The return

Something strange and wonderful has happened. My words have returned to me. I promise I will explain which words, but first we must travel back in time, approximately five-plus years ago. It is pre-Hurricane Katrina and, like now, I am living in the city of my birth, New Orleans, preparing to visit Cleveland, Ohio. I live for the most part on the second floor of my duplex, but the bulk of my library and extensive record collection is housed downstairs. A small apartment occupies the remainder of the downstairs and I have a tenant, a young divorced man who lives there with his beloved German Shepherd. When the mandatory evacuation occurred, I was away and that fact meant little could be done to save most of my records, CDs, 45s, paperbacks and hardcover volumes which rested on custom constructed shelves there. Because pets are not allowed to evacuate with their owners to the refuge of last resort at the Superdome (this policy has since been changed), my tenant is forced to leave his pet downstairs with a few day's supply of food and water, not knowing the rising waters would drown the animal or that he would end up losing all of his worldly possessions. I am a visitor in Cleveland worried about my home and my city, but forced to watch it from afar, helpless and inadequate. As it turned out, my life would be forever changed by that storm and the flooding that occurred after Hurricane Katrina. I lived and worked there for nearly two years and my return to New Orleans required packing a great many boxes of new possessions coming from my time spent away. In the meantime my housekeeper was able to put away boxes of my possessions that had somehow survived. Since her home was also destroyed, she was away for and unable to return the city for nearly a year, living in Houston and Dallas. However, once she returned to work, she started to put things away for me that had survived the flooding. We were not able to communicate on a regular basis, so whatever she packed away for me was not clearly documented. Between those boxes holding my old items and the new boxes filled with momentos from Cleveland, much of my home has been filled over the course of the last three and a half years with all manner of things largely hidden from view. Just a little over on my second floor entrance way. Inside were my words. To be more specific, inside one of the larger boxes that my housekeeper had put away was my bound edition of my work from 1972 and 1973 as Features Editor and Executive Editor of the Tulane University Hullabaloo, the weekly newspaper over which I labored in my freshman and sophomore years. To say that this volume is irreplaceable is an understatement. How that volume escaped being soaked in the deluge that stood stagnant in my home for nearly three weeks is nothing short of a miracle. When I looked inside it, I found an incredible array of pictures and stories that I had not even thought about in over 36 years. There was the junior Senator from Delaware - a Joseph Biden with hair no less - addressing a forum at Tulane. Also, a story and picture on George Bush, the head of the C.I.A., a full 16 years before becoming President, talking to students. And the president was Richard Nixon. Wow! I cannot believe this volume has mysteriously returned to me, but I know I will treasure it for many years to come.

