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Published 25.02.2016 | Author : admin | Category : James Bauer What Men Secretly Want

I especially remember one old guy, batty as hell, his face covered with pus, his bald scalp peeling, his tongue swollen and hanging out of his mouth like a steer at an old-time Kansas City slaughterhouse. I was pulling guard duty and I spotted him when he was a half mile down the hill that leads up to the compound. At noon the day we buried the kid, we saw smoke, a single pencil-thin curl that rose into the sky like jet exhaust, except there weren't any jets any more. Pete suddenly had that mongrel look on his face, a strange cross between outrage and guilt, but he didn't say anything. Pete was carrying a shotgun, one of the pumper-action Ted Williams models we'd scavenged out of a Sears Roebuck store somewhere along the line.
We had only about a hundred shells of buckshot left, but Mather had insisted we take every last one of them.
That night, Tony and Mather stayed behind with the women and Eric, eleven months old, our only offspring. It was summer, the summer of my twenty-seventh year, and it had been the most glorious summer of my life. I have to believe the guy upstairs has a pretty mean streak of irony because that wasn't it by a long shot. Maybe it was the test of a new killer technology related to the so-called Star Wars program that the late President Reagan had announced a decade before. Maybe the Martians landed in a Kansas cornfield and decided to zap ninety-five percent of the human race, just for kicks. Whatever it was, it silently and quickly burned off half the upper atmosphere, leaving plants to die, food chains to be disrupted and destroyed.
We didn't know how bad it had really been until it turned winter, and winter brought no dirty snow on Fifth Avenue, no frost on Macy's windows, no skating in Central Park, no temperatures lower than the sixties, not even in January or February. By spring, the hospitals and doctors were overloaded with skin-cancer cases and people whose vision was fading away to darkness. By summer, the effects of the failed wheat and corn crops were filtering down, and grocery stores experienced their first shortages.
We were in Boston when the fabric of American society began to dissolve, slowly but completely, like a cube of sugar in water. Mather had decided to put down roots, at least until we could figure out what the long-term plan would be. Why they didn't establish camps like the rest of us was a mystery not even Mather pretended to be able to solve. But it wasn't only noise that made the nights strange -- temperatures had been thrown all out of whack, too.
Some had been torched and some had self-combusted, but most of the houses still stood -- a curious mixture of white Colonials and shingled Capes and ticko-tacko pre-fab ranches that had been all the rage during the prosperous, inflationless fifties. You didn't need a historian to see that the Quannapowitt in the old days had been a healthy, full-fledged river -- upstream a mile you could see the remains of a dozen mills. Getting to the barn was easy: Crouching low, we simply followed a waist-high stone wall that ran up to it from the river. What I was prepared for, I suppose, was the usual band of roamers: a group of men and women, middle-aged or younger, with one kid, possibly two. There were no grown men in this group -- no able-bodied grown men, that is, only a wizened old character who looked to be eighty or more sitting closest to the fire.
If the empty cans were any clue, they'd recently finished dinner, but there hadn't been much to eat. Mather later theorized that they had been in hiding somewhere, and had recently been forced out somehow -- maybe when their food ran low, maybe at the hands of some belligerent roamers.
With my father's encouragement and guidance, and on very wobbly ankles, I would circle that rink, hour after hour. I learned, for example, that being good and decent and kind is its own reward, and that working hard is a virtue.
Those who know me best may observe, correctly, that I have not taken all of my father's lessons to heart. I had arrived early in Boston for animal rounds, in which the week's experiments on pigs and baboons are reviewed by the scientist and his staff of fellows, post-docs and senior investigators.
They are what they've always been, regardless of topic: fairness, balance, accuracy, clarity, and so forth.
Merely keeping on top of the field is daunting, as the list of publications in that Boston lab demonstrates. Which leads to the deeper questions, the moral, religious, cultural and ethical ones -- those raised by people like Christopher Reeve, who sat here two weeks ago in his wheelchair and asked us to ponder the origin of human life.
And so, another of our responsibilities as journalists -- perhaps the most important one -- is facilitating a public discourse that will lead to a sound public policy. Many years ago, when a farmhouse graced the top of Wolf Hill, the path could accommodate vehicles; one, a bus, ended its last journey up there and its rotting remains continue to be a source of wonderment to all who happen upon it. We arose later than usual, read the paper over breakfast and then finished packing for our trip. As we entered the brand new Buffalo and Niagara International Airport Terminal, I was impressed with the gracefulness of the sweeping lines of the building. We had a last cup of coffee with Joanne and Jack and then checked into the Continental counter with our bags. We had some time to kill,so we strolled the terminal wondering as always at the many stories evident around us. Ironically, I was reading a book on the early years of the Italian mafia, titled a€?Capoa€?. On the way into Italy, we could look down and see the hard granite peaks of the French and Italian Alps.They were snow covered and uninviting, a reef of sky-born peaks waiting to hull out the careless and low flying aircraft.
We were gathered up by Lucio Levi, our tour guide, and escorted to the Central Holidays bus for the I hour ride up into the Lake Lugano region of Switzerland.
The Alpine scenery is pleasant and interesting.Everything seemed well ordered and in its place. Lake Lugano hove into view as the sun came out and we were impressed at the well ordered splendor.
The Sun was shining and we could see diverse Alpine landscapes reflected in the depths of the Lake.It was an impressive start to the tour. Lucio brought us to the Hotel Admiral where we checked in to room #415, unpacked and took a short nap.We were tired from the flight. After our conference with Ozzie Nelson(nap),Mary and I walked along the pedestrian shopping mall, thea€?Via Nassa,a€? to watch the crowds.It was sunny, cool and in the 50a€™s. Next, we sat in an open square overlooking the lake and had a panini and cappuccino at the Ristorante Vanini. We sat frequently , at various stops along the lake side, to admire the Alpine visage.It is picture postcard pretty.
