Travels with Charlie

Katahdin

2011-08-11T07:00:00.000-07:00

Beth and I returned to Baxter State Park last weekend with the goal of climbing Mt. Katahdin. Arriving Saturday afternoon at Daicey Pond we were greeted with an outstanding view of the mountain. Too bad we didn't climb that day!

The occasion was significant for me in that my first climb of Katahdin was in August of 1961. Our family had been to Baxter in 1956 and my father and older brothers spent a day on the mountain, but I was too young at the time. My mother, younger brother Phil and I stayed at the campsite at Katahdin Stream Campground and according to my mother a distinguished gentleman came around with a photographer in tow, and we had our photo taken with him--Governor Baxter in the flesh.

In the years that followed, I bugged my father for the opportunity to climb the mountain myself. He insisted on a number of shorter training hikes each summer before a major climb and this year was no different. We always started with Cathead Mountain in the spring and would climb a variety of lesser peaks in the southern Adirondacks that had fire towers at the top. Hadley, Spruce, Crane, Prospect, Wakley. We climbed most of them. By August, during our summer vacation to Wells Beach, Maine, we were ready for Katahdin.

I don't remember much about the climb and other than talking about the Hunt Trail and asking dad how far we had to go, I'm guessing we talked a lot about the Yankees and the incredible home run competition between Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris. By August 11th, the Yanks were on a 9-game win streak in which Mantle had 44 and Maris 42. Overshadowed was Whitey Ford's 20-2 record, quite amazing in itself. Mantle was my favorite. Maris had come from Kansas City the year before and would always be the outsider who didn't come up through the Yankees farm system. (It was only after his death many years later that I and many others appreciated Maris for his record-breaking 61 homers that year, breaking the Babe's long-standing record-with an asterisk). The Yanks would win 109 games that season and go on to win the World Series over the Cincinnati Reds.

The weather was great and the view to the South Basin and Chimney Pond was awe-inspiring. I'll never forget that.

After our climb, we bought a postcard to send to my mother--the view of the mountain from Katahdin Stream Campground.

The weather for my return hike on Sunday didn't quite match my first experience on the mountain but I was pretty happy to be able to make the return trip after fifty years. It's a tough climb, no matter which trail you take and how old you are.

Maybe the Yankees will make a return to the World Series, too. At least Mark Teixeira (32) and Curtis Granderson (31) are hitting homers at a high rate and CC Sabathia (16-6) is leading the league in wins, although the RedSox seem to be dominant when it counts this year. You never know with the Yankees and RedSox.

DJ 3K

2011-07-09T18:34:00.001-07:00

Back in 2009, when Derek Jeter was going for his club record 2,722nd hit to pass Lou Gehrig as the all-time leader for the Yankees, I came up with a couple dramatic scenarios that seemed to fit in well with the broad brush of his career. It turned out less so--just an opposite field hit over the first base bag. Leading up to today, the anticipation for hit #3,000 has built month by month, week by week, day by day (as well as the pressure, Derek admitted after the fact) with the added suspense of a 15-day injury break. Today's drama couldn't have been better if it was written for a movie script. Five hits in five at-bats, the second of the five a long homerun to right field for #3,000, and the last (#3,003) a game-winning single up the middle. Congatulations, Derek.

For sure, the #1 Yankee fan, up in heaven, is pleased.

Political Courage: Lessons from Latvia

2011-07-07T11:15:00.000-07:00

The sub-text to the headline of Frank Rich's recent article in New York Magazine reflects the political reality for President Obama: "The president's failure to demand a reckoning from the moneyed interests who brought the economy down has cursed his first term, and could prevent a second." Confronting Wall Street over the crash of 2008 and bringing the responsible parties to justice has apparently not been on the President's agenda and many Americans wonder why.

Overseas, an interesting political situation has developed this spring in Latvia, the tiny Baltic country in Eastern Europe which has suffered through the same economic downturn. President Valdis Zatlers' (pictured above with President Obama) first four year term ends today and he was not elected for a second. Instead, he took quite a different route when it came to dealing with his country's oligarchs.

Despite putting his second term in jeopardy, he used the powers of the office of the presidency to dissolve parliament for its failure to waive the immunity of two of its members and a mayor of one of Latvia's largest cities, in an anti-corruption probe. The single-chamber Saeima responded along party lines in electing Zatlers' rival, Andris Berzins, in last month's presidential election. Tomorrow, Berzins will occupy Riga Castle and be Latvia's new President.

Zatlers' political future has been the source of a great deal of speculation, as he has remained silent on his plans until he is out of office. The future for Latvia includes a referendum vote on July 23rd to ratify Zatlers' dissolution and trigger parliamentary elections in September. Most Latvians I spoke with during our recent visit feel the referendum will pass by a large margin. They are less sure of any major change in September, but its evident that they feel at least the parliament will have heard their voice. Zatlers may take a greater role in the coming weeks.

With the current economic situation in America and consistent high unemployment, the controversy over the federal budget and deficit is coming to a head with an impending vote to raise the debt ceiling. Massive funding cuts to safety-net programs such as Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security are threatened, with the continuation of tax cuts and loopholes benefitting the millionaires and billionaires and corporations who park their assets overseas rather than invest in America. These American oligarchs and their puppets in Washington must be confronted and the time is now.

I can't help but think that what is needed from the White House right now was demonstrated in Riga Castle by the President of a small Eastern European country who put his the integrity of his government above his own political needs and risked his second term with an audacious act of political courage. Hopefully, President Obama will take a cue from President Zatlers and act based on the needs of the majority of Americans.

Jāņi and Other Reasons to Celebrate Latvia

2011-07-06T11:42:00.000-07:00

Beth and I recently enjoyed a two week vacation in Latvia, Estonia and Finland last month, featuring some entirely new experiences for both of us including celebration of Jani deina, the Latvian midsummer festival. Learning the traditions of my ancestors was fascinating and fun.

Our trip was highlighted by a number of occasions to spend time with my Latvian relatives, many whom I had never met. While Estonia and Finland were great fun and worthy of return visits, the Latvian stage of our trip was transformational.

This was my 5th trip to Latvia over a six year period (Beth's second) and continued my research of our ancestors, Oscar Wilhelm Maddaus and Augusta Dorothea Rathminder Maddaus, who emigrated from Riga in 1883 and settled in Brooklyn, NY. The research has uncovered some of the extensive portfolio of art produced by Oscar Wilhelm's father, Johann Karl Ludwig Maddaus--11 works are extant that I have been able to document. His paintings and lithographs are held in 4 art museums, three in Latvia and one in Estonia, and serve as alter-pieces in 4 Lutheran churches. While not considered an important 18th-century artist, even by Latvian standards, his work is well-represented.

More complex, and no less extensive, have been the results of the research on Augusta's family. Born to a Latvian father and German mother, Augusta's family name is Rathminder in German, Ratminders in Latvian. Her father, Janis Ratminders, grew up in Zeikari, a hamlet overlooking Alauksts Lake in Vecpiebalga, in the Vidzeme highlands. For some unknown reason, Augusta mis-identified her father as Andzs Ratminders (Janis' brother) and only within the past three years have I been able to discover his true identity. But then, as they say, the fun began, as layer upon layer of Ratminders history and ancestry unfolded. Not only was Janis an interesting figure in his own right--teacher, poet, translator, journalist--his family included some fascinating individuals.

Andzs, his brother, was headmaster for 63 years at the school in Vecpiebalga and taught or hired a number of significant Latvians over the term of his duty.

Lize, his neice, had many suitors, including Andrejs Pumpers, the author of the epic Latvian poem, Lacplesis (The Bearslayer). Eventually, in her 40s, she married Matiss Kaudzites, co-author of the first Latvian language novel, Mernieku Laiki (Time of the Land Surveyors), still a classic. Matiss and his brother Reinis, fashioned characters from those in their community, most notably the heroine, Liene, based on Lize.

Other members of the Ratminders family left another legacy, the resilience to survive the World Wars and foreign occupations in the 20th century which ravaged Latvia until it's 2nd and current period of independence, beginning in 1991. Notably, it is the progeny of Jekabs Ratminders who survive today. The Ratminders name is history--the descendants are Ozola, Avens, Zarina, Snips and Neimane--and over the past year I've been introduced to many of these 4th and 5th cousins through the serendipitious acquaintance with a Latvian school teacher named Mirdza Zommere.

Not only has Mirdza introduced me to her school in Vecpiebalga, but she introduced me to her long-time friend, Anda, a descendant of Jekabs Ratminders and my 4th cousin, and since the first introduction many more. The history of my ancestry and the knowledge of Latvian traditions have enriched my life, but learning of the existence of and getting to know Ratminders relatives has been an unexpected, and treasured experience.

Tragedy in Tuscon

2011-01-09T06:11:00.000-08:00

Saturday’s shooting of 19 innocent people at a strip mall in Tuscon, Arizona is disturbing and troubling, and to quote journalist Luke Russert, is an “ugly stain” on the political landscape of America. The incident, at a community outreach event organized by the office of Representative Gabrielle Gifford’s of Arizona’s 8^th Congressional District, left the Congresswoman critically wounded and 6 people dead, including a member of her staff, long-time Federal Judge John Roll, and 4 others, among them a 9-year old girl.

Most troubling, was the inclusion of Representative Gifford’s name on a list of 20 in the cross-hairs of a prominent conservative political action group during the recent elections. While no evidence connects the PAC and the shooter, the rise of inflammatory political rhetoric in our country over the past few years certainly is a contributing factor.

The time has come when, as Pima County Sheriff Clarence Dupnik stated, that we, as a country, do some “soul searching” and set aside the “vitriolic rhetoric’ that leads unbalanced people to claim the innocent lives of citizens of this nation.

It’s time to end the ad hominem attacks on politicians, whether it’s President Obama and other leaders in Washington, DC or Governor Lepage and his new administration in Augusta. Justification by way of the first amendment does not excuse abhorrent behavior. Civil discourse benefits both the viability of the State of Maine and security of the United States of America.

The time has come, as well, for those vocal advocates of the 2^nd Amendment right to bear arms to take a leadership role in establishing conditions that will limit the future events in which a semi-automatic weapon is in the hands of a mentally unbalanced individual. The memories of Columbine and Virginia Tech, and so many other senseless massacres, are now joined by Tuscon.

Those gun-rights advocates, who know the infinitely more than the rest of our citizens about the power of their weapons, have the inherent responsibility to see that they don’t harm the rest of the population. It’s time for them to act, for the benefit of our country.

The victims of the Tuscon shooting are in our thoughts and prayers.

Apkārt Alaukstam

2010-04-16T17:34:00.000-07:00

First held in 1984, the Apkārt Alaukstam (around Alaukst) is a 15 kilometer ski race circling Alaukst Lake in the central Vidzeme parish of Vecpiebalga. It has grown to one of Latvia's biggest races with nearly 1,200 skiers participating in 2010.

Unfortunately, I was 10 days or so late to ski in the race, but not too late to ski the loop. Prior to my visit to Vecpiebalga, I indicated a desire to ski while I was there and my contact at the school made the arrangements. Maris, the physical education teacher, was enlisted to take me out skiing and we hit the trail within a couple hours of my arrival. He seemed delighted as a matter of fact but, the more I thought about it, I would gladly give up my afternoon duties to go for a ski, too.

We circled the lake from the south end in a counter-clockwise direction with Ilgars, Maris's friend leading the way. They quickly established their superior conditioning (considering the great snow conditions they had all winter and the marginal skiing in Maine, I was happy to concede) and after learning I was 10 years older, they gave me alot of slack. We met year 10 student Matiss about a kilometer out and he stayed with me most of the rest of the loop. I took it as a sign of respect that he escorted me around, but found later that he had done 2 laps the day before!

