THE FIGHTING RACE.; J.I.C. Clarke's Poem, Recited by Him at President Roosevelt's Request
http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9807E5D7133EE733A2575AC1A9659C946497D6CF
March 19, 1905, Sunday
Page 8, 562 words
The President led the applause that followed the reading. Then there was some whispering between him and Judge Fitzgerald, resulting in the announcement from the latter that Mr. Clarke, in direct response to the President's request, would recite "Kelly, Burke, and Shea," which was done to the evident enjoyment of Mr. Roosovelt……
http://www.robert-e-howard.org/IronHarp4.html - fighting
The Fighting Race
by Joseph I.C. Clarke
"Read out the names!" and Burke sat back,
And Kelly drooped his head,
While Shea -- they called him Scholar Jack --
Went down the list of the dead.
Officers, seamen, gunners, marines,
The crews of the gig and yawl,
The bearded man and the lad in his teens,
Carpenters, coal passers -- all.
Then, knocking the ashes from out his pipe,
Said Burke in an offhand way:
"We're all in that dead man's list, by Cripe!
Kelly and Burke and Shea."
"Well, here's to the Maine, and I'm sorry for Spain,"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.
"Wherever there's Kellys there's trouble," said Burke.
"Wherever fighting's the game,
Or a spice of danger in grown man's work,"
Said Kelly, "you'll find my name."
"And do we fall short," said Burke, getting mad,
"When it's touch and go for life?"
Said Shea, "It's thirty-odd years, bedad,
Since I charged to drum and fife
Up Marye's Heights, and my old canteen
Stopped a rebel ball on its way.
There were blossoms of blood on our sprigs of green --
Kelly and Burke and Shea --
And the dead didn't brag." "Well, here's to the flag!"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.
"I wish 'twas in Ireland, for there's the place,"
Said Burke, "that we'd die by right,
In the cradle of our soldier race,
After one good stand-up fight.
My grandfather fell on Vinegar Hill,
And fighting was not his trade;
But his rusty pike's in the cabin still,
With Hessian blood on the blade."
"Aye, aye," said Kelly, "the pikes were great
When the word was 'clear the way!'
We were thick on the roll in ninety-eight --
Kelly and Burke and Shea."
"Well, here's to the pike and the sword and the like!"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.
And Shea, the scholar, with rising joy,
Said, "We were at Ramillies.
We left our bones at Fontenoy
And up in the Pyrenees.
Before Dunkirk, on Landen's plain,
Cremona, Lille and Ghent,
We're all over Austria, France and Spain,
Wherever they pitched a tent.
We've died for England from Waterloo
To Egypt and Dargai;
And still there's enough for a corps or a crew,
Kelly and Burke and Shea."
"Well, here is to good honest fighting blood!"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.
"Oh, the fighting races don't die out,
If they seldom die in bed,
For love is first in their hearts, no doubt,"
Said Burke; then Kelly said:
"When Michael, the Irish Archangel, stands,
The angel with the sword,
And the battle-dead from a hundred lands
Are ranged in one big horde,
Our line, that for Gabriel's trumpet waits,
Will stretch three deep that day,
From Jehoshaphat to the Golden Gates --
Kelly and Burke and Shea."
"Well, here's thank God for the race and the sod!"
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.
1898
A note at the end of the poem states the date of composition as March 16, 1898: about a month after the sinking of the Maine, and before the declaration of war with Spain (April 11).
Several of the poems in the book's first section, "Songs of the Celt," relate to the Spanish-American War (which apparently got Clarke's Irish fighting blood up); there are three more in which Kelly, Burke and Shea figure.
I won't bother with a point-by-point rundown of all the references to major battles and military engagements to which the trio refer in "The Fighting Race," merely note that, in the passage to which Moore evidently referred, Howard would have well known that Vinegar Hill was the decisive battle of the 1798 United Irishmen rising. At the time, Hessians comprised the bulk of Britain's mercenary troops -- as, indeed, they had done in America.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
UN Security Council Adjurns to P. J. Clarke's
President Obama sat at the UN Security Council meeting with Col. Kadaffi, the Irish delegate sitting between them, and the Isralie delegate sitting next to him, so Obama suggested they continue their discussions off the records over a few beers at P.J. Clarke’s.
This is a partial transcript of an NSA intercept of what was said.
Obama: “I don’t think we can solve all the world’s problems over a few beers, but we can get to know each other better, share our opinions, have a good time, and maybe change each other a little bit so we can learn to compromise and solve problems without resorting to violence and war.”
Khadafi: “You call sitting around drinking beer and having to go outside to smoke is having a good time? My son, you let me set my tent up in your backyard and I show you a good time.”
Irish delegate: “You smoke in your tent? You come visit us in Ireland and you can set up your tent, mate. And bring a lot of money because we want reparations for all the maiming, death and destruction you caused by giving the IRA plastic explosives.”
Isralie: “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. The Irish get plastic explosives from the Libyans, blow themselves up with it, and now they want the Libyans to pay them restitution and reparations for providing the weapons they used to kill each other? I should have been a lawyer.”
Gadhafi: “Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly what I mean. We like the idea of restitutions, because we intend to seek restitution from the British Imperalists, Italian barbarians, and Nazis invaders for their wonton destruction of Lyba and the Americans for enslaving Africans and providing us with the plastic explosives that we gave to the Irish. So ask for millions, whatever you want, and we’ll pay it because we’ll get even more from the British, Italians, Germans and Americans, who owe us trillions in restitution.”
Obama: “Now wait a minute guys, you can’t always look to me to bail you out. That wasn’t my CIA who gave Khadafi the plastic explosives. You can’t hold me responsible for that, or we’ll have to seek restitution from the Swiss, who made the plastic explosives.”
Qaddafi: “Ah, yes, the Swiss. There are No Swiss. They’re all either French, Italian or German, nobody’s Swiss. Swiss should be done away with, dissolved, broken up and given to the French, Italians and Germans.”
Obama: “But then we couldn’t seek restitution from them, and the whole scheme falls apart.”
Irish delegate: “Kadaffi, you really got a kid named Hanibal, who beats his servants?”
Obama: “Well as you know, I have two daughters, who I’m sure will be giving me plenty of trouble when they get to be teenagers too.”
Irish delegate: “So in retaliation for your son Hanibal being embarrassed at a Swiss hotel, you cut off all oil shipments to Switzerland, bring the country to its knees, and they kiss your arse to be friends again? That’s awesome. Did your son learn that at the London School of Economics?”
Isralie: “I hope you tought your son some manners, or to be more gentle with his servants and slaves, at least in public.”
Kaddafi: “Manners! You talk to me about Manners, after you killed JFK because he wanted to stop you from making a nuclear weapon.”
Isralie: “Nuclear weapon? We don’t have any such thing. You’re a lunatic. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Obama: “Gentlemen, gentle men, settle down now. Let’s go out in the alley, share a butt, and let things calm down a little bit before they get out of hand.”
Qhadafi: “See, if we were in my tent, we wouldn’t have to go outside for a smoke, and we could solve all the world’s problems while having a really good time.”
This is a partial transcript of an NSA intercept of what was said.
Obama: “I don’t think we can solve all the world’s problems over a few beers, but we can get to know each other better, share our opinions, have a good time, and maybe change each other a little bit so we can learn to compromise and solve problems without resorting to violence and war.”
Khadafi: “You call sitting around drinking beer and having to go outside to smoke is having a good time? My son, you let me set my tent up in your backyard and I show you a good time.”
Irish delegate: “You smoke in your tent? You come visit us in Ireland and you can set up your tent, mate. And bring a lot of money because we want reparations for all the maiming, death and destruction you caused by giving the IRA plastic explosives.”