The dinner and company were very nice but we were tiring.The bus took us for a brief night ride around the lake and then returned us to the hotel. The bus let us off near the venerable a€? La Scalaa€? Opera House, named after the daughter of the powerful Scala Family in nearby Verona.
From LaScala, we walked to the a€?Galleriaa€? shopping complex, the fore runner of our covered malls. The Cathedral was the first for us in a series of such masterful granite and marble epiphanies throughout Italia. It was rainy and cool .We reboarded our bus and crawled for 45 minutes through heavy traffic to the expressway East to Verona. For the next hour we drove through the Po river valley and admired the vineyards and verdant agriculture of the region. From Verona, we drove Eastward for an hour to the Adriatic Coast and the fabled Republic of the Doges, Venice. We walked the narrow pedestrian alley ways and delighted in the architecture and charm of this magical city. The immense square is populated by throngs of tourists and locals feeding an enormous army of the aerial rats that we call pigeons.
On the corner of the square, near the Church, sits the former seat of the Venetian Republic, The Palazza Ducale. As we walked along the polished marble looking floors, our guide explained their unique construction.
Next, we walked the path of the condemned over the famous a€?Bridge of Sighsa€? and down into the dungeons of the palace.
From the Palazza Ducale, we walked a few streets away and toured the showroom for the a€?Muranoa€? glass works. We strolled the streets and alleys of Venice buying some postcards and stamps for friends and window shopping.
After our gondola ride we strolled the Piazza San Marco and bought some Panini vegetarian and Mineral water from a small stand (14k).We ate our lunch in the square, like the Venetians, and dodged the dive bombing aerial rats that were the delight of squealing children. Next, we entered the charming Correr Museo, a repository of Venetian art and history from 1300 onward.
After this wonderful dinner we walked back towards the hotel, stopping briefly at the Piazza San Marco. We returned to the hotel, packed our bags for tomorrowa€™s departure and read for a while before sleep took us.
At 8:30, a water taxi picked us up from the rear door of the hotel and we had a last twenty minute ride along the canals of Venice.
We entered the church and again appreciated the statuary and art work that these churches are a repository for. We stopped for a cappuccino (36k), at a nearby cafe with the Meads, and admired the church and its surroundings.
We reboarded our motor chariot and drove for 90 minutes into the foothills of the Appenines towards Bologna.The Po River valley here is lush and grows abundant quantities of sugar beets, corn, wheat and rice. We walked into the venerable courtyard of the University of Bologna School of Medicine, founded in 1088. We settled in for some antipasto, pasta with mushrooms, salad, omelet & potato(for me), and peach torte all washed down with sparkling Lambrusco wine and mineral water.
After lunch Mary & I briefly strolled the area looking in on the pricey shops like Gucci and Fratelli Rosetti.
We rejoined our bus and set out over the Appenines towards the Toscanna region of Italy and the cradle of the European Renaissance , Florence.
At 8:30, we called for a taxi and rode across town to the a€?Alle Muratea€? restaurant on the Via Ghibellini. After dinner Arthur and Reneea€™ gave us a ride back to the hotel negotiating the winding and narrow streets of Florence. We met up with a€?Nedoa€? our guide and stood in line for forty minutes to get inside the Museum.
There are works by Michelangelo and others in the building, but the focus of the shrine is correctly placed upon a€?David.a€? Michelangelo had carved this 20 ft statue from a single block of marble when he was only 27. The guide told us that David, as well as depicting the biblical slaying of goliath, was sculpted as a metaphor for the Venetian republic that had recently thrown off the shackles of the ruling Medicia€™s. As I viewed this majestic work, I admired the graceful lines of the physically powerful man depicted. Next, Nedo led us through the winding and narrow streets to the Piazza Signorini, the original site of David. From the Piazza Signorini, we walked more winding alleys to the most famous church in Florence, Santa Croce or Church of the Holy Cross.
Started in 1300, this Romanesque beauty hold the tombs of Nicolo Machiavelli, Rosinni and Galileo with memorials to Dante and DaVinci (who is buried in Ravenna). We admired as before the artwork, religious icons and soaring vaulted beauty of these churches, repositories of art and culture and learning.
The high water mark, from the horrendous flooding of the mid 1960a€™s , is still visible on the walls.
We waited in line for 45 minutes and then, for a 12K Lire entrance fee, we ascended the three flights of stone stairs to the famous gallery. Tiring, we stopped for cappuccino at the small cafe (12K) and watched the swirl of tourists and art lovers drifting by. As with most Galleries after a few hours, the a€?glaze a€? descends upon us and we know it is time to leave.
We left the Uffizzi and walked along the Arno to another fabled site in Florence, The Ponte Veccio.
We stopped at a stand on the far side of the river for pizza and watched the scene as if in a movie. Most of the gang was mildly lit from the eveninga€™s revels and the bus ride back to the hotel was happily raucous and enjoyable. We ambled along the narrow lanes and found and stopped in another old Church, that of St.Rita. Next, we found the a€?Nuovo Mercadoa€? a pedestrian area of exclusive shops and wandering tourists. From the new market, we walked along the Arno to the Uffizzi Gallery and mingled with the throngs that gathered there daily in the small square next to the gallery. Further along the Arno we stopped at a small cafea€™ and bought spinach and cheese panini and mineral water for 15K.We stood in the sun along the Arno and ate our lunch while watching the daily drama played out on the Ponte Veccio. The Arno valley here is lush and green.Scores of nurseries and tree farms furnish Italy and much of Europe with trees and shrubs. Finally, we approached the Romanesque complex of the Church of Santa Maria.The Duomo, or main church, had been built in 1063 and the adjacent Bell tower in 1173. We reboarded our bus and set off through the Tuscan hills for Florence, passing by the small town of Vinci from whence Leonardo came.
