified him from any and all competitive results” from 1998 forward and banned him from all future competitions covered by anti-doping regulations for the remainder of his life. Later in October, UCI upheld the USADA sanctions and stripped Armstrong of his seven Tour de France titles, from 1999 to 2005. Due to the prevalence of PEDs in the peloton, UCI did not reassign those titles.

Greg LeMond’s refusal to follow the peloton’s embrace of PEDs not only abbreviated his cycling career but also leaves LeMond’s true place in cycling history uncertain. At least one measure suggests LeMond may have been one of the greatest cyclists of all time. How the body takes oxygen from the air and delivers it to the muscles is measured as VO2 Max, the maximum volume of oxygen that a person can use during exercise. Factors that determine VO2 Max include the lungs’ ability to exchange air, the pumping power of the heart, the level of arterial blood flow to the muscles, and the muscles’ ability to utilize oxygen. Although these factors can be improved through high intensity interval training, a person’s VO2 Max is largely determined through genetics.

Laboratories conduct VO2 Max tests by measuring the amount of air that is inspired and expired by an athlete wearing an oxygen mask while exercising. Due to smaller heart muscles, women generally have lower average measures (38), than men (45), and male, world class endurance athletes have levels around 80. Greg LeMond’s VO2 Max measured 92.5, one of the highest levels ever recorded (higher scores have been recorded by a handful of Norwegian cross-country skiers). By way of comparison, four-time Tour de France winner Chris Fromme boasts an 84.6 VO2 Max, and Lance Armstrong measured 84.0. Behind LeMond, the cyclist with the next highest measure is Miguel Indurain (88.0), who won five consecutive Tours de France (1992-1996). While Indurain denies ever doping, his career has been subject to speculation, largely because his team was a client of Dr. Francesco Conconi, a pioneer of the use of EPO in professional cycling.

After widespread use in the 1990s and 2000s, the peloton’s use of PEDs is estimated to have decreased to 10% of riders by 2015 due to greater oversight and improvements in testing. Greg LeMond remains the only Tour de France winner from the United States. Today, he resides in Knoxville, Tennessee, where he is manufacturing his own line of carbon fiber E-bikes.

One of the first songs about drugs that I can remember is a tract on one of my initial album purchases. I was 14 when Jefferson Airplane’s Surrealistic Pillow was released (1967). Even if you disapprove of its drug theme, enjoy the Alice in Wonderland references in White Rabbit, or pretend you’re listening to Ravel’s Bolero!

Greg LeMond Has Left My Basement

For the past 15 years, I’ve had a Greg LeMond Digital G-Force trainer in my basement. It is an incredible piece of exercise equipment with an internal flywheel and a digital screen offering a handful of workouts for the indoor cyclist. It requires no electrical hookup, as the computer screen is powered by pedaling.  Riders can select the workout’s duration and level of difficulty, and its computer tracks distance, speed, cadence, heartrate, calories, and watts. After sitting idle during each year’s outdoor biking season, its computer would power back up with my first pedal stroke each winter, and over its 15 years of use, I never performed any maintenance on it.

I replaced my LeMond last week, and that got me thinking about the legendary cyclist who started the fitness equipment company that bears his name. Greg LeMond is the only American to win the Tour de France, and he did so three times. I became fascinated with him because he’s about my age, about my height, and about my weight. How could he win three Tours? Before reviewing that accomplishment, my non-cyclist readers should have some appreciation of what it means to win the Tour.

The Tour de France occurs each July, and its current version consists of 198 cyclists on 22 teams riding approximately 2,200 miles in 21 racing stages over 23 days (that’s right, only two rest days). There are four types of stages – flat, hilly, mountain, and time trial. Except for time trials, a stage is typically around 100 miles. For example, the 2022 Tour’s stages will range from 93 to 124 miles in length.

The Tour’s mountain stages are noteworthy because elite riders are able to build time gaps over their competitors in these stages that are difficult to overcome in other stages. The mountain stages traverse both the Pyrenees, on France’s Spanish border, and the Alps on the Italian and Swiss borders. This year’s Tour includes six mountain stages, and Stage 12, which is the second consecutive stage in the Alps, offers some indication of what it takes to compete in the Tour. Starting in Briancon, at an elevation of 4,400 feet, riders will climb to three summits over the course of 103 miles, concluding the stage atop Alpe D’Huez at an elevation of 6,070 feet. The stage includes climbs of 4,282 feet over 21 miles with a grade of 5.1%, 5,023 feet over 19 miles with a grade of 5.2%, and 3,714 feet over 10 miles with a grade of 8.1%. After the first and second summits, riders must navigate descents of 6,910 feet, over 30 miles, and 4,426 feet, over 23 miles. Downhill speeds exceeding 50 mph are common.

The Tour employs both individual and team time trials where a rider or a team enters the course without other competitors and rides against the clock. Time trials employ staggered starts with an individual or team entering the course at 1 ½ minute intervals. Distances are shorter than on the mountain, hilly, or flat stages. For example, the 2022 Tour will feature two individual time trials of just under 10 and 25 miles (Stages 1 and 20), but no team time trials.

French riders have won more Tours than riders of any other nationality, and the period from 1975 to 1985 was a “golden” era for French cyclists on the Tour, winning nine of the 11 competitions. In 1985, 24-year-old Greg LeMond was lured away from Team Renault to ride for Team La Vie Claire in support of Frenchman Bernard Hinault, who was vying for his fifth Tour de France win. When Hinault broke his nose in a Stage 14 crash, his breathing became labored, and he began to struggle when the Tour entered the Pyrenees. When a racer in third place behind Hinault broke away on Stage 17, LeMond’s team told him to “mark” the rival, which he did. Later in the stage, LeMond was told to drop off the rival and slow his ascent. He was to wait for Hinault because LeMond was told the Frenchman was only 40 to 45 seconds back. Actually, the spread was three to four minutes.

Hinault went on to win the 1985 Tour, and LeMond finished second, 1 minute and 42 seconds back. However, LeMond believed that the team’s directive on Stage 17 cost him the victory, and to mollify him, Hinault promised to ride in support of LeMond in the 1986 Tour. Both riders remained with Team La Vie Claire.

The 1986 Tour opened with 10 flat or hilly stages and one team time trial. At that point, Hinault was in fourth place, 1 minute and 10 seconds behind the leader, and LeMond was eighth, another 43 seconds back. Two days in the Pyrenees awaited, and on the first mountain stage, which included four ascents, Hinault forsook his word to support LeMond and attacked, winning Stage 12 and increasing the margin over his teammate to 5 minutes and 25 seconds. The second day in the Pyrenees also included four major climbs, and LeMond responded, finishing 4 minutes and 39 seconds ahead of Hinault and winning Stage 13. The win eroded Hinault’s lead to just 40 seconds. While Hinault was able to hold the overall lead in Stages 12 through 16, LeMond had shown himself to be the stronger rider, as the Tour was poised to begin three days in the Alps. LeMond tied for second in the first Alps stage and captured the Tour’s overall lead, finishing over 3 minutes ahead of Hinault, who fell to third overall. After Hinault improved to second place after Stage 18, he remarked, “The race isn’t over.” This proved an empty threat as LeMond held the overall lead from Stage 17 on, winning his first Tour de France. Hinault finished second, 3 minutes and 10 seconds back. His 1985 win remains the last for a French rider to this day.

In the two following years, LeMond missed the Tour, after being shot in a 1987 hunting accident. His doctor reported that he was within 20 minutes of death after losing 65% of his blood and suffering a pneumothorax, the collection of air between the lung and the chest wall, sometimes called a collapsed lung. Approximately 60 shotgun pellets penetrated his body, and surgery removed less than half. Of the remaining 35, three pellets are lodged in the lining of LeMond’s heart, and five pellets are embedded in his liver.

LeMond returned to professional racing in 1989 on Team ADR, but his fitness was in question. In May, he entered the Giro d’Italia, which is often used as a tune up for the Tour de France, but he struggled in the mountains and considered withdrawing from the race. However, he felt his “legs returning” late in the Giro, which concluded with a 33-mile individual time trial into Florence. He finished 2nd in the time trial, but more important, his time for that segment was more than a minute better than that of Laurent Fignon, the Giro’s overall winner. In the overall standings, LeMond finished 39th, an hour behind Fignon.

LeMond began the 1989 Tour de France with low expectations, but the strength he experienced near the Giro’s conclusion carried over to the Tour. Upon winning Stage 5, a 45-mile individual time trial, he vaulted into the overall lead, 5 seconds ahead of Laurent Fignon. LeMond maintained that gap, as well as the overall lead, through the next four stages. Stage 10 marked the second day in the Pyrenees and featured four climbs, including 6,900 feet to the top of the Col du Tourmalet, which boasts a 7.7% average gradient. After almost four and a half hours of racing, Fignon finished 12 seconds ahead of LeMond, capturing the overall lead and establishing a 5-second gap. Fignon maintained that gap and the overall lead for five stages, until LeMond regained the overall lead in a 24.3-mile individual time trial. Two stages later, Fignon recaptured the overall lead, holding it for Stages 17 through 20.

Fignon held a 50 second lead entering the Tour’s final stage, an individual time trial from Versailles to Paris’ Champs-Elysees. As the overall leader, Fignon would start the stage last, a minute and a half after LeMond entered the course. Believing the spread between the two riders was insurmountable, Fignon congratulated LeMond on his second-place finish in the Tour prior to the time trial’s start. Incredulous to such arrogance, LeMond rode the 15.2-mile course at an average speed of 33.89 miles per hour, finishing 58 seconds faster than Fignon. That left an 8-second gap for LeMond over Fignon in the final standings, which is the narrowest gap in Tour history – two riders pedaling for more than 87 hours over 21 stages and 2,041 miles, and they finish separated by 8 seconds!

LeMond’s victories in the time trials are noteworthy because his use of aerobars, an aerodynamic (sperm) helmet, and a carbon fiber bike frame marked this equipment’s introduction to the Tour. Later, Fignon’s manager remarked that he should have challenged LeMond’s victory based on unsanctioned equipment. These features are standard equipment today.

The 1990 Tour de France may be the least dramatic of LeMond’s three victories, as LeMond did not win a single stage. After eight opening stages, followed by three days in the Alps and an individual time trial, LeMond found himself in fourth place, 7 ½ minutes behind Italian Claudio Chiapucci. Five mountain stages awaited the Tour, with three in south central France, followed by two in the Pyrenees. In Stage 13, LeMond made up almost five minutes on the Italian, leaving him about 2 ½ minutes behind Chiapucci, who maintained that lead over the two following stages.

Riders faced three climbs in Stage 16, their first day in the Pyrenees, and wasting no time, Chiapucci attacked on the first climb, breaking away from LeMond. When Chiapucci summited Col du Tourmalet on the second climb and still had the lead, LeMond went “all-in” on the descent and caught Chiapucci. On the day’s third ascent, LeMond joined two other riders in an attack, and Chiapucci’s early aggression left him without the legs to respond. Although Chiapucci retained the overall lead at the end of the stage, his advantage had shrunk to only five seconds. He maintained that margin in the final day in the Pyrenees, as well as Stages 18 and 19, leaving only an individual time trial and the ride into Paris to complete the Tour.

In the Stage 20-time trial, LeMond finished fifth on the 28.3 mile course, but he was 2 minutes and 21 seconds faster than Chiapucci’s 17th place finish. That put LeMond in the overall lead, 2 minutes and 16 seconds ahead of Chiapucci, making the Stage 21 ride into Paris the next day a fait accompli for LeMond.

When I started this posting, I intended to transition from replacing my trainer to blood doping and performance enhancing drugs, as well as Greg LeMond’s crusade against them. So what if I went down a different rabbit hole; I can cover those topics in March. In the meantime, you were probably expecting my musical connection to be a song by Queen. Sorry to disappoint.

There is a song that I associate with biking because I heard it sitting on the lawn at Tyranena Brewery after completing the brewery’s Oktoberfest Bike Ride. The band entertaining us was from Oshkosh, and it (Copper Box) played a lot of covers, along with a smattering of original compositions. Copper Box concluded their set with a very Wisconsin version of Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb.

Thanks to the website Bike Race Info, which I used to compose LeMond’s Tour history.

Nothing But Lagniappes

Each month’s 2-page posting is based on approximately 10 pages of notes from my research on that topic. Obviously, I omit lots of material that is either uninteresting or not critical to the posting. Sometimes my research uncovers interesting items that are only tangentially related to the posting’s topic. Unfortunately, I don’t have room for all of these items as lagniappes … until now. Those discovered tidbits from the last year or so comprise this month’s posting.

December 2020: Darlene Love-Christmas (Baby Please Come Home). In addition to viewing Darlene Love on internet videos of David Letterman’s Late Show, she is also on the Saturday Night Live Christmas Special which replays iconic skits from prior Christmas shows and airs each year. In the black and white TV Funhouse video, she provides the vocals for Christmastime for the Jews!

January 2021: Latin Phrases (You Can Use to Impress People). This posting included six Latin phrases, but I should have included a seventh. Sequere pecuniam may be translated, “follow the money.”

February 2021, Naked or Not? In my February posting, I refer to Let It Be as the Beatles’ final album. That is technically correct since its release date was May, 1970, some eight months after Abbey Road’s release in September, 1969. However, the recording sessions for Let It Be predate those for Abbey Road, although there was some overlap. Those who view Abbey Road as the final album can point to its closing lyrics to bolster their claim, “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.”

March 2021: Jeff Goldblum-I Was a Fan Before He Became a Millennial Icon. In addition to his acting career, Jeff Goldblum is an accomplished jazz pianist. In 2014, he formed the six-member jazz ensemble, the Mildred Snitzer Orchestra, which takes its name from a friend of Goldblum’s family when he was growing up in Pittsburgh. The Mildred Snitzer Orchestra has released two albums, The Capitol Studios Sessions (2018) and I Shouldn’t Be Telling You This (2019). Here is a link to the group’s performance of The Cat.

April 2021: Old Man River. Historically, a place-by-place strategy characterized flood control on the Mississippi River, where projects were located at places that flooded. Beginning in 1943, the Army Corps of Engineers embarked on a more comprehensive approach, beginning construction on a model of the Mississippi River watershed. The Corps relied on German prisoners of war, many of whom were engineers from the Afrika Korps, to construct the model, which covers 200 acres or park land in Jackson, Mississippi. The model is eight miles in length and employs a horizontal scale of 1:2000. The vertical scale was diminished to 1:100; otherwise, the Rocky Mountains would have measured 50 feet in height. After being used on 79 occasions to predict flooding, the advent of computer modeling caused the Corps to abandon the model, transferring it to the City of Jackson in 1990 for use as park land. However, the model proved too expensive for the City to maintain, and it sits abandoned and overgrown today.

May 2021: (No) Controlling Old Man River. This posting focused on flood control projects upriver from New Orleans, but flood control measures employed within the City are equally fascinating. New Orleans can be described as a bowl, since levees surround the City’s land area, which is predominantly below sea level. The City has constructed large underground tunnels to carry stormwater to 21 pumping stations containing 99 pumps, with a combined capacity of 47,000 cubic feet per second. The pumps measure 12 to 14 feet in diameter, and pump water over the top of the surrounding levees to Lakes Pontchartrain and Borgne, north of the City. The “screw” pumps capture water in coils and move the water upward as the screw turns. This system kept New Orleans “dry” during Hurricane Ida last August.

June 2021: Birthday Musings and Lots of Music. While this posting focused on things that happened in 1953, it omitted the death of Django Reinhardt, who died in Paris from a stroke at age 43, just two days before the day of my birth. Reinhardt has been described as “one of the greatest guitar players of all time, and the first important European jazz musician to make a major contribution with jazz guitar.” The ring finger and little finger on his left hand were badly damaged in a fire, leaving only his index and middle fingers for fretting. This contributed to his distinctive style, which can be observed in this performance from 1945. Since 2000, New York City’s Birdland Jazz Club has hosted a music festival in his honor. Here is a link to Dark Eyes, performed at the 2010 festival.

June 2021: An Old Fashioned Father’s Day by Max. In this posting, Max described how to mix Wisconsin’s “official” cocktail, the Old Fashioned. To give equal recognition to my home state of Louisiana, here’s a description of how to make a Sazerac, which I used to enjoy at Monsour’s #2, behind the Commercial National Bank Building in downtown Shreveport. The Roosevelt Hotel uses herbsaint, rather than absinthe, an anise flavored liquor distilled in a manner similar to high quality gins. Absinthe has a rich history and was banned in many countries. That is the subject of the 1949 classic movie, The Third Man, starring Joseph Cotten and Orson Welles.

August 2021: But I Said I Would Never Write About Religion. I devoted much of this posting to Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah, perhaps his most well-known song. However, my favorite line of lyrics from Leonard Cohen is from another song, Anthem. In it, he warns, “there is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

October 2021: Here Comes the Story of the Hurricanes. I ended this posting with a link to Texas Flood performed by Stevie Ray Vaughn, whose life tragically ended in a helicopter crash in Wisconsin. A great blues guitarist, I was surprised to learn that Vaughn played guitar for David Bowie on his disco-like Let’s Dance album.

November 2021: The Edmund Fitzgerald-I Can’t Let Go. In this posting, I described how scraping bottom on Six Fathom Shoal is one theory about how the Fitzgerald sank. Shoals can be problematic in Lake Superior because rock, resulting from lava flow, comprises most of Superior’s lakebed, particularly west of Marquette, Michigan. This contrasts with Lakes Huron and Michigan which have primarily sandy bottoms. Lake Superior’s largest shoal is Superior Shoal, located about 50 miles north of Copper Harbor, which is in the U.P.’s Keweenaw Peninsula. With a depth of 20 feet or less, the shoal is 20 miles long and 2,500 feet wide. It is surrounded by a lake depth of 720 feet. The shoal is essentially an underwater mountain.

December 2021: Christmas Greeting. The Louisiana Hayride, which was broadcast from Shreveport’s Municipal Memorial Auditorium, was one subject of this posting. Previously, I’ve mentioned my high school pal, Buddy Flett and his collaboration with Kenny Wayne Shepherd. After my posting, I discovered Buddy and Kenny Wayne performing Dance With Me Girl from where else, Shreveport’s Municipal Auditorium.

Lagniappe: Trombone Shorty. There may be no better way to conclude this posting of lagniappes than with a link to Trombone Shorty (Troy Andrews) performing Lagniappe. Born in New Orleans, Trombone Shorty has been performing since he was 4 years old. In addition to the trombone, he also plays the trumpet, drums, organ, and tuba. He is a Louisiana icon.

Christmas Greeting!

Before I get to the Christmas greeting, this posting provides some musical background on Shreveport, Louisiana, where I grew up. Like most of my peers, I grew up listening to Top 40 AM radio, which included a sizable rock and roll component, but I was largely ignorant of other music in Shreveport, much of which turned out to be quite notable.

Before television, AM radio was the avenue for popularizing music, and Shreveport’s KWKH radio station became a leader in broadcasting experimental and daring music after it went on the air in 1925. With a signal strong enough to reach 28 states, the station began broadcasting a live music show called the Louisiana Hayride on April 3, 1948, from Shreveport’s Municipal Memorial Auditorium. The show followed the lead of Nashville’s WSM, which began broadcasting the Grand Ole Opry in 1925. While the Opry limited its format to well established country stars, the Hayride gave unknown talent a national exposure. The Louisiana Hayride thereby became the “Heaven’s Gate” for performers hoping to reach Nashville’s “Promised Land.”

This distinction is best illustrated by Hank Williams, who had been rejected by the Opry. After convincing the Hayride of his sobriety (albeit short lived) and moving to Shreveport, he began being featured on the Hayride in 1948. Performing soon-to-be classics, such as Move It On Over, Honky Tonkin’, and Lovesick Blues, the Hayride gained notoriety. It was not until his release of Hey Good Lookin’ and Your Cheatin’ Heart in 1949, that the Grand Ole Opry relented and deemed Williams worthy of an invitation. Williams’ success at the Hayride attracted other rising talent to perform there, including George Jones, Johnny Cash, June Carter, Johnny Horton, Kitty Wells, Faron Young, Bob Wills, Tex Ritter, Webb Pierce, and Slim Whitman.

However, the distinction between the Hayride and the Opry went beyond whether an artist had released a successful record album. The Opry dedicated itself to preserving the purity of country music and was slow to allow the use of electronically amplified instruments, percussion, and horns. No such reluctance was displayed by the Hayride. Maintaining the purity of country also led the Opry to reject performances that blended musical styles or genres. The Hayride welcomed country, rhythm and blues, and gospel, as well as the blending of these styles which led to rockabilly and rock and roll.

No performer better embodied this amalgamation of styles than Elvis Presley. He performed at the Opry on October 2, 1954, when he was only 19 years old, but his rockabilly style did not fit well with the Opry’s program. He never performed there again. However, two weeks after performing at the Opry, Elvis made his first appearance at the Hayride performing That’s All Right and Blue Moon, which Sun Records had recently released. That appearance led to a one-year contract with the Hayride, where he became a regular performer playing to capacity crowds in the 3,800 seat Municipal Auditorium.

Elvis’ last performance at the Hayride occurred on December 15,1956. Upon concluding, police escorted him through the crowd to a waiting automobile. As the crowd clamored for an encore and became more frenzied, the Hayride’s emcee stepped to the microphone, and attempting to calm the crowd, uttered the now famous phrase, “Elvis has left the building.”

At the height of its popularity, the Louisiana Hayride was broadcast on 25 radio stations and could be heard from Los Angeles to Chicago, although Shreveport’s KWKH remained the Hayride’s flagship station. A variety of factors, including the rise of television, eventually led to the Hayride’s decline in popularity, and its last performance occurred on August 27, 1960, although there have been several attempts to revive it.

 At about the same time (1950s), KWKH aired another show that became widely syndicated. The show was started by a guy named Stan Lewis, who bought 15-minute time slots for his program, but eventually expanded it to one hour. Initially, the show featured blues and gospel music, but soon expanded its format, as it sought to introduce teenagers to new styles of music and make that music available for purchase via mail order.

Lewis got started in the music business by placing juke boxes in Shreveport night clubs. When he couldn’t find the kinds of records that patrons wanted to hear, he opened a record store and then became a distributor for small, independent record companies. At one point, he represented over 600 record labels, distributing their music to record stores throughout the country. In 1972, he sold 2.5 million singles and 470,000 albums.

One of the independents he represented was Chicago’s Chess Record Co., and Lewis contacted Leonard Chess to determine if he might be interested in producing a 1957 rockabilly recording made in the KWKH studios by one of Stan’s record store employees. Chess took the bait, and Chess Records produced Dale Hawkins’ rendition of Suzie Q. Hawkins claimed to have written the song with bandmate Robert Chaisson, but Lewis, as well as Eleanor Broadwater, were subsequently credited as co-writers. Lewis’ claim was bolstered, no doubt, by the recognition that the song’s inspiration was Lewis’ daughter, Susan.

Suzie Q has been covered by a number of artists, but it may be best known as the first “hit” by Creedence Clearwater Revival. Released in 1968, CCR extended the song to 8 minutes from Hawkins’ 2:20-minute version. It is the only CCR hit not written by John Fogarty and was my introduction to psychedelic rock.

Lewis went on to own several record companies and produced hits in 1966 with All of These Things by Joe Stampley and the Uniques and in 1968 with Judy in Disguise by John Fred and His Playboy Band. Lewis passed in 2018, at the age of 91. From the 1960s through 1974, every album I purchased was probably from Stan’s Records, and some were purchased directly from Stan the Record Man, himself.

Lagniappe, All These Things. All These Things was recorded on Lewis’ Paula Records, named for his wife Pauline. Also, you may notice that the song was written by N. Neville, who is/was unrelated to the Neville brothers. Rather, N. Neville was a pseudonym used by Louisiana’s great Allen Toussaint. His mother’s maiden name was Naomi Neville. Wow!

Christmas Greeting! I promised to end this posting with a Christmas Greeting. Before I had a blog, my Christmas greeting to workmates featured Darlene Love singing Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) on David Letterman’s final Christmas Eve show, and she was the subject of my posting a year ago.

However, I’m changing course since this posting has a more country theme. Texas balladeers comprise my favorite segment of country music because I love their ability to tell a story, and my favorite among them may be Robert Earl Keen. His Merry Christmas from the Family will either make you laugh or offend you – or maybe both. Whatever your reaction, the song recognizes that even dysfunctional families are entitled to enjoy Christmas.

And if you’re still “Jonesin’” for Darlene Love, here’s a link. Merry Christmas and thanks for reading!

The Edmund Fitzgerald – I Can’t Let Go

Readers of previous postings have probably noticed my fascination with water. That should be no surprise, since I grew up in northwest Louisiana where the Red River flows through Shreveport, the Mississippi River lies to the east, and the Gulf of Mexico is 200 miles to the south. This fascination continued after I moved to Wisconsin, which is bordered to the north and east by two of the five Great Lakes. I’ve become particularly fixated on Lake Superior, which covers 31,700 square miles and is the largest of the five lakes.

Today is the 46th anniversary of the Edmund Fitzgerald’s sinking on Lake Superior. I’ve felt a connection to the sinking because the Fitzgerald went down the same year I moved to Wisconsin, and I remain mystified at how such a tragedy could occur in modern times. Last November, my posting examined the boat’s connection to Wisconsin (I’ve since learned that “ship” is reserved for seafaring vessels), and this posting recounts the possible reasons for the sinking, although the exact cause remains unknown.

Here is what is known. The Fitzgerald lies at the southeast end of Lake Superior, east of Copper Mine Point, Ontario, and 17 miles north of Whitefish Point, Michigan (Upper Peninsula). At 535 feet below the surface, the boat is in two pieces. The bow section lies upright on its keel and measures 276 feet, while 170 feet away and almost perpendicular, the stern section lies inverted, resting on its deck, and measuring 253 feet. Approximately 200 feet of the midsection is missing.

The sinking occurred after the center of a powerful storm passed over Marquette, Michigan, early in the morning of November 10, 1975, and proceeded across Lake Superior. The storm caused the Fitzgerald and the SS Arthur M Anderson to abandon the shorter southern route across the Lake, in favor of a northeasterly route affording more protection from the storm’s winds and waves. About halfway across the Lake, the route turns southeasterly to parallel the Canadian coastline and threads between Michipicoten and Caribou Islands, before reaching Whitefish Bay and the Soo Locks. As the Fitzgerald passed Caribou Island, the storm’s winds shifted from the northeast to the northwest. At that time, the Anderson reported wind gusts of up to 90 mph and waves of 25 to 30 feet.

At 3:30 p.m., the Fitzgerald radioed the Anderson that it had a list, had sustained damage to a fence rail on its deck, and had lost two 8-inch, mushroom-shaped vent covers to its starboard ballast tanks. Ballast tanks lie in each side of a boat’s hull and are filled with water when the cargo bays are empty, so that the boat’s propeller remains in the water. The Fitzgerald engaged its two starboard ballast pumps and slowed its speed so the Anderson could close the 17-mile distance between them. At 4:10, the Fitzgerald reported that both of its surface scan radar sets were “out” and asked the Anderson to render navigational help. By this time, the list had worsened. At 7 p.m., the Anderson had closed to 10 miles behind the Fitzgerald, and in what would be the two vessels last communication at 7:10, the Anderson warned the Fitzgerald of an approaching boat, about nine miles ahead. When asked about the earlier reported damage, the Fitzgerald’s captain replied, “we are holding our own.” Within minutes, the Fitzgerald was at Lake Superior’s bottom.

There are numerous theories explaining the Fitzgerald’s sinking. One theory suggests a “monster wave” capsized the Fitzgerald. Another believes it broke in half when the bow rode the crest of one wave and the stern rode the crest of another, leaving the midsection unsupported and bearing the weight of 26,116 tons of cargo. Both theories have been discredited, and the following paragraphs offer two plausible alternatives.

Both the Coast Guard and the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) focused on water penetrating the Fitzgerald’s cargo hold through its hatch covers. The Fitzgerald had three cargo holds that were covered by 21 hatch covers (7 per hold), each measuring 11 x 48 feet and constructed of 5/16 inch steel. Each hatch cover weighed 14,000 pounds, rested on a coaming (wall) that was 2 feet tall, and was secured by a sealing gasket and 68 clamps. A routine inspection of the Fitzgerald on October 31, 1975, found damage, including cracks and gouges, to four hatches. Because the damage was regarded as routine, repairs were deferred to sometime prior to the 1976 shipping season.

The Coast Guard investigation believed that the hatch covers were faulty and that water penetrated the cargo hold as waves rolled over the Fitzgerald’s deck. The water’s penetration may have been exacerbated by improper fastening of some hatch cover clamps. Over time, the Fitzgerald gradually lost buoyancy. The NTSB believed the Fitzgerald’s list, caused by its flooded ballast tanks, made the boat susceptible to waves overboarding the deck, and these “heavy boarding seas … caused the hatch covers to collapse.” Don’t be surprised to learn that my science brain is challenged to explain the amount of hydrostatic and hydrodynamic pressure that is necessary to collapse a 14,000 pound steel hatch cover. With a flooded cargo hold, as well as 26,116 tons of taconite, and the bow entering the trough of a wave, the Fitzgerald is believed to have plunged to the Lake’s floor, with the midsection disintegrating from the force of the bow’s impact. Taconite spilled from the aft cargo holds, leaving the stern section with enough buoyancy to come to rest 170 feet away from the bow.

The other theory of the sinking believes the Fitzgerald scraped bottom, probably on Six Fathom Shoal, just north of Caribou Island. The Fitzgerald passed the Island shortly before the reported deck damage and listing (3:30), and while this is well before the Fitzgerald reported the loss of radar (4:10), it is uncertain exactly when the radar was lost. As the Anderson began tracking the Fitzgerald’s position, the Anderson steered a more southeasterly course, to ensure it avoided the Shoals. A shoal is an outcropping of rock from a lake’s bottom, and a fathom equals six feet, so Six Fathom Shoal is about 36 feet below Lake Superior’s surface, although some areas have a reported depth of only 26 feet. When the Fitzgerald loaded its cargo at Superior, the boat’s draft was 27 feet. After the Shoal ruptured the Fitzgerald’s right-side ballast tank or tanks, it is believed to have listed and gradually lost buoyancy, as the ballast pumps would not have been able to remedy the flooding. With the loss of buoyancy, a large wave, or series of waves, is believed to have tipped the Fitzgerald’s bow downward, causing it to plummet to Superior’s bottom.

Regardless of the theory, one factor that contributed to the sinking may be the amount of freeboard, or distance between the water surface and the shipping vessel’s deck. When the Fitzgerald was launched in 1958, the Coast Guard’s freeboard requirement for Great Lakes shipping vessels was 14’9¼“. A lesser freeboard allows vessels to carry more cargo, and the requirement was reduced in 1971 and 1973. At the time of the Fitzgerald’s sinking, the freeboard requirement was 11’5”, or 3’4¼“ below the 1958 level. For the inquiring mind, there is lots written on each of these theories and plenty more to learn. I have only scratched the surface, but I have to leave room for music.

Gordon Lightfoot’s 1976 tribute to the Edmund Fitzgerald and its 29 crew members is timeless, and I never tire of hearing it, especially each November 10th.

Because I wrote about the Fitzgerald last November, I was reluctant to revisit it here. However, the coincidence of the sinking and my migration to Wisconsin is something I can’t let go. To end this posting on a lighter note and to celebrate my compulsiveness give a listen to Alison Krauss and Robert Plant’s cover of Lucinda Williams’ I Can’t Let Go.

Lagniappe: More Porgy and Bess. For those readers who enjoyed the three versions of Summertime in last month’s posting, here’s an opportunity to hear more. The Metropolitan Opera is performing Porgy and Bess between October 31st and December 12th. Tickets start at only $25 (plus a plane ticket to New York City)!

Here Comes the Story of the Hurricanes

Everyone has events that are etched in their memory, where we remember what we were doing as the event unfolded. Some events are so societally transformative that they become a shared experience within the generation of individuals alive at that time – for example, the 9/11 attacks. Other events are not so widely shared and touch some of us more deeply than others due to a more personal connection. Hurricane Ida’s landfall as a Category 4 hurricane on August 29th at Port Fourchon, Louisiana, reminds me of two other hurricanes and my whereabouts during their landfalls.

Before I recount those experiences, here’s a meteorology primer. Low pressure systems develop when areas of warm air and cooler air collide. Warm air weighs less than cool air both because the warm air carries moisture and because heat causes air molecules to expand. As the lighter air rises, there is less air at the earth’s surface – hence, the term low pressure. As warm air rises, it is displaced by cooler air, which also becomes heated, acquires moisture, and rises. As the warm air rises, it cools and is unable to contain its moisture, resulting in clouds and rain. Wind is caused by air from surrounding high pressure systems displacing the rising air of low pressure systems.

The missing ingredient for converting a low pressure system to a hurricane is an abundance of warm moist air to fuel this progression. Thus, the equatorial regions of the North Atlantic Ocean are breeding grounds for hurricanes. Additionally, North Atlantic hurricanes typically strengthen if they enter the Gulf of Mexico due to the Gulf’s shallow depth, and consequently its warmer water, relative to the North Atlantic. Hurricanes, as well as low pressure systems, rotate counterclockwise, so storm surge on the leading (eastern) edge is often problematic.

In 1971, civil engineer Herb Saffir and meteorologist Robert Simpson developed a hurricane rating scale based on wind speed, which is intended to convey a hurricane’s potential for property damage and loss of life. The scale is divided into five categories, with a storm’s impact estimated to increase by a factor of four between each category. The categories range from Category 1, with wind speeds of 74-95 mph, to Category 5, with wind speeds of 157 mph and higher. Hurricanes measuring Category 3 and higher are considered “major” storms, and only two Category 5 hurricanes have “hit” the continental United States - the 1935 Florida Keys hurricane and Hurricane Andrew in 1992.

One critique of the scale is that it is based entirely on wind speed and does not consider factors such as tornadoes, rainfall, or flooding due to storm surge. In 2005 and 2017, these two latter factors were the primary causes of destruction and loss of life by Hurricanes Katrina and Harvey. My whereabouts during these storms follows.

As a way to stay connected to a high school friend, I began traveling to Dallas each August beginning in 2005 to participate in a 100-mile bike ride, the Hotter ‘N Hell 100. Leaving Dallas to return home after that year’s ride, I was aware of a hurricane named Katrina meandering around the Gulf but wasn’t too concerned, because it was only a Category 1 when it crossed southern Florida on the 25th.  When I checked into a Kansas City hotel the evening of the 28th, I learned that the storm had feasted on the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico and had grown to a Category 5 with winds of 175 mph! When I turned on the news the next morning (August 29), I was relieved to learn that the storm had weakened to a Category 3, with winds of 125 mph as it made its second landfall near the southern-most tip of the Mississippi River’s delta and was tracking northeast, across the Gulf toward Mississippi.  

I decided to grab some breakfast before hitting the road, thinking New Orleans would suffer some damage, but confident that the City would be able to cope.  As I returned from breakfast, I was stunned to learn that the hurricane’s surge had elevated the levels of Lake Pontchartrain and the Intracoastal Waterway as the storm progressed toward its third landfall at the mouth of the Pearl River, the Louisiana-Mississippi boundary. Soon, the Industrial Canal, which connects Lake Pontchartrain, the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway, and the Mississippi River, overtopped its floodwalls and shortly thereafter, multiple floodwall sections were breached. One breach measured over 1,000 feet in length. The breaches flooded the entire 9th Ward. An estimated 50 floodwalls and levees throughout the City were overtopped or breached, and 80% of New Orleans flooded. It took 6 weeks to drain the floodwaters from the City. The National Hurricane Center attributed 1,838 fatalities to Katrina, including 1,577 in Louisiana. “Katrina” has since been retired from the hurricane nomenclature.

In August 2017, I was back in Dallas getting ready to ride my 12th Hotter ‘N Hell 100, when a tropical storm entered the Caribbean, after forming as a tropical wave off the coast of Africa. However, the storm became disorganized and was downgraded back to a tropical wave as it entered the Gulf of Mexico on August 22nd. The warm waters of the western Gulf of Mexico caused the wave to intensify rapidly and by August 23rd, a Category 4 hurricane was pointed at the middle of the Texas Gulf Coast. On August 25th at 10 p.m., Hurricane Harvey made landfall at Port Aransas.

My sister and her family live in Houston, but I was unconcerned for their safety. Houston is 200 miles northeast of Port Aransas, and hurricanes quickly lose their strength after landfall because they lack warm water to sustain them. I participated in the bike ride on August 26th and prepared for my drive back to Madison. Then, the news turned bad, as Harvey became trapped between high pressure systems to its west and its east. Consequently, Harvey abandoned a rapid track inland and instead, proceeded up the Texas coast at the more deliberate pace of 5 mph. Landfall caused Harvey to lose its wind speed, so it was downgraded to a tropical storm. However, its movement parallel to the coastline allowed it to continue to generate significant rainfall due to its counterclockwise rotation.

Beginning on August 25th, rain fell on Harris County (Houston) for five straight days, and most locations in the County measured 40 to 50 inches of rain. According to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, Harvey resulted in 68 deaths in Texas and flooded 300,000 structures and 500,000 vehicles. One of the structures was the home of my sister and brother-in-law. I am unable to describe the helplessness I felt being only 239 miles to the northwest yet realizing that I was unable reach my family due to flooding and lend assistance. Turning north on U.S. 75 in Dallas to return home, I felt like I had a rock in my stomach as I gazed into my rearview mirror.  On August 30th, Harvey made its third U.S. landfall at Cameron, Louisiana, and by September 3rd, the storm was fully dissipated.

According to the National Hurricane Center, Hurricanes Katrina and Harvey are the two costliest hurricanes to “hit” the continental United States, each causing an estimated $125 billion in damage. The damage total for Hurricane Ida was a more modest $50 billion, but that is little consolation to the people of Grand Isle, whose entire community was destroyed.

Those of you who are Bob Dylan fans probably recognize this posting’s title as a paraphrase of a line from Dylan’s song, “Hurricane” and assume that my musical reference would be to Dylan’s hit song. Sorry, that song is about a person, not a storm. Instead, give a listen to Stevie Ray Vaughn’s classic “Texas Flood.” Sadly, Vaughn has a Wisconsin connection. He died in a helicopter crash in East Troy, Wisconsin, after performing at the outdoor venue, Alpine Valley, on August 27, 1990. He was only 35 years old.

Lagniappe: Yet More Meteorology - Summer Ends. As I was working on this posting, summer ended. The official date was Wednesday September 22. My Mom loved Broadway musicals, and I have warm memories of her “borrowing” my sister’s phonograph and playing West Side Story, Oklahoma, and The Music Man. I can’t remember if she owned a copy of Porgy and Bess. It was composed by George and Ira Gershwin with Dubose Heyward in 1935 as an American opera, rather than a musical. It opens with the aria, “Summertime,” which is reportedly the most recorded song of all times (didn’t I say that about “Hallelujah” last month?). My Mom came of age listening to singers like jazz great Ella Fitzgerald and New Orleans native Louis Armstrong, whose performance mimics the original 1935 version.

To Mom’s dismay, I came of age listening to hard rock, and Janis Joplin and Big Brother and the Holding Company covered the song with a version that is quite different. Their 1967 Cheap Thrills album belongs in every hard rock record collection.

However, my favorite rendition is by Billy Stewart who recorded the song for Chess Records in 1966. His version brings Monty Python’s catchphrase to mind, “and now for something completely different.”

But I Said I Would Never Write About Religion

Unintentionally, I’ve been taking time off from writing this summer. However, two somewhat recent events inspire this posting, and although I proclaimed that this blog would avoid religion, the two items relate to that forbidden topic.

First, indulge me as I provide some personal background. I grew up in the Bible Belt and was raised in the Methodist Church. I remember my parents commenting on sermons that were occasionally filled with “fire and brimstone,” but do not recall experiences that were particularly evangelical, even though that is oftentimes the characterization of southern churches. The foundation from my formative years kept me moored to the Methodist Church after my migration to Madison, although my church attendance has ebbed and flowed over the years. I joke that the Methodist Church is the church of the prodigal son, where lapsed individuals, like me, are always welcome upon their return.

The most recent event to inspire this posting was a CBS News story about an ambulance company in southern Louisiana that was unable to unload transported patients at hospitals, because the facilities were at capacity due to covid’s delta variant. Multiple ambulances were cued at emergency room doors for hours waiting for a bed to open so that the people they transported could be admitted, leaving the cued ambulances unable to respond to other emergency calls. CBS interviewed one of the ambulance company’s EMTs who admitted that she had not received a covid vaccine! She informed that her family is deeply religious and she prays for the Lord to look after her and protect her.

Her explanation reminds me of a story I heard in a sermon by Reverend Sue Burwell some years ago about a flood, which I paraphrase here. “As a believer watched storm clouds grow, he received a weather warning on his radio that waters were rising and individuals in the flood’s path should evacuate. He stayed put, reasoning that the Lord would protect him. A short time later, a deputy sheriff knocked on his door and advised him to evacuate, but he stayed put reasoning that the Lord would protect him. As the flood waters lapped at the side of his house, rescuers approached in a boat to ferry him to safety, but he stayed put reasoning that the Lord would protect him. Some time later, he climbed to the roof of his house to escape the rising waters and cried that the Lord had abandoned him in his time of need. At that moment, the clouds opened, and the Lord appeared, asking the man, ‘Why do you think I’ve abandoned you? First, I sent a warning on your radio, then I sent a deputy to your house advising you to leave, and then I sent good Samaritans in a boat to rescue you.’ “

Of course, Sue’s message is that we don’t get to choose how God responds to our pleadings. And hopefully, Sue’s story will give people pause to think about how their God speaks to them and to reconsider any hesitancy they may have toward receiving a vaccine.

The other item that inspired me was a rendition of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” performed by Yolanda Adams in January at the Lincoln Memorial reflecting pool during the national covid remembrance of lives lost. The song’s lyrics impart a cynicism that was incompatible with the event’s message and made the song seem out of place. I’ve possessed a longstanding frustration with people who regard the song as something that it’s not -- religious.

I understand that the song’s title is a combination of the Hebrew words “hillel” and “Jah,” meaning praise the Lord, and the song’s lyrics incorporate Biblical references to David and Bathsheba and Samson and Delilah. Nonetheless, I regard these references in the first two verses as setting up the song’s theme in its final verse of love that fails to fulfill expectations:

Well, maybe there’s a God above

But all I ever learned from love

Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya

And it’s not a cry that you hear at night

It’s not somebody who’s seen the light

It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

After thinking about this verse, k.d. lang’s comments on the song’s meaning resonate with me. She describes the song as “the struggle between having human desire and searching for spiritual wisdom. It’s being caught between these two places.” I’m not sure what’s more religious than that, so I guess my impression of the song is evolving.

Like religion, the song means different things to different people, as evidenced by over 300 cover versions. All versions use Cohen’s first two verses - containing the Biblical references - of the song’s original four verses. However, Cohen composed more than 80 verses over the five years he took to write the song, so many versions contain more than four verses, and some versions do not include the original third and fourth verses.

After its release by Cohen in 1984, “Hallelujah” achieved little popularity until other artists began covering it. John Cale, formerly of the Velvet Underground, released a version in 1991. The song’s seminal moment occurred in 1994 when Jeff Buckley included a version on his album, “Grace.” Buckley’s version popularized the song tremendously, and his version included here contains the four verses heard most often, plus an additional verse (4th) that is considered erotic by some. Finally, this version from a 2008 London performance by Cohen contains that verse – performed fifth - plus a sixth verse which was the closing verse in the 1984 version. Cohen died on November 7, 2016.

Buckley deserves additional mention. “Grace” was Buckley’s only album released while he was still alive, and it achieved little acclaim until 2002. Tragically, that was five years after his death from a swimming accident in the Mississippi River, near Memphis, Tennessee, where he was living at the time.

For a bit of whimsy, here are four other songs with religious titles that may not contain religious lyrics.

Chuck Berry’s Promised Land. Berry’s promised land was Los Angeles, California, and this song is about a poor boy who arrives there after boarding a Greyhound bus in Norfolk, Virginia and travelling through various southern cities. Berry wrote this song while in prison and recorded it for Chess Records in 1964. It became an American classic after it was recorded by Elvis Presley and numerous others.

Grateful Dead’s I Need a Miracle. Released in 1978, this song is on the band’s “Shakedown Street” album, which was produced by Lowell George of Little Feat. While each verse begins with “I need a woman,” the song is not something that might draw objections from the Me Too Movement. Rather, the song is self-deprecating humor aimed at the singer and the band. This song is noteworthy because it has a special place in Grateful Dead history. Sometime after its release, a fan appeared at a Grateful Dead concert holding a sign reading “I Need A Miracle.” The sign was code for needing a ticket, and similar signs began proliferating at other concerts. In typical Dead Head fashion, the “real” miracle occurred when the ticket was offered at no charge, which was common. After all, there was a special karma at Grateful Dead concerts.

Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’. I admit this group and their song are not in my wheelhouse. I listened to little rock-and-roll in the 1980s, instead returning to my roots of blues, R&B, and zydeco. Nonetheless, this song’s keyboard opening and guitar riff at the end of the first verse are praiseworthy. Just before that riff, Steve Perry sings, “Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit.” Geographically, South Detroit is Windsor, Canada. However, that makes little difference to Detroit Red Wings fans as this song regularly serenades them at hockey games.

Aretha Franklin’s I Say a Little Prayer for You. This song was written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David for Dionne Warwick and is a woman’s prayer for her man serving in the Vietnam War. Released in 1967, Warwick’s version sold over a million copies as a single, and she performs the song beautifully. But for me, there are few singers that compare to Aretha Franklin. Every time I hear one of her songs on Sirius XM’s Soultown, I think it must be the best song she recorded – until I hear another song by her. Released in 1968, Franklin’s version was backed by The Sweet Inspirations, and the song was a success for her as well. It seems appropriate to end this posting with Aretha’s version since it coincides with the release of the film “Respect,” which chronicles her life.

An Old Fashioned Father’s Day by Max

I asked my dad if I could write a little something for his blog because I’ve always enjoyed writing and thought I had some good topics. Being my father’s son, I did some research on a topic near and dear to my liver and was reminded of an aphorism I learned in one of my sociology classes at Beloit College: making the familiar unfamiliar and the unfamiliar familiar. I had envisioned starting this with a tantalizing, self-deprecating hook like, I used to be a mediocre bartender, but here we are. 

When I was initially training to be a bartender, I was more of a beer guy. I was given a bit of advice at that time that was lost on me: in order to make truly exceptional cocktails, you have to make, drink and enjoy them; hence why I was mediocre. I don’t think I made bad drinks; I just didn’t make exceptional drinks like others on staff. 

A lot of times, the most minimal cocktail recipes were the hardest, just because they really came to balancing ingredients and letting the quality of alcohol shine through (think Martinis and Manhattans). One drink I did perfect through repetition was the Old Fashioned. 

Now to get back to how this started; how does the familiar become unfamiliar? Wisconsin prides itself on its version of the Old Fashioned, however, it is almost the antithesis of the drink’s original intent. The original recipe actually comes from Kentucky and is more or less as follows: 

In a rocks glass, muddle 1 sugar cube with 2 dashes Angostura bitters;

Add 2 ounces rye or bourbon with ice;

Garnish with an orange twist.

Wisconsin bastardized that with the following:

In a rocks glass, muddle an orange slice, cherry, sugar cube and bitters;

Add 1.5 ounces of brandy;

Fill the glass with ice;

Top with 7up.

The Wisconsin Old Fashioned is the one I started drinking. This version is romanticized in Wisconsin since it is likely what everyone’s parents/grandparents drank when they went out to eat at the supper clubs before dancing at the Elks. However, seeing the two recipes one after the other, you may have noticed how much sweeter the drink is in Wisconsin. 

An Old Fashioned should not be that sweet; that ruins the point. I think muddling all the garnishes in with the bitters and sugar cube is a nice touch to do in front of guests to impress them, but the brandy is already incredibly sweet as far as hard alcohol goes, and sugary sodas are gross and should have died in the 90s. 

If you drink alcohol, you ought to enjoy it, and I don’t think the Wisconsin Old Fashioned fits that philosophy. There is something so much better about the original recipe -- the way vanilla and wood notes from the bourbon complement the chives and cinnamon from the bitters and are a great combination for the palate. Plus, the orange twist on the rim of the glass really adds your nose to the sensory party.  

Now here is what I make at home in my bar:

In a rocks glass, pour 2 ounces of bourbon;

Add a spoonful of simple syrup and 2 dashes Angostura bitters;

Swirl the ingredients with a spoon;

Add ice and club soda to fill the remainder of the glass, then stir again.

My recipe is slightly different from the 2 above, in that I prefer homemade simple syrup to sugar cubes, just because I believe it mixes better and prevents some of the residual granules from the sugar cube. The club soda gives the drink some body and helps move the flavor profiles of the bourbon forward -- though some would adamantly disagree. 

If you do order an Old Fashioned in Wisconsin, I’d highly recommend asking for a bourbon Old Fashioned press. You’ll still get the muddled fruit, but the press substitutes the 7up with club soda and a little bit of sour. Requesting the press is crucial to cutting the sweetness and giving the alcohol more room to come forward. Next time you want a drink with brandy in it, just ask for it on the rocks and learn to love that; it doesn’t need to be sweetened. Fingers crossed, these hot takes don’t get my Wisconsin citizenship revoked. I’d hate to be from Illinois. 

Lagniappe: Here is my simple syrup recipe: Add 1/2 cup granulated sugar to 1/2 cup water over medium heat and stir until the sugar disappears. You can go wild with this base recipe and do things like add rosemary for Rosemary syrup. Always make your grenadine and syrups at home, as the stuff you buy in stores is trash and in some distant future could give you cancer. 

Disclaimer: There has been a peer reviewed link between cancer and alcohol consumption, but everyone deserves a vice and you can Google that on your own. 

Music: Thanks, Max, for the preceding Father’s Day gift. I know you weren’t inspired to provide any music, opining that all music goes with cocktails. But you know that I can’t help myself. I am pairing your musings with a song from 1971, the year I graduated from high school. Early in their career, I was not a Three Dog Night fan because I resented that their version of Try a Little Tenderness enjoyed more popular acclaim than the version by Otis Redding. I later learned to enjoy some of Three Dog Night’s music. While the following link may not make you a fan, this Three Dog Night song seems appropriate since it’s An Old Fashioned Love Song. By the way, Paul Williams wrote this song and performed it with the Muppets on their TV show, but you’ll have to find that version on your own. ro

Birthday Musings and Lots of Music

Although this posting is for June, I wrote it during May, the month of my birthday. Consequently, this posting has a birthday theme, with lots of music.

Besides my brother-in-law and daughter-in-law, I share my birthday month with Bob Dylan, who turned 80 on May 24th. Dylan provides a segue from my last two postings on the Mississippi River, since U.S. Highway 61 runs from Duluth, Minnesota, near Dylan’s birthplace, to New Orleans, Louisiana. Released in 1965, Dylan’s “Highway 61 Revisited” marked his shift from acoustic folk to electric rock, as is particularly evidenced in the album’s title track.

Some years ago, I began collecting snippets about my birth year, 1953. Subsequently, this effort was undermined by the internet, which returns a listing of events that transpired in any year that you list in your search engine. While an electronic search quickly returns the following 1953 events, this posting provides three facts related to each event that maybe you don’t know.

Mount Everest. On May 29, 1953, Sherpa Tenzig Norgay and Sir Edmund Hillary, members of a British expedition, became the first two individuals “confirmed” to summit Mount Everest. Here are three additional facts. First, Everest’s summit measures 29,028 feet above sea level, but the base camp for expeditions is located 12,000 feet lower, at 17,000 feet. In the continental U.S., there are 73 peaks that measure 14,000 feet or higher, with the tallest being Mt. Whitney in California at 14,494 feet. Some years ago, I hiked, not climbed, to the top of Grays Peak, the 12th tallest of the 73 at 14,278 feet. I would have needed to climb almost 3,000 feet higher just to make it to Everest base camp. Second, Norgay and Hillary encountered a 40 foot rock face about 200 feet below the summit, potentially halting their ascent. However, they were able to find a crease in the rock that allowed passage to the summit. The rock face became known as the Hillary Step, but sadly, it was destroyed in a 2015 earthquake. Third, it took two days for news of the 1953 summit to reach London, which happened to be the day of Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation!

There is no more fitting musical tribute to Sherpa Tenzig Norgay and Sir Edmund Hillary than “Sitting on Top of the World.” First recorded by the Mississippi Sheiks in 1930, the song has been covered by numerous artists. I first became familiar with the song in 1968 when I purchased Cream’s “Wheels on Fire” album.

Crazylegs, the Movie. 1953 marked the release of the movie “Crazylegs,” about Elroy Hirsch who was played by, who else, Elroy Hirsch. Beginning in 1968, Hirsch became the athletic director for the University of Wisconsin, serving in that role for 18 years, which includes my first ten years living in Madison. Here are three additional facts about Hirsch. First, he played college football for Wisconsin in 1942 and Michigan in 1943, and I previously wondered how he came to play for two rival institutions. His transfer to the Wolverines was precipitated by his 1943 enlistment in the U.S. Marine Corps and his assignment to the Navy’s V-12 College Training Program. That program was housed at the University of Michigan. Second, Hirsch held a “front office” job with the Los Angeles Rams after playing for the team between 1949 and 1958. He became the team’s general manager in 1960, replacing Pete Rozelle who had been hired as the NFL’s first commissioner.  Third, the Crazylegs Classic is a Springtime fun run, honoring Hirsch and benefiting the UW Athletic Department. It has attracted thousands of runners each year since 1982. I participated numerous times and always enjoyed witnessing the entire length of State Street filled with bobbing heads from the State Capitol to Bascom Hill and feeling the soft cushion of Camp Randall’s artificial turf as I approached the finished line five miles later. One year, I finished the run with a high five from Elroy who was greeting runners at the 50-yard line.

I’m fond of a number of songs with “run” in the title, which could pay homage to Hirsch and his unique running style: “Run Like Hell” by Pink Floyd, or “Runnin’ Down a Dream” by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, or “Running on Empty” by Jackson Browne. But since this blog is about my life experiences, I can’t ignore that I moved from Shreveport to Madison in 1975. Shortly thereafter, I bought a new release by a guy named Bruce Springsteen. His third album was titled “Born to Run.”

Milwaukee Braves. In March, 1953, the owner of the Boston Braves moved his major league baseball team to Milwaukee. This was the first major league relocation since 1903, when the Baltimore Orioles moved to New York City, becoming the Highlanders initially and then the Yankees in 1913. The Braves relocated to Atlanta in 1966, and during their 13 seasons in Milwaukee, the Braves never had a losing season. Here are three additional facts about the Milwaukee Braves. First, the move to Milwaukee became attractive when Milwaukee County completed the construction of County Stadium. While other stadiums had been retrofitted with lighting, County Stadium was the first baseball stadium built with lights. Also, it was the first stadium built entirely with public funds (ugh). Second, before losing the 1958 World Series to Casey Stengel’s New York Yankees in seven games, the Milwaukee Braves won the 1957 World Series in seven games, beating the same New York Yankees. In the 1957 World Series, pitcher Lew Burdette won three games for the Braves, pitching a complete game in each of his outings! Third, the Milwaukee Braves may have played in the best baseball game that you’ve never heard of. On July 2, 1963, the Braves battled the San Francisco Giants at Candlestick Park, before Willie Mays ended the game with a solo home run in the bottom of the 16th inning. The final score was 1-0. The most amazing thing about the game was that for all 16 innings, neither team changed pitchers, Warren Spahn for the Braves and Juan Marichal for the Giants, nor catchers. All-Star Del Crandall was the catcher for the Braves that day, and he passed away on May 8 of this year at age 91.

Similar to my above musical tribute, there are a number of baseball themed songs floating in my subconscious, but as far as I’m concerned, none match John Fogarty’s 1984 hit “Centerfield.”

Three Other 1953 Events (sorry, I can’t help myself). First, U.S. Senator Russell Long began serving on the Senate Finance Committee. The son of Louisiana’s Huey Long, Russell became chair of the Committee in 1966 and remained chair until 1981. The Committee has jurisdiction over the Internal Revenue Code, and Long became known for the quip, ”Tax reform means, ‘Don’t tax you, and don’t tax me. Tax that fellow behind the tree.’” Second, Leonard “Smoky” Schmock opened Smoky’s Club in 1953 with his wife, Janet. When “Golf Digest” listed the ten best new courses in 1991, its description of the Robert Trent Jones designed University Ridge Golf Course in Madison concluded with a recommendation to stop at Smoky’s Club for a steak after your round of golf. Today, a 10-ounce filet costs about the same as your U-Ridge green fees, provided your tee time is on a Monday or Tuesday and you walk. Third, in a bit of pandemic serendipity, Jonas Salk announced his development of a vaccine for polio. Let’s hope that the Pfizer, Moderna, and Johnson & Johnson vaccines are equally effective against Covid-19.

Lagniappe: Lloyd Price. Louisiana native and R&B great, Lloyd Price passed on May 3rd at age 88. He acquired the nickname Mr. Personality due to his “amiable presence” and his 1959 hit, “Personality.” His best known hit may be “Lawdy Miss Clawdy.” Recorded in 1952, it has been covered by over 40 artists, including Fats Domino, Elvis Presley, Little Richard, Ike Turner, Conway Twitty, Carl Perkins, Paul McCartney, Travis Tritt, and James Booker. However, my favorite Price song is “Stagger Lee” about a gambling loss resulting in a shooting. According to Price’s L.A. Times obit, he was forced to change the song’s lyrics when he performed it on American Bandstand so that the song’s story had a “peaceful resolution.” Commenting on that rewrite some years later, Price said: “It didn’t make any sense at all. It was ridiculous.”

(No) Controlling Old Man River

Last month, I indicated that this posting would focus on two floodways connecting the Mississippi and Atchafalaya Rivers. The Old River Control Structures are 45 miles upriver from Baton Rouge, where the Mississippi and Atchafalaya once converged, while the Morganza Floodway is 10 miles downriver.

The Atchafalaya River begins at the terminus of the Red River near the top of the toe in Louisiana’s boot, about ten miles west of the Mississippi. It proceeds mostly southerly for 142 miles and empties into the Gulf of Mexico below Morgan City, while the Mississippi meanders 315 miles to the southeast past Baton Rouge and New Orleans. The Atchafalaya’s path to the Gulf is more than twice as steep as that of the Mississippi.

All rivers carry sediment due to rainfall runoff and to the river scouring its banks and bed. Some sediment reaches the river’s mouth, some is deposited when the river overtops its banks, and some is redeposited along its banks and bed. In the latter case, sediment buildup causes rivers to change course because water flow follows gravity. After all, it is the law. As the nation’s largest drainage basin, the Mississippi River obviously carries a lot of sediment.

By the 1800s, sediment had created an oxbow in the Mississippi called Turnbull’s Bend, causing it to meander west, where it was joined by the Red River. The two rivers flowed south, forming the source of the Atchafalaya, before the Mississippi meandered back eastward. In 1831, Captain Henry Miller Shreve, the founder of my hometown, dug a channel between the northern and southern sections of Turnbull’s Bend, thereby straightening the Mississippi and diverting the Red River to the Atchafalaya River. The upper section of the Bend silted in, while the lower section continues to connect the Atchafalaya and Mississippi Rivers and is known as the “Old River.” Except during periods of high water on the Red River, the Old River flowed west, diverting water from the Mississippi to the Atchafalaya.

Over time, it became apparent that the laws of nature would dictate that the Mississippi change its course to the Gulf of Mexico by diverting its flow to the Atchafalaya, with devastating consequences to the ports of Baton Rouge and New Orleans, as well as the communities in the Atchafalaya’s floodplain. To contain the Mississippi in its current channel and to provide flood control during periods of high water, the Mississippi River Commission recommended constructing several structures on the Old River, and Congress authorized the project in September, 1954.

Old River Control Structures. Today, five structures comprise the complex, but the original authorization included only three. Constructed between 1955 and 1959, the original complex includes a lock and dam, the low sill structure, and the over bank structure.

The lock and dam were constructed on the Old River (the southern arm of Turnbull’s Bend) and connect the Atchafalaya, Mississippi, and Red Rivers. The lock and dam both allow commercial and recreational navigation between the three rivers and preserve the Mississippi River channel in its southeasterly direction to Baton Rouge and New Orleans. Also, it limits the Red River’s flow solely to the Atchafalaya.

The low sill and over bank structures are upriver from the lock and dam and were constructed in a “dry hole” just west of the Mississippi River channel. Both structures contain a series of gates that can be closed or opened, allowing water to flow through the structure. After their construction, a channel was dug on each side of the low sill structure connecting the Mississippi River to the Red/Atchafalaya system. Its 11 gates are intended to remain open, thereby making the Atchafalaya a distributary of the Mississippi. The over bank structure lies just to the north on “dry” ground and only operates when the Mississippi flows over its banks. Engineers employ such creative naming conventions! The low sill structure measures almost 600 feet in length, while the over bank structure measures almost 3,400 feet, consisting of 73 spillway bays and gates. The gates are operated by a crane that traverses the structure.

A fourth structure, the auxiliary structure with six flood gates, was constructed between 1981 and 1986, and is located just southeast of the low sill structure. Like that structure, an inflow channel connecting the auxiliary structure to the Mississippi had to be dug after the structure’s completion. Its outflow channel connects to the channel used for the low sill structure. The auxiliary structure was necessitated after flooding in 1973 almost undermined the old sill structure. The fifth structure is a 192-megawatt hydroelectric power station that began operating in 1985.

The Old River Control Structures divert water from the Mississippi River to the Atchafalaya River. During normal periods, the low sill and lock and dam structures maintain the two rivers’ flow at rates similar to that before their construction. Of the combined upriver flow of the Mississippi and Red Rivers, 70% is channeled to the Mississippi and 30% is directed to the Atchafalaya. In “high water” periods, the over bank and auxiliary structures can divert an additional 620,000 cubic feet per second (cfs) of water to the Atchafalaya (over 260 million gallons per minute). Remember from last month that by the time the Mississippi empties into the Gulf of Mexico, its normal rate of flow is 500,000 cfs.

Morganza Floodway. Ten miles downriver, the Morganza Floodway lies on the western bank of the Mississippi River, at a bend in the river where the levee was prone to failure. This location did not require excavation of an inflow channel, like the low sill structure on Old River. Completed between 1949 and 1954, Morganza consists of a 3,906-foot-long spillway containing 125 gates. Each gate is just over 28 feet wide and can be opened (raised) by two cranes that move across the top of the spillway on railroad tracks. When its gates are opened, the spillway submerges a floodplain stretching to the eastern bank of the Atchafalaya, about 5 miles west, and 20 miles to the southwest. Prior to construction, the Army Corps of Engineers purchased land and easements in the floodplain, which is used for agricultural and recreational purposes when not inundated. Morganza’s gates have been opened only twice -- 42 gates in 1973 and 17 gates in 2011. At full capacity, the spillway can divert up to 600,000 cfs of flow from the Mississippi.

Conundrum. The Old River Control Structures, the Morganza Floodway, and the Bonnet Carre Spillway (last month’s posting) can divert up to 1,450 cfs of flow from the Mississippi River to prevent flooding in downriver urban areas. If all of the gates at the three floodways are fully opened, the Mississippi’s flow rate above Old River would be four times its normal flow rate at New Orleans. The floodways’ activation is based on measurements of the river’s elevation and flowage rate. However, the relationship between the two measurements has changed since 1950 – essentially, higher river elevations are accompanying lesser flow rates – resulting in some uncertainty as to when and how many flood gates to open.

Music. This month’s music repeats that from last month – sorta. Last month’s music has been covered by numerous musicians, including these versions recommended by subscribers. One name synonymous with Louisiana music is Neville. Thanks to Dan for recommending Aaron Neville’s version of "Louisiana 1927".

And thanks to Cal for recommending Kenny Wayne Shepherd’s version of “Backwater Blues.” If you think his version mimics Bessie Smith’s version, you’ve not listened to it all. And how sweet that Kenny Wayne and I share Shreveport as our hometown. Finally, Kenny Wayne’s repertoire includes several songs written by my high school pal, Buddy Flett.

Lagniappe: My initial posting did not have a lagniappe. Because my comment section does not recognize hyperlinks, here is a link to Carlos Guitarlos performing “ Damn Atchafalaya” as recommended by Eliot in my blog’s comment section. Thanks for this lagniappe, Eliot!

Old Man River

I’ve wanted to write about the Mississippi River for a while and decided April is the right time. After all, this is the month when the watershed is fed by snowmelt and Springtime rain, and people living in the River’s delta start holding their breath. The Great Flood of 1927, which displaced my paternal family, and attempts to manage the Mississippi are the subjects of this posting, along with related music.

I’m attracted to the Mississippi because it geographically connects my boyhood (Louisiana) and adult (Wisconsin) homes. The River stretches 2,300 meandering miles from its source at Lake Itasca in Minnesota to its mouth at the Gulf of Mexico, about 100 miles downriver of New Orleans. However, that is just the river. The watershed is North America’s largest drainage basin, covering 1.2 million square miles, stretching from the Rockies in the West to the Appalachians in the East. It encompasses 40% of the continental United States.

Because I drive south regularly, I’ve explored multiple routes that have allowed me to observe how the Mississippi’s three major tributaries affect its size. By the time the Mississippi empties into the Gulf, its discharge rate equals over 500,000 cubic feet per second (cfs), or 4 million gallons per second. However, when I cross from Wisconsin to Dubuque, Iowa, the discharge rate equals about 100,000 cfs. That rate has increased by almost 90% when I cross the Mississippi just south of the St. Louis Arch, after the confluence with the Missouri River 10 miles north of St. Louis. The Missouri River is the Mississippi’s longest tributary, as well as the longest river in the U.S., while the Ohio River is the Mississippi’s largest tributary by volume. It increases the River’s discharge rate 135%. In 1976, before the I-57 bridge was completed, I crossed the Mississippi at Cairo, Illinois, on Highway 62, just north of the confluence. The channel’s doubling in size left an indelible impression. Finally, the Arkansas River joins the Mississippi just north of Arkansas City, Arkansas, and Greenville, Mississippi, my dad’s boyhood home. Although it increases the discharge rate by only 8%, the Arkansas River’s confluence became the tipping point for the greatest inland flood in modern American history.

By 1926, most of the lower Mississippi River, from above the mouth of the Ohio River to 50 miles south of New Orleans, was bounded by levees. Further, the levees were built to improved height and grade specifications, after the Mississippi River Commission became the river’s dominant manager at the expense of local levee districts. In December 1926, it began raining over the entire Mississippi River valley – literally from the Rockies to the Appalachians - and the weather system that brought the rain stalled. The rain continued into the Spring of 1927, with total rainfall exceeding yearly averages by more than ten times. The River’s tributaries filled, and flooded, and downstream water levels rose. The first levee crevasse (breach) on the Mississippi occurred in Illinois on April 16th, followed by a second at New Madrid, Missouri on the 19th leaving a one mile wide opening. Two days later, the levee crevassed at Mounds Landing, Mississippi, just south of the Arkansas’ mouth. It left a gap one-half mile wide and resulted in water ten feet deep covering one million acres (over 1,500 square miles) of delta farmland.

Levees had been constructed to surround Greenville, so the city felt protected after the Mounds Landing crevasse. However, the backside levees were constructed to a lower height than the levees fronting the Mississippi. They proved no match for the River, and at 3 a.m. on April 22nd they were overtopped, flooding the entire city. My dad was 9 years old and evacuated Greenville shortly before the flood. He maintained that the source of the city’s flooding was railroad tracks cut through the backside levees. As the flooding coursed downriver, 27,000 square miles were flooded, and one million people were displaced. After the flooding, it took over two months for the water to subside.

 In his book Rising Tide, John M. Barry makes the case that the Great Flood of 1927 changed the course of U.S. history. It accelerated the Great Migration of African Americans to the North, Midwest, and West, both because sharecroppers were unable to work their flooded fields and because of their mistreatment during the flood. First prisoners and then sharecroppers were forced at gunpoint to man sandbagging efforts atop the levees, even as the levees were being overtopped. In addition to their geographic migration, African Americans began to migrate politically from the Republican Party to the Democratic Party, due to their treatment during the delta’s recovery from the flood. In 1932, Franklin Roosevelt ousted Herbert Hoover as president, marking the era of the New Deal.

There is an abundance of music about the Great Flood, but I find three songs most noteworthy. Bessie Smith’s recording of “Backwater Blues” conveys the despair of being flooded from her home like no other: Backwater blues done called me to pack my things and go. Cause my house fell down and I can’t live there no more. Mmm, I can’t move no more. There ain’t no place for a poor old girl to go. Because it was recorded in 1927, the song is frequently associated with the Great Flood, but was recorded before the Mississippi flooded. Instead, the song was inspired by the Cumberland River’s flooding of Nashville at Christmas, 1926. Nonetheless, both rivers’ flooding was due to the same storm system, and the Cumberland and Tennessee Rivers merge with the Ohio River just before it joins the Mississippi.

Almost 50 years after “Backwater Blues,” Randy Newman recorded “Louisiana 1927,” and whenever I hear the song, I think of my dad. Like Smith’s recording, it conveys the despair of flood victims, in this instance someone downriver from New Orleans. To save New Orleans, the levee in Plaquemines Parish was dynamited thereby increasing the River’s flow and flooding much of the downriver territory. However, the dynamiting proved unnecessary as the Mississippi overtopped its west levee above New Orleans, where the Atchafalaya River provided the floodwaters a convenient outlet to the Gulf. At 2:22 in the video, there is a photo of the dynamiting.

Although Newman’s song is my favorite, it is by no means the most popular “flood” song, at least among boomers like me. “When the Levee Breaks” was recorded in 1929 by Memphis Minnie and Kansas Joe McCoy. While McCoy died in 1950, Memphis Minnie did not pass until 1973. I wonder if she ever heard the 1971 version of her song by Led Zeppelin.

Lagniappe: The Great Flood’s Aftermath. Since 1926, the height and construction standards for levees have increased, and 1,607 miles of levees try to contain the Mississippi today. Another 596 miles of levees bound its tributaries. Other flood control measures complement the levees and include 29 dams between Minneapolis and St. Louis (although their primary purpose is commercial navigation), jetties that increase river flow which scours the channel, cut-outs to straighten the channel where oxbows exist, and four floodways that divert a portion of the River’s volume.

Generally, floodways are parallel river channels that are separated from the River by a levee, some of which are equipped with gates. As the water level in the main channel rises, water is allowed to enter the parallel channel by overtopping the levee or by opening the gate. Capable of diverting 550,000 cfs, the Birds Point-New Madrid Floodway is just above the confluence with the Ohio River and measures five miles wide and 65 miles long. Located about 30 miles upriver from New Orleans, the Bonnet Carre Floodway, with a capacity of 250,000 cfs, diverts water over a seven-mile course to Lake Pontchartrain. Two other floodways divert water to the Atchafalaya River near the toe in Louisiana’s boot. The Atchafalaya and its floodways will be the subject of my next posting.

Jeff Goldblum: I Was A Fan Before He Became A Millennial Icon

5 March 2021

Some of you are already familiar with the Jeff Goldblum lines referenced on my home page, while other readers have asked about them. Those questions have prompted this posting, which explores lines from two of his movies that have lodged in my subconscious, along with some memorable music.

When I told Max that Jeff Goldblum would be my next topic, he replied that Goldblum is a millennial icon. I shouldn’t be surprised because an internet search of Goldblum uncovers attributes like quirky and idiosyncratic performances. Goldblum’s first movie was “Death Wish,” which I saw in Shreveport in 1974. He played one of three thugs who assaulted Charles Bronson’s wife and daughter, leading Bronson to vigilantism. Since then, Goldblum has appeared in 46 movies.

In the 1983 movie “The Big Chill,” Goldblum played journalist Michael Gold, one of eight affluent, 30-something baby boomers who attended the University of Michigan together. They reunite in a South Carolina mansion for a weekend, following the suicide death of one from their group. Billed as a comedy-drama, the eight confront their mortality and realize that while they aspired in college to change the world, they have become part of the world in the 15 intervening years. During one episode of soul searching, Michael is asked about his career at People magazine, and he replies: “Where I work, we have only one editorial rule. You can’t write anything longer than the average person can read during the average crap. I’m tired of having all my work read in the can.” A February 7th article in the Sunday Review section of The New York Times prompted me to spend more time on these lines.

The article recounted an interview with Michael Goldhaber, a retired theoretical physicist, who popularized the term “attention economy” in a 1997 Wired magazine article after the term was coined in 1971 by Herbert A. Simon, a psychologist and economist. Simon recognized that the rapid growth of information causes a scarcity of attention. Subsequently, the internet has accelerated our bombardment by information, allowing a limitless number of people to seek our attention. The term regards “paying attention to something” as a transaction, which gives value to that thing while devaluing other things that are deprived of our attention. Goldhaber notes that the attention economy has destabilizing effects, such as its bestowal of “disproportionate benefits for the most shameless among us” and its deprecation of other characteristics such as modesty and humility. Further, Goldhaber likens the effects of the attention economy to pollution, where a resource, our attention, continues to exist, but its quality is diminished.

These insights provide the link between the reference on my home page and Goldblum’s “Big Chill” lines. That is, my sensitivity to the demands of the attention economy is why I limit my postings so they can be read in the can, er … I mean, to no more than two pages. The Times article closes with a maxim from writer Howard Rheingold, which we should all heed: ”Attention is a limited resource, so pay attention to where you pay attention.”

Ten years after “The Big Chill,” Goldblum delivered the second quotation that I find noteworthy. In “Jurassic Park,” he portrayed Ian Malcolm, a mathematician and proponent of chaos theory, who had been hired as a safety consultant prior to the park’s opening. The park owner and his scientists explain that the park’s dinosaurs were denied the male chromosome during their development, thereby genetically engineering an all-female herd. Malcolm responds, “The kind of control you are attempting is … it’s not possible. If there is one thing that the history of evolution has taught us is that life will not be contained. Life breaks free, it expands into new territories and crashes through barriers, painfully maybe even dangerously.” When asked mockingly if he thinks that the all-female dinosaurs will breed, he replies, “No, I’m simply saying that life, uh, finds a way.”

I’ve used this line on a number of occasions and was disappointed when I did not find multiple expositions about it on the internet. Simply, the statement is a recognition that humans overestimate their knowledge and ability to control things. Further, some forces are so strong as to be beyond control and respond in an unforeseen manner when challenged in certain ways. While we regard Malcolm as a hard scientist, this line is equally applicable in a variety of social settings.

Backed by 47 soundtracks, Goldblum can be associated with a myriad of music. The baby boomers among you may be anticipating my providing a link to one of the songs in “The Big Chill.” After all, the film’s soundtrack was compiled into an album that was so successful that it spawned a second album. The two albums contain 21 songs from the 1960’s and early 1970’s that remind us of the people we were or hoped to be. The tracks place a heavy emphasis on Motown, and I guarantee they will make you want to dance around your kitchen (provided you ain’t too proud to beg).

However, 11 years after Jurassic Park, Goldblum was in a movie that incorporated music in a much more innovative way. In “The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou,” Goldblum played Alistair Hennessey, the foil to Steve Zissou, played by Bill Murray. Directed by Wes Anderson, the film is superficially a spoof of Jacques Cousteau, to whom the film is dedicated. It has been described as “a strange film … about family, … revenge, and … the relentless intrusion of reality into a life carefully cultivated.” The most striking aspect of the film is its music featuring a host of David Bowie songs, performed mostly by Brazilian singer, Seu Jorge. Bowie later commented, “Had Seu Jorge not recorded my songs in Portuguese, I would never have heard this new level of beauty which he has imbued them with.”

Max’s favorite song from the movie is “Rebel Rebel” while my favorite is “Queen Bitch,” which is played at the movie’s end while credits are rolling. It is performed twice, first by David Bowie and then by Seu Jorge. Consider leaving a comment as to which you prefer, or if you would’ve preferred a link to “The Big Chill.”

Lagniappe (for Jon): Chick Corea. Jazz keyboardist, Chick Corea, died from cancer on February 9th at the age of 79. The winner of 23 Grammys, he was instrumental in the birth of jazz fusion, a genre that reinterprets jazz by combining its traditional characteristics of harmony and improvisation with elements of other genres such as rock, funk, and rhythm and blues. In the 1960’s, Corea played with Miles Davis before forming his own bands, first Return to Forever and then Chick Corea’s Elektric Band. He visited Madison regularly in the 1980s. Corea is joined by Al Di Meola on guitar, Stanley Clarke on bass, and Lenny White on drums in this 1976 recording of “The Romantic Warrior.”

NAKED OR NOT?

OK, that title is just a teaser to get you to read. But if you read this posting to the end, who knows?

I never wanted my blog to be exclusively about music, but Phil Spector’s death, as well as readers’ comments after my December posting on Darlene Love, brought me back to his career. He died at the age of 81 on January 16 in a prison hospital due to complications from covid. He was serving a 19-year to life prison term for the death of Lana Clarkson, an aspiring actress. She died from a single gunshot wound to the head in Spector’s mansion after making the mistake of accompanying him home.

Spector is reported to have had an “extensive handgun collection” and rock history contains numerous references to Spector and guns. In a January 17 interview with Billboard.com, Darlene Love recalled making it a habit of staying away from Spector whenever a gun was present. Despite not giving her credit for two Billboard hits that she recorded and not sharing royalties with her, Love had forgiven Spector: ”I had to get rid of the hate that I had for him and start thinking about if it wasn’t for Phil Spector, I wouldn’t have had a career. That’s the truth, if I live the next 100 years. If it wasn’t for Phil, there would not be a Darlene Love.” Love went on to say,” It’s really sad that the way he ended his life (was) in prison for killing somebody. I want him to be remembered as this man who changed rock’n roll.” And that is the topic that follows.

After producing a multitude of hits in the early and mid-1960s, Spector began to lose his enthusiasm for producing music as the decade closed. However, his work with John Lennon on “Instant Karma!” in early 1970 led, later that year, to his collaboration with the Beatles on what became their final album.

By 1969, disagreement over whether to resume touring threatened the Beatles’ continuation as a band. Nonetheless, they entered the studios to produce a concert album called “Get Back.” The vision was to base the album on live performances and to accompany the album with a documentary film. In 1968, rehearsals began at London’s Twickenham Film Studios, but discord between George and John resulted in George leaving the studios. As a condition for his return, the sessions moved to the Apple Studio on Savile Row, where the recordings were completed. The change in venue is noteworthy because this location became the site for the famous rooftop concert on January 30, 1969, the only concert of the recording sessions.

George Martin, who had produced every Beatles album until then and is sometimes called the fifth Beatle, began the task of compiling the tracks and producing the “Get Back” album, but on at least two occasions the bandmembers rejected his work. In early 1970, Phil Spector was engaged to complete the album. Employing his “Wall of Sound” techniques, he added orchestral and choir overdubs to four of the album’s 12 tracks. Also, he inserted “studio chatter” from the recording sessions and edited and spliced as producers are wont to do. Contrary to the original vision, only seven of the 12 tracks were live performances – three from the rooftop concert and four from studio sessions. In a slight to George Martin, Spector was listed as the sole producer, and the album’s name was changed to “Let It Be.”

Upon its release, “Let It Be” topped the album charts, and two of its singles - “Let It Be” and “The Long and Winding Road” – became #1 hits in the U.S. Despite this success, music critics were less than complimentary, with many panning the album due to Spector’s over-production. John Lennon, who had left the Beatles before the album’s completion, later used Spector to produce his “Imagine” album and defended Spector’s work on “Let It Be” in a Rolling Stone interview: ”he was given the shittiest load of badly recorded shit, with a lousy feeling toward it, ever. And he made something out of it. He did a great job.” Harrison and Starr were also supportive of Spector, with Harrison and Spector later co-producing “All Things Must Pass” and “The Concert for Bangladesh” albums. Spector later said that his work with Lennon and Harrison in the early 1970s was ”the most creative period” of his career.

Paul McCartney remained dissatisfied with “Let It Be” and 33 years later Apple Records re-released the album, stripped free of Spector’s contributions. The later release also dropped two tracks included on the 1970 album – “Dig It” and “Maggie Mae”- and added one track that was not originally included, “Don’t Let Me Down.” Void of Spector’s manipulations, the 2003 release is known as “Let It Be … Naked.”

So open your browser and search for McCartney’s classic, “The Long and Winding Road (Naked Version/Remastered 2013)”. I promise, you won’t get any porn. As the song plays, you’ll see some other play options in your queue, which should include the song’s 1970 version. On my computer, I chose “The Long and Winding Road (Remastered 2009).” This version should be a couple of seconds longer (you’ll notice why at the song’s end, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) and you should hear strings, horns, and a choral background.

With this posting, I’ve decided to activate the “comment” function on my website. In the comment section at the end of this posting, consider indicating the version you like best, but keep in mind the admonition from my January posting, “de gustibus non est disputandum.”

Lagniappe #1: “One After 909.” Paul hoped the Get Back/Let It Be sessions would return the Beatles to their rock and roll origins, thereby reviving the band. No song exemplifies their origins better than “One After 909,” which was written by John Lennon, in collaboration with McCartney, in the late 1950s. The version on “Let It Be” is from the rooftop concert, and it is my favorite song on the album. If you want to hear a much earlier version, I believe six days after Ringo replaced Pete Best, search the web for “Beatles.OneAfter909,1962.Liverpool.”

Lagniappe #2: Billy Preston. Billy Preston is from Houston, Texas, where my sister’s family lives, and he has always been one of my favorite musicians. On the “Let It Be” album, he played Hammond organ on two tracks and electric piano on five tracks, including “The Long and Winding Road.” He also is sometimes called the fifth Beatle. Reportedly, the band’s acrimony during the Get Back/Let It Be sessions would have prevented the album’s completion, if not for Billy Preston’s tempering presence. Unfortunately, Billy Preston died in 2006 at age 59 of complications from kidney disease. On the last Sunday in September, I get my Billy Preston “fix” at New Glarus’ Oktoberfest. One of my favorite bands, The Jimmys, closes the festival and Preston’s “Will It Go Round In Circles” is typically on their set list. If you attend the festival in the post-pandemic era, you’ll recognize me as the guy drinking a Staghorn from the New Glarus Brewing Company.

Latin Phrases (You Can Use to Impress People)

I took two years of Latin in high school. That made my Mother happy because she thought it would be useful when I went to law school. I didn’t go to law school, but I have noticed that when I occasionally drop a Latin phrase, people notice. To show that my Latin studies were not in vain, here are six Latin phrases that I find interesting and you can use to impress people.

Tempus fugit. This translates as “time flies” and is the origin of one of my favorite sayings, “time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like bananas.”

Reductio ad absurdum. This translates as “reduction to absurdity” and is “used to disprove a statement by showing it would inevitably lead to a ridiculous, absurd, or impractical conclusion.” I first learned the phrase, not in Latin class, but in debate class, which helped convince me to not become a lawyer.

De gustibus non est disputandum.  This translates as “in matters of taste, there can be no disputes.” However, its more common interpretation is “there is no accounting for tastes.” If the intent is to not be judgmental, the phrase can be used to denote that everyone has their own preferences. The contrary implication is that of a biting insult. The phrase has gained a place in Russian literature as it has been used both by Dostoyevsky and Chekhov. There is some indication that the phrase is medieval, not Latin, but I think worthy of inclusion in this list nonetheless.

Ceteris Paribus. This translates as “other things equal” and is a common phrase in economics. It is a foundation in economists’ statistical modelling where some degree of causality is attributed to a single variable by holding the effects of all other variables constant. Of course in the real world, all other variables are never constant, and economists’ use of this phrase has no doubt fueled the observation that if you put all the economists in the world end-to-end, you still would not reach a conclusion.

Sic transit gloria mundi. This translates as “thus passes worldly glory,” or more loosely, all glory is fleeting. The phrase has a rich history in that it has been used during papal coronations as a reminder to the new pope to not let his hat get too big. Also, Roman emperors had slaves whisper it in the ears of returning conquerors to keep them in their place. A version of this latter story was popularized as a voiceover by George C. Scott during the ending scene of the movie, “Patton.” When Napoleon was reminded of the phrase, he reportedly responded, “Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily.”

Alea iacta est (also, iacta alea est). This translates as “the die is cast,” meaning there is no turning back. The phrase is attributed to Julius Caesar, who had been ensconced as the Governor of Gaul (part of France) after his Roman army had conquered the territory. After being in Gaul for nine years, he wanted to return to Italy. As Governor of Gaul, Caesar had the right to command troops there, but not in Italy. By crossing the Rubicon (the river separating Gaul and Italy) in 49 B.C., he violated Roman law, thereby committing treason and plunging Italy into civil war. Ultimately, Caesar became emperor, and the Roman Republic was replaced by the Roman Empire. Upon crossing the Rubicon, Caesar is said to have spoken the phrase in Greek, as opposed to the Latin reported here.

Little Latin Lupe Lu. Readers will recall that I like to link my blog to some piece of music from my past. This blog presented a particular challenge until I remembered one of the first albums I purchased. It was by Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels, and contained a song called “Little Latin Lupe Lu.” Lupe Lu is the singer’s girlfriend, and although I don’t know if she could speak Latin, she was obviously a knock-out dancer. The song has an interesting history because it was written by Bill Medley in 1962 and performed with his partner Bobby Hatfield before they became the Righteous Brothers. Rather than being rooted in the blues or R&B, the song was “surf” music and became the first big hit of the Righteous Brothers in 1963. In 1964, it was recorded by a Minneapolis band called The Chancellors, and the Kingsmen (Louie, Louie) recorded the song later in the same year. The Mitch Ryder version came out two years later in 1966. These groups show the evolution of rock and roll through the 1960s from clean-cut to raw. I also enjoyed learning that the song has been covered by women. An all-female band called the Heartbeats changed “she” to “he” in their release and later Chrissie Hynde did the same when she performed the song with the Pretenders. Give your computer’s search engine a workout and access all of these versions. Each is worth a listen.

 Lagniappe – Latin Phrases

Lagniappe is a phrase that is commonly used in Louisiana meaning something given unexpectedly as a bonus. I always assumed it is French, but Merriam-Webster identifies its derivation as American French from American Spanish.

On my “About” page, I express a desire to steer clear of politics. This caused me to consider excluding the Latin phrase, “alea est iacta” due to the reference to the Rubicon. You may be aware that “Rubicon” was referenced by certain individuals at events in our nation’s capital on January 6th. Nonetheless, I chose to include the phrase because I wanted to mention Jake Wood.

About a month ago, I was watching the CBS Morning Show when it aired a story about Wood. I wasn’t paying much attention until I noticed a photo of him in a UW football uniform. He played as an offensive lineman for the Badgers and graduated in 2005 with a double major in political science and real estate. Afterwards, he joined the Marines and served tours in Iraq in 2007 and Afghanistan in 2008.

After his discharge, he noticed a lack of purpose experienced by a number of returning service members. In response, he formed a nonprofit organization named Team Rubicon, which “utilizes the skills and experiences of military veterans with first responders to rapidly deploy emergency response teams … to provide immediate relief to those impacted by disasters and humanitarian crises in the U.S. and around the world.” Team Rubicon’s first “deployment” was in 2010 to the Haiti earthquake. The organization is based in Los Angeles and boasts 130,000 volunteers. Jake Wood is the author of Once a Warrior: How One Marine Veteran Found a New Mission Closer to Home.

I’ve a bit of a dilemma with regard to a musical reference. Growing up in northwest Louisiana across the Red River from Barksdale AFB, I sang “The Marines Hymn” so many times in elementary school that I still remember the words. But Jake Wood is a Badger, and doesn’t that make you want to “Jump Around?”

Darlene Love – Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)

As a native of Louisiana, I grew up listening to a steady diet of R&B. Many R&B singers got their start in church choirs singing gospel, and Darlene Love, a minister’s daughter, shares this heritage. Darlene’s group, the Blossoms, signed a recording contract with Philles Records, which had been formed by Phil Spector and Lester Sill (Phil and Les) in 1961.

Philles had also signed the Crystals, who recorded the label’s first top 100 Billboard hits, “There’s No Other (Like My Baby)” and “Uptown” in 1962. The Crystals began to sour on Spector after he had them record “He Hit Me (And It Felt Like A Kiss),” which none in the group liked for obvious reasons. This may have contributed to the group’s slow response to Spector’s summons to Los Angeles for a recording session, although the logistics of traveling cross country from New York, the Crystals’ home base, was also a factor. At any rate, the Crystals’ delay provided an opening for the Blossoms, who were based in Los Angeles. Spector’s haste was motivated by a desire to record a song written by Gene Pitney before Vikki Carr could do the same on Liberty Records. With Darlene Love as the lead vocal, the Blossoms provided Philles Records with its first #1 Billboard hit, “He’s a Rebel” in 1962. However, Spector credited the song to the Crystals, as well as a second song, “He’s Sure the Boy I Love,” which reached #11 on Billboard. This put the Crystals in the awkward position of performing songs on tour that were not their recordings. While the Blossoms recorded several other successful songs, Spector’s use of them as “session singers” may have resulted in their biggest audiences, as they provided background vocals on the Ronette’s’ “Be My Baby,” Frank Sinatra’s “That’s Life,” and the Crystal’s “Da Doo Ron Ron.”

While the Philles recordings featured great vocals, they were also characterized by Phil Spector’s “Wall of Sound.” In the early 1960s, music was broadcast primarily over AM radio featuring mono or monaural transmission. Mono requires only one speaker for listening, as all the sound is routed through a single channel. This is distinguished from stereo, where sound is routed through two or more channels, therefore requiring multiple speakers for listening. FM radio, featuring stereo transmission, did not proliferate until the 1970s. Unsurprisingly, AM radio did not produce a very rich sound quality, at least until Phil Spector.

Spector’s Wall of Sound is distinguished by at least four characteristics. First, Spector was among the first to incorporate orchestral instruments into pop music. Second, he “layered” the music by recording different groups of instruments separately (for example, first guitars, then horns) and later integrating them together. Third, he recorded related types of instruments playing the same part (a frequently cited example is regular piano, electric piano, and harpsichord), so that each instrument’s distinctive sound quality was blurred, if not lost. Finally, the music from the studio was transmitted to speakers in a separate room, where microphones transmitted the music to the control room for recording, producing an echo effect. Finally, no description of the Wall of Sound would be complete without mentioning Spector’s house band, the Wrecking Crew.

The Wall of Sound produced a fuller sound for AM radio than anything else at the time. Perhaps the best example of the Wall of Sound was the 1964 recording by the Righteous Brothers, “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling.” The background vocals on that recording were provided, you guessed it, by the Blossoms.

AM radio was dominated by singles, aka 45s, although Spector’s early productions include one album that has gained classic status. “A Christmas Gift For You From Phil Spector” was released in 1963 and features traditional holiday songs performed by the Ronettes, the Crystals, Bob B. Soxx & the Blue Jeans, and Darlene Love. It was the first recording of Love’s classic, “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home).”

I fell in love with Darlene Love performing “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” on David Letterman’s late night show, first on NBC and then on CBS. She started performing in 1986 and was on every Christmas show until his last in 2014. By the last show, the band was expanded to a near orchestra and wore white tuxedo jackets. She wore a full-length evening gown and finished the song standing on Paul Shaffer’s grand piano with the sax player. If you want to feel good this holiday season, enter “Darlene Love 2014 Letterman” in your computer’s search engine, and you won’t be disappointed.

Merry Christmas!

The Edmund Fitzgerald

Yesterday, we experienced a record high temperature in Madison of 73 degrees. Today’s high occurred sometime this morning as a low-pressure system, characterized by falling temperatures, rain, and wind, began moving through the state. I don’t remember what the weather was like on November 9, 1975, the year I moved to Wisconsin, but history serves as a reminder of the weather on November 10 of that year. Another low-pressure system moved from Oklahoma through the Midwest. After taking on water since about 3 pm, the SS Edmund Fitzgerald sank in Lake Superior around 7 that evening, in 530 feet of water off the coast of Ontario, Canada, and about 15 miles from the safety of Whitefish Bay. In addition to my moving to Wisconsin, this event has a number of other connections to Wisconsin.

Although operated by a third party, the Edmund Fitzgerald was owned by the Northwestern Mutual Life (NML) Insurance Company, based in Milwaukee, and named after the company’s president at that time.  NML also owned the SS Arthur M. Anderson, known as the Fitzgerald’s sister ship. The Edmund Fitzgerald was launched in 1958 and carried taconite iron ore from Minnesota across Lake Superior, through the Soo Locks and Lakes Huron and Erie to midwestern steel mills. At the time of its construction, it was the largest freighter on the Great Lakes, built slightly smaller than the specs for the Saint Lawrence Seaway. Over its 17 years, she averaged 47 trips per year.

On November 9, 1975, the Edmund Fitzgerald departed from Superior, Wisconsin, bound for Detroit, Michigan, carrying 26,000 tons of taconite. Aware of the approaching low-pressure system, Captain Ernest McSorley charted a course along the Lake’s northern boundary to shield the freighter from strong WNW winds. Shadowing the Edmund Fitzgerald, the Arthur Anderson charted a similar course and maintained radio contact. As the low-pressure system passed, winds shifted to the South, resulting in sustained winds of 60 mph and gusts of more than 80 mph. Within several hours, waves of 5 to 10 feet increased to 25 feet. The ship had been listing for several hours, indicating that she had been taking on water, and the Fitzgerald disappeared from the Anderson’s radar shortly after 7 pm. Captain McSorley never issued a “mayday” and his last message to the Arthur Anderson was “we are holding our own.”

All 29 crew aboard the Edmund Fitzgerald perished that evening, including 8 crew members from Wisconsin. They were Joseph Mazes and John Simmons from Ashland County, Michael Armagost, Allen Kalmon, and Blaine Wilhelm from Bayfield County, Oliver Champeau from Door County, and Frederick Beetcher and Ransom Cundy from Douglas County. Each November 10th, the bell from the Edmund Fitzgerald is rung 30 times at the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum at Whitefish Point, Michigan, memorializing the Fitzgerald’s 29 crew. The additional toll is for all other crew who have perished on the Great Lakes. The bell was retrieved in 1995 and a replica was substituted at the Lake’s bottom, engraved with the names of the 29.

The Arthur M. Anderson was refitted at the Fraser Shipyard in Superior, Wisconsin, between 2016 and 2019. It has returned to service and made a stop in Green Bay on November 7. Currently, she is in Duluth.

The exact cause of the Edmund Fitzgerald’s sinking is not known. Members of the National Weather Service in Marquette, Michigan, have commented that the ship was in the worst place at the worst time with regard to wind and waves and that similar storms occur every couple of years. As the low-pressure system passes through Madison today, forecasters are warning of wind gusts up to 40 mph.

As tribute to the 29 crew lost that day, I take a moment each year on November 10th to listen to Gordon Lightfoot’s classic, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.”