Isralie: “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. The Irish get plastic explosives from the Libyans, blow themselves up with it, and now they want the Libyans to pay them restitution and reparations for providing the weapons they used to kill each other? I should have been a lawyer.”
Gadhafi: “Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly what I mean. We like the idea of restitutions, because we intend to seek restitution from the British Imperalists, Italian barbarians, and Nazis invaders for their wonton destruction of Lyba and the Americans for enslaving Africans and providing us with the plastic explosives that we gave to the Irish. So ask for millions, whatever you want, and we’ll pay it because we’ll get even more from the British, Italians, Germans and Americans, who owe us trillions in restitution.”
Obama: “Now wait a minute guys, you can’t always look to me to bail you out. That wasn’t my CIA who gave Khadafi the plastic explosives. You can’t hold me responsible for that, or we’ll have to seek restitution from the Swiss, who made the plastic explosives.”
Qaddafi: “Ah, yes, the Swiss. There are No Swiss. They’re all either French, Italian or German, nobody’s Swiss. Swiss should be done away with, dissolved, broken up and given to the French, Italians and Germans.”
Obama: “But then we couldn’t seek restitution from them, and the whole scheme falls apart.”
Irish delegate: “Kadaffi, you really got a kid named Hanibal, who beats his servants?”
Obama: “Well as you know, I have two daughters, who I’m sure will be giving me plenty of trouble when they get to be teenagers too.”
Irish delegate: “So in retaliation for your son Hanibal being embarrassed at a Swiss hotel, you cut off all oil shipments to Switzerland, bring the country to its knees, and they kiss your arse to be friends again? That’s awesome. Did your son learn that at the London School of Economics?”
Isralie: “I hope you tought your son some manners, or to be more gentle with his servants and slaves, at least in public.”
Kaddafi: “Manners! You talk to me about Manners, after you killed JFK because he wanted to stop you from making a nuclear weapon.”
Isralie: “Nuclear weapon? We don’t have any such thing. You’re a lunatic. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Obama: “Gentlemen, gentle men, settle down now. Let’s go out in the alley, share a butt, and let things calm down a little bit before they get out of hand.”
Qhadafi: “See, if we were in my tent, we wouldn’t have to go outside for a smoke, and we could solve all the world’s problems while having a really good time.”
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Ted Kennedy RIP
Ted Kennedy RIP
I met Ted Kennedy on two occasions, once when I was a kid, I guess I was nine in 1960 when Teddy was campaigning for his brother for President in downtown Camden and the nuns let us out of school to go see him.
It was at the Walt Whitman Hotel, which isn't there anymore, but at one time was a grand old hotel, and I was walking next to TK down the grand staircase, while he scribbled his name on a piece of paper for me.
I don't know what ever happened to that relic, but years later I met him again, this time at his home in McLean, Virginia, in the spring of 1977 or 78.
My friend Brian had lost a leg in a motorcycle accident in Ocean City (NJ), and with the insurance money he bought a little red TR7 sports car and asked me to join him on a cross country road trip. We lived in a seasonal-winter rental beach house at the time, with two other guys, and literally drove from coast to coast. My brother Leo gave us his CB radio and we were "Red 7" on a cross country trip to Long Beach, California, where we would attend the US Grand Prix auto race, which like Monaco, was through the streets of the town.
On the way we stopped to visit friends of mine from college, and in Colorado, stopped at Winterpark, where we met Hal O'Leary, who invented three-track skiing for one-legged handicapped people, like Brian. They ski without a prothesis, on one leg, with outriggers on the poles. After awhile you don't consider them handicaped, as Brian quickly became a better skier than me, a "normie."
A week or so later, on the other side of the Rockies, we put into Aspin, where we met another three-track skier on Ajax, Aspin Mountain. One of his outriggers was broken, so Brian helped him down the mountain and at the base bar, where our waitress was Nancy, who we knew from Ocean City. Nancy worked on the boardwalk at Irenes, near where I worked in the summmers, Mack & Manco's Pizza. Nancy is now married to Ed Devlin, then the owner of Irenes. So we introduce Nancy to our new friend, who we jus met on the mountain, Ted Kennedy, Jr.
Teddy was then seventeen, and had just lost his leg to cancer, but was clean now, and learning how to ski three track, and a few other things. Brian took Teddy out for a spin in the TR7 and showed him how to shift gears with one leg, and do a handbreak turn 360.
Teddy wanted to go to California with us, but the car only held two people, but he gave us his phone number and said when we got back to the East Coast to give him a call and tell him how the rest of our trip went.
We drove to California, went straight to Santa Monica Pier and then to Long Beach for the Grand Prix, and to Mexico, a little further down the coast to Ensenada, where Brian got arrested with another one-legged skier we met in Colorado. They had turned the street lights switch out and were arrested, put in a Paddy Wagon, taken to court, where the judge was working, and were fined whatever they had on them. They were out of there by the time I walked down the street.
Before we left town I grabbed a couple of $5 Cuban cigars, Montecristos, that you can't buy in the USA, figuring I'd give one to my father's boss, the county prosecutor, and the other to George McGonigle, the long time bartender at Gregory's our local bar in Somers Point. (Ocean City, NJ being dry).
Well, to cut to the chase, on the way home we stopped in Columbia, South Carolina, where we visited our good friends Scott and Duncan MacRae, who had worked with me at Mack & Manco's. They had opened a college bar/restaurant called Yesterdays, at Five Points, and are really successful. Leaving there, we were about two hours out of DC when Brian called Teddy and told him we were in the neighborhood.
Teddy said to come by his house, we could still make dinner if we hurried. We didn't hurry, and got tied up in traffic and lost, and it was about 8pm at night when we pulled into a gas station in McLean, not far from the CIA. Teddy gave us directions to his house, and young Patrick answered the door. It's hard to imagine Patrick is now a Congressman from Rhode Island, but then was just a kid.
Teddy was glad to see us, and introduced us to his sister Kara, and then took us into the library where his father was on the phone. There was a fire in the fireplace, and a sterio was playing a reel to reel tape of a speech by RFK that Teddy, Sr. was apparently listening to. Although he was at home in his own study, Ted Kennedy wore his tie tight up on his neck, and yet seemed comfortable.
Senator Kennedy handed the phone to young Patrick, saying "Talk to your aunt Ethel," while Teddy, Jr. introduced us, "Dad, these are the guys from Jersey I was telling you about."
As the Senator shook our hands, and asked how our trip was, I noticed he was smoking a cigar, which he was holding in his other hand, a cigar that was down to a roach, as they say.
While he wanted to hear some stories of our adventures on the road, I said that while in Mexico I had bought a couple of Cuban cigars, and asked if he would like one. Sure. So I went out to the car and got one of the cigars, and as I gave it to him I told him that I had bought two, one for my father's boss, the prosecutor, and the other for our local bartender, George McGonigle.
Then he wanted to know which one I was giving him?
He was getting the one I was going to give my father's boss.
"That shows whose more important in your life," Kennedy said laughing.
I then remarked about how there is the story of "your brother ordered a case of Cuban cigars before he signed the trade embargo," which Kennedy said, "was something Jack would do."
Young Teddy then showed us around the house, his pin ball machine in the basement, and his bedroom, where on the wall was a framed page from a yellow legal pad, with notes and scribbles and dated April 17, 1961, the day of the Bay of Pigs.
I later saw that a book was published on presidential doodles, and thought about that page and what was on it.
We didn't stay long, an hour or so, but we got to know young Teddy better, skiing with him again in Colorado a few times, and he visited the Jersey Shore.
I also got to know Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., who stayed overnight at my family's house at 819 Wesley Ave. in Ocean City, while on the 1980 campaign trail when Teddy Sr. ran for President. I drove Bobby around to radio stations and meetings and hooked up with his brother Michael. I then drove Bobby and Michael to New York City, where the major argument was to have dinner at 21 or pizza. We ate pizza.