At 7:30, we joined the Meads and the Martenisa€™s for dinner in the hotel dining room of the Anglo American. We were heading through rural Umbria to the historic mountaintop village of Asissi, home of St Francis. The massive bulk of a 50,000 man Roman Legion had been deployed in the wide valley just behind us. After Mass and communion, we met a€? Marcellaa€? our guide.She began a brief explanation of the significance of the church and the history of St.
We wandered up the curved and winding alleys of the upper town admiring the substantial brown, fieldstone structures with red-tile roofs. After lunch, we walked around for a brief time admiring the valley scape and the well ordered Town of St.Francis of Asissi. We boarded our bus and continued on through the hills near Perugia, stopping at the small mountain town of TORGIANO, noted for its vineyards and wine making .
Tiring with the day, we climbed aboard our motorized chariot and drove the final 100 miles along the Po river valley to the Eternal City, Roma There are flocks of sheep, vineyards and villas on every hilltop along the way to Roma.We were expectant and chatty with anticipation at arriving in so fabled a city. The sun was still with us and we were in Rome, so we set out with the Meads for a walk to Navona Square across the Tiber River. The two grand series of steps surround a wonderful floral garden .At the top of the very long steps stands the outline of the Villa Medici with its twin Byzantine towers. Interestingly, the stadium had a canvas awning that could be erected over the entire structure by a team of 400 sailors using nautical ropes and pulleys. Hydraulic engineers could also flood the first level and stage mock sea battles for the entertainment of the nobility.
And now here it stood, a heap of interesting rubble stripped by scavengers for centuries of all its former beauty. From the Arch of Constantine, we walked along the narrow a€?Via Sacraa€? over the same cobblestones trod upon by the Romans. The Forum itself was entered through the smaller Arch of Titus, built to commemorate the subjugation of Judea in 70 A.D.
Still, standing there beneath the quiet blue sky of a Roman afternoon, one could imagine the triumphs and intrigues of a powerful empire that must have played out here daily.
As we left the forum and walked back over the Via Sacra, we passed by the grassy and treed remains of the Palatine hill where Rome was founded, in the 8th century B.C,. The ruins of the Palace of the Flavian Emperors stands forlornly on the hill overlooking an empty oval of grass that had once been the Circus Maximus. From the Palatine and Capitol Hills, our bus took us for a brief ride across the Tiber to the living and breathing heart of Rome, Vatican City. We stopped first at a religious store for rosaries, icons and all such necessary souvenirs.
Next, we marched across the street to stand in what is perhaps one of the three most noted squares in the world, that of St.Petera€™s. We made our way past the fountains and chairs, with thousands of others, to the very center of world wide Catholicism, the Church of St.Peter.
Words are poor descriptors for the tiled mosaic friezes, bronze castings of various popes and shrines to many of the saints and holy family. A tour of the catacombs and the Appian Way was scheduled for the afternoon, but Mary & I decided we had toured enough for the day.
After this refreshing stop we followed the winding streets and the conveniently posted signs to another Roman tourist favorite, Berninia€™s a€?Trevi Fountain.a€? Dutifully, we threw coins over our shoulders into the fountain and hoped it meant we would return to Rome again. We stood for a while watching many others, young and old, throw coins into the fountain and take pictures of each other.Everyone seemed festive and happy to be here, perhaps reflective of the legendary sunny Roman temperament.
From the Trevi Fountain, we retraced our path to the Spanish Steps and then up the Via Condotti and across the Tiber to our hotel to take a breather before dinner. We crowded all 45 of us into a small back room and were served family style by sweating waiters.
As we walked the length of the ornately decorated hallways of the Vatican Museum, Nora pointed out the array of wall-sized painted arras completed by Raphael and his students.
Next, we entered the quiet precincts of the Sala Immaculata Conceptione,an intimate little chapel adorned with grand murals honoring the Immaculate Conception of Mary, a primary tenet of church dogma.
The third level is an evenly spaced depiction of a series of Popes, perhaps a sop to the financiers of the chapel.Lastly, in small triangles and created in a special paint by Michelangelo that is a collage of vivid oranges, blues,reds and peaches,are the prophets of the old testament like Daniel and Ezekiel.
Finally, we come to the most prized of artworks, the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.Starting in 1508, under the stern direction of Pope Julius II,Michelangelo painted, in four years, a series of ceiling wide panels depicting Goda€™s creation of the universe ,the original sin in the garden of eden,Noah and the flood.
We left the chapel appreciative of the experience and sat for a while in an outdoor alcove, near the Vatican post office and in view of the high relief of the Vatican Dome of St.Petera€™s.
The group had the option to stay and visit the many thousands of exhibits, but we werea€? museumed out.a€? We elected to take the bus back to the hotel. From the hotel, we walked with the Meads across the Tiber and wandered the back streets, on our way to the Pantheon.
From the Pantheon we traversed the narrow streets to the Piazza Navona and again admired Berninia€™s fountain of the four rivers.
We walked along the narrow lanes to the Tiber River and past the massive fortification of Castle San Angelo with its wide moat. Tonight was to be the last evening in Italy for about half of our tour group,so a special dinner was planned.They were being replaced by 12 new arrivals who had joined us in Rome two days previously. Upon arrival, we descended a flight of masonry stairs into the ancient cellar of a very old restaurant. Mary and I decide to take a 15 minute walk to the Piazza Cavour to clear our heads before retiring. We retired to our room, finished packing for the morning departure and slept like the dead.