Thank you, Mr. Coleridge

You've seen it before, but it is an incredible shot.
©2005 Sidney Smith

Today's Blog Action topic is water. Water, the most abundant substance on the planet, is a topic with which all of New Orleans is well aware. After all, the Louisiana Purchase document in 1803 ceded all of the lands owned by France to the United States except for the "Isle of Orleans." We are surrounded by a graceful bend in the Mississippi River to our western, southern and eastern borders and Lake Pontchartrain, the fifth largest U.S. inland lake (not counting the Great Lakes) to our north. Much of the land used for development in the most recent century was reclaimed from former swamp lands. Pumping out water is a big deal here, since much, but not all of the area is beneath sea level. The Mississippi River, which drains 40% of the continental United States, is the main drinking water source for the city. By the time water from the Mississippi River reaches the intake valves for the New Orleans city water supply, it has been used at least 17 times before. As it makes its way down to the Gulf of Mexico, the Mississippi River also carries with it 1.5 million tons of nitrogen pollutants. Once they reach the Gulf, they contribute to oxygen-robbed "dead zones" in the waters there, killing scores of fish in the process. Yes, we know water very well here. Perhaps too well. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers has been charged with the protection of the city from water incursion and has constructed and maintained a series of levees designed to keep the water that surrounds the city away from the bowl of the city. Yet, when those levees were breached due to faulty construction in the hours before and after Hurricane Katrina, the same Corps of Engineers enjoyed immunity from prosecution. Besides, they were too busy building new levees and shoring up the old ones to worry about defending themselves in court. Recently, the British Petroleum oil spill focused the attention of millions of citizens on the waters in the Gulf of Mexico as they watched the deep brown crude ooze out from the blowout preventer on live TV or as streaming video over the Internet. Thankfully, that water is now clear, but there are indications that some areas have been adversely affected and may not recover for decades to come. It is hard to believe that in some areas of Africa and Asia there is no potable water available for human consumption because we have so much water here. As to rainfall, we have much more than we need usually. If one has ever been privileged to behold a tropical downfall of the New Orleans variety, he does not find it easy to circumvent or forgettable. Perhaps the most iconic vision I have of water is the image snapped by my cousin, photographer Sidney Smith, four days after Hurricane Katrina. The photo shows my home with water nearly lapping up to the second floor of my residence. Since I was not there, I can only imagine what it would have been like to have been in the middle of the quiet as the toxic waste and polluted water rose above the cars and lawns of my neighbors. I can't but recall the "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" and the apropos phrase that residents here would have chosen to utter, to wit, "Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink."

New meaning for "putting up your Dukes"

When I first attended college, I will admit I was totally clueless as to how to please women in the way they expected that I would or could. Oh, I knew the basic manual. When it came down to it, I knew which part went where and what the ultimate endgame should be, but lacking significant experience in the realm of pleasing a partner kept my confidence from rising, even if other parts of my anatomy did from time to time. I admit I fumbled my way from one liaison to another until I found what I would term my first true paramour. We enjoyed each other's company immensely and I can say that it was very exciting and reassuring to finally start to get it right. Maneuvering a rendezvous was also dangerous because I lived at home and the girls dormitory in which she lived was strictly off limits to campus males. That extra level of excitement associated with finding a safe place and not getting caught by the campus police or a dorm monitor probably added to the thrill of the chase. So, 35 years later, as I ponder the Homecoming weekend for Tulane University, I am absolutely amazed that so much has changed in the interim. For one thing I just had my son graduate from own alma mater just five months ago. Because of the privacy laws put into