Having met young Teddy skiing, and the Senator and his family at their home, and knowing Robert and Michael from the campaign trail, I can say that I found the Kennedys to be a fairly typical Irish American family.
And now Big Teddy is gone, and the younger generation must step up. Hey, that's us.
I met Ted Kennedy on two occasions, once when I was a kid, I guess I was nine in 1960 when Teddy was campaigning for his brother for President in downtown Camden and the nuns let us out of school to go see him.
It was at the Walt Whitman Hotel, which isn't there anymore, but at one time was a grand old hotel, and I was walking next to TK down the grand staircase, while he scribbled his name on a piece of paper for me.
I don't know what ever happened to that relic, but years later I met him again, this time at his home in McLean, Virginia, in the spring of 1977 or 78.
My friend Brian had lost a leg in a motorcycle accident in Ocean City (NJ), and with the insurance money he bought a little red TR7 sports car and asked me to join him on a cross country road trip. We lived in a seasonal-winter rental beach house at the time, with two other guys, and literally drove from coast to coast. My brother Leo gave us his CB radio and we were "Red 7" on a cross country trip to Long Beach, California, where we would attend the US Grand Prix auto race, which like Monaco, was through the streets of the town.
On the way we stopped to visit friends of mine from college, and in Colorado, stopped at Winterpark, where we met Hal O'Leary, who invented three-track skiing for one-legged handicapped people, like Brian. They ski without a prothesis, on one leg, with outriggers on the poles. After awhile you don't consider them handicaped, as Brian quickly became a better skier than me, a "normie."
A week or so later, on the other side of the Rockies, we put into Aspin, where we met another three-track skier on Ajax, Aspin Mountain. One of his outriggers was broken, so Brian helped him down the mountain and at the base bar, where our waitress was Nancy, who we knew from Ocean City. Nancy worked on the boardwalk at Irenes, near where I worked in the summmers, Mack & Manco's Pizza. Nancy is now married to Ed Devlin, then the owner of Irenes. So we introduce Nancy to our new friend, who we jus met on the mountain, Ted Kennedy, Jr.
Teddy was then seventeen, and had just lost his leg to cancer, but was clean now, and learning how to ski three track, and a few other things. Brian took Teddy out for a spin in the TR7 and showed him how to shift gears with one leg, and do a handbreak turn 360.
Teddy wanted to go to California with us, but the car only held two people, but he gave us his phone number and said when we got back to the East Coast to give him a call and tell him how the rest of our trip went.
We drove to California, went straight to Santa Monica Pier and then to Long Beach for the Grand Prix, and to Mexico, a little further down the coast to Ensenada, where Brian got arrested with another one-legged skier we met in Colorado. They had turned the street lights switch out and were arrested, put in a Paddy Wagon, taken to court, where the judge was working, and were fined whatever they had on them. They were out of there by the time I walked down the street.
Before we left town I grabbed a couple of $5 Cuban cigars, Montecristos, that you can't buy in the USA, figuring I'd give one to my father's boss, the county prosecutor, and the other to George McGonigle, the long time bartender at Gregory's our local bar in Somers Point. (Ocean City, NJ being dry).
Well, to cut to the chase, on the way home we stopped in Columbia, South Carolina, where we visited our good friends Scott and Duncan MacRae, who had worked with me at Mack & Manco's. They had opened a college bar/restaurant called Yesterdays, at Five Points, and are really successful. Leaving there, we were about two hours out of DC when Brian called Teddy and told him we were in the neighborhood.
Teddy said to come by his house, we could still make dinner if we hurried. We didn't hurry, and got tied up in traffic and lost, and it was about 8pm at night when we pulled into a gas station in McLean, not far from the CIA. Teddy gave us directions to his house, and young Patrick answered the door. It's hard to imagine Patrick is now a Congressman from Rhode Island, but then was just a kid.
Teddy was glad to see us, and introduced us to his sister Kara, and then took us into the library where his father was on the phone. There was a fire in the fireplace, and a sterio was playing a reel to reel tape of a speech by RFK that Teddy, Sr. was apparently listening to. Although he was at home in his own study, Ted Kennedy wore his tie tight up on his neck, and yet seemed comfortable.
Senator Kennedy handed the phone to young Patrick, saying "Talk to your aunt Ethel," while Teddy, Jr. introduced us, "Dad, these are the guys from Jersey I was telling you about."
As the Senator shook our hands, and asked how our trip was, I noticed he was smoking a cigar, which he was holding in his other hand, a cigar that was down to a roach, as they say.
While he wanted to hear some stories of our adventures on the road, I said that while in Mexico I had bought a couple of Cuban cigars, and asked if he would like one. Sure. So I went out to the car and got one of the cigars, and as I gave it to him I told him that I had bought two, one for my father's boss, the prosecutor, and the other for our local bartender, George McGonigle.
Then he wanted to know which one I was giving him?
He was getting the one I was going to give my father's boss.
"That shows whose more important in your life," Kennedy said laughing.
I then remarked about how there is the story of "your brother ordered a case of Cuban cigars before he signed the trade embargo," which Kennedy said, "was something Jack would do."
Young Teddy then showed us around the house, his pin ball machine in the basement, and his bedroom, where on the wall was a framed page from a yellow legal pad, with notes and scribbles and dated April 17, 1961, the day of the Bay of Pigs.
I later saw that a book was published on presidential doodles, and thought about that page and what was on it.
We didn't stay long, an hour or so, but we got to know young Teddy better, skiing with him again in Colorado a few times, and he visited the Jersey Shore.
I also got to know Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., who stayed overnight at my family's house at 819 Wesley Ave. in Ocean City, while on the 1980 campaign trail when Teddy Sr. ran for President. I drove Bobby around to radio stations and meetings and hooked up with his brother Michael. I then drove Bobby and Michael to New York City, where the major argument was to have dinner at 21 or pizza. We ate pizza.
Having met young Teddy skiing, and the Senator and his family at their home, and knowing Robert and Michael from the campaign trail, I can say that I found the Kennedys to be a fairly typical Irish American family.
And now Big Teddy is gone, and the younger generation must step up. Hey, that's us.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Les Paul RIP
Charlie Carney, one of the last of the old time bartenders, insisted that I check out this guy John Coliani, a pianist who used to play at Steve & Cookies - the old Strotbecks club. John is indeed a terrific musician who then introduced me to his mentor, Carlton Drinkard, Billy Holiday's pianist.
One night I accompanied Carney and Drinkard to Philly to see a Billy Holiday show, a night to remember.
More recently I heard a recording of John Coliani on the radio and was inspired to write my first Nightbeat Blog about him, and how he was playing every Monday night in New York City at a nightclub with the Les Paul trio.
After exchanging a few emails with John, I promised him I'd check out his show with Les Paul.
Well, now I guess I can't keep that promise.
http://jerseyshorenightbeat.blogspot.com/2008/02/john-coliani-with-les-paul.html
Les Paul, Jazz-Guitar Virtuoso and Inventor, Dies at 94
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/story/2009/08/13/ST2009081301806.html
By Adam Bernstein
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, August 13, 2009; 1:40 PM
Les Paul, 94, a Grammy Award-winning guitar virtuoso and inventor who helped bring his instrument, typically assigned to chug along rhythmically and compliantly, to the forefront of jazz performance, died today at a hospital in White Plains, N.Y. He had pneumonia.
Mr. Paul first came to prominence for his fast and flashy jazz-guitar style. In the 1940s and early 1950s, he and singer Mary Ford, his wife, had hits with "How High the Moon," "The Tennessee Waltz," "Vaya con Dios" and "The World is Waiting for the Sunrise."