As we negotiated the morning traffic out of Rome, Lucio pointed out to us the remaining lengths of the old city wall.Stretching for some eleven miles, it rises over 20 feet in height.
The ride South was uneventful.We were driving through the narrow valley that stretches from Rome to Naples.
The Allies drew heavy casualties here in their advance.The New Zealand Commander, attached to the British Eight Army, insisted that the Abbe be bombed. To the East, the Appenines were snow covered.The mountains here are tall and can reach over 14,000 feet in height.
At the Southern end of the valley, sitting along the beautiful bay of Naples like a large and tiered amphi-theater, sits the City of Naples. The traffic was heavy and a small demonstration of some sort was closing the downtown area.Our capable wheel man Fabrizio reversed course in the crowded street and threaded our way along the waterfront heading south along the coast.
Our next destination was the small town of Torre Del Greco, where we stopped at a small company of artisans(Giovanni Apa) who carve cameo broaches from sea shells. Our guide for the day, a€?Enzoa€?, met us outside the ristorante and shepherded us through the turnstiles and up the stairs and hill to the fabled ruins of Pompei. Some few a€?bodiesa€? were discovered in the ash, completely encased in volcanic material, yet retaining their human shape. Enzo took us to the towna€™s central forum where we viewed the remains of the curia, basilica,which served as a financial center at the time, and other municipal buildings.Most had been constructed of brick and faced with marble. We viewed a remarkably well preserved public bath with its steam rooms and lounging areas.It gave you a sense of the ancients as not so different from us.
We were up early, wakened by the thunder and lightning flashing across the surface of the bay. We showered,dressed and had breakfast with the Lynches in the upper dining room, a€?Re Artua€?(King Arthur).
We boarded the jet foil and for twenty five minutes had a ride worthy of Disney.The boat slalomed through the four foot rollers like a hog in a wallow.
We wandered by the quaint shops to the scenic overlook park named a€?Giardino Augusta,a€? after the emperor Augustus.It had been financed and constructed by the Krupp armaments family.
Mary and I wandered the alleys admiring the shops and stopped at a small cafe for panini and cappuccino.
There,we wandered for a time the upscale shops on the narrow pedestrian lanes and admired the even better view, of the bay, from the top of the mountain that is the Isle of Capri.
While the girls were in browsing a shop, I noticed that Bill and I were left standing on a street corner.
We walked slowly through town and up the hill to the Sorrento Palace where we sat on the terrace and admired for a time the lovely view as the sun set over the Bay of Naples. After dinner, we stopped by the lobby and listened to some music and chatted with each other for a while. First ,we stopped in town at the a€?Lucky Cuomo Store.a€? It is a display show room for an industry that provides work for a large portion of the town,wood working and furniture construction. As we approached the small tourist town of Amalfi, the traffic thickened like molasses in January. It started to sprinkle soon after we arrived, so most of us took Lucioa€™s advice and stopped for lunch at the a€?Pizzeria Di Marie.a€? We had wonderful Minestrone soup and vegetable pizzas, with panne and mineral water, as we watched Mama Maria and her family work the old fashioned pizza ovens,smiling at the sudden onrush of business form the crazy Americans.
After lunch,we walked along the narrow and crowded main street and stopped for a cappuccino at the a€?Cafe Royal.a€? (5k) Then, as the splatter of rain began, we stopped into the lovely Chiesa San Andrea perched at the head of a precipitous flight of steps. We waited until all of the soggy stragglers had made it back aboard and then slowly inched our way out of town through the tangled snarl of traffic.Frabizio, our sunny tempered wheel man was at his best along these narrow and crowded lanes .
We were served tomatoes and Mozzarella cheese on toast, vegetables(for me) bruscetta for the others, salad, pasta crepes with cheese and the house specialty for desert, the a€?Deliciouso Limonea€?, a lemon angel-food cake that is wonderful.
The bus returned us to the hotel, where we sat again in the lobby listening to music and chatting with each other.We were leaving these gentle surroundings tomorrow morning and heading North to Rome. We were up early, enjoying the scent of lemons and oranges and the sounds of birds chirping happily in the hotel garden.It seemed like every available patch of green space in the area has its own lemon or sour orange grove along this narrow coast.
A light rain fell as we motored Northward along the scenic coastline.Our fellow passengers on the bus were subdued and thoughtful, perhaps mindful of their imminent departure and the real life that lay waiting for us just beyond the ocean.
We stopped for cappuccino and a break at a roadside rest stop.Lucio warned us about being approached by Gypsies with bogus items for sale. Another hour up the road and we approached the towering spur of Mt.Cairo that holds the hilltop Abbe of Monte Cassino. As the wind swirled around us we passed into the first of the a€?four open courtsa€? of the monastery. The next level and open stone courtyard features another statue of St.Benedict and one of his twin sister Scholastica, a rather interesting woman who had helped found the order. The next court, at the head of a small stairs and open to the sky, is the a€?court of the protectors.a€? Displayed in it, is a series of figures and small monuments to the lay members of the order who had become Kings and Popes. Lucio had told us to look for one of the twenty remaining elderly monks, survivors of the WWII bombing. We left the Abbe amidst the splatter of rain.One of our group, an elderly woman, was experiencing a brief reunion with local residents that she had not seen in fifty years. Descending the winding roads from the Abbe, we could see off in the distance the floral cross and quiet grounds of the Polish Military Cemetery A 1200 man Battalion of these gallant lads had been attached to the British Eight Army during the final siege and storming of the MonteCassino.These brave men had led the charge and been virtually annihilated to a man by the superior German forces entrenched in the rubble of the Abbe high above them. Lucio narrated for us a tale of the many daily practices that the life of so important an Abbe had influenced among the local populace. A Benedictine monk, by the name of a€?Fra Guidoa€?, had also given us our system of musical notes and scales.