The terrain undulated gently through most of the first 12k but just past an area I later found was my ancestral home (Zeikari), a formible hill rose up before us. Ilgars, Maris, and Matiss skied, seemingly effortless, up the long climb, while I dragged along to the rear, but they waited at the top to share the sweeping downhill toward the finish.

Later, after a shower and a hot cup of tea with honey, I slept soundly, waking the next day with slight soreness in my legs and shoulders, and well adjusted to the new time zone.

Latvia--August 2009

2009-11-22T16:33:00.000-08:00

Our trip to Latvia last summer is now 3 months into history and so far I've intended, but not followed through with, posting blog entries to document it. I have the picture above set as background on my laptop desktop as a reminder. It was taken from the observation tower of St. Peter's Lutheran Church in Old Riga, looking north toward the mouth of the Daugava River in the Baltic Sea.

The week-long stay was my second to Latvia (my first was in 2005) and Beth's first and once again I was determined to search for more details of my ancestors' lives there in the 19th century. In 2005, the search concentrated on my Great Great Grandfather Johann Karl Ludwig Maddaus, an artist and art teacher in Riga. I was also looking for a connection to Andzs Rathminder of Vecpiebalga, presumed to be my Great Grandmother's father, but nothing could document their relationship.

Fortunately, in spite of Russification, two World Wars, German repatriation, the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact between Stalin and Hitler, Nazi Invasion and near 50 year Soviet occupation, Latvia has been independent. Even more miraculously, a fair amount of historical information is available and my ancestors had profiles that warranted modest recording.

A recent breakthrough was the internet access to Raduraksti which consists of digitized records from many of the churches that were active in Latvia in the 19th century. Thanks to some hunches I followed in my search, I was able to find my Great Grandmother's baptism record and her parents names: Johann and Marie Rathminder. Johann's name in Latvian is Janis Ratminders, and he was the younger brother of Andzs Ratminders. Why my Great Grandmother mis-represented her parentage is unknown, but the clarification has opened up new insights to her up-bringing.

Our visit included viewing 9 of Johann Maddaus's paintings in a variety of locations including The National Art Museum in Riga, an exhibit at Rundale Palace, and churches in Garkalnes and Tirza, and a church in neighboring Paistu Estonia. We were taken to the site of Johann's burial plot at the Great Cemetery (Lielie Kapi) in Riga and to another church in Carnikava that once had an altar painting he painted. Both were obliterated during Soviet times, but were among those restoration projects which have been prevalent in Latvia over the past 18 years.

We visited Bauska, Baltezer's, Garkalnes, Carnikava, Vecpiebalga, Gaizinkalns, and Tirza, and met some of the most wonderful people, many of whom I had contacted by email prior to our arrival. We were treated with tremendous hospitality everywhere we went, and at times felt that it was as deeply moving for our hosts to have a great-great grandson of Johann Maddaus to visit his work as it was for me to see it. In many ways the circle had been closed with our meeting.

The Artist

2009-09-27T17:00:00.000-07:00

A month after returning from a much needed vacation in Latvia (and Sweden), I 'm still processing the new information uncovered regarding my paternal ancestors who lived in Latvia in the 19th century. The search began at my older brother John's initiative in the early 1990's, in interviewing our father Ingo and documenting as much family history as possible in preparation for a Maddaus family reunion in 1995.

I'd always been interested in the connection with Latvia, since the word Riga rolled off Aunt Frieda's tongue during a family vacation she shared with us in Wells Beach, Maine in the early 60s. Technically a great aunt, she was born there in 1881, as were 5 of her 6 siblings. Riga was part of the Russian Empire at the time and the family patriarch, Johann Karl Ludwig Maddaus, had been one of a number of Germans who settled there. Born in Hamburg, he was an art teacher and artist, specializing in portraits and religious art.

Brother John discovered, with the help of University Southern Maine Professor Juris Ubans, that 2 of Johann Maddaus's paintings were in the collection of the Latvian National Museum of Art, including a self-portrait. The latter is the only image we have of our great great grandfather, but to date it's one of 9 paintings I've had the opportunity to see in Latvia and Estonia during my travels there in 2005 and 2009.

The breakup of the Soviet Union and end of its occupation of Latvia, as well as the advent of the internet, has led to the web publication of a tremendous store of Latvian history in the past 15 years. I've been able to identify members of Johann's family in addition to our Great Grandfather Oscar Wilhelm Maddaus (who emigrated to the US in the latter part of the 19th century) and locate the family burial site in Lielie Kapi (The Great Cemetery) in Riga.

Another revelation was the identity of Oscar's in-laws, the family of Augusta Dorothea Rathminder, the details of whom had been lost sometime after their move to the USA.

There's quite a bit of research to digest, but I'm hoping to record more of it here and in a family history at some future date.

Yankee Heaven

2009-09-05T06:07:00.000-07:00

With the recent surge by the New York Yankees, propelling them comfortably into first place, I have to take back everything I said about them last May and half of what I said about their manager. While nothing is secure in these post-2004 AL Championship Series years, at least the current team is performing relatively consistently (even to the point of losing to Roy Halladay most of the time) going 47-17 in their last 64 games.

Looking down on the current team, I'm sure, is one of their greatest fans, my Dad, who must be pleased with the progress and cautious about making any predictions for the playoffs. The fact that the Yanks completed a 4-game sweep of the Red Sox on August 9, 2009, the 100th anniversary of his birth, was a special occasion for him, no doubt.

Dad especially liked the players who had paid their dues in the Yankees farm system; veterans like Jorge Posada, Andy Pettitte, Mariano Rivera, younger guys like Robinson Cano and Melky Cabrera, and rookies such as Ramiro Pena and Fransisco Cervelli, are always perferred over Alex Rodriguez, C. C. Sabathia and A. J. Burnett, whose talents are appreciated, and Carl Pavano and Rick Rhoden, whose failures were lamented.

Also looking down on the current team with great interest is "The Iron Horse," Henry Louis "Lou" Gehrig. The all-time Yankees hits leader with 2,721 will be eclipsed in the the record books by their outstanding shortstop, Derek Jeter, in the next week or so. Jeter stands at 2,713 and with a .330 batting average, needs only 5 or 6 games at his current pace to surpass Gehrig's mark. I'm sure Lou will be pleased with his successor, a man of quiet dignity like himself, who plays hard day-in, day-out (most games played in the majors since 1996, his rookie year) and puts singles, walks and advancing the runner above homeruns and personal statistics.

Jeter was always one of Dad's favorite from the time he played for the Double-A Albany-Colonie Yankees in the early 90s. One game, Jacob, Dad and I saw in 1994, Jeter batted right after Andy Fox, and before Tate Seefried, and went 2 for 4 with an error in the field. His presence was the more remarkable aspect of that game. You just knew the sportswriters were correct in predicting that Jeter would be the next starting shortstop for the big club. He stayed with the A-C Yankees for 34 games, batted .377 and moved on to Triple A.

There's no doubt Jeter will reach the record but its interesting to note that he also needs 3 homeruns to reach the 20 plateau for the season, not a great accomplishment in itself, but what will establish a new team record--20 or more homeruns in a season by 8 players on a team. Knowing Jeter's team approach and flair for the dramatic, I wouldn't be the least surprised if his 2,722nd hit was his 20th homerun of the season, any more than if it was a hustling infield hit to deep shortstop with Derek just beating the throw to first (and a tying run scoring with 2 outs in the 8th inning).

Jacob and I will be watching whatever the hit might be and I'm sure Dad and Lou will be, too. Maybe they'll get together to talk about the Yankees of yesteryear and trade Yogiisms.

"I always thought that record would stand until it was broken." Yogi Berra

Walter Cronkite

2009-07-19T17:32:00.000-07:00

Walter Cronkite

1916-2009

R.I.P

Wow!!

2009-07-19T17:08:00.001-07:00

Maybe you have to be in your 50s to appreciate it, but what 59-year-old Tom Watson accomplished this week was extraordinary. Playing in the British Open at Turnburry in Scotland, Watson not only stayed among the leaders throughout the tournament, competing with athletes 20-40 years younger than him, he walked onto the 18th green on the 72nd and last hole of the tournament with a one-stroke lead and a chance to win.

That he missed the shot for the victory and subsequently lost a playoff for the championship to American Stewart Cink does little to diminish his achievement. Sure, it would have been great for him to win his 6th Open and be the oldest, by far, to win a major tournament. But the fact that he stood there on the 18th with a chance to win, at age 59, is just incredible.

I'm not a golfer, but I've enjoyed watching a tournament or two over the years and players like Arnold Palmer, Tom Watson and Phil Mickelson always impressed me with their demeamor and skill. It's a pleasure to see Tom back in the hunt for another major title.

Well done, Tom!

Dresden Germany

2009-06-07T07:24:00.000-07:00

President Obama's visit to Germany on Friday linked two sites: the city of Dresden and the site of the Nazi concentration camp at Buchenwald outside Weimar.

Although they're over 200 kilometers apart, they share a common history. The atrocities perpetrated by the Nazis against the Jews during the Holocaust and the horrific firebombing of Dresden by US and British bombers display the indifference to humanity that underscores World War II, and, of course, all wars. Obama's choice of these two sites was an intentional act of reconciliation and remembrance, that neither may ever be repeated.

Dresden was the focal point of Kurt Vonnegut's 1969 novel Slaughterhouse-Five, or The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance With Death, reflecting his experience there during the War and serving as a kind of therapy for surviving the firebombing and the resigned acceptance, promoted by those who carried it out, of the thousands of innocent lives that were lost. Historians may argue the relative strategic importance of the city late in the war, but the justification of the act wears thin.

As a part-time musician living in North Conway NH, I often frequented the Otto Ninow Music Store in the center of town, mostly to buy guitar strings and later for beginning instruments for my sons. Otto had a bulletin board that displayed articles and business cards for local musicians and always gave us a discount. Usually there was no one else in the shop and he was quite the conversationalist, often making comments about the ebb and flow of the local business and the decisions of the town fathers.

One day Otto asked about my last name, was it German? He knew of course, and that led to an on-going conversation about the old country with new installments each time I entered the shop. I made sure to allow for at least 20 minutes for each visit.

Otto was from Dresden and was a mischling, a half-Jew, his father was protestant and his mother Jewish. His father was a band leader and Otto followed in his father's footsteps, and it saved his life. During the war he assumed a protestant identity and survived the war in-part by leading the Charlie Wonin (Ninow backwards) Band, many times entertaining the Nazis.

Otto described himself as an optimist and after the war opened a music shop in Riverhead, LI, New York, which is still operating I believe, and later his retirement store in North Conway. The latter had somewhat limited hours, especially during the ski season when he worked on the Ski Patrol at Black Mountain in Jackson. (Evening hours only) He kept up both commitments well into his eighties.

Otto Ninow: My Life, his autobiography (edited by Cronin Minton) provides some tragic insight into the Dresden firebombing. His mother, blind and 65, survived the bombing but later, after having the false assumption that her son was dead, took her own life. She and all 21 of Otto's Jewish relatives died in the war. Based on an unmailed letter she wrote to Otto after the bombing and a study of refugee movement to the city in advance of the Soviet movement from the east, Otto estimated the number of lives lost as not 35,000, but closer to 335,000. Though thankful to the Allies for his freedom from Nazi tyranny, he concludes that War is "LEGAL ORGANIZED MURDER."

Otto had an enduring motto: "Live every day on earth, and be happy with it, as though it were your last."