place since I attended, he could do pretty much whatever he wanted, remaining unchecked from outside interference from his unsuspecting father or grandmother who administered his tuition. Throughout his entire academic career I never received a copy of his grades and today can only guesstimate what his final grade point average was. What I'm really bemoaning here is that the college students of today have no reins on them; they operate freely and unfettered from much of the outside influence that concerned me. Today chance or casual sexual encounters seem to occur with much greater frequency than in my day. It appears that girls are becoming sexually active at younger and younger ages and scientific evidence suggests they are entering puberty at ever younger ages too. So-called "booty calls" and "friends with benefits" would have been welcomed by my cronies and me had the times allowed them, but the sad truth is that we weren't smart enough to invent the concepts or have partners that would have agreed to engage in rampant sexual activities so frivolously. Fast forward to present time. Today we have cell phones with cameras that can capture nude photos or shoot videos in the most private of places. Young generations use texting or send sexually explicit materials through cell phones attached to the Internet, which can then be posted online or sent to non-intended sources. "Sexting" occurs with much greater frequency than we might believe and once the item has been posted, it never truly goes away. Knowing all of this, I would have expected to be non-plussed when Duke graduate Karen Owen's pretend seniors honors thesis went viral over the Internet the past few days. Titled "An education beyond the classroom: excelling in horizontal academics," the pseudo work was leaked from one, two or all three of the friends to whom she had sent the sexually charged materials including pictures, bar charts and rankings of her college hookups according to member sizes and sexual prowess. The fact this was a woman unashamedly having sex, using men and objectifying them in oh-so-many ways was revelatory and compelling. When she was contacted by different sites like Jezebel who posted the piece, she was described as contrite. She apologized to all the men she may have hurt by sending the piece to her friends, but she maintained she had not authorized the fake thesis to have gone anywhere else than the three friends to whom she had sent it. She did not apologize for having sex and did not feel embarrassed about her comments. Asked the inevitable question, she admitted she would be happy to do it all over again on as many occasions and with as many positions as she enjoyed previously. The simple truth is that the worm has turned. Owen knows that the chance she will be sued is very slight, especially when most of the postings of the PowerPoint slideshow she sent out have been modified to hide the faces of the male subjects and redacted so that texts will not identify them. Had this been a male publishing a list of his sexual conquests, there is little doubt from me there would have been an uproar and several suits aimed at picking the pockets of the satyr or knocking him down a peg or two. With the exception of the hapless fellow who got a score of three out of ten, most of the men would be pleased to read how well she was pleased. Yet, there is a sense to this incident that what is sauce for the gander is also good for the goose. The men she had sex with were almost all athletes on the Duke lacrosse and baseball squads. They could accurately be described as buff and very physically fit. While it doesn't matter, Owen is extremely attractive in her own right. To be fair, though, the protection of both sexes needs to be enforced from such unintended publicity and what is clearly an invasion of their privacy. The days of men bragging in the locker room has given way to women getting even on the Internet. Colleges will be looking to see how they fit into this new formula. I'm not sure they want their campuses to be seen as the canvas on which countless women will now paint their portraits of revenge. Suppose the guy with the three out of ten ranking does sue. What if the next release is from a college fraternity ranking the figures of the sorority members they have inducted into their...ahem...membership. The big question is does this mean that Duke and other colleges and universities in an effort to distance themselves might now require their new students to agree not to publish such salacious material in the future? Inquiring minds and friends with benefits might want to know.

Bernie, we'll miss you

Following the death last week of crooner Eddie Fisher and longtime Hollywood actress Gloria Stuart ("Titanic"), came the tragic announcement yesterday of the passing of comic Greg Girardo of TV's "Last Comic Standing." Fisher, the popular Jewish singer with standard hits like "Oh, My Papa" died from complications from hip surgery. He was the former husband of Elizabeth Taylor and Debbie Reynolds and the father of actress Carrie Fisher, who herself became an icon for the 70's and 80's generations because of her role as Princess Leia in the "Star Wars" trilogy. Stuart was 100 at the time of her death and so her passing was not entirely unanticipated, but she had been a major mover and shaker in the acting community since the Silent Era. Girardo, 44, whose appearances at numerous Comedy Central roasts were often laced with obscenities, was not considered a top-tier comedian. Indeed, he struggled for much of his career to make a bigger name for himself, but no one could have expected that the unshaven comic would accidentally take his own life. He was rushed to the hospital on Sunday, but died Wednesday, despite the efforts of doctors there to revive and stabilize him. Early this morning it was revealed that the so-called "Prince of Hollywood," Tony Curtis had expired from cardiac arrest. He was 85. Born to Hungarian Jewish immigrants as Bernard (or as he liked to refer to himself) "Bernie" Schwartz, the future Hollywood heartthrob had a very hard upbringing in the Bronx, suffering beatings by his father and dealing with the rantings of his schizophrenic mother. At one point he and his younger brother Julius were institutionalized when his parents could not take care of them any longer. Although he was reunited with his parents after a month, the teenager was further traumatized four years later when Julius was killed as a 12-year-old after being struck by a car. In "American Prince: A Memoir" he noted how he endured countless incidents of anti-Semetism throughout his time on the mean streets of New York. The handsome and charming young man spent his time as a seaman in the Navy during World War II and used money from the G. I. Bill to finance his study of acting prior to his moving to Hollywood. His early screen roles were not memorable and, as was the norm during the studio era, he was encouraged to change his name. He picked Tony Curtis, taking on the first name from his favorite novel "Anthony Adverse" and his new surname from the Anglicized name of his favorite uncle named Kurtz. Among the roles for which Curtis garnered fame were those opposite Marilyn Monroe in "Some Like It Hot," Kirk Douglas in "Spartacus," Burt Lancaster in "The Sweet Smell of Success" and his future wife, Janet Leigh, in "Houdini." His work with Sidney Portier in "The Defiant Ones," in which the two played escaped convicts handcuffed together, won him his only Academy Award nomination. Curtis, whose well-publicized marriage to Leigh was not long lived (nine years), was known about Hollywood as a major womanizer with reported trysts with Monroe and Natalie Wood among dozens of starlets. He married five other times. He was also the poster boy for drug abuse, having admitted to dosing himself on everything from booze to marijuana to cocaine and heroin. He checked himself into rehab on several occasions, but admitted that it was always a struggle for him. Ironically, his 23-year-old son Nicholas from his longest marriage to his third wife (Leslie Allen), died in 1992 from a heroin overdose. Although he did appear in several movie roles in his later years, Curtis turned his professional efforts towards painting, commanding $25,000 per canvas for his post-Impressionist works. A little-known passion for Curtis was his work with the Emanuel Foundation for Hungarian Culture he founded in 1998 in the memory of his father. Serving as the honorary chairman, Curtis funneled funds into Hungary intended to restore synagogues and Jewish cemeteries there. He dedicated his efforts to the 600,000 Hungarian victims of the Holocaust and even worked as a spokesman for Hungarian tourism. Following a bout of pneumonia in 2006 from which he barely survived, the actor was confined to a wheelchair, but made steady progress and was able to promote his latest book, "The Making of 'Some Like It Hot': My Memories of Marilyn Monroe and the Classic American Movie," released a year ago. Curtis was diagnosed with chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder during the summer. He is survived by his widow Jill Vandenburg Curtis and four children.

Getting a grip on Groupon

It would seem the latest craze to hit the social networking scene is Groupon, a perfect marriage between marketing for local businesses and the Internet. Frankly, I am amazed at some of the bargains that are trotted out daily in e-mail blasts to my account. Some are hard to resist: a $200 night's stay for $89 at a nice local hotel, half price meals at local eateries, half off tickets for Mississippi riverboat cruises, and a manicure-pedicure combination at a spa for just $35. Not that I'm in the market for a manicure-pedicure, mind you, but at that rate it's hard to resist. I'm not too sure that I would relish being in a retail business and offering these group discounts on a one-time only basis via Groupon. True, it would probably bring in more traffic, but in the end, how many of these bargain hunters will return to pay full value on a later trip? It seems to me that no matter how good the pedicure is, I would never consider it unless it was at a bargain basement price. For those ladies who wear sandals or attractive evening shoes, it might be a more common practice, but as for me, my dogs are usually penned up in Reebok walking shoes or on formal occasions encased in black patent leather shoes. It makes little sense for me to preen or primp in that department. Besides, what would I paint on my toenails?

When a fast goes fast...

There's nothing like praying to keep one's mind off hunger. It turns out the Yom Kippur fast was a lot easier on my system than the Fast of Gedaliah, held a week ago. While I admit I am not typically as observant as to include both fast days in the week leading up to the Day of Atonement, circumstances made it easier for me to consider that option this year. Last Sunday morning I awoke at 5:34, which was three minutes too late to eat, according to rabbinical authorities. The previous day I had had a very large meal late in the day due to it being Shabbat Shuva and a special program we had at the synagogue. The program involved the Zeitouns, a married Muslim couple, who appeared at Gates of Prayer's Bart Room, the meeting place and temporary sanctuary for Congregation Beth Israel. Abdulrahman Zeitoun, a Syrian-American house painter endured unbelievable horrors and was unlawfully imprisoned for over a month, in the days following Hurricane Katrina. The irony of the tragedy is that he personally rescued several people trapped in their homes by canoe when the levees broke and the flood waters rose in Broadmoor and other sections of New Orleans. News reports a few days before his arrest in his own home labeled him a hero and described his efforts at saving the lives of many people trapped in their homes. Kathy, his wife, and their children had been evacuated to Arizona during this time and simply stopped hearing from him after his arrest and eventual incarceration at Hope Correctional Facility in St. Gabriel, Louisiana. The entire story was detailed in a best seller by Dave Eggers titled "Zeitoun." (For more info, click here.) Shabbat Shuva, the Sabbath between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is considered one of the most important on the Jewish calendar. Because of the continuing controversy over the building of what has been variously labeled as the Islamic Cultural Center, the Cordoba Project and Park 51 two blocks from Ground Zero in New York, Rabbi Uri Topolosky of Congregation Beth Israel and Rabbi Robert Loewy of Gates of Prayer Synagogue (Reform) invited the Zeitouns and their joint congregations to meet and discuss the greater questions of religious freedom and racial profiling, which had contributed to Zeitouin's arrest and imprisonment. It was the first time the Zeitouns had been in a synagogue and a very unusual program to say the least. So, because of this special program, I didn't begin to eat any meal on that Saturday until late and that meant not eating dinner prior to seeing a play that evening. I did decide to have a steak about 11:00 p.m. that night, figuring I would rise early and enjoy breakfast before the fast or have that late night meal and its high protein content keep me sustained for the following day. As it turned out, my late rising made the latter choice for me. On reflection I think I was more affected by dehydration than by a lack of food. That's why I think the praying, staying indoors for the most part and, perhaps, the sense of community at the services yesterday pulled me through the day with little or no ill effect. So, in five days it's yet another Jewish holiday, Succot, the Festival of Booths that commemorates the wandering for 40 years in the dessert. Thankfully, that holiday has a lot of eating inside the sukkahs, or temporary huts, that are erected on the sides of Jewish homes and synagogues. No more fasts for a while, but I guess I had better get my feet in shape because there will be lots of dancing in the days to come.

Happy New Year 5771

To non-Jews, the Jewish New Year called Rosh Hashanah is a rather odd holiday in many ways. But don't worry, it can also be confusing to many of us Jews. That's because the Jewish calendar is based on a lunar cycle wherein every month begins with the announcement of a new moon over Jerusalem. This was fixed many years ago by rabbinical authorities. Thus, every "day" begins at sundown. But it is not strictly a lunar calendar as is the case with the Islamic calendar. There is a specific passage in the Bible that prohibits the Passover celebration from being held in any other season other than Spring. Because of this, there are dechiyot (adjustments) that add an extra month in years 3, 6, 8, 11, 14, 17 and 19 of a 19-year cycle. As a matter of fact, if there is a date in the Jewish calendar that falls on a specific day of the Gregorian calendar (i.e., 1 Tishri=Thursday, September 9), it will fall on that same day and date every 19 years. Under a strictly lunar calendar specific holidays or celebrations, as is the case in the observance of the Islamic period of Ramadan, move from one season to another. The Jewish calendar is thus both a lunar and a solar calendar and is very accurate, although not perfect in any sense of the word. Normally, one would suspect that New Year's Day would be the first day of the first month. That would be a very wrong assumption. Because the original calendar was based on an agrarian culture dealing with planting, praying for rain, reaping and harvesting, the days now reserved as Rosh Hashanah actually occur on the first two days of the seventh month. The very first month on the calendar is found in the spring in the month of Nissan, which coincides with the season when the Exodus from Egypt occurred, and was used administratively during the era of the kings. The modern celebration of Rosh Hashanah was instituted after the destruction of the Second Temple. Scholars note that the original references in the Bible to the holiday were both Yom Hazikaron ("The Day of Remembrance") and Yom Teruah ("Day of the Sounding of the Shofar"). The ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur ("Day of Atonement") are called the "Days of Awe," a period of introspection and privation. It is said that the Book of Life is opened on Rosh Hashanah and closed on Yom Kippur. It is one book we all hope to be in year after year.