We stopped again, about an hour along the highway North, for some excellent Minestrone zuppe, panne and mineral water at a a€?RistoAgipa€? stop.The food was both good and welcome, but the waiter skinned us with a bogus tale of included charges. As we approached the Eternal City , we could see many bright yellow mustard fields, flocks of sheep and abundant agriculture in the rolling hills outside of Rome.We threaded our way through the city traffic and arrived again at the Visconti Palace for our last night in Rome.
The walk along the Tiber and past the massive old and circular fortress of Castle San Angelo was pleasant. The area around the Vatican was a swirl of people as we again admired St.Petera€™s square. A curate was singing mass near the main altar and the multi lingual confessionals all had lines of the faithful waiting penitently, signs of an older and different church from the one that we now know in America. We gazed, interested, upon the many marble statues and tile frescoes along the various walls of the enormous church.
I was rather taken with a small and innocuous bronze plaque on a wall near a museum, at the side of the church.
Glazing over form the impressive reliquary and art treasures, we left St.Petera€™s, a mental portrait fixed forever in our minds of so fascinating a place of worship, power and beauty.
We walked back along the Tiber River to our hotel and ` relaxed before dinner, our last one in Rome and Italy. The staff of the restaurant was inordinately gracious, even when one character in our group pulled the Maitrea€™D aside and began to offer him suggestions on how to better run the place. We watched, for a last time, the walls of the ancient city pass by us and thought wistfully of the many people and places that we had seen in these last two weeks. We had a last Cappuccino, changed over some lire at larcenous rates and sat waiting for our flight. We boarded Alitalia flight #640 and had a pleasant, if long , nine-hour, marathon flight back to Newark International Airport.We passed through customs and rechecked our bags with Continental Airlines for the flight to Buffalo. Newark was fast becoming a madhouse as teeming thousands were returning from everywhere on their Easter Vacations. I hoped to do this book before now, and I hope some will still be interested in the information in it a€” both about the Baker Street Irregularsa€™ history, and their world during the decade and a half the BSI took shape.
When Bliss Austin died in 1988, prompting concern about the BSI losing its history, I thought to do something about it. The idea came unbidden, and proceeded to eat my brain until I started researching and writing it. Despite its early shortcomings, I thought there was a genuine story that only required work to bring out.
My special ops colleagues and I were on the Pentagona€™s first floor about eighty feet from the impact point.
I didna€™t do any further writing in the bloody-minded mood in which my colleagues and I set to work for the year and more that followed. Dan writes fiction as well as nonfiction, and was enthusiastic about the novela€” enough to think it might be of interest beyond the BSI itself.
In July a€™04, I started writing the three final chapters in Vermont, in the house where the Prologue takes place.
I delivered the manuscript to Caleba€™s agent on January 7, 2005, the day of that yeara€™s BSI annual dinner. But then, near the end of the hour, and as if an afterthought, she remarked: a€?Of course, you need to get rid of the last two chapters.a€? Get rid of them?
The session ended with me saying Ia€™d rather have a 5000-copy edition of my story than a bestseller that wasna€™t, and her pointing out that the publishers shea€™d like to take the novel to arena€™t in business to bring out 5000-copy editions. Throughout those next two years, Baker Street Irregular sat on a shelf in her office as I worked on the Conan Doyle book, and she waited for me to come to my senses. Sources and Methods: Woody is the only Baker Street Irregular in the novel whoa€™s fictional. I might have been more like Woody if Ia€™d grown up in Kansas City when he did, during Prohibition. Making him a lawyer, something rare in the 1930s and a€™40s BSI, was for something entirely different, though.
A screenwriter friend jocularly remarked that I needed to start thinking about what to say when Hollywood asked who I saw playing Woody in the movie. Woody sees movies incessantly, and admits that he gets too many of his ideas about life from them. Baker Street Irregular is a fascinating portrait of the BSI in its early years, a revelatory picture of America at a crucial time in world history, and a riveting account of intelligence work in World War II. In 2010, the Mycroft & Moran imprint of Arkham House published an outstanding historical espionage novel by eminent Sherlockian and retired Pentagon special operations official Jon Lellenberg.
If I were to describe vividly my reaction to reading Baker Street Irregular side by side with your volume of explanation, you would accuse me of gushing. First of all, you will be amused and proud to learn it was difficult to maintain my method of alternating chapter and notes. You had hinted that there were many facts among the fiction, but I was still surprised by the extent of the truth of the story. A A A  Despite its early shortcomings, I thought there was a genuine story that only required work to bring out. A A A  My special ops colleagues and I were on the Pentagona€™s first floor about eighty feet from the impact point. A A A  I didna€™t do any further writing in the bloody-minded mood in which my colleagues and I set to work for the year and more that followed. A A A  Dan writes fiction as well as nonfiction, and was enthusiastic about the novela€” enough to think it might be of interest beyond the BSI itself. A A A  In July a€™04, I started writing the three final chapters in Vermont, in the house where the Prologue takes place. A  I might have been more like Woody if Ia€™d grown up in Kansas City when he did, during Prohibition.
Not that we hadn't seen our share of roamers since coming north to Vermont a year ago, after the Great Fire leveled Boston and half of eastern Massachusetts. Since the sky blew off, every sunset has been spectacular, nothing any artist or photographer could ever hope to capture. He was all bundled up in canvas, canvas that was ripped and tattered like a sail that'd spent a week in a hurricane.