I haven't been to Dresden yet, but have it on my list of cities to visit.

Northeastern University Graduation

2009-05-17T17:21:00.001-07:00

Friday, May 1, 2009

TD Banknorth Garden

Boston, MA

Jacob M. Maddaus

Bachelor of Science

Political Science

New Yankee Stadium

2009-05-06T12:52:00.000-07:00

In the past few months, with all the talk of bailouts and stimulus packages, the use of the word billion has dramatically increased. (That reminds me of the birthday card my son Caleb sent me a few years back: Dick Cheney to W: "Did you hear we're getting over 100 Brazillian troops to help us?" W: Wow... that's fantastic! How much is a brazillion?") It seems only fitting that the Yankees would open a new stadium that cost that much ($1.5 billion that is, not brazillion).

Jacob and I planned a trip for the first series in the new stadium, a Saturday afternoon game with the Cleveland Indians. We got there at least an hour before game time thinking we'd have time to look around, see monument park and buy a cheese-steak sub before the game started. Everyone else must have had the same idea. We didn't see the monuments, although they're the same ones as in the old stadium anyway, and barely did a circuit around the stadium before heading to our seats with subs in hand, 2 outs into the top of the first.

One of the Yanks' new acquisitions, (costing almost as much as the stadium) Mark Teixiera, hit a homerun in the bottom of the first with Johnny Damon on base, and the good guys had an early 2-run lead. We should have left then while we were ahead, because it went downhill fast from there.

The Indians proceeded to pummel Chin-Ming Wang and a recent minor-league call-up who replaced him, for a major league record 14 runs in the top of the 2nd inning. Unbelieveable! Cleveland probably is wishing they could play all their games there. They used to say that the clubhouse in the old stadium smelled funny. The new stadium is spacious and luxurious and its the team that stinks.

We hung in until the fifth when, at 2-19, it was not even funny anymore. The final score was 4-22. It was probably payback for the last time I saw the Indians and Yankees play, when the Yanks scored 6 in the bottom of the ninth, capped by a walk-off homer by Alex Rodriguez, to win 8-6.

Jacob and I took a detour to Columbia University on the way back to the hotel and visited the Mathematics Department where my father earned his bachelor's and master's degrees back in the early 1930s. It's a pretty campus although high on a hill--we imagined that all 8 million New Yorkers will be up there when global warming puts the rest of the city underwater.

Bald Mountain Oquossoc Maine

2009-04-12T17:38:00.000-07:00

St. Patrick's Day

2009-03-18T14:45:00.000-07:00

Watching the news of all the St. Patrick's Day parades and celebrations brought back memories of our Thanksgiving trip to Ireland, so I finally put together a movie consisting of some of our favorite pictures set to Kevin Dolan's brilliant "Oh, To Be in Ireland."

Whether or not I can trace my ancestry back to the McBrides of Donegal or the Willises or another small slice of Irish blood, I feel I have a bit in spirit, in any case.

Caribou Bog Maine

2009-03-02T16:05:00.000-08:00

Not to be one to coach a sport and not compete myself, I finally entered my first ski race of the year and was reminded of the importance of adequate training. The event was the The 24th Great Caribou Bog Wicked Winter Ski Tour & Race, also known as the Caribou Bog Ski Race, which winds from the Bangor City Forest through Veazie and Orono and finishes in Old Town.

The race is a throw-back to the classical style ski race, in tracks, on a narrow course through the woods. We even had a tight, dual-track start which was self-seeded, and quickly reverted to one track within the first kilometer. The scramble has its own strategies and calamities for some, as skis and poles (and some elbows) are flying in every possible direction.

I survived the inital scramble intact and settled into a moderate pace, the ultimate goal to maintain to the finish. Having skied no more than 12k in any single workout, my dubious pace held well until I encountered Beth at just past the 8k mark. In fact, it was almost as fast as the one 8k race I skied last year. That, of course, is a big OOPS!!!

After shedding my hat and saying a quick hi, while Beth clicked away, I rounded the next turn and promptly mugged a little old lady tourer who was too slow to respond to my "Track!! Track!!" I regret that in these circumstances, the race must go on, but if the victim, by some strange coincidence, reads this blog---I am truly sorry, both for the mugging and not stopping to see if all your bones were all unbroken.

Having skied the first half to expectation, I slowed on the climbs up Newman and Bangor Hills losing 5 or 6 places running out of gas in the process. One short dip in-between featured a sharp right turn at the bottom and, with little muscle control left, I wavered and landed hard on my tail bone.

Fortunately, the last 4ks were mostly downhill and by the end I had regained my form to finish in a flourish. The time for 16k (10 miles) was 1:12:59, not too bad for an old guy. Next year, I'll train for the full distance, and who knows how fast I can be.

For all you old-time classic cross country skiers out there, I highly recommend the Caribou Bog Race--a great course, beautiful scenery and a fun time.

The Blizzard of '09

2009-02-23T13:19:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure how this ranks all-time for Western Maine blizzards but we woke up this morning with a 20-inch surprise, certainly good 'nough for a snow-day and definitely a test for the snow-blower Beth's Dad donated to our household last winter. Considering there was but a trace of snow at 10:30 PM last night when I turned off the Academy Awards show (Heath Ledger won for best supporting actor, as predicted, and apparently the rest went true-to-form), the rate of snowfall must have been in the 2 to 3 inch per hour range for a good part of the night. Power was out for a while here in Dixfield and longer in surrounding areas.

We all had our duties. Archie and Brent cleaned off the cars and did some shoveling, while I ran the snowblower. Beth took the official measurement and recorded it digitally (twice) for future generations to marvel at.

This was definitely one for the record books, if only that it was the first to make this blog.

Still on the top of my list is the Blizzard of 1969, though. I arrived in Lewiston just in time for that, one with the intention of visiting and interviewing at Bates College for a couple days and doing the same down the road at Bowdoin College in Brunswick. The Blizzard had other ideas, however, and my stay at Bates lasted 4 nights. I remember walking over to the Cage one afternoon for a track workout and seeing a maintenance worker just starting to shovel the walk. He was just finishing as we left and already 2-3 inches had fallen at his start point.

As an avid skier, the storm sold me on coming to Maine and an acceptance from Bates sealed the deal. I've yet to see another storm quite like that though.

In Memorium

2009-02-14T08:17:00.001-08:00

Kathryn E Maddaus

2/14/79 -- 9/06/80

You're the color of the sky

Reflected in each store-front window pane

You're the whispering and the sighing

Of my tires in the rain

You're the hidden cost and the thing that's lost

In everything I do

Yeah and I'll never stop looking for you

In the sunlight and the shadows

And the faces on the avenue

(JB)

Inauguration of a President: The Day After

2009-01-21T16:31:00.000-08:00

Since early 2007 when Jacob urged me to get on the "Obama Train," I've read Obama's novels and most of his major speeches, supported the candidacy as much as I could, and followed all the primary and general election polls via RealClearPolitics and many other sources, right up until the night of the election and the ultimate victory. Still, I waited until this morning to believe the other guy was back in Texas and President Obama had secured his place in history.

This morning my first words to Beth were "Is Obama still president?" My lingering disbelief is partly a reflection of the overwhelming feeling that the "W" administration would never end, especially in light of his 'disastrous presidency,' and the convincing precept of my friend Dave Lentz's novel, AmericA, Inc., in which President Bash, nearly at the end of his legal term, incorporates the US government, circumventing the limit of his power, and thereby preserving his hold on America. I read an early draft before the novel was published, but have avoided it since, for fear reading it might make it true. I believe only now, that I'll be able to read it solely as a work of fiction.

Yesterday's Inauguration itself comes at the intersection of so many historical vectors, and although certainly President Obama's full impact on America will be shaped by the coming weeks and years, I share the feeling of hope and promise reflected by the campaign that brought him to The White House. Noting all he accomplished today (and wondering how much more he'd have accomplished with a full night's sleep instead of attending all those Balls), the slogan has become a reality and I feel a part of it.

Yes, we can!

Dirigo Nordic Ski Team

2009-01-12T14:50:00.001-08:00

We're three weeks into the competitive high school skiing season and so far the results have been good and the team is having a lot of fun.

When I arrived in Dixfield to teach at Dirigo High School in 2001, there was no ski program and one of my first initiatives was to ask the principal and superintendent for the permission to start one. Maine, and especially Western Maine, is fertile ground for skiing and most schools in the surrounding districts have both alpine and nordic race programs at the High School and Middle School levels. We've managed to maintain the high school nordic team for eight years and had a small contingent of alpine skiers for a few years as well, although they've mostly moved along.

Usually the athletes join the team with no nordic skiing experience (try that with your basketball or football program) but are flexible and motivated enough to accept the challenge of learning to ski and race at the same time. Without a middle school feeder program, the current trend will continue, although there are two Dirigo Middle Schoolers racing on their own this year, so we look forward to having them join the team over the next couple years.

The key thing about Dirigo Skiing is getting out in the winter to learn a lifelong sport and have some fun in the snow. Our current group certainly has fun. That's not to say we ignore the competitive side of the sport and we've had some individual success. Ethan Ray cracked the top 10 in the Class C State Meet in 2003 with a 9th place finish in the classical race. (Coach missed the wax for freestyle race which likely cost him a top 10 finish in that event, too.)

Last season, Sophomore Kirstin Blood finished 5th in classical and 6th in freestyle in our conference meet--the best ever for a Dirigo skier. We're hoping she'll move up a bit this year--you never know!

So the next few Saturdays I'll be out in the snow somewhere in Western Maine, cheering on the team as they glide to the finish of another Nordic ski race.

Galway Ireland

2008-12-10T17:51:00.002-08:00

Our visit to Galway was timed as a lunch stop on the way to Limerick (actually we hoped to see the Cliffs of Moher as well, but the day was too short).

We walked through the pedestrian-only shopping district, along William Street

taking in some beautiful music along the way

to Finnegan's on Market Street.

Finnegan's, according to Lonely Planet: "Authentic, utterly unpretentious Irish cooking

and an equally authentic clientele (Beth had the 'homemade shepherd's pie')

make this a wonderful spot for comfort food."

I fulfilled a childhood goal growing up in Galway, NY--visiting Galway, Ireland.

Mullaghmore Head Ireland

2008-12-10T17:51:00.001-08:00

After Thanksgiving Dinner at the beautiful Slieve Russell Hotel in County Cavan Ireland, we traveled north and west to our first view of the west coast of Ireland at Mullaghmore Head in County Sligo. Passing Classiebawn Castle, one-time home of the ill-fated Lord Mountbatten, we continued to where sea, sky and clouds formed a brilliant scene.

Dramatic scenery appeared in every direction.

Donegal Bay to the north.

Atlantic Ocean looking west.

The sheep enjoy the view every day.

Jacob took a break and gazed across the Bay to Donegal.

Thanksgiving in Belfast NIE

2008-12-10T17:50:00.000-08:00

In the early nineties, my band-mate Mike Ladd introduced us to a haunting Nanci Griffith tune called "It's a Hard Life Wherever You Go," and it became a regular on our playlist. His rendition was at once awesome and chilling. The song's central image is that of an American tourist riding in the back seat of a cab through the divided West Belfast district at a time when "The Troubles" were in full force.

This year, with a resort hotel in Cavan our Thanksgiving dinner destination and all day to get there, I calculated that the route from Dublin to Belfast was just over 100 miles by expressway, giving us plenty of time for a lunch stop and a quick tour of the city. We strolled through the downtown area, flush with a Christmas Market at City Hall and booths selling gifts and food, and I stumbled on a BBC One reporter doing man-in-the-street interviews. My question was pretty easy: "Which do you prefer, a real Christmas tree or an artificial one?"