All along, he refined musical inventions in his workshop. He was an early designer of an electric guitar that had a solid body, and his model managed to reduce sound distortions common to acoustic instruments.
He actively promoting such guitars for the Gibson company, and the Les Paul line of guitars became commonplace among such musicians as bluesman Eric Clapton, jazzman Wes Montgomery and rocker Pete Townshend.
Mr. Paul called his first solid-body guitar "the Log." It was made of a four-inch thick piece of wood from a nearby railroad track, a neck he borrowed from an Epiphone guitar and two pickups to give it the electric pulse. Audiences and music executives laughed at the ungainly device, and he spent years honing its visual appeal.
He said his efforts were toward one goal: to change the way people saw the guitar.
"I wanted people to hear me," he told the publication Guitar Player in 2002. "That's where the whole idea of a solid-body guitar came from. In the '30s, the archtop electric was such an apologetic instrument. On the bandstand, it was so difficult battling with a drummer, the horns, and all the instruments that had so much power.
"With a solid-body, guitarists could get louder and express themselves," he said. "Instead of being wimps, we'd become one of the most powerful people in the band. We could turn that mother up and do what we couldn't do before."
He played a key role in developing the eight-track tape recorder, and used the device to play many parts on the same recording, a process now called multitracking. Such early work in overlaying sound contributed to the richness and distinctiveness of his recordings.
Mr. Paul earned the nickname "the wizard of Waukesha," after the town in Wisconsin where he was born Lester William Polfuss on June 9, 1915. His father was an auto-garage mechanic.
As a boy, Mr. Paul taught himself music on his mother's player piano, mimicking the notes with his own hands. An admirer of the blues and country troubadours he heard on the radio, he imitated their songs with his own harmonica and mail-order guitar. He played both instruments simultaneously by making his own harmonica holder.
As a teenager, he played dates at a drive-in restaurant, where he experimenting with amplified sound to reach the open-air audience. He stuck a phonograph needle inside his acoustic guitar and wired it to a radio speaker.
Adopting the moniker "Rhubarb Red," he left high school and joined a traveling cowboy band and later played on the "Barn Dance" program on WLS radio in Chicago. He named one of his early groups the Original Ozark Apple Knockers.
Not wishing for a career in hillbilly music, he convinced two friends -- guitarist Jimmy Atkins (Chet's brother) and bassist Ernie Newton -- that he knew Paul Whiteman, the prominent big-band leader. The trio went to New York in 1937, only to be kicked out of Whiteman's office.
They were waiting for the elevator back down when they saw bandleader Fred Waring next to them. He already had dozens of musicians, but Mr. Paul insisted he hear the trio's lightning-fast tempo -- timed to please Waring before the elevator arrived. He was hooked, and they got a job on his NBC show.
Around this time, Mr. Paul also became a consultant to the Gibson company, testing its new models. Not until a decade later, in 1952, and after a rival company developed a similar model, did Gibson see the selling potential of Mr. Paul's solid-body electric guitar. They sought his endorsement on their own design.
Meanwhile, he had disagreements with Waring about the continued use of the electric guitar. He announced he wanted to be the accompanist for Bing Crosby, one of the most popular singers in the country.
It took Mr. Paul two years to meet Crosby and worked as musical director for two Chicago radio stations before impressing the crooner during a musical date at a Los Angeles club.
Crosby arranged for a recording session at Decca records, where they made "It's Been a Long, Long Time," "Tiger Rag" and other titles that were best-sellers.
In the early 1940s, Mr. Paul worked for Armed Forced Radio Service and became a staff musician at NBC, accompanying the Andrews Sisters and other pop singers.
He jammed the blues with pianist Nat "King" Cole in Norman Granz's first Jazz at the Philharmonic concert series in 1944. Their quicksilver note-for-note matching of solos created howls of approval from the audience.
He also had musical dates worldwide, once meeting his idol, Gypsy guitarist Django Reinhardt.
On Crosby's advice, Mr. Paul created his own recording studio, both to help his guitar career and his interest in electronics. He began to take advantage of new, still bulky, tape-recording machine technology. Facing initial skepticism, he persuaded Ampex to market his eight-track tape recorder.
After hundreds of false starts, he began recording with these new devices in the late 1940s and can be heard on such standard and novelty numbers as "Nola," "Josephine," "Whispering" and "Meet Mister Callahan."
His version of "Lover" boasted him playing eight electric guitar parts, which he electronically wove into a single record. It was a sensation.
Married at the time, he also had been seeing Ford, whom he had hired as a singer and guitarist. Both were in the auto wreck, on an icy patch of road in Chandler, Okla., that almost killed Mr. Paul in 1948.
Mr. Paul's right arm was crushed, and one doctor suggested amputation. Instead, he had it fixed at a right angle so he could play his instrument.
The next year, Mr. Paul divorced his first wife, Virginia Webb Paul, and married Ford. The new couple settled in Mahwah, N.J., and continued to work together on a series of albums for Capitol and Columbia in the 1950s, including "The New Sound" and "Time to Dream."
The rigorous touring schedule and Ford's alcohol addiction damaged their marriage. Meanwhile the public demand for rock 'n' roll harmed their careers.
They divorced in 1964. Survivors include a companion, Arlene Palmer; two sons from his first marriage; and a son and daughter from his second marriage; five grandchildren; and five great-grandchildren. A daughter from his second marriage died in infancy in 1954.
Mr. Paul, who had long ago made his fortune, tried to settle into retirement in the 1960s as the popularity of rock-and-roll music grew. He made occasional recordings, notably the album "Chester and Lester," for which he shared a 1976 Grammy for best country instrumental performance with Chet Atkins. Mr. Paul was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1988 and won two more Grammys, in 2006, for his album "Les Paul & Friends: American Made, World Played."
He gradually reentered public performance, obtaining a regular date at Fat Tuesday's in New York through the 1990s. For fans and fellow musicians, including Billy Joel, catching Mr. Ford at Fat Tuesday's was a Monday-night must. He was a sprightly presence at the club, even after he developed arthritis that left him with use of only two fingers in his left hand.
"If you're stubborn, it can be done," he once told The Washington Post. "I've been playing with what fingers I have left. If they'll put up with it, I can put up with it."
Bill DeMain's 2006 interview with Les Paul:
http://www.puremusic.com/pdf/les.pdf
One night I accompanied Carney and Drinkard to Philly to see a Billy Holiday show, a night to remember.
More recently I heard a recording of John Coliani on the radio and was inspired to write my first Nightbeat Blog about him, and how he was playing every Monday night in New York City at a nightclub with the Les Paul trio.
After exchanging a few emails with John, I promised him I'd check out his show with Les Paul.
Well, now I guess I can't keep that promise.
http://jerseyshorenightbeat.blogspot.com/2008/02/john-coliani-with-les-paul.html
Les Paul, Jazz-Guitar Virtuoso and Inventor, Dies at 94
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/story/2009/08/13/ST2009081301806.html
By Adam Bernstein
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, August 13, 2009; 1:40 PM
Les Paul, 94, a Grammy Award-winning guitar virtuoso and inventor who helped bring his instrument, typically assigned to chug along rhythmically and compliantly, to the forefront of jazz performance, died today at a hospital in White Plains, N.Y. He had pneumonia.
Mr. Paul first came to prominence for his fast and flashy jazz-guitar style. In the 1940s and early 1950s, he and singer Mary Ford, his wife, had hits with "How High the Moon," "The Tennessee Waltz," "Vaya con Dios" and "The World is Waiting for the Sunrise."
All along, he refined musical inventions in his workshop. He was an early designer of an electric guitar that had a solid body, and his model managed to reduce sound distortions common to acoustic instruments.
He actively promoting such guitars for the Gibson company, and the Les Paul line of guitars became commonplace among such musicians as bluesman Eric Clapton, jazzman Wes Montgomery and rocker Pete Townshend.
Mr. Paul called his first solid-body guitar "the Log." It was made of a four-inch thick piece of wood from a nearby railroad track, a neck he borrowed from an Epiphone guitar and two pickups to give it the electric pulse. Audiences and music executives laughed at the ungainly device, and he spent years honing its visual appeal.
He said his efforts were toward one goal: to change the way people saw the guitar.
"I wanted people to hear me," he told the publication Guitar Player in 2002. "That's where the whole idea of a solid-body guitar came from. In the '30s, the archtop electric was such an apologetic instrument. On the bandstand, it was so difficult battling with a drummer, the horns, and all the instruments that had so much power.
"With a solid-body, guitarists could get louder and express themselves," he said. "Instead of being wimps, we'd become one of the most powerful people in the band. We could turn that mother up and do what we couldn't do before."
He played a key role in developing the eight-track tape recorder, and used the device to play many parts on the same recording, a process now called multitracking. Such early work in overlaying sound contributed to the richness and distinctiveness of his recordings.
Mr. Paul earned the nickname "the wizard of Waukesha," after the town in Wisconsin where he was born Lester William Polfuss on June 9, 1915. His father was an auto-garage mechanic.
As a boy, Mr. Paul taught himself music on his mother's player piano, mimicking the notes with his own hands. An admirer of the blues and country troubadours he heard on the radio, he imitated their songs with his own harmonica and mail-order guitar. He played both instruments simultaneously by making his own harmonica holder.
As a teenager, he played dates at a drive-in restaurant, where he experimenting with amplified sound to reach the open-air audience. He stuck a phonograph needle inside his acoustic guitar and wired it to a radio speaker.
Adopting the moniker "Rhubarb Red," he left high school and joined a traveling cowboy band and later played on the "Barn Dance" program on WLS radio in Chicago. He named one of his early groups the Original Ozark Apple Knockers.
Not wishing for a career in hillbilly music, he convinced two friends -- guitarist Jimmy Atkins (Chet's brother) and bassist Ernie Newton -- that he knew Paul Whiteman, the prominent big-band leader. The trio went to New York in 1937, only to be kicked out of Whiteman's office.
They were waiting for the elevator back down when they saw bandleader Fred Waring next to them. He already had dozens of musicians, but Mr. Paul insisted he hear the trio's lightning-fast tempo -- timed to please Waring before the elevator arrived. He was hooked, and they got a job on his NBC show.
Around this time, Mr. Paul also became a consultant to the Gibson company, testing its new models. Not until a decade later, in 1952, and after a rival company developed a similar model, did Gibson see the selling potential of Mr. Paul's solid-body electric guitar. They sought his endorsement on their own design.
Meanwhile, he had disagreements with Waring about the continued use of the electric guitar. He announced he wanted to be the accompanist for Bing Crosby, one of the most popular singers in the country.
It took Mr. Paul two years to meet Crosby and worked as musical director for two Chicago radio stations before impressing the crooner during a musical date at a Los Angeles club.
Crosby arranged for a recording session at Decca records, where they made "It's Been a Long, Long Time," "Tiger Rag" and other titles that were best-sellers.
In the early 1940s, Mr. Paul worked for Armed Forced Radio Service and became a staff musician at NBC, accompanying the Andrews Sisters and other pop singers.
He jammed the blues with pianist Nat "King" Cole in Norman Granz's first Jazz at the Philharmonic concert series in 1944. Their quicksilver note-for-note matching of solos created howls of approval from the audience.
He also had musical dates worldwide, once meeting his idol, Gypsy guitarist Django Reinhardt.
On Crosby's advice, Mr. Paul created his own recording studio, both to help his guitar career and his interest in electronics. He began to take advantage of new, still bulky, tape-recording machine technology. Facing initial skepticism, he persuaded Ampex to market his eight-track tape recorder.
After hundreds of false starts, he began recording with these new devices in the late 1940s and can be heard on such standard and novelty numbers as "Nola," "Josephine," "Whispering" and "Meet Mister Callahan."
His version of "Lover" boasted him playing eight electric guitar parts, which he electronically wove into a single record. It was a sensation.
Married at the time, he also had been seeing Ford, whom he had hired as a singer and guitarist. Both were in the auto wreck, on an icy patch of road in Chandler, Okla., that almost killed Mr. Paul in 1948.
Mr. Paul's right arm was crushed, and one doctor suggested amputation. Instead, he had it fixed at a right angle so he could play his instrument.
The next year, Mr. Paul divorced his first wife, Virginia Webb Paul, and married Ford. The new couple settled in Mahwah, N.J., and continued to work together on a series of albums for Capitol and Columbia in the 1950s, including "The New Sound" and "Time to Dream."
The rigorous touring schedule and Ford's alcohol addiction damaged their marriage. Meanwhile the public demand for rock 'n' roll harmed their careers.
They divorced in 1964. Survivors include a companion, Arlene Palmer; two sons from his first marriage; and a son and daughter from his second marriage; five grandchildren; and five great-grandchildren. A daughter from his second marriage died in infancy in 1954.
Mr. Paul, who had long ago made his fortune, tried to settle into retirement in the 1960s as the popularity of rock-and-roll music grew. He made occasional recordings, notably the album "Chester and Lester," for which he shared a 1976 Grammy for best country instrumental performance with Chet Atkins. Mr. Paul was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1988 and won two more Grammys, in 2006, for his album "Les Paul & Friends: American Made, World Played."
He gradually reentered public performance, obtaining a regular date at Fat Tuesday's in New York through the 1990s. For fans and fellow musicians, including Billy Joel, catching Mr. Ford at Fat Tuesday's was a Monday-night must. He was a sprightly presence at the club, even after he developed arthritis that left him with use of only two fingers in his left hand.
"If you're stubborn, it can be done," he once told The Washington Post. "I've been playing with what fingers I have left. If they'll put up with it, I can put up with it."
Bill DeMain's 2006 interview with Les Paul:
http://www.puremusic.com/pdf/les.pdf
Friday, August 7, 2009
Adml. William Fallon, USN (Ret.)
http://www.prweb.com/releases/2009/08/prweb2700424.htm
All Press Releases for August 1, 2009
Admiral William J. Fallon, U.S. Navy (Retired), Former Commander of U.S. Central Command, joins Tilwell Petroleum LLC.
Tilwell Petroleum LLC is pleased to announce that Admiral William J. Fallon, U. S. Navy (Retired), former commander of U.S. Central Command, has joined Tilwell Petroleum as a partner and advisor for the company's strategic business development program.
We are excited to have Admiral Fallon join our team at Tilwell
Mystic, CT (PRWEB) August 1, 2009 -- Tilwell Petroleum LLC is pleased to announce that Admiral William J. Fallon, U. S. Navy (Retired), former commander of U.S. Central Command, has joined Tilwell Petroleum as a partner and advisor for the company's strategic business development program.
Admiral William J. Fallon, U.S. Navy (Ret.)
"We are excited to have Admiral Fallon join our team at Tilwell," said Tony Cardwell, Managing Member of Tilwell. "Admiral Fallon's extensive experience in the Navy and his work with government and non-governmental agencies is a great addition to Tilwell as we continue to expand our customer base and support for both military and commercial applications."
Admiral Fallon spent 41 years in the U.S. Navy where his career began as a naval flight officer flying combat missions in Vietnam. Prior to becoming CENTCOM commander, he served in numerous high level positions, including Commander of U.S. Pacific Command (2005-2007), Commander of U.S. Fleet Forces Command and Atlantic Fleet (2003-2005), and Vice Chief of the Navy (2000-2003). Admiral Fallon, recently completed a year as a Robert E. Wilhelm Fellow at the MIT Center for International Studies, has a private consulting and advisory business and serves on several corporate and university Boards.