It was an automatic response by then, as natural and routine as guard duty or sleeping during the day. He was on his ass, resting, looking our way and trying to figure if it was worth the effort to make the climb. It was coming from the rubble that used to be Bradford Village, one of the suburbs of Burlington. Since Robbie and Sloane got ambushed -- it happened when we were escaping the Great Fire -- Tony, Pete, Charles, Mather, and I were the only males in our camp. Pete was our resident tech whiz -- he'd designed the hatchery, come up with the ventilation scheme that kept the temps down inside, even managed to hook up running water and plumbing.
Those gorgeous pinks and yellows were draining from the sky, leaving behind a cold, inky night loaded with stars.
He'd been trying to soft-pedal his gut feelings, but you could see he was deeply concerned.
He'd been correct on every issue since he took charge two years ago when the sky blew off, the crops started wilting, and the world's population started dying by the hundreds of millions. We were living in New York, then, all of us, living in style and with more than our fair share of creature comforts in an upper West Side neighborhood that only recently had been gentrified. I don't know if anyone anywhere ever really learned the answer to that question, not at the beginning, when the only effects were those amazing technicolor sunsets and that crazy shift in the jet-stream, or, later on, when political institutions and economies were disintegrating faster than global temperatures and the seas were rising. There was no big bang, no escalation of crisis, no state of alert, no Warsaw Pact troops marching across Germany, no Colonel Khadafy dropping a surprise on Israel -- just a sky the color of fresh blood the evening of July twenty-sixth. Maybe it was the test of something the Soviets had up their sleeves that our intelligence never picked up. When we did have to go outside, no matter how briefly, Mather made sure we wore sunglasses and painted ourselves with sunscreen, protection factor fifteen.
It was September, the hottest September ever recorded by the National Weather Service, and no one any longer had any doubt what was happening.
After disposing of a gang of winos, we'd made our home in an abandoned subway tunnel near Park Street Station, which is almost directly under City Hall. Bodies strewn everywhere, smoldering or just plain rotting, every one of them guaranteed to be harboring enough disease to wipe us out a thousand times over. His best guess was that it had something to do with intelligence, or lack thereof, and I imagine he was right.
If you closed your eyes, you could picture it as it might have been before the sky blew off: a charming little blue-collar village, where neighbor knew neighbor and treated him with proper Yankee respect, a place where the machinery of life hummed quietly along in a more-or-less well-greased fashion. It was coming from across the Quannapowitt River, and as we got closer, we could see flickering shapes. Unless some of their number were off somewhere in the shadows, this was going to be a milk run. Since the sky blew off, the Quannapowitt had shrunk to a trickle, six inches deep at its deepest with no more power to drive a loom than water from a faucet. That was the description of all the bands we'd seen, and it made sense they were like that.
That rink -- surely no bigger than about 15 by 15, but an arena to a boy of five or six -- is where I learned to skate. I laughed myself almost silly at that, and my father, without complaint, closed his eyes again.
I am delighted to be part of this discussion tonight, and I would like to thank the University of Rhode Island for inviting me.


I thought of the Wright Brothers and the other pioneers of flight and how the risks they took and the innovations they made revolutionized their world. They are but a handful among the thousands of journals, Web sites, list servs, press releases and the like that we could encounter. Many mainstream readers and viewers -- not to mention mass-media writers and editors -- are only now learning the differences between adult stems and embryonic stems, between therapeutic cloning and reproductive cloning -- never mind the implications of research. For him, a man who might walk again if certain genetic work succeeds, it is not simply acceptable but morally imperative to use unfertilized eggs to grow stem cells. These past few months, I have managed to worm my way into places where I technically don't belong in order to claim a front-row seat to history. By telling the stories of the researchers, I hope to bring the research to a wide and general audience. We don't like bugs, the ticks and mosquitoes especially, and anyway, we're drawn to the beach at Wallum Lake, which is just up the road. Every year the mountain laurel and pine claim more of the path, and this year was no exception, but there was still plenty of room -- more than sufficient, I informed Cal, for another good flying- saucer run this winter. The air seemed fresher as we continued, the light through the foliage stronger, and soon enough we'd reached the peak.
An inventory of our pockets disclosed sticks, pebbles, acorns, flowers, mushrooms and a bright yellow leaf, which Cal had selected for his mom. Marya€™s sister Joanne and husband Jack were going to take us to the airport at Noon.We had a definite sense of anticipation for our long awaited Italian adventure.
We read our books and passed the time as well as we could for the 7 hours that it took us to reach Milana€™s Malpensa Airport.
Next, we set out in search of the Central Holidays Tour guide who was scheduled to meet us.
Off in the distance you could see the snow covered Alps.Garlands of dirty gray clouds, pregnant with rain, ringed the mountain peaks like ringers tossed in a carnival game.
From the towering mountains nature had gouged out , like the four fingers of a hand, a deep and scenic glacial lake. We stopped by the famous Swiss Jeweler Bucherer and admired their pricey wares.The jeweler gave us a silver spoon as a memento.
We noticed a sign for the pool(Piscina) and headed down to the basement for a relaxing swim.The water was heated and we luxuriated in its warmth.
Night had fallen and the lake shore was atwinkle with illumination beneath the ponderous shadows of the towering mountains around us. Inside, Emmanuella our guide gave us a narrated tour of the opera house and accompanying museum. The shops lined a cross shaped and tiled arcade that was covered high above by a peaked glass roof.The four corners of the cross were open to the air and a fountain gurgled at the join of the cross arms. The roof line is a series of spires each topped by a small statue, perhaps a wealthy patron or friend of the Viscontia€™s. Along the way, we stopped at an a€?Autogrilla€? for Zuppe, panne and mineral water (26K-L).
He had apparently formed a rather strong dislike for the famous Operatic Tenor Pavarotti and referred to him often as a€?The barking dog.a€? The Streets of Verona are narrow and picturesque. You must first cross a paved causeway, stretching from the mainland for a mile, to reach this island city. Mahogany bannisters and woodwork, Venetian glass fixtures and fabric print wall paper give the hotel an ambiance of quiet elegance. Like most tours and cruises, meals are the less harried periods of the day and the time to share impressions and experiences of the day before. Arched pedestrian bridges crossed the many small canals as we made our way to the center of Venice,The Piazza San Marco. This building and all of Venice is built upon pilings sunk into the bottom of the lagoon.Minor tremors and other earth movements often shift the surface below. After a brief demonstration in glass blowing, an army of sales people descended upon us to show us the many colored and world famous Venetian glassware. At 12 Noon, we met up with our group for a Gondola ride down the many small canals of Venice. Later that afternoon we set out along the narrow alleyways to find the Academia Art Museum. We had eggplant with grilled tomato and vegetables, pasta with clams, sole, insalata, and tiramisu all washed down with Soave Bolla and Mineral Water. Then, we had a quick breakfast with the Meads and browsed the streets near the hotel one last time. The taxi dropped us off at the head of the causeway where we boarded our Central Holidays bus and set off for the one hour drive to Padua. The School was hundreds of years ahead of the rest of Europe in dissecting cadavers for research purposes. Groves of olive trees are clustered everywhere along the hillsides.No arable land appears to be wasted. The brick buildings here are more of an a€?ochera€? color.Each city appears to have a distinct and uniform a€?colora€? to the brick buildings in its area We skirted the city center and drove past many splendid Tuscan villas to reach a€?Michelangelo Squarea€?.
Allora, we did our a€?Chevy Chasea€? look and remounted the bus for the ride into Florence.
The streets were impossibly narrow and lined with cars and the ever present and annoying motor bikes. There stood another wonderfully sculpted water fountain, a casting of David and a few other Greco Roman figures and a covered portico of sorts with a large array of statuary including the famous a€?Rape of the Sabine Women.a€?.
We learned later that hundreds of international volunteers, affectionately dubbed a€?mud peoplea€? by the locals, had come to Italy after the flood to help restore the frescos and objects da€™art. The windows are open to the light and you can look out, from one end of the upper gallery, to the Arno River below. The Europeans seem to consciously expose their children to art and literature and culture on a much greater scale than we do. We ordered(16K) and chatted with the bar tender in our best Italian and enjoyed the ambiance of the place.
The Villa is a pale- yellow, two -story Italianate mansion sitting amidst sculpted floral gardens and overlooking the Tuscan countryside. The waiters served us courses of Insalata, Risotto, pasta con mushrooms, Potatoes with cheese and peas and a lemon torte for desert. It always seemed like a carnival and it was enjoyable just to stop and watch the swirl of people and events. After a quick shower, we met the Meads and the Lyncha€™s in the hotel dining room for breakfast, before our 8 A.M. As we passed the beautiful shore of Lake Trebbiano, Lucio explained the significance of this sight in Roman History. Hannibal and his Carthaginian invaders sat undiscovered at the head of the narrow defile along the lake that we now traversed. Two mighty armies and peoples had pounded upon the granite slate of history with waxen mallets,their impressions all too soon faded and worn by the fibrous and scouring sands of time.
We and hundreds of others listened to the Mass in Italian and sat respectfully in this historic old church. We saw Berninia€™s famous a€?four riversa€? fountain and the many swirls of tourists that gather here nightly.
We sought Cena(dinner) at a place nearby that Lucio had recommended .It was one of the few restaurants open on Easter Night. As we wandered around and tried to imagine the cheering throngs that once sat here, I could hear in my minda€™s ear the savage cries and the roar of the crowd. It was here that the victorious Roman Generals marched in triumph to the Forum, to receives accolades from the Roman Senate. The store offered various packages of reliquary that could be sent over to the Vatican to be blessed and delivered later to your hotel room. Hundreds of times I have seen this square on television, as a Papal address was given or more dramatically, when a new pope is elected.
Mass was being said at the main altar and priests from many nations were giving confession in a dozen languages. You could feel the hurt in her eyes and sense the forlorn helplessness of a mother whose child had been taken from her.
We walked from the hotel, across the Tiber, up the Via Corso and across the Via Condotti to the Spanish Steps. Most seemed to be Italian families out for the day on a€? Pasquitaa€? or a€?little Eastera€? holiday. Built by Pope Sixtus IV as a private Chapel, the church was divided into an inner and outer chapel, separated by a 12 foot, ornate, wrought-iron screen. The first fifteen feet are painted as purple velvet curtains.The texture of the work leads you, from a distance, to watch the curtains lest they move. Marie saw a nice leather coat in a small store and bought it The shop owner formerly had a girl friend that lived in Buffalo.He had even visited once,small world. Pagan, Christian or other, it is a place designed for quiet contemplation and harmony with the elements of nature.
It had been at various times the tomb of an emperor, a fortification,a prison and is now a museum. As we sat in anticipation, the strolling minstrels played the Mandolin,.picollo, and folk guitar in nostalgic Italian folk songs.
It was pleasant to walk amidst the Roman night and remember all that we had seen and done in one of the most ancient of European capitols. It is the avenue North from Naples and the major reason the Allies had landed at Sorrento in WW II. It is named for the Spanish Ambassador at a time when the Kingdom of Naples was a part of Spain. We watched the trained artisans etch and carve the medallions, rings and various pieces of jewelry from the shells. The weight of the ash had collapsed all of the ceilings and the effect looked like a scene from a WWII movie after an aerial bombardment.
They and the mural in the vestibule, with the outsized priasmic phallus, drew the most snickers from the tourists.
Soon we came to the small coastal town of Sorrento, where we were to stay for the next three nights. The bus carried us back to the hotel where we read ,caught up with journal entries and surrendered to a conversation with ozzie nelson. The lemon and orange trees were swaying gently and the birds were singing happily in the rain.
The topic of conversation was whether or not the jet foil trip to Capri was still a go for today.
We rolled side to side and jumped the occasional roller.If you werena€™t holding on tight, you would go rolling down the aisle of the sleek jet-boat like a tumbleweed in the wind. Roberta shepherded us to the funicular that would take us up the hillside to the lower village of Capri.
We gazed out across the deep blue Mediterranean, admiring the two massive rock formations in the harbor. The sun was shining and we had a gorgeous view of the bay and mountains along the shoreline. We stopped for ice cream at a small stand and watched the shoppers come and go.It was one of those sunny Mediterranean afternoons that give the area its magic and allure.
After a shower and breakfast in a€?Re Artu.a€? we boarded our bus for the daya€™s excursion, the main feature of which was to be a drive along the scenic Amalfi Coast.
The sales rep gave us a demo of the various types of woods used and the process involved in making the elaborately in-laid and finely crafted furniture. Mussolini had first built the original stretch in the 1930a€™s.It had since been widened but is still a narrow two lanes, traversed by a monstrous crush of tour buses and traffic. We were lucky too have so able a pilot steering us safely over roads as potenially treacherous as these. Tour buses were only allowed in the Southbound direction along the Amalfi drive, because of the hairpin turns and narrow passageways. We followed a series of five miles of winding and heart stopping switch backs, rising some 1200 feet from the valley floor,.to this magnificently reconstructed white limestone edifice. Here, a central green space is dominated by statuary depicting the dying St.Benedict, upheld by two monks supporting the sainta€™s lifeless form.
It was she who had started the custom, followed to date, of including a library and chapel in every Benedictine monastery. Each in his own way had looked after the interests of the order, perhaps in a time of great need for the brothers. It is covered with lustrous marble and trimmed in gold.The bronze candelabra sparkled in the dim light and I could feel one of those time-warping mind blinks forming. They were the last twenty or so remaining monks in the complex, an unbroken monastic chain stretching from antiquity. Like most Monestaries during the dark ages , the Abbes were centers of learning and repositories for artwork .Perhaps it explains why they were so often sacked by the marauding barbarians.
It was sunny, cool and in the 50a€™s out.The Via Condotti and environs were as crowded as usual, with their weekend visitors.
We ran into Bill and Marie Mead along the way and decided o take a last look at St .Petera€™s and the Vatican. It seemed like we had the known the Meads for a very long time and were casually comfortable in their presence. We stopped for a time and said a prayer at one of the small altars, thinking ourselves privileged to do so. Inscribed upon it is the lineal array of the Popes form Peter, in the upper left hand corner, to Jean Paulus I in the lower right hand corner.It is an unbroken chain of some of the most important and powerful men in History. The room was circular with a high and vaulted ceiling Fluted doric columns supported the walls and the large floor to ceiling windows gave the aura of a private garden in a Roman Villa.
At times like these, you can only pretend not to know the person involved and run for the door. Unlike many other peoples in the world, the Italians rarely boast of their nationa€™s many accomplishments in Literature, the arts, sciences and a dozen other fields of study.
But so are many of its other characters, real men and women also, who didna€™t spare themselves in the struggle to preserve liberty at a time when democracy was in mortal perila€”something Irregulars of the 1930s and a€™40s realized as well. In the process, my literary interests and Pentagon life collided to give me an idea for an historical novel about the BSI.
Ia€™d never cared to write fiction, and continued to bring out the fourth and fifth Archival History volumes.
I sent some early chapters to a few Irregulars, drafts embarrassingly prolix compared to the final version. I sent second-draft chapters to Ronald Mansbridge, the novela€™s only living character, with lots to say about the 1930s BSI and Irregulars like Christopher Morley, Basil Davenport, and Peter Greig. We were all unharmed, but I witnessed other people brought out of the burning building badly injured, horribly burned, or dead. Three times in my Pentagon years, when great events occurred, I had the good fortune to be exactly where Ia€™d want to be in order to take part in them. The question was whether the arcane Irregular side of the story was told in a way that interested other readers. I now knew what I wanted to happen in the final chapters; it was a case of willing myself to write them. I did some work on the novel through the end of the year, but it was now getting close to February 7, 2006, when Ia€™d be retiring from government and leaving Washington. I told him I did sometimes see Timothy Hutton as hea€™d been playing Archie Goodwin in the Nero Wolfe television series on Arts & Entertainment network at the time. It was a thoroughly engrossing experience, and now I want other authors to supply me with a side volume for my favorite books, though many of them are dead. I have read the novel twice already, but several times in this reading I noticed I was in the second or even third chapter before I returned to the notes -- your well known plot still pulled me insistently along. Some sordid details behind the novela€™s composition are stories for which the world is not yet prepared.
He arrived at dusk, and when no one answered his cries, he finally fell into a restless sleep in the dust and half-dead weeds along the front perimeter. It didn't occur to me then, but somebody must have told him that canvas was about the best protection you could have when you were outside. Night was always the best time to be on the move, whether it was a disposal operation or a raid on one of the few warehouses or stores that had anything left worth raiding. Found it beneath a crucifix on the altar of a burned-out Catholic church in Manