The Lettera 32 Olivetti typewriter on which Cormac McCarthy typed all his novels for more than forty-five years (an estimated 5 million words) has sold at auction for $254,500. Mr McCarthy originally purchased the typewriter in 1963 for $50. He didn’t go electronic though, an old friend replaced it with another Lettera 32 Olivetti. The cost of the ‘new’ typewriter: $20.
The NYTs Story is HERE.
The Soviet Pooh (Винни-Пух) may be drawn more simply, but comes across as more real, more complex, and wiser than his Disney counterpart. As Star Trek’s Pavel Chekov might say, “You can’t truly appreciate Winnie the Pooh until you’ve watched it in the original Russian.” This is truly a masterpiece of Soviet animation, and may change the way you see Vinni.
Adventures of Winnie the Pooh (SoyuzMultfilm - 1972) with English subtitles.
This weekend an old friend who grew up in the same Indiana hometown that I did, wrote a love letter to our town. It’s about growing up there and the splendor of Autumn in Indiana. He shared it on his Facebook page and tagged many of us from there. There are now many wonderful comments from us sharing our own memories or just thanking him. I decided it needed to be shared with a larger audience. Enjoy!
Ode to Autumn - Reflections on the Autumns of my Childhood
By Terry Douglas
Autumn is my very favourite season and October is my very favourite month...and it unfortunately has already run its course for yet another year after blowing by at what seemed like warp speed…as it so often does. As Kurt Vonnegut repeatedly punctuated in 'Slaughterhouse-Five'… “So it goes.”
Anyway, a recent Roger Ebert journal essay about his autumnal remembrances got me a-reflectin’ on some of my own memories of autumns gone by, specifically from childhood.
The little town that I grew up in, Waldron, Indiana, U.S.A., was a great fall town. Located about 30 miles southeast of Indianapolis, it's really more of a hamlet or village than a town, or at least that's how I've always thought of it. The town's heyday has long since passed – gone with the disappearance of the old Interurban railway that connected it to Indianapolis and neighboring towns; gone with the significance of the ‘big railroad’ that ran straight through the middle of town - the New York Central line between Indianapolis and Cincinnati. As far as I know, not too much has changed from the way things were during my childhood and formative years…although the feeling just wouldn’t be the same somehow. The ballpark demographics: Around 800 residents, a post office, a volunteer fire department, an elementary school, a junior-senior high school, a couple of churches, and one of each of the most essential of establishments – a water company, a telephone company, a natural gas company, a small food market, a gas station, a café, a barber shop (maybe still there), a hair salon (or two), a boutique or curiosity shop (or two)…and that’s probably about it. I imagine that the familiar maple trees and old houses still line many of the short streets, especially the town’s two main bisecting streets – Washington and Main Streets.
For me, the Autumn was always when the town of Waldron was at its most beautiful, which in large part could be attributed to those aforementioned trees with their big orange, red, yellow, and brown leaves, which eventually and steadily floated and fluttered down from the limbs until they finally covered the ground and streets with their multi-coloured carpet. This romantic perspective is very much akin to the way the main character (as a grown-up narrator voiced by Woody Allen) describes how he remembers his boyhood neighbourhood at its most beautiful in the movie “Radio Days” – leaf-strewn, rain-swept, autumn-like. This sequence has always hit the spot with me and I completely relate to it.
Of course, Halloween was the pinnacle of the fall season and there couldn’t have been too many better settings for it in my view. This was the time each year when I most enjoyed my hometown…and when I am sometimes prone to missing it even now. It was during this time that one could imagine that the town had come to life out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Here was pure Americana in action and on display. The town’s size and atmosphere were absolutely perfect for hordes of ‘Trick-or-Treaters’, some brought in from surrounding towns by their parents - precise processions of cute and creepy costume-clad adventurers making their way through the decorated maze of the town collecting goodies and cheer. Freshly carved pumpkins were on nearly every porch, haystacks on some. The fresh smell of the air filled lungs and the crispness of the breeze prickled faces. When the night sky was clear, a star-filled canopy covered the scene from horizon to horizon with a bright shining moon illuminating the small town charms. There were even some notoriously ‘real’ haunted (or at the very least, spooky) spots to explore and investigate…if you knew where to look. And if you didn’t…or if you just didn’t have the heart for that kind of Halloween activity, then there were always plenty of horror movies waiting for you on television, hosted by Sammy Terry, a ghoul I grew up with and one of the greatest local television horror film hosts ever in my view.
Additionally vivid childhood memory snapshots from Waldron autumns include: School and church Fall Festivals, eating my mother’s chili (a fall and winter delicacy), walking and riding my bike(s) around town, playing basketball, baseball, &/or (American-style) football with friends, and the smell of burning leaves permeating the air.
I have special adult memories of the autumn as well as I have enjoyed my favourite season in a variety of locales and ways, and I continue to enjoy the autumn wherever I am and however I'm spending it…but of course the feelings of nostalgia from times of complete freedom will always seem magical, perhaps because they are so far removed from the realities and responsibilities of adulthood.
These days fall is the season when I feel the most fresh and at my best, with spring coming in as a close second. If it were up to me it would be autumn for…oh, at least 300 days of the year.”ⓒ 2009 by Terry Douglas
I remember hearing this StoryCorps story when it aired March 28, 2008 on NPRs Morning Edition. Click here to listen to it. Enjoy and be inspired.
A Victim Treats His Mugger Right
“ Julio Diaz has a daily routine. Every night, the 31-year-old social worker ends his hour-long subway commute to the Bronx one stop early, just so he can eat at his favorite diner.
But one night last month, as Diaz stepped off the No. 6 train and onto a nearly empty platform, his evening took an unexpected turn.
He was walking toward the stairs when a teenage boy approached and pulled out a knife.
"He wants my money, so I just gave him my wallet and told him, 'Here you go,'" Diaz says.
As the teen began to walk away, Diaz told him, "Hey, wait a minute. You forgot something. If you're going to be robbing people for the rest of the night, you might as well take my coat to keep you warm."
The would-be robber looked at his would-be victim, "like what's going on here?" Diaz says. "He asked me, 'Why are you doing this?'"
Diaz replied: "If you're willing to risk your freedom for a few dollars, then I guess you must really need the money. I mean, all I wanted to do was get dinner and if you really want to join me ... hey, you're more than welcome.
"You know, I just felt maybe he really needs help," Diaz says.
Diaz says he and the teen went into the diner and sat in a booth.
"The manager comes by, the dishwashers come by, the waiters come by to say hi," Diaz says. "The kid was like, 'You know everybody here. Do you own this place?'"
"No, I just eat here a lot," Diaz says he told the teen. "He says, 'But you're even nice to the dishwasher.'"
Diaz replied, "Well, haven't you been taught you should be nice to everybody?"
"Yea, but I didn't think people actually behaved that way," the teen said.
Diaz asked him what he wanted out of life. "He just had almost a sad face," Diaz says.
The teen couldn't answer Diaz — or he didn't want to.
When the bill arrived, Diaz told the teen, "Look, I guess you're going to have to pay for this bill 'cause you have my money and I can't pay for this. So if you give me my wallet back, I'll gladly treat you."
The teen "didn't even think about it" and returned the wallet, Diaz says. "I gave him $20 ... I figure maybe it'll help him. I don't know."
Diaz says he asked for something in return — the teen's knife — "and he gave it to me."
Afterward, when Diaz told his mother what happened, she said, "You're the type of kid that if someone asked you for the time, you gave them your watch."
"I figure, you know, if you treat people right, you can only hope that they treat you right. It's as simple as it gets in this complicated world." ”
Live television — two words that conjure up excitement, suspense, and a good kind of danger — is today mostly defined by sporting events, breaking news from the campaign trail, or yet 
another chance to watch Big Brother, American Idol or America's Got Talent.
Back in the day, however, television was nearly all live — and frequently great, if this five-minute clip gaining new life on the Web is any indication.
Watch as Sid Caesar (star of Your Show of Shows and Caesar’s Hour) deftly pantomimes a domestic argument with Nanette Fabray — a sort of battling Bickersons meets Beethoven. Caesar’s legacy has often been overshadowed by the later careers of his writing staff (Mel Brooks, Woody Allen, Neil Simon). But as this sketch delightfully demonstrates, Caesar needed very few words — if any — to bring down the house.
“New York Paper Airplane Flight”
Sam Fuller had a straightforward idea: Toss a paper airplane from the 31st floor of a New York City office building just to see what would happen. The outcome, however, was sublime.
Fuller’s two-minute clip never lets the plane get out of our sight: At first it appears on course for the Brooklyn Bridge and the East River. Then it veers left and begins a slow, graceful descent. Somehow the trip manages to be nerve-racking and soothing at the same time.
Some signs and symptoms of inner peace:
© 1984 Saskia Davis