Admiral Fallon is a graduate of the Naval War College in Newport, RI, the National War College in Washington, D.C., Old Dominion University, and Villanova University, where he presented the commencement address to the graduating class of 2009 and received an honorary Ph. D.
About Tilwell Petroleum:
Headquartered in Mystic, Connecticut., Tilwell Petroleum LLC supplies fuels, standards, and solvents to the Aerospace and Defense Industries. The company offers the unique ability to supply customers with products in a variety of quantities to fit their specific requirements. Tilwell also prides itself on delivering a high level of service and support that its customers are finding unique within the industry. More about Tilwell Petroleum and a current product offering will be found at tilwellpetroleum.com.
Tilwell Petroleum LLC
Peter M. Tilton, Media Relations
Ph. 860-536-4777
Fax 860-536-3638
http://tilwellpetroleum.com/
###
All Press Releases for August 1, 2009
Admiral William J. Fallon, U.S. Navy (Retired), Former Commander of U.S. Central Command, joins Tilwell Petroleum LLC.
Tilwell Petroleum LLC is pleased to announce that Admiral William J. Fallon, U. S. Navy (Retired), former commander of U.S. Central Command, has joined Tilwell Petroleum as a partner and advisor for the company's strategic business development program.
We are excited to have Admiral Fallon join our team at Tilwell
Mystic, CT (PRWEB) August 1, 2009 -- Tilwell Petroleum LLC is pleased to announce that Admiral William J. Fallon, U. S. Navy (Retired), former commander of U.S. Central Command, has joined Tilwell Petroleum as a partner and advisor for the company's strategic business development program.
Admiral William J. Fallon, U.S. Navy (Ret.)
"We are excited to have Admiral Fallon join our team at Tilwell," said Tony Cardwell, Managing Member of Tilwell. "Admiral Fallon's extensive experience in the Navy and his work with government and non-governmental agencies is a great addition to Tilwell as we continue to expand our customer base and support for both military and commercial applications."
Admiral Fallon spent 41 years in the U.S. Navy where his career began as a naval flight officer flying combat missions in Vietnam. Prior to becoming CENTCOM commander, he served in numerous high level positions, including Commander of U.S. Pacific Command (2005-2007), Commander of U.S. Fleet Forces Command and Atlantic Fleet (2003-2005), and Vice Chief of the Navy (2000-2003). Admiral Fallon, recently completed a year as a Robert E. Wilhelm Fellow at the MIT Center for International Studies, has a private consulting and advisory business and serves on several corporate and university Boards.
Admiral Fallon is a graduate of the Naval War College in Newport, RI, the National War College in Washington, D.C., Old Dominion University, and Villanova University, where he presented the commencement address to the graduating class of 2009 and received an honorary Ph. D.
About Tilwell Petroleum:
Headquartered in Mystic, Connecticut., Tilwell Petroleum LLC supplies fuels, standards, and solvents to the Aerospace and Defense Industries. The company offers the unique ability to supply customers with products in a variety of quantities to fit their specific requirements. Tilwell also prides itself on delivering a high level of service and support that its customers are finding unique within the industry. More about Tilwell Petroleum and a current product offering will be found at tilwellpetroleum.com.
Tilwell Petroleum LLC
Peter M. Tilton, Media Relations
Ph. 860-536-4777
Fax 860-536-3638
http://tilwellpetroleum.com/
###
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Wait A Minute! Whose the older women?
Wait a minute!
Just when I thought this story was going to play out quietly, along comes an unexpected curve ball.
In this case two curve balls - that the women who called 911 to report a possible burglary at the residence of Professor Gates, didn't actually eyewitness the event at all, and was tipped off by another person, who so far has only been described by CNN as "an older women without a cell phone."
Of course the CNN's top notch investigative team that's on this story is hot to trot to identify and locate this so far unidentified informant, who some speculate is either a certifiable racist or covert Cuban agent.
And then,
http://www.cnn.com/2009/US/08/01/harvard.gates.flowers/
“….Whalen said an older woman with no cell phone told her that she was worried someone was trying to break into the home, and decided to call 911…”
“…An officer responding to a report of a possible break-in at Gates' Cambridge, Massachusetts, home arrested the professor on July 16 for disorderly conduct. The charge was later dropped.
The arrest sparked a national debate about race and police relations.
Whalen said an older woman with no cell phone told her that she was worried someone was trying to break into the home, and decided to call 911.
Whalen never referred to black suspects when she called authorities about the suspected break-in.
On Thursday, President Barack Obama -- who had weighed in on the controversy, saying initially that police acted "stupidly" -- sat down for a beer at the White House with Gates and the officer who arrested him.
The meeting has been called the "beer summit..."
“…Whalen said an older woman with no cell phone told her that she was worried someone was trying to break into the home, and decided to call 911….”
"Jimmy the lock?"
Not only is there still an unidentified confidential informant on the loose, Gates himself has expressed the belief that while he was gone, someone tried to force their way into the apartment, the reason he could't get in.
Even Wiki has a yet inconclusive web page on it:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HarvardGate
On July 16, 2009, Gates had just returned from a trip to China, where he had finished filming a new documentary series for PBS tracing the ancestry of cellist Yo-Yo Ma.[11] As the front door of his home would not open, Gates entered through his back door. He could not, however, open the front door from the inside, even after unlatching it. Gates states that the lock was damaged and speculated that someone had attempted to "jimmy" the lock while he was away. Gates went back outside and, with help from his driver, forced the door open.
Now what was strictly a potentially hot race issue, suddenly becomes a multiple mystery, that's yet to fully unravel.
More to come on this story.
Just when I thought this story was going to play out quietly, along comes an unexpected curve ball.
In this case two curve balls - that the women who called 911 to report a possible burglary at the residence of Professor Gates, didn't actually eyewitness the event at all, and was tipped off by another person, who so far has only been described by CNN as "an older women without a cell phone."
Of course the CNN's top notch investigative team that's on this story is hot to trot to identify and locate this so far unidentified informant, who some speculate is either a certifiable racist or covert Cuban agent.
And then,
http://www.cnn.com/2009/US/08/01/harvard.gates.flowers/
“….Whalen said an older woman with no cell phone told her that she was worried someone was trying to break into the home, and decided to call 911…”
“…An officer responding to a report of a possible break-in at Gates' Cambridge, Massachusetts, home arrested the professor on July 16 for disorderly conduct. The charge was later dropped.
The arrest sparked a national debate about race and police relations.
Whalen said an older woman with no cell phone told her that she was worried someone was trying to break into the home, and decided to call 911.
Whalen never referred to black suspects when she called authorities about the suspected break-in.
On Thursday, President Barack Obama -- who had weighed in on the controversy, saying initially that police acted "stupidly" -- sat down for a beer at the White House with Gates and the officer who arrested him.
The meeting has been called the "beer summit..."
“…Whalen said an older woman with no cell phone told her that she was worried someone was trying to break into the home, and decided to call 911….”
"Jimmy the lock?"
Not only is there still an unidentified confidential informant on the loose, Gates himself has expressed the belief that while he was gone, someone tried to force their way into the apartment, the reason he could't get in.
Even Wiki has a yet inconclusive web page on it:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HarvardGate
On July 16, 2009, Gates had just returned from a trip to China, where he had finished filming a new documentary series for PBS tracing the ancestry of cellist Yo-Yo Ma.[11] As the front door of his home would not open, Gates entered through his back door. He could not, however, open the front door from the inside, even after unlatching it. Gates states that the lock was damaged and speculated that someone had attempted to "jimmy" the lock while he was away. Gates went back outside and, with help from his driver, forced the door open.
Now what was strictly a potentially hot race issue, suddenly becomes a multiple mystery, that's yet to fully unravel.
More to come on this story.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
White House Beer Garden Diplomacy
WHITE HOUSE BEER GARDEN DIPLOMACY
I knew right away that this story was going to get out of hand, and when Professor Gates, Obama and the black Governor of Massachusetts were ganging up Sgt. Crowley, I knew they were in trouble.
For one, there was a 50-50 chance that Crowley was, as the mobsters and con artists call them - the Wrong Copper, the cop who won't take a bribe or bend the law, or do the wrong thing.
For starters, Professor Gates was not arrested, as asserted in a Philadelphia Inquirer editorial (Friday, July 24, 2009) for "breaking into his own house."
He was arrested for being a disorderly person, failure to respond to the requests of an officer investigating the report of a crime in progress, for uttering disrespectful insults, cursing and bringing Crowley's mother into it.
An hispanic officer who arrived at the scene made a report that supports Crowley, and a black officer there also stood by Crowley and commented on Professor Gate's behavior.
At that point I thought Gates, Obama and the Governor owed Sgt. Crowley an apology, and Professor Gates should have to go through an indoctrination class and taught how to respond to a police officer doing his duty.
Then Obama came out and interupted a press conference on rehabing healthcare to say that he was sorry that he entered the Cambridge fray and contributed to the "ratchiting up" of the issue, and that he had called Professor Gates and Sgt. Crowley and invited them both to the White House for a beer to cool things off.
Once in a blue moon you get invited to the White House for a beer, but in this case, it seems like it's going to work. An initially skeptical Professor Gates belatedly accepted the invitation and it didn't take long to find out how Crowley got the message.
As a true blooded Irish American cop, a Wrong Copper to the con jobs, Crowley was sitting depressed at the bar of Tommy Doyle's pub, sipping a cold Blue Moon and complaining to the bartender about the TV camera crews camped out on his front lawn, that his daughters can't go out to play in their yard, and about unfairly and wrongfully being branded a racist in every newspaper and on every TV and radio in the country.
And then his cell phone rang.
Thanks to Mike Daly, embedded at Tommy Doyle's, for relaying this story.
- Hello, Sgt. Crowley, It's the President Calling.
http://www.nydailynews.com/news/2009/07/26/2009-07-26_hello_sgt_crowley_its_the_president.html?print=1&page=all
By MICHAEL DALY
Sgt. James Crowley was having a burger and a Blue Moon beer in Tommy Doyle’s Irish Pub when his cell phone rang.
The Cambridge cop spoke for a moment and hung up looking altogether amazed.
“His jaw dropped,” recalled Peter Woodman, a co-owner of the Kendall Square pub and two others of the same name. “He said, ‘Jesus Christ, you'll never guess who’s going to ring me.’”
Word quickly spread through Friday’s lunchtime crowd that White House press secretary Robert Gibbs had just telephoned Crowley to say President Obama would be calling him.
“‘No way!’...‘No way!’...‘No way!’” patrons exclaimed.
A hush swept across the whole place. The TVs and music went off. The clanging in the kitchen ceased.
Crowley remained at a table by the front window, the cell phone set before him.
“He got a bit nervous for a minute or two then he got his head, Woodman said. “Cool as a cucumber, just sat there sipping his beer.”
The pub stayed absolutely silent.
“You could hear a pin drop,” Woodman said. “Literally 80 to 100 people standing around him. It was surreal.”
A couple came in from the street and asked for a table.
“The whole bar [said,] ‘Shhh! Shhh! Shut up and sit down!’” Woodman said.
After five or maybe six minutes, the phone rang again.
“He braced himself, took a deep breath,” Woodman recalled.
After two, perhaps three rings, Crowley answered.
“Hello, Mr. President.”
Obama addressed him as Sgt. Crowley.
“Call me Jimmy,” Crowley said.
Obama said to call him Barack. They spoke for five minutes or more as the crowd stood transfixed.
“Not a person breathed,” Woodman said.
Woodman watched a happy change come over the cop whose life had been upended after he responded to a report of a possible burglary. He had arrested Harvard Prof. Henry Gates for disorderly conduct.
Woodman knew Crowley to be the ultimate professional, an officer of the law before all else when on duty.
“He might know you outside work, but when he’s working, he’s Sgt. James Crowley,” Woodman said.
Woodman is friendly with Crowley, but knows to expect no favoritism.
“If there’s something wrong, Jimmy is the first guy going to roast me,” Woodman said.
“If you break the law, you broke the law; if you don’t, you didn’t.”
The world surely has too many racist cops, but by everything Woodman and others say Crowley is not one of them. Woodman saw in the days after the arrest that the accusation cut deep.
“He’s blown away anybody could call his integrity into question,” Woodman said. He won’t admit it, but I think he was genuinely hurt by the whole thing.”
Crowley seemed particularly bothered by the effect on his family. The media was staking out his home and the three kids could not just go out and play.
“You could see over the last few days he was stressed, he was under pressure,” Woodman said.
The situation intensified after Obama said at a press conference on Wednesday that the Cambridge cops had “acted stupidly.”
The police union held its own press conference on Friday to demand an apology from anyone who suggested the arrest was influenced by race.
Afterwards, Crowley and the cops took Woodman up on an invitation to stop into the pub for lunch away from the media.
Then came the phone calls. Obama told Crowley he regretted his choice of words and praised him as “an outstanding police officer and a good man.”
At one point, “Barack” asked “Jimmy” what he was drinking. Barack said he also is partial to Blue Moon. They talked of getting together with Gates for a beer at the White House.
When the call ended and Crowley set down the phone, the pub erupted in cheers.
Obama would continue to suggest Crowley may have overreacted, but allowed that Gates may have as well. The fact remained that the President had called the cop. Woodman beheld a cop restored.
“A new man,” Woodman said.
ALL OF WHICH REMINDS ME OF THE TIME I USED TO HANG OUT AT THE TUNE INN ON CAPITOL HILL, when I was there one summer during the 9/11 Commission hearings.
The Tune Inn is a small, shot and beer, greasy spoon grill about two blocks from the Capitol, and probably most famous as the place where James Carvelle met his wife, or took her there for their first date.
Well I was sitting there late one afternoon, sipping a cold draft beer when a US Marine came in and sat next to me. The Marine barracks aren't that far away, four or five blocks, and its not uncommon to see marines jogging down the street.
This guy was off duty and out getting some exercise and stopped in for a beer, so I struck up a conversation with him.
He was a White House guard, and was proud of what he was doing.
When I asked him if he ever sees Number One, he said all the time. It's his house.
Did the president ever talk to you personally?
Sure, he said.
After their shifts, the marine guards usually have a beer in their locker room, and once in awhile the president joins them for a brewski.
Of course this president was George Bush II, who after a raccus youth, was supposed to be on the wagon, having abstained from drinking for the past 20 years.
But I didn't say anything, as I was glad George got away from his wife and cabinet and problems every once in awhile, and had a beer with the boys in the locker room.
And now Obama is in the White House, and he likes to have a cold one after shooting some hoops or arm wrestling with Congress, and he's "ratchiting it up" as he puts it,
bringing together the differing factions of the Cambridge dispute over some beer at the White House.
The Rose Garden becomes the Beer Garden, and if successful, this technique will be used again, though I don't think it will work with Israel and Hamas, but maybe the Irish and the English can work something out over a few Blue Moons.
And Blue Moon seems to be the beer of choice for Crowley, and Obama said he liked Blue Moon too, but Professor Gates said he prefers Becks or Red Stripe, both imports, Becks from Germany and Red Stripe Jamaican.
According to one news report, "Obama hasn't weighed in on his favorite brew. But foreign beers are not stocked at the White House, in a tradition dating to the Johnson administration."
http://www.nydailynews.com/topics/The+White+House
I knew right away that this story was going to get out of hand, and when Professor Gates, Obama and the black Governor of Massachusetts were ganging up Sgt. Crowley, I knew they were in trouble.
For one, there was a 50-50 chance that Crowley was, as the mobsters and con artists call them - the Wrong Copper, the cop who won't take a bribe or bend the law, or do the wrong thing.
For starters, Professor Gates was not arrested, as asserted in a Philadelphia Inquirer editorial (Friday, July 24, 2009) for "breaking into his own house."
He was arrested for being a disorderly person, failure to respond to the requests of an officer investigating the report of a crime in progress, for uttering disrespectful insults, cursing and bringing Crowley's mother into it.
An hispanic officer who arrived at the scene made a report that supports Crowley, and a black officer there also stood by Crowley and commented on Professor Gate's behavior.
At that point I thought Gates, Obama and the Governor owed Sgt. Crowley an apology, and Professor Gates should have to go through an indoctrination class and taught how to respond to a police officer doing his duty.
Then Obama came out and interupted a press conference on rehabing healthcare to say that he was sorry that he entered the Cambridge fray and contributed to the "ratchiting up" of the issue, and that he had called Professor Gates and Sgt. Crowley and invited them both to the White House for a beer to cool things off.
Once in a blue moon you get invited to the White House for a beer, but in this case, it seems like it's going to work. An initially skeptical Professor Gates belatedly accepted the invitation and it didn't take long to find out how Crowley got the message.
As a true blooded Irish American cop, a Wrong Copper to the con jobs, Crowley was sitting depressed at the bar of Tommy Doyle's pub, sipping a cold Blue Moon and complaining to the bartender about the TV camera crews camped out on his front lawn, that his daughters can't go out to play in their yard, and about unfairly and wrongfully being branded a racist in every newspaper and on every TV and radio in the country.
And then his cell phone rang.
Thanks to Mike Daly, embedded at Tommy Doyle's, for relaying this story.
- Hello, Sgt. Crowley, It's the President Calling.
http://www.nydailynews.com/news/2009/07/26/2009-07-26_hello_sgt_crowley_its_the_president.html?print=1&page=all
By MICHAEL DALY
Sgt. James Crowley was having a burger and a Blue Moon beer in Tommy Doyle’s Irish Pub when his cell phone rang.
The Cambridge cop spoke for a moment and hung up looking altogether amazed.
“His jaw dropped,” recalled Peter Woodman, a co-owner of the Kendall Square pub and two others of the same name. “He said, ‘Jesus Christ, you'll never guess who’s going to ring me.’”
Word quickly spread through Friday’s lunchtime crowd that White House press secretary Robert Gibbs had just telephoned Crowley to say President Obama would be calling him.
“‘No way!’...‘No way!’...‘No way!’” patrons exclaimed.
A hush swept across the whole place. The TVs and music went off. The clanging in the kitchen ceased.
Crowley remained at a table by the front window, the cell phone set before him.
“He got a bit nervous for a minute or two then he got his head, Woodman said. “Cool as a cucumber, just sat there sipping his beer.”
The pub stayed absolutely silent.
“You could hear a pin drop,” Woodman said. “Literally 80 to 100 people standing around him. It was surreal.”
A couple came in from the street and asked for a table.
“The whole bar [said,] ‘Shhh! Shhh! Shut up and sit down!’” Woodman said.
After five or maybe six minutes, the phone rang again.
“He braced himself, took a deep breath,” Woodman recalled.
After two, perhaps three rings, Crowley answered.
“Hello, Mr. President.”
Obama addressed him as Sgt. Crowley.
“Call me Jimmy,” Crowley said.
Obama said to call him Barack. They spoke for five minutes or more as the crowd stood transfixed.
“Not a person breathed,” Woodman said.
Woodman watched a happy change come over the cop whose life had been upended after he responded to a report of a possible burglary. He had arrested Harvard Prof. Henry Gates for disorderly conduct.
Woodman knew Crowley to be the ultimate professional, an officer of the law before all else when on duty.
“He might know you outside work, but when he’s working, he’s Sgt. James Crowley,” Woodman said.
Woodman is friendly with Crowley, but knows to expect no favoritism.
“If there’s something wrong, Jimmy is the first guy going to roast me,” Woodman said.
“If you break the law, you broke the law; if you don’t, you didn’t.”
The world surely has too many racist cops, but by everything Woodman and others say Crowley is not one of them. Woodman saw in the days after the arrest that the accusation cut deep.
“He’s blown away anybody could call his integrity into question,” Woodman said. He won’t admit it, but I think he was genuinely hurt by the whole thing.”
Crowley seemed particularly bothered by the effect on his family. The media was staking out his home and the three kids could not just go out and play.
“You could see over the last few days he was stressed, he was under pressure,” Woodman said.
The situation intensified after Obama said at a press conference on Wednesday that the Cambridge cops had “acted stupidly.”
The police union held its own press conference on Friday to demand an apology from anyone who suggested the arrest was influenced by race.
Afterwards, Crowley and the cops took Woodman up on an invitation to stop into the pub for lunch away from the media.
Then came the phone calls. Obama told Crowley he regretted his choice of words and praised him as “an outstanding police officer and a good man.”
At one point, “Barack” asked “Jimmy” what he was drinking. Barack said he also is partial to Blue Moon. They talked of getting together with Gates for a beer at the White House.
When the call ended and Crowley set down the phone, the pub erupted in cheers.
Obama would continue to suggest Crowley may have overreacted, but allowed that Gates may have as well. The fact remained that the President had called the cop. Woodman beheld a cop restored.
“A new man,” Woodman said.
ALL OF WHICH REMINDS ME OF THE TIME I USED TO HANG OUT AT THE TUNE INN ON CAPITOL HILL, when I was there one summer during the 9/11 Commission hearings.
The Tune Inn is a small, shot and beer, greasy spoon grill about two blocks from the Capitol, and probably most famous as the place where James Carvelle met his wife, or took her there for their first date.
Well I was sitting there late one afternoon, sipping a cold draft beer when a US Marine came in and sat next to me. The Marine barracks aren't that far away, four or five blocks, and its not uncommon to see marines jogging down the street.
This guy was off duty and out getting some exercise and stopped in for a beer, so I struck up a conversation with him.
He was a White House guard, and was proud of what he was doing.
When I asked him if he ever sees Number One, he said all the time. It's his house.
Did the president ever talk to you personally?
Sure, he said.
After their shifts, the marine guards usually have a beer in their locker room, and once in awhile the president joins them for a brewski.
Of course this president was George Bush II, who after a raccus youth, was supposed to be on the wagon, having abstained from drinking for the past 20 years.
But I didn't say anything, as I was glad George got away from his wife and cabinet and problems every once in awhile, and had a beer with the boys in the locker room.
And now Obama is in the White House, and he likes to have a cold one after shooting some hoops or arm wrestling with Congress, and he's "ratchiting it up" as he puts it,
bringing together the differing factions of the Cambridge dispute over some beer at the White House.
The Rose Garden becomes the Beer Garden, and if successful, this technique will be used again, though I don't think it will work with Israel and Hamas, but maybe the Irish and the English can work something out over a few Blue Moons.
And Blue Moon seems to be the beer of choice for Crowley, and Obama said he liked Blue Moon too, but Professor Gates said he prefers Becks or Red Stripe, both imports, Becks from Germany and Red Stripe Jamaican.
According to one news report, "Obama hasn't weighed in on his favorite brew. But foreign beers are not stocked at the White House, in a tradition dating to the Johnson administration."
http://www.nydailynews.com/topics/The+White+House
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