The city is vibrant and our visit pleasant but I wanted to see the Murals of West Belfast most of all. We hired a black taxi and were on our way. Our driver gave us a thorough tour of the Shankill and Falls Road areas and while he had a definite bias, it was apparent that both sides contributed to the long-term
conflict. The murals were numerous and impressive, an art genre unto themselves, and we stopped at a number of memorial sites as well. The 'peace wall,' meant to protect a Catholic neighborhood from drive-by shootings, and gated side streets, stand as additional reminders that the troubles are recent history.

We came away troubled ourselves, that such killing could take place so widely, and for so long, between people not unlike ourselves. Our driver did say that the last two years have been quiet, hopefully a sign that the Good Friday Agreement of 1998 is having some lasting effect.

It seemed appropriate to match Nanci Griffith's song with our photos in the video that follows, although hopefully we can say that it's not 1990 any longer in either Belfast or Chicago.

I know we still have a way to go, but at least we can be thankful this Thanksgiving for some measure of peace.

Lough Gur Ireland

2008-12-10T17:27:00.000-08:00

Lough Gur is located 21 kilometers southeast of Limerick City where "deep in the rolling hills of County Limerick, an enchanting and rich archeological landscape is simply waiting to be explored." We had arranged to visit Beth's friend Anna's Mater who lives nearby and decided to take in the landscape as well.

A hard frost greeted us as we awoke for a tour of the local sites and after breakfast we began a counter-clockwise circuit of the Lough with a stop at The Great Stone Circle, which dates to 2000 BC.

The circle is the largest of its kind in Ireland, measuring 150 feet in diameter and consisting of 113 upright stones. It is believed that on the 21st of June each year, the Summer Solstice, the morning sun shines through the entrances and illuminates a pattern, suggesting astrological use of the enclosure.
After talking to the cows on the adjacent farm

we met their owner, Timothy Casey, who also maintains the site for visitors and provides his own unique explanation of the circle, sells postcards for the site and accepts donations for maintenance.

Next stop was the New Church, built in the 15th century by the Earls of Desmond as a Chapel of Ease, in ruins by the middle of the 17th century, rebuilt and now in ruins again, with only a shell currently extant.

The scene overlooking the Lough with its surrounding gravestones had a mystical quality under the still heavy frost.

Driving past Wedge Tomb a burial site dating to 2500 BC, we parked at the east end of the Lough in the Visitors Center, closed at this time of year. From the parking lot we climbed above The Spectacles, a replica of a farmstead from 900 AD, to a viewpoint overlooking the Lough.

I can't recall many more beautiful vistas, although I seem to say that about alot of the spots we visited in Ireland.

Here's a compilation of our photos set to Bill Cooley's "Isle of Inishmore."

Leinster House, Dublin Ireland

2008-12-08T17:54:00.000-08:00

Jacob's home away from home this fall has been in Dublin where he's studying Irish history, literature and politics in a program called the Institute of Public Administration. A fourth component of the program involves interning in the Dail Eireann, the Irish Parliament.

The Dail meets in the Leinster House on Kildare, not far from Trinity College and St. Stephen's Green in downtown Dublin.

He works for Timmy Dooley, a TD from County Clare in the west of Ireland. Timmy is a member of the ruling Fianna Fail (Republican) Party and serves as Vice-Chair on the European Affairs Committee and it's the latter that is of special interest. Ireland is the only EU member to have not ratified the Lisbon Treaty and Timmy's committee involvement has given Jacob a window on Ireland's struggle to position the country within the EU, maintaining their historic independence and taking economic advantage of their membership. Timmy has been an awesome mentor while keeping an extremely busy schedule during the Dail's Tuesday-Wednesday-Thursday weekly schedule.

Judging from Jacob's comments, Timmy has also kept him pretty busy as well, and hopefully it has been a mutually beneficial arrangement.

During our visit, Timmy treated us to dinner at the members-only dining room at the Dail. He arrived well after we were seated due to a meeting commitment, but we had plenty of time to observe his outgoing and gregarious personality and enjoy an outstanding dinner. After dessert we were treated to a gallery-view of a budget vote in the Dail, finishing just after 10PM. Fianna Fail prevailed, though the difficulties in the global economy have certainly complicated the process in Ireland.

Dinner with Timmy Dooley, TD representing County Clare in the Dail Eireann.

Bank of Ireland

2008-12-08T14:52:00.001-08:00

In 1984, I joined the staff of First NH White Mountain National Bank and four years later became an employee of the Bank of Ireland as a result of their purchase of First NH Banks. Executives from the Bank of Ireland visited their first US acquisition regularly and we met Mark Hely-Hutchinson, Chief Executive and former Guiness executive and Frank O'Rourke, Deputy Chief Executive when they visited our office in North Conway, NH. One of my more embarassing moments occurred after coordinating an all-day realtor appreciation day at Attitash Ski Area and attending a management team welcome dinner in the evening for Frank O'Rourke. Exhausted after a day of making arrangements and skiing, I started dozing off seated next to Mr. O'Rourke after dinner. Taking notice of my lapse in judgment, our affiliate president, Mike Kirk, came around to my side away from our guest and assured me in no uncertain terms that I did not want to be falling asleep at that point in my banking career.Visiting Dublin 20 years later gave me the opportunity to visit the 'Main Office' for the first time. Beth and I entered from Westmoreland/College Street and followed the maze of corridors to the main entry. The building was originally built to house the Irish Parliament, opening in the 1730s, and became a Bank of Ireland property after 1800. We were granted entry into the House of Lords chambers, which have been preserved in more or less their original state. I introduced myself to a current employee and inquired as to the Bank's business standing, getting little positive feedback. Considering the price of it's stock has fallen roughly 95% since early 2007 and they're suffering from many of the same lending tactics that have crippled American banks, the response was not surprising. They seemed to be waiting for the ax to fall at any moment.

Ireland in recent years has been known as the Celtic Tiger for the dramatic upswing in its economy but the past year and a half has dulled the shine on the progress there. Still, I remember hearing of 18% unemployment on the Emerald Isle in 1988, and with many infrastructure improvements evident throughout our visit, present-day Ireland seems well ahead of 20 years ago in spite of the recent downturn.

The Bank of Ireland, 2 College Green, Dublin.

Dublin Ireland

2008-12-03T17:32:00.000-08:00

Arriving in Dublin last Wednesday morning after the overnight flight from the US, Beth and I had most of the day to wander the streets before meeting Jacob and Nicole, who had spent the previous few days in Berlin visiting the site of her semester abroad in 2007. We headed for the tourist information center--not a very adventurous move but providing a scenic walk from our hotel on Kildare Street.

We proceeded to City Hall and through Temple Bar and came to the River Liffey. I'd say we were in awe of our surroundings or just plain tired--I'm not sure which--but the scenery was fascinating to these first-time visitors.

My next stop was a visit at the old parliament building, now an office of the Bank of Ireland, my former employer via their purchase of First NH Banks in 1988. I'll talk about my visit at BOI in a later post.

Across the street is Trinity College, pictured below, and we strolled through taking pictures at strategic locations and noting the whereabouts of The Book of Kells for Beth and Nicole's visit later in the afternoon. (Jacob and I had another mission, picking up some luggage at his host family's house in Dun Laoghaire, south of the city) It turns out they are very compatible in terms of museum visits. Trinity was estblished in 1592 by Queen Elizabeth I of England on an expansive property outside the city but now is surrounded by the city

Unsuccesful in an attempt at early check-in at our hotel, we strolled down Kildare Street to the current Parliament Building, Leinster House, where we would have dinner later, to the National Museum of Ireland, dedicated to Archaeology & History of Ireland, and including Bronze Age and Iron Age gold artefacts and "the world's most complete collection of medieval Celtic metalwork," according to Lonely Planet.

Though tired from the long trip, we were sustained by the fascinating collection and did not hurry to leave. I have no argument with LP's assessment.

To be continued...

Thanksgiving in Ireland

2008-12-01T17:36:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving vacation in Ireland from Mullaghmore Head, Co. Sligo---one of many fascinating and beautiful places we visited.

Ireland-bound

2008-11-22T16:44:00.000-08:00

Growing up just short of the Adirondack foothills in the rural Upstate New York town of Galway, meant spending alot of time in the dairy farming land that surrounded our village home. I enjoyed haying with neighbors, eating wild red raspberries and sledding in the winter. Still I was always alert to the mention of faraway places. One, naturally, was Galway, Ireland.

Galway NY was settled in 1792 by Scottish farmers as New Galloway, and the story goes that, when the town was incorporated in 1838, an Irish clerk in the Saratoga County Registry mis-spelled the name of the new town, and it stood.

Attending Joseph Henry Elementary Elementary School (named for the first secretary of the Smithsonian Institution) in the early 1960s, I did a social studies report in Mr. Rowland's 6th grade class that combined information about Galway NY and Galway Ireland. Other than the name, the two towns had little in common but that didn't deter me. Mr. Rowland overlooked the lack of commonality and rewarded my hard work with a good grade.

Later in life I had my next brush with Ireland when my employer, First NH Banks, was the first banking company outside of Ireland to be purchased by the Bank of Ireland. The year was 1988 and they bought at the top of the market. Soon streams of BOI executives toured all over New Hampshire, even our office in North Conway, to visit their new investment. They included Chief Executive Mark Hely-Hutchinson, a Brit who previously chaired Guiness, and Deputy Chief Executive Frank O'Rourke, an Irishman, but born in Chicago. BOI was optimistic that with 18% unemployment at home, their path to growth was overseas. By the time I left the company in 1991, due to the inevitable consolidation of bank-wide departments, the Irish were regretting their purchase. It took many years for them to recoup their intial losses and sell their share of Citizen's Bank at a profit.

Now the "Celtic Tiger" is at a slight downturn mirroring the world economy, but coming off an extended period of growth that coincided with its menbership in the European Union and lowered the unemployment rate to 3.5%.

Fast-forward to September 2008: youngest son Jacob, a senior majoring in Political Science at Northeastern University, leaves for a semester-long program with the Institute of Public Administration in Dublin. Jacob is taking courses in Irish Literature and History and interning in the Dail (Irish Parliament) with Timmy Dooley, a member of the ruling Fianna Fail Party from County Clare.

Beth and I are headed to Ireland for the Thanksgiving Holiday to see Jacob and a 4-day motor-tour of the country, including Dublin, Belfast, Cavan, Galway, Limerick and as many more sights as we can see. Beth wants to see the Cliffs of Moher and my old First NH White Mountain Bank boss, Mike Kirk, recommended driving the Ring of Kerry, so we'll have to move fast to see all we want to see in 5 days.

To be continued.....

My Vote

2008-11-05T18:29:00.000-08:00

My father gave me two insights, among many, into the status of African-Americans in our country in the early 1960s. The first was on a trip to New York City to see relatives in Brooklyn and a ball game in Yankee Stadium. Wherever we went in the city, he cautioned me to stay away from various people of color and I developed a fearful respect of their existence. He never said it, but as I grew older, I sensed that he wasn't practicing racial discrimination, just the recognition that life in the city was difficult and people were just as likely to victimize you for the sake of their own survival (right or wrong) as they were to say or do something nice to you.

One Thanksgiving, Dad, who taught Mathematics at Union College in Schenectady, NY, brought home one of his students for dinner. His name was Bob Holland and he was a star basketball player. I don't remember if the trip to his home outside Detroit, Michigan was too long or if he couldn't afford it, but Dad decided that Bob shouldn't spend the holiday alone and invited him to join us. He was an immediate hit to this family of 4 boys aged 7-17. We all took our turns trying to defeat him at ping pong and when our efforts proved futile, he gave us a second chance by switching to his left hand. Still, his athleticism and skill lifted him to victory.

Bob became a family favorite and in the winters that followed, I begged to attend Union home basketball games to watch Bob and his teammates, who more often than not came away victorious. This congenial, athletic, intelligent, and charismatic man became my new standard for not only people of color, but remarkable individuals of any race. I knew then, at the age of 10 or 11, that race was no limitation in defining a person's potential or character.

Through the civil rights movement of the 60s, the death of Martin Luther King, my college years at a small New England liberal arts school with a limited minority population, I marveled at the dignity of African Americans in the face of such horrible treatment in white America. And I questioned how a country built on the values of equality and opportunity could continue to allow race to be such a divisive factor.

Over the last 40 years, events have suggested improvement in the situation, some with personal connections. I was pleased to see the Sports Editor of my college newspaper from my freshman year, Bryant Gumbel, rise to elevated network TV status. I celebrated in the early 90s reading that a African American college classmate, John Jenkins, had been elected Mayor of the City of Lewiston, Maine--at the time a mostly white town. (John is currently Mayor across the river in Auburn.)

And not long after our whole family was pleased to hear in the news that Bob Holland had been the first person not named Ben or Jerry to be President and CEO of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream. The irony of his rising to this position, I later learned, was the fact that he (and all others of color) had been barred from Sullivan's Ice Cream Shop, growing up in his hometown of Albion, Michigan.

In my recent visits to New York City, especially Manhattan, I noted the change since the 1960s in terms of the racial landscape. I've walked the streets of Harlem, where my father never would have gone, and witnessed the tremendous diversity downtown, where conceivably every ethnic group in the world is somehow represented; all of them participating in some fashion in the synergy of this financial capital of America.

While New York and other major American cities reflect ethnic diversity as a function of economics, one other place struck me in recent years in the same way: the Santa Monica Pier. A visit with a former Bates College roommate and ski teammate Norton Virgien in California included a walk out on the pier among Asians, Latinos, African Americans and others, all enjoying the beautiful day, the ocean, the pier vendors and performers. They weren't there by necessity and yet all co-existed and reveled in the day.

This week when I cast my vote for President of the United States, I thought of Bob Holland and John Jenkins, New York City and the Santa Monica Pier; and voted for a man who, for the first time in my opinion, will be a President for all Americans, not just those of a certain race or ideology. I don't think that America has a greater need than the leadership of someone who has compassion for all of its citizens and the ability to project it globally.

I'm truly proud to have cast my vote for Barack Obama.

Cannon Mountain NH

2008-10-14T19:27:00.000-07:00

The first time I summited Cannon was in June of 1995 on my first Icebreaker Hike with Wilderness staff from Camp Calumet. The day was perfect and the view beckoned us across the valley for a 2nd day on the Lafayette Range, in lieu of our original plan to hike the Kinsmans.

We were lead by D-Guy (Don) Johnson, the executive director of the camp, who loved the outdoor experience, but was so busy in his guidance of the camp that he seldom had the opportunity to enjoy it himself. He made sure that the Icebreaker was that opportunity each year. D-Guy also loved the food and the bunks at the AMC Huts, so we lived in relative comfort in spite of the rigor of the hike. Joining Don and I were a diverse group of counselors: David Hall from New Zealand, Lara Coleman of South Africa and Skip Slocum from Michigan.

We arrived at the Lonesome Lake Hut in the middle of the afternoon and quickly decided the 1.7 mile hike to Cannon and back would be short enough for us to get back for dinner. Hiking the Lonesome Lake Trail to its junction with the Kinsman Ridge Trail in the col between Cannon and the Cannonballs went easily but the scramble up Cannon was another story. By the time we reached the Rim Trail and the view east our legs were screaming for oxygen. The distress dissolved once we took in the broad vista facing us. It's no wonder the Old Man choose that face of the mountain to reside.

The next day was re-routed down through the Notch, up Falling Waters Trail, over Lincoln and Lafayette and down to Greenleaf Hut for our second night's stay.

In addition to some awesome weather and great hiking, we enjoyed D-Guy's late night reading of "the Cremation of Sam MacGee" and endured the overnight snoring of a certain member of group. (Dave moved to a vacant bunkroom and thus was above suspicion.) Sharing our wilderness and devotional stories established a camaraderie that continued unabated through the summer, ending only with tearful good-byes.

This past weekend I returned to Lonesome Lake Hut with Beth and her brother, Charlie, his bride of 6 months, Luz Maria, and her thirteen-year-old son Ignatio (Nacho for short), who were visiting from Chile. After a night at the hut we split in two groups, with Beth, Charlie and Luz Maria heading back down to the Notch, and Nacho and I retracing my ascent of 13 years ago. Again, I was lulled by the ease of the Lonesome Lake Trail and then struggled up the formidable scramble of Cannon's southwest shoulder. Nacho speaks little English and I don't go much beyond 'hola' in Spanish, so our stops for 'photos' at each trail junction gave us a level of communication and served to break up the climb.

We met Beth, Charlie and Luz Maria at the summit tram terminal and escorted them around the Rim Trail to much the same view as I'd first seen 13 years ago. It was quite a coincidence to again have two people with me in this spot, who were born in the Southern Hemisphere.

This ascent of Cannon varied in two significant ways though--we took the tram down and saved our knees for another day, and the Old Man was no longer there, having fallen to the valley a number of years ago. As Tom Rush says, "it's strange to have outlived a geological formation."

Charlie, Luz Maria and Nacho are heading back to Chile and in parting last night, Nacho said: "we climb mountain again!" Anytime, Nacho.

Butch Cassidy

2008-09-28T17:38:00.001-07:00

We watched "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" last night. It seemed like the right thing to do, in memory of Paul Newman on the day of his passing. Besides we have 54 channels and nothing was on, and Beth hadn't seen the movie before.

I've seen the movie more than any other, I think, although I don't keep track. The first half-dozen viewings were when it first hit the theatres in 1969, the year I graduated from high school. With the turmoil of the Vietnam War, recent assissinations of MLKing and Bobby Kennedy, the shadiness of the Nixon administration, et al., the idea of going "someplace like Bolivia," as Butch suggested, appealed to me.

I'd forgotten how much the movie had become part of my psyche in those days and, not having seen it recently, how much vicarious pleasure I take in watching it. I'll never be an outlaw, but there's a part of me that inherently distrusts the e'stablishment' and those self-important patriots like Nixon, Reagan, Bush and McCain who exploit our soldiers for their own political gain. I guess that's what took me to New Zealand a couple years ago.

And I often feel like Butch: "I have vision, and the rest of the world wears bifocals."

Thanks Paul for your Butch Cassidy and all the other great roles you played. And for my favorite brand of marinara.

The Downeaster

2008-09-28T17:35:00.001-07:00

The end of August marked the end of Jacob's one-year residence at Apt. 6, 666 Tremont Street in Boston. What took 3 or 4 mini-van loads moving in, warranted a U-Haul van moving out, so I determined a one-way rental was most economical and took The Downeaster from Portland to Boston the day before the big move. Jacob drove down from Camp Calumet in New Hampshire to meet me and as coincidence would have it, Beth was enroute from Sara's move home from DC and could pick up the car in Portland. With all the logistics worked out, the train ride on The Downeaster, my first, was relaxing to say the least. I had all day and nothing to do until the next morning.

The view from a train is uniquely different from the turnpike: most is of commercial backlots, cluttered or overgrown railroad sidings, forest and undergrowth, bankings and backyards. Interesting snapshots appear and disappear as quickley as they come into view:

Somerville MA

2008-08-08T16:58:00.001-07:00

Since transferring to Northeastern University, Jacob has played with a band called "The New Originals." They haven't had a busy performance schedule but it's been fun for him to practice and play in his spare time. Recently, with guitarist Taylor Davis's imminent departure for Vancouver, BC to continue his Philosophy studies, bassist Dave Piper arranged a final concert for the band and their alter-ego "The Pretty Pennies," and surprised Taylor with a 8-song EP of the two groups songs.

Beth had a two day trial settle and had an unexpected block of time available, so we took a trip to Boston (actually Somerville, right next door) for the show.
The site was PJ Ryan's on Holland Street in Somerville, a place that could have been a great setting for the TV sitcom "Cheers," where everybody knows your name. We arrived before any of the band and the first person I laid eyes on was fellow Calumet staff-alum Dave Benedum, who I hadn't seen in a couple years. Our meeting was totally random and an unexpected pleasure.

Piper, Taylor, the Pretty Pennies and Jacob and Nicole arrived and put on a great show in spite of the limited sound system. Piper surprised Taylor and broke out the EPs to the pleasure of a pretty good size crowd of fans.

During the New Originals set they even let the aging rocker get up for a couple tunes by The Band and "Five Days in May" by Blue Rodeo. Thanks for letting me "sit in," guys!

My New Bike

2008-08-05T16:16:00.000-07:00

Back when I was in college, my father gave me his brown metallic Raleigh SuperCourse road bike. He bought it to ride across Canada and I think he used it for that purpose at least once before a knowledgeable bike mechanic pointed out that it really didn't fit his 6'4" frame. He bought a new red Raleigh and gave me the old one, perfect for me at 5'9". Over the years I used it sparingly and fixed it up on more than one occasion. Finally, the cost to repair and replace wornout parts exceeded the original cost of the bike and after 35+ years of use I hung it up for good.

I celebrated the end of this year's Tour de France by purchasing a Trek 1.2 Road Bike and in spite of the rainy stretch of weather we've been having, I've been out for three good rides and must say I enjoy the new acquisition quite some and no little (as Damon Runyan used to say). It's a nice, white model with all the modern conveniences but I'm not into the technical aspects enough to spout all that. Getting out for a ride of 40 minutes to an hour at this point has been alot of fun. Hopefully the weather will clear sometime soon and I'll try some extended rides and maybe try out for the Dirigo High School staff team for next June's Trek Across Maine.

Coincidentally, I received a news clipping from New Zealand from the mom of one of my favorite students. Aaron Barclay is his name and at 16 he's become known nationally for his triathlon and cycling results. While he's hasn't had time to develope fully for the Beijing Olympics which start this week, I'll be watching for him to compete in London in 4 years. He's one of the more determined student-athletes I've known in my 13 years of teaching and I won't be the least surprised to see him represent New Zealand on the world scene. For his two national age-group championships, as they say in NZ, Good on ya, Aaron!

Mt. Redington

2008-08-01T10:34:00.000-07:00

Mt. Redington proved to be an elusive summit in the June fog and mist as Beth, Mike and Katie and I followed the herd-path from South Crocker to the col between the peaks. Engulfed in new growth spruce we gave up and returned to the AT leaving Redington for another day. For me, Wednesday this week was the day.

Armed with research from Views From the Top and the AMC, this turned out to be one of my favorite hikes. It's really not much more than a walk in the wilderness, the climb itself is very forgiving and the views north (to the Crockers nearby and Bigelow Range beyond) are excellent. A test wind tower is apparently the reason for the trail from the logging operation below and the summit clearing and the tower has collapsed (as has the initial proposal for wind generation on the peak). The hiker's log is found in a canister marked "3984," obviously placed there before the shift in techtonic plates or the AMC guide, as it's now considered 4010. I've decided to climb all peaks in New England currently listed between 3950 and 4000 in case of a future shift.

After leaving the summit, I found the well-publicized herd-path to South Crocker and before long went off it, not once but twice, before regaining my way. It was following the recent moose tracks that threw me, but I should have known--as Beth reminded me on my return home--moose don't travel in herds.

Crossing South Crocker, I made North Crocker in good time and then crossed South one more time (4X so far in two months), catching a nice view of Sugarloaf on the way back down to Caribou Valley Road.

Redington is worth 4 South Crockers any day. Fresh off my experience with the Maine Writing Project it even inspired a poem:

Ode to Mount Redington

Through meadows of grass and spruce,
greens and browns and reds
and all hues in between,
the summit beckons as a siren,
and the legs and lungs comply.

A decade before the tree-hugger
deep inside me, stood incomprehensibly,
viewing the slopes of Redington cut clear
from the top of Sugarloaf,
before swooping down its wide slopes.

Now I follow the remnants of that logging operation
and a short trail cut to install a wind tower,
a test of the strength of currents across the summit.
The tower has blown over. I guess
they have their answer.

Viewless once, the summit is cleared as well
but pleasantly so and I search for the canister
containing the hiker's log. Elevation 3984 is inscribed but
the summit has pushed its nose to 4010 in recent years,
inviting peak-baggers like me.

A herd-path, a bushwhack to neighboring Crocker
is the choice for my descent. I gave up on that route
in the reverse and rain and fog once, a month
or two before. 'Bush'-whack it is for sure--and
spruce and hemlock branches whip my face as well.

A moose has used this route of late,
huge two-toed prints lead down to the col,
then disappear, much as that hulking animal does,
mysteriously into the brush. I'm lost.
(Moose do not travel in herds, my wife has since noted.)

I wonder what road the poet would have chosen--
herd-path, moose tracks fading
into the brush, ascent to
harness the wind for future generations--
face to face with new-growth spruce.

TANKA

2008-07-26T18:36:00.000-07:00

Written at the Maine Writing Project thanks to tiles from Phil and a word from Sarah:

TANKA

Sing life music and
Live like you know the black soil
Soothe every garden
Throw out the artificial
Love music light scent sound stone.

The Crossing

2008-07-16T09:29:00.001-07:00

The only heirloom that remains to document my father’s paternal grandmother is a Lincoln rocker which sits in our living room. Dad gave it to me shortly after my first marriage. I don’t remember whether I asked for it or he offered it but the conversation certainly began with his recollection of his two grandmothers, both named Augusta. “I had the best grandmothers,” he recalled with great affection. Augusta Dorothea, his German grandmother, was the owner of the rocker, and a profound influence on her grandson in spite of her limited English and his limited German.

The rocker is an un-upholstered version of the chair Lincoln popularized during his Presidency and which flourished in the 1860s and 1870s. Rocking chairs were especially popular in the latter part of the 19th century in America and this caned model was Augusta’s favorite point of repose. Mahogany-colored and lacking the decorative arm-loops or engraved headboards, Augusta’s was utilitarian, if not ornate.

This heirloom, an artifact really, is the only one that documents the long and satisfying life of Augusta Dorothea Rathminder Maddaus. That we have so little to remember her by seems, in itself, incongruous. Dad loved to talk about her, to the exclusion of his parents and most other relatives. He had an abiding reverence for her and the life she led. His passing three years ago erased the memory, and we’re left with the chair, two photos and a few details that enable us to reconstruct her life.

Augusta was born in Riga, the capital of the modern-day Baltic Republic of Latvia, on September 12, 1850. Riga was part of the Russian Empire at the time of her birth, ruled by Tsar Nicholas I and later Tsar Alexander II, during the time of the Latvian national movement. Augusta’s Riga, though ruled by Russia and inhabited by Latvians, was an enclave of German merchants and she spoke German all her life and immersed herself in German culture. Her selection of names of two of her children, Ingo and Freida, trace directly to her love of the historical romance novels of Gustav Freytag.

Augusta’s parentage remains somewhat of a mystery. In a short manuscript written in Latvian, it is suggested her father was Andzs Rathminder, who for over 60 years was teacher in the Latvian village of Vecpiebalga, 100 kilometers east of Riga. A school teacher of high regard, longevity and influence in Latvian culture, Andzs is included in the Latvian Encyclopedia, published by Arveds Svabe in the 1950s. In the Kaudzitis museum in the rolling hills above Vecpiebalga, dedicated to the writers of the first Latvian-language novel in the mid-19th century, Rathminder is revered as a teacher of the Brothers Kaudzitis, and father of Lize Rathmindere Kaudzitis, wife of Matiss. Records there indicate 4 Rathminder daughters, but none with the name of Augusta. Could she be the daughter of Andzs’s brother Janis, who was a poet and teacher in Riga most of his life, or at the very least the granddaughter of Andzs Rathminder, (father of the revered schoolteacher) or the adopted daughter of Andzs himself? Her birthplace in Riga and German tongue cast doubt on her parentage.

It is known that she left Riga in the mid-1870s and traveled to New York City (more specifically Brooklyn) to marry Oscar Wilhelm Maddaus, the son of respected Riga portrait artist and art teacher Johann Karl Ludwig Maddaus. Oscar's emigration to the US preceeded Augusta by a number of years and his marriage to her was his second. His first wife Margaret, and three children Adelaide, Clara and Oscar were apparently victims of an influenza epidemic late in 1872 into 1873. All four were interred in the Green Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn in August of 1873, in what would become the family plot.

Documentation of Augusta’s initial arrival in America is not extant but it is clear she traveled from Riga with the express intent to marry Oscar, and by May of 1877 their first of seven children, Elsa, was born. Oscar worked at the time as a woodcut artist and had contracts with a number of companies including The India Rubber Comb Company in College Point NY and Remington Sewing Machine Company and Reed & Barton Flatware Company. In fact, his work for Reed & Barton may have been pivotal, as their discontent with his turn-around times and his lack of ability to produce human figures for work on their 1877 catolog, suggests a difficult period for his business. Whether it was his work or his father’s health (Johann retired his teaching position in July 1877) or both, they returned to Riga and by May of 1878 their second child and first son Oscar was born in Riga. Oscar W. was in Riga on his father’s death on August 1, 1878.

Four children followed, Ingo, Freida, Senta and Harold, nearly one a year through 1883 and, while is unclear as to when, Oscar returned to his work in Brooklyn ahead of his family. What followed had to be at once, a typical event in terms of trans-Atlantic immigration, and yet a heroic effort on the part of Augusta Dorothea Rathminder Maddaus.

Armed with a US Entry Visa in her name, dated October 22/Nov 3, 1882 and executed in the Russian capital of St. Petersburg, and with her six children’s names and birthdates listed (Harold added after his birth in 1883), Augusta traveled with her children and no other family members via Hamburg Germany and Le Harve France to New York City. All are included in the passenger list of the steamship Lessing, of the Hamburg-America Line. Built in 1874, the Lessing made frequent trips between New York and Hamburg from 1875 to 1888.

On October 16, 1883, Augusta arrived with her 6 children, infant to age 6, at Castle Garden at The Battery, the very southern tip of Manhattan, the receiving point for over 10 million immigrants between 1830 and the opening of Ellis Island in 1892. Her determination and fortitude in crossing the Atlantic with 6 children in tow is a testament to the reverence our family holds for her. She settled in Brooklyn, surrounded by her family whom she lived with through Oscar’s death in 1896 and until her own passing in 1937.

Augusta’s Lincoln Rocker will forever memorialize her crossing and one family’s foothold in America.

South Crocker

2008-07-14T08:25:00.000-07:00

Our attempt to climb multiple 4000 foot peaks in one hike (6/28) left us in the fog in more ways than one, but we did reach the top of South Crocker, at least according to the sign there. Mike and Katie joined us for the hike which seemed pretty straight forward at the start. Heading up the Caribou Valley Road from the parking area, we strolled right past the AT and continued for an hour or so before realizing our error. The map and Mike's GPS told us that we were in the generally vincinity of where we wanted to be but only the walk back to the car confirmed that the AT was 10 minues from the parking area. After a moderate hike north on the AT, we summited South Crocker--one down, two to go?

Well, not exactly. The short bushwack/herd path to Mt. Redington was anything but short, and we finally found ourselves engulfed in pines. Frustrated and wet, we retraced our steps to South Crocker and then to the car--Redington and Crocker will have to wait for another day.

Hiking with Mike and Katie was great fun inspite of it all.. I just hope they don't think Beth and I always try to re-write "Lost on a Mountain in Maine" when we go out.

After the return home, I researched Redington and found a easier route. Considering the overcast and fog the last time, I think we'll try it again on a clear day.

Seeds

2008-06-26T08:45:00.000-07:00

My friend Dave emailed today asking for the lyrics for the song "Seeds." Pastor Dave, as he's known to his congregation in Connecticut, noted the Parable of the Sower is coming up on the church lectionary and was reminded of the song.

I get more requests for this song than any other and have been asked on more than one occasion if I wrote it. It was written by Pat Alger and Ralph Murphy and recorded in the early 1990s by Kathy Mattea.

I recorded "Seeds" with A Bunch of Guys for an album called "Take a Breath," a fundraiser for ELCA World Hunger. Dave Piper and Knute Ogren did a fabulous job of producing and promoting "Take A Breath' and "Enough," and the success of the fundraising was gratifying to all involved. For more on ELCA World Hunger, see: http://archive.elca.org/hunger/swa.html

If you're interested in a copy of the CD, contact me.

Here's a link to "Seeds:"

http://www.box.net/shared/l6bk9ohkw0

Happy Anniversary!

2008-06-25T18:31:00.000-07:00

While we were in New York City last week, I received word from my distant cousin* Rennie that Sunday, June 22, 2008 was to be a big day for the couple pictured above. Rennie's parents, Jack and Helen Bremner were married on June 22, 1943 and last weekend celebrated their 65th Wedding Anniversary! Rennie noted that they were married on Jack's final leave before he went overseas to war. Last week, the family arranged anniversary messages on the local radio stations and had How Great Thou Art dedicated to them on one.

*Rennie, Graeme and Trevor are distant cousins in more ways than one. By my calculation, we're 5th cousins, as my great-great grandfather Johann Karl Ludwig Maddaus was the brother of their great-great-grandmother Johanne Christiana Maddaus Winterhoff. Johann and Johanne were born in Hamburg, Germany but their progeny is spread across the globe. Johann moved to Riga, Latvia in the mid 19th century and his son Oscar W. Maddaus eventually settled in Brooklyn, NY, USA where he raised 6 children, including my grandfather Ingo Maddaus, Sr. Johanne's daughter Adolphine Dorothea Caroline Winterhoff migrated to Peru in South America where she married Robert Reid. Jack's parents Christina Adolphina Reid and George W. Bremner started their family in Peru but moved to New Zealand shortly before Jack was born. (If you're following this you're doing well!) Jack and Helen live outside of Dunedin, New Zealand---my distant cousins are 9,500 miles (over 15,000 kilometers) distant. (An additional note: Trevor lived in Anchorage, Alaska the last I knew.)

During my 5-month teaching assignment in New Zealand two years ago, I had the opportunity to see Jack, Helen, Rennie and Graeme and his family, relatives I didn't know I had until shortly before leaving America. We were connected by their first cousin Eileen Reid Marcil, who lives outside of Quebec City and managed to track down a variety of Maddaus ancestors through the wonders of the internet. My last weekend in New Zealand, we had a gathering at Graeme's house and found we shared a love of music and it was a grand time!

So, even though I'm four days late (It's tomorrow in New Zealand), I wish Jack and Helen a Very Happy Anniversary and many more! And thanks for treating me to that Southern Cross hospitality.

Brooklyn Heights

2008-06-23T16:36:00.000-07:00

This past Saturday, the Yankees Friday night loss a distant memory, we took the # 4 Subway from Union Square on 14th Street in Manhattan, changed to the A line at Fulton Street (we thought it was the #2, but we're from Maine), traveled one more stop, under the East River, and emerged in Brooklyn at High Street. I wanted to see if I could identify the neighborhood my father's parents lived in back in the 1950s. I'm not sure if I ever visited them there but I remember one time we saw Dad's Aunt Freida, who lived down the street.

The neighborhood is called Brooklyn Heights and the street, Columbia Heights. I recognized the promenade first and the view of Manhattan immediately; Battery Park at the South end of the Island is to the right and Staten Island and the Statue of Liberty can be seen in the distance. To the north, the Brooklyn Bridge dominates the East River and the Empire State Building and Chrysler Buildings are in view. The city-scape provides a unique visual that almost overcomes the senses.

I did recognize a couple landmarks on Clark Street on the way from the subway, the Hotel St. George, still signed as such, and the Towers Hotel, no longer signed, both of which were home to the Brooklyn Dodgers when they were in town; that is, until they broke my Dad's heart and departed for LA. The apartments on Columbia Heights were not familiar, so I pulled out the trusty cell-phone and called Mother for some direction. After a bit she recalled that Grandpa and Grandma lived at 81 Columbia Heights and I found the building at the corner of Cranberry Street. She remembered it for the proximity to (19th century abolitionist and brother of Harriet Beecher Stowe) Henry Ward Beecher's church and a bakery down the street. She recalled that my grandparents lived on the 3rd floor and that 'Pop' chose the neighborhood because it was only one subway stop (via the #2 or #3) to Wall Street, where he had his office. Somehow I think the view and the upscale setting, not to mention the reputation as 'America's first suburb,' might also have been factors. Business must have been good in importing in the 50s.

Aunt Freida lived for a while at 47 Willow Street, a block from Columbia Heights Street, and later moved to 123 Columbia Heights, where she lived when we visited in my youth. I didn't recognize the latter when we went by; it's either been renovated beyond recognition or replaced entirely. Aunt Elsa, the eldest of Pop's five siblings, also lived nearby and attended Beecher's Plymouth Congregational Church on Hicks Street.

We circled the neighborhood one more time, walked the length of the promenade, went past a small park labeled the Harry Chapin Playground and continued to the Cadman Park where we encountered the first directional sign for the Brooklyn Bridge Walkway. Having already walked a couple miles around Brooklyn Heights, the additional mile across the Bridge on a sunny, hot day presented a formidable challenge but the flow of the many walkers, runners and cyclists carried us along and the views of Manhattan ahead and Brooklyn to our rear were magnificent.

My mother's grandfather, the Rev. George Frederick Behringer, was one of many who was invited to celebrate the 13-year completion of the bridge in 1883, walking across as we did 125 years later. While the Brooklyn Bridge was the first to connect Manhattan and Brooklyn, his church in Brooklyn, ironically enough, was removed to make way for the Williamsburg Bridge, the second Manhattan/Brooklyn connector.

We arrived at City Hall Park in Manhattan with enough time to hop on the #4 to 59th Street and a headed west for Beth's first-ever visit to Central Park. By the time we got to The Tavern on the Green, our legs had had enough. Nonetheless, we continued to Columbus Square, passing one of the many musical street performances scheduled in the city that day, this near the Lincoln Center, and took the C train downtown to 14th street and the L train back to Union Square.

Before heading back upstate we met my friend Stefan, a Berliner who is working at the UN as part of his legal traineeship in Germany. While I have ancestors from both sides of the family who lived in New York City, Stefan's intelligence and inquisitive nature have led him into virtually every neighborhood in the city. He never ceases to amaze me with his erudite commentary on the places he's been.

Yankee Stadium--The Final Season

2008-06-22T16:36:00.000-07:00

Beth and I spent a long weekend in New York, a visit with my Mother and brother Phil in Scotia wrapped around two days and one night in the Big Apple. My primary reason for heading to NYC was to see the Yankees one last time in the "House that Ruth Built." I bought two tickets in the Loge level, third-base side, the section my father usually preferred back in the 60s when he took Phil and I as kids. The seats are still great, but the demand now is high and the only way to get them is through Stub Hub at quite a premium. But for old-times sake I bit the bullet and made some season-pass owner happy.

We got there early enough so that we could watch some batting practice and visit Monument Park before the game. There are an incredible number of retired number plaques and monuments out there, but considering the Yankees history, its not surprising. It takes a lot of great players to win 26 World Series! In my first trip to the Stadium, Mickey Mantle hit a home run and became my favorite. I have quite a few others including Lou Gehrig, even though I never saw him play, Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera.

The Cincinnati Reds young star, Edinson Volquez, held the Yankees bats in check and the Reds won 4-2. The game turned on a fly ball lost in the lights. Johnny Damon played it into a double and three Reds runs followed. The Yanks threatened but couldn't come back all the way. It was the first game I'd been to with Beth that they hadn't won and I'd considered her a lucky charm. Last year the Yanks came back from 4 down against the Cleveland Indians and won on a Alex Rodriguez walk-off three-run homer. That, of course, set the standard which this year's team, even with A-Rod back, couldn't reach.

Still, the crowd of 53,000+ was pretty excited when Robinson Cano singled in a run in the seventh inning. The rally fizzled and I could imagine Dad, looking down from heaven, lamenting "these guys are terrible, they'll never win at this rate," just as he had since the first game we ever saw, and through 8 world championships as well.

Some of the traditions go on even when the Yanks lose. The right field bleacher 'bums' start the game with (clap, clap) "JETER," (clap, clap) "JETER,"... until he acknowledges them with a wave of his glove. They proceed with the rest of the infielders and outfielders until all have been welcomed. And there's always the bottom of the 6th after three outs are recorded and the grounds-crew rakes the field to the music of the Village People, stopping to lead the crowd in physically spelling out "Y-M-C-A."

In spite of watching the Yanks go down to defeat, it was still an electrifying experience and, as baseball fans always say, "wait 'til next year." The Stadium will be history, but they're building a new one across

the street which already has some history of its own, even before the first pitch has been thrown. It seems a construction worker buried a David Ortiz jersey in the cement to jinx the Yankees, and once it was disclosed, they had to dig it up. Have you noticed Ortiz has not had his usual terrific season for the Red Sox this year--who's been jinxed, is my question? I guess we'll find out in October!

NZ Gold Guitars 2006

2008-06-18T17:04:00.000-07:00

"When I Am King"

Jefferson NH

2008-06-09T12:18:00.000-07:00

In August of 1968, I was the guest of a high school girlfriend and her family at their summer home in Jefferson, NH. We did quite a bit of hiking--Dome Rock, Cherry Mountain, Webster Cliffs--in preparation for a hike up Mt. Washington. I'd done quite a lot of hiking with my father when I was younger, including climbs of Katahdin and Marcy, so I was excited to scale New Hampshire's highest. Carolyn was an outstanding high school cross country skier and bill, her Dad, worked out daily during an age when middle age men just gained weight. Jean, Carolyn's Mom, needed to work up to the climb, and that she did--her first of Mt. Washington ever.

The view from their front porch is awe-enspiring. The expanse of the Presidential Range to the southeast includes, fittingly from this point-of-view, Mt. Jefferson most prominently, and Mt. Washington and Mt. Monroe to the right. No mountain-lover can resist the lure of the Presidentials after taking in this vista.

As I remember it, Carolyn and I took side trips up Mt. Jackson, Mt. Clay (which of course doesn't count for anything--this is a shame topographically and historically, in my opinion) and Mt. Monroe, and so by the time the vacation was over, I had 3 of the 48 NH 4,000 peaks under my belt. Growing up in New York, I knew of a similar list for the Adirondacks and filed the New Hampshire experience away for future reference. I wouldn't climb another NH 4,000 peak until 1995, although I ran the race up the Mt. Washington Auto Road twice in the seventies.

While we were in Jefferson, the Republican National convention was being held in Miami. The country had suffered the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr and Bobby Kennedy in recent months and the political tension in the country would boil over in the streets of Chicago later in the summer. I vividly remember hoping New York Governor Nelson Rockefeller would come through as a dark-horse for the presidential nomination. My father commented frequently that he liked Rockefeller for his willingness to admit he was wrong and adjust accordingly, a trait most politicians, then or now, seem to be lacking. Turns out Rockefeller was a minority of one, but I didn't realize it then. History records Richard Nixon as the victor for the nomination, although he turned out to be the biggest loser.

Interesting how far we've come in 40 years. In 1968, we were in a war we couldn't win, the presidency was determined by the segregationist 3rd party candidate, George Wallace, and women had no place in the process. Though we weren't at war in 1988, the Iran-Contra scandal was fresh on our minds and race played a huge role in the presidential election as a result of the "Willie Horton" ads which doomed Michael Dukakis. We'd forgotten Geraldine Ferraro's 1984 Vice-Presidential candidacy.

Today we have a African-American presidential candidate, a woman who is equally as formidable just missing the nomination and a war we can't win. Well, some things change. But, however slowly over the 40 years, we have seen a huge change in our country.

I read the New York Times online daily, a habit I picked up from my father. (His was a hardcopy habit) There have been a number of articles in the Times lately sharing this 40 year perspective. Two of the better ones are noted with links below:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/07/opinion/07herbert.html

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/09/opinion/09krugman.html

As I reflect my accomplishment, yesterday, of climbing all 48 NH 4,000 foot peaks, I can't help but reflect on the 39 years, 10 months and a few days that it took to do it.

In his article,Bob Herbert suggests a victory lap "for all those in every station in life who ever refused to submit quietly to hatred and oppression. They led us to a better place." In a way, yesterday's climb was my celebration of that better place.

And what better place than the summit of Mt. Garfield. Thankfully, the 48 NH 4,000 peaks haven't changed all that much in 40 years.

Mt. Garfield

2008-06-08T16:04:00.000-07:00

At 11:03 AM today, just under 39 years and 11 months from the date I summited the first of 48 New Hampshire 4,000 foot peaks, I reached the summit of Mt. Garfield. 48/48

I'd say I left the best for last!

Garfield, at 4,500,' is 17th on the list and smack dab in the middle geographically.

Roughly 30 of the other 48 are visible from the summit, including the Lafayette range to the west and Twins and Bonds to the east. Mt Washington is visible over the shoulder of North Twin. Today's view, thanks to a morning window of clear weather, was brilliant.

When Beth and I got back to the car, a congratulatory note from Tom and Atticus was under the wiper blades. Thanks guys!

Santiago, Chile

2008-06-01T07:34:00.000-07:00

Our April trip to Chile was capped by a visit to the Centro section of the capital city. We toured The Moneda, the center of the government and delighted in all the street activity. Numerous street performers entertained the crowds on the many pedestrian-only thoroughfares of the downtown. "Los Portenos" played a variety of 'LatinoAmericano' folktunes and I purchased a CD to bring home. The strong vocal harmonies and multi-instrumental flavor distinguished them from some of the solo performers up the street.

We strolled through the park adjoining The Moneda, (where 35 years ago Allende was bombed and overthrown by the Pinochet-led military junta) past benches seemingly designated for lovers only, and through a 'Carabineros' fair---with booths set up to proudly display the services and skills of the various branches of the Chilean police.

Our photo-taking was crashed by two of the more animated Carabineros. They liked Beth OK, but I think I really made an impression.

It struck me that 35 years ago, Pinochet was poised to execute his plan for take over of the government and widespread torture of political enemies and, even 20 or 25 years ago, anti-American sentiment was more likely to be witnessed here. What happened in the years since?

Coincidentally, Jacob had recently given me a copy of Fareed Zakaria's "The Future of Freedom: Illiberal Democracy at Home and Abroad," and I encountered a number of references to Chile while reading it on our trip. Zakaria points out that although Chile was long ruled by an oppressive military junta, a number of factors led to its present-day government. Latin values such as strong families, religious values and determination (54), land reform and economic and political reform all contributed to this progress. "It is no accident that the one Latin American country that moved first and most strongly away from that tradition (the aristocratic order) and toward free markets and free trade is now its most successful economy and stable country: Chile." (74) Zakaria contrasts the successes of Chile, Taiwan, South Korea, Singapore and Indonesia with the difficulties in Iraq as having less to do with democracy than the level of liberty, the rule of law and economic reforms achieved by the standing governments.

Our cab driver, Carlos, who had spent a couple years in Miami before returning to Chile, noted with some displeasure that the president of Chile, a woman named Michelle Bachelet, was a Socialist. But he still seemed to appreciate the distance Chile has come since their '9/11' in 1973.

We encountered one last entertainer before Carlos picked us up at our pre-arranged spot in the Plaza de Armas. Beth noted a character dressed in pink riding by on his bike and took a photo. This was an immediate sign that he had an audience and oh, did he perform! He stopped all sorts of traffic, built a crowd in the hundreds and used me as one of his straight men. At one point he literally 'threw himself under a bus.'

By the reaction of many of the local cab drivers, we could tell he was a regular in the Centro and they played along with his antics. Other drivers were not as cooperative and their anger and annoyance only served to give him more comic material to work with.

By the time we pulled out in our cab, our pink friend was standing on the passenger-side door frame, saluting the audience while wrapped in a banner featuring the Chilean colors: red, white and blue. I don't think I stopped laughing until I fell asleep on our overnight flight back to Dallas and the Northern Hemisphere.

Sometimes the greatest experiences in life occur in places where joy and sorrow intersect.

Gold Guitars

2008-05-30T05:11:00.000-07:00

One of the benefits of living in Gore, New Zealand was participating the Gold Guitars Awards competition. Two years ago this weekend, I took the stage as one of scores of country music entertainers from all over New Zealand who sought the bright lights and stardom in the country's biggest country music event. In addition to a number of age group and genre categories, the Queen's Birthday tradition in Gore includes busking, songwriting awards, best song and album competitions and a variety of workshops. See: http://www.goldguitars.co.nz/

I competed in two categories, Open and Senior (old folk like me). My years experience playing with Tequila Sunrise really gave me an advantage, but unfortunately I didn't advance to the finals. Maybe it was the bad joke about Prince Charles, or the fact that I was one of the only entrants to perform solo (most provided charts for the house band to provide backup), or that neither of the songs was a country standard (one was an original composition, the other a tune by Newfoundland's outstanding Great Big Sea), and/or that I was American???? (Not!) I'll have to work on my act for my next visit.

This year's winners are a vocal trio from Gore called E-Liza. I heard two of the group, Gore High School students Lana Mackay and Taylor Cairns, sing on numerous occasions two years ago and have no doubt of their talent. Word is that they'll be recording in Sydney, Australia before long. I'll be looking forward to hearing more from them!

Wellington New Zealand

2008-05-28T18:46:00.001-07:00

Every parent should take their child to college at the beginning of their Freshman year, right? That's what I thought when Jacob suggested it back in the fall of 2005, although I really didn't have the extra funds for an extra roundtrip ticket to NEW ZEALAND! Little did I know that I would be buying a second ticket a couple months later.

For more on that see: http://cmaddaus.edublogs.org/2008/05/28/teach-nz/

Jacob was somewhat of a home-body in high school, athletic, a relatively good student, but not especially social. I always joked that I couldn't 'ground him' because he never went out much anyway. Figures he'd go as far away as possible for college.

Actually though, I think that it took a lot of courage on his part to decide to go to New Zealand as an 18-year-old and he made the best of it, too.

He attended Victoria University in Wellington, on the south end of the North Island. On our arrival we were met by my friend David Hall, who had worked with me in the Wilderness Program at Camp Calument. Dave took us to meet his family and we stayed at his home in Levin for a night before Jake's orientation started. Having Dave there really increased Jacob's comfort level at being half-way around the world from home... and mine, too.

Wellington is the capital of New Zealand and is built on the hills surrounding Wellington Harbor and the Miramar Peninsula. The parliament is located there in a unique building called the Beehive (the Prime Minister is Helen Clark, who is everything Hillary Clinton wants to be) and Peter Jackson based his "Lord of the Rings" production in the city. The views from Mt. Victoria are stunning.

VIC was a great choice in a lot of ways for Jacob. He got involved in a Ultimate Club and played a number of tournaments, including the all-University Games in which his team was a disappointing 3rd. He also worked for an event promoter on a part-time basis and saw a number of concerts. Best of all, he developed an interest in Political Science and International Relations that has led to him excelling upon his transfer to Northeastern University in Boston. His credits transferred to more than we expected, attesting to the rigor of the program and he hopes to work with one of his professors there, again some day. And he was quick to jump at the chance to go overseas again--he's scheduled to study in Dublin and work in the Irish parliament next fall.

It was tough leaving him in Wellington that first time, but I was able to return and spend some time with him the following April and enjoy the city myself.

Isla Negra, Chile

2008-05-26T09:09:00.001-07:00

Beth and I were guests of her brother Charlie for the April vacation week on the occasion of his wedding to Luz Maria in Villa Alhue, Chile. As an English teacher, I made sure to study some of Pablo Neruda's writing before the trip (my excuse for not learning any Spanish) and noted that one of Neruda's three homes was in Isla Negra, a coastal town not far from Charlie's.

Isla Negra was Neruda's retreat from the city (he had homes in Santiago, the capital and Valparaiso, the major port) and he wrote his Memoirs there, late in his life. The home is now maintained by the Neruda Foundation: http://www.fundacionneruda.org/home.htm

His description is best:

In my house I have put together a collection of small and large toys I can’t live without. The child who doesn’t play is not a child, but the man who doesn’t play has lost forever the child who lived in him and he will certainly miss him. I have also built my house like a toy house and I play in it from morning till night.
These are my own toys. I have collected them all my life for the scientific purpose of amusing myself alone. (MEMOIRS, page 269)

Our tour was more of a museum than of solely visiting a great writer's home. His collections of ship figureheads, ships-in-bottles, colored glass, insects, seashells, and art reflected his travels and foreign service all over the world. These were all housed in his home, self-designed and built to imitate a sailing ship, and his office, a train.

The vista of the Pacific Ocean, even on a cloudy day, was beautiful and surely inspired his writing, although he was prolific and never lacked for inspiration no matter where he was. His love of Chile was certainly nurtured there and although the times were turbulent, he spoke with great optimism of his hope for humanity:

I want to live in a world where no one is excommunicated. I will not excommunicate anybody. I would not tell that priest tomorrow: “You can’t baptize So-and-So, because you are an anti-Communist.” I would not tell another priest: “I will not publish your poem, your creation, because you’re an anti-Communist.” I want to live in a world where beings are only human, with no other title but that, without worrying their heads about a rule, a word, a label. I want people to be able to go into all the churches, to all the printing presses. I don’t want anyone to ever again wait at the Mayor’s office door to arrest or deport someone else. I want everyone to go in and out of City Hall smiling. I don’t want anyone to flee in a gondola or be chased on a motorcycle. I want the great majority, the only majority, everyone, to be able to speak out, read, listen, thrive. I have never understood the struggle except as something to end all struggle. I have never understood hard measures except as something to end hard measures. I have taken a road because I believe that road leads us all to lasting brotherhood. I am fighting for that ubiquitous, widespread, inexhaustible goodness. After all the run-ins between my poetry and the police, after all these episodes and others I will not mention because they sound repetitious, and in spite of other things that did not happen to me but to many who cannot tell them any more, I still have absolute faith in human destiny, a clearer and clearer conviction that we are approaching a great common tenderness. I write knowing that the danger of the bomb hangs over all our heads, a nuclear catastrophe that would leave no one, nothing on this earth. Well, that does not alter my hope. At this critical moment, in this flicker of anguish, we know that the true light will enter those eyes that are vigilant. We shall all understand one another. We shall advance together. And this hope cannot be crushed. MEMOIRS, pages 227-8.

As an American, conditioned as we were in the 60s and 70s to consider Communists as the enemy, I came away transformed in my thinking. That this sensitive and extraordinary writier was a Communist seemed incongruous at first, but having read his Memoirs (which I highly recommend, especially for those of the baby-boomer generation), I'm more determined than ever to reject divisive, polarizing writing or politics of any kind.

While I have yet to appreciate the breadth of his poetry, a few of his poems have resonated with me. One in particular, dedicated to Chile, makes me ponder the future of my own country:

INSOMIA

In the middle of the night I ask myself,
what will happen to Chile?
What will become of my poor, dark country?

From loving this long, thin ship so much,
these stones, these little farms,
the durable rose of the coast
that lives among the foam,
I become one with my country.
I met every one of its sons
and in me the seasons succeeded one another,
weeping or flowering.

I feel that now,
with the dead year of doubt scarcely over,
now that the mistakes which bled us all
are over and we begin to plan again
a better and juster life,
the menace once again appears
and on the walls a rising rancor.

Essential Neruda, page 179

Neruda died in 1973 of cancer, within weeks of Chile's 9/11, the bombing of Salvador Allende in The Moneda, the Presidential Palace, in Santiago, in the Pinochet coup d'etat backed by the United States. Neruda had a close relationship with Allende and the sadness at his overthrow is evident in the last words of his Memoirs.

For more on the coup see: Chile's 9/11

Mt. Waumbat

2008-05-25T13:46:00.000-07:00

Late last year, my oldest son Caleb decided to start climbing the 48 New Hampshire 4,000 foot peaks. He has noted the irony that, having been brought up in the Conway, NH area, he waited until he lived in Southern Massachusetts to begin his quest.

He drove up Friday to spend a belated Mother's Day with his mom and stay overnight with us in Dixfield. Saturday was reserved for a climb, and I suggested Mt. Waumbek (#46 at just over 4,000) near Jefferson. South-facing, and therefore likely to be free of snow at elevation, Waumbek is also a moderate climb of 3.6 miles, crossing Starr King Mountain (3,900+) in the process. A good, first climb of the spring.

Caleb agreed to my suggestion, but in his idiosyncratic way, proceeded to fracture the name of our target; hence, it is now referred to as Mt. Waumbat. (His explanation: "I was pronouncing the mountain's name correctly; I just seem to have picked up a strong Massachusetts accent.")

The day was cloudy, with sun peaking through occasionally and a brisk wind rushing through the forest on the final ridge walk to the summit. Conversation was plentiful through the ascent but disappeared as we headed down, the entire hike covering 4 hours. It might have been quicker but I stopped on the way to get numerous shots of purple Trillium for Beth, who was home writing a brief for the law court. She loves wildflowers.

I'm terrible at remembering the names of these creatures but thought she would appreciate the pictures. This seems to have been a good choice, as her book, "Wildflowers of the White Mountains," refers to these purples as Sweet Beth.

Caleb headed south for Massachusetts and I proceeded east on Route 2, having had a good workout. He's now at 9/48.

I'm one peak short of the 48 and looking forward to my Garfield climb, sooner than later this year. Until last year, I hadn't really thought much about climbing them all, but more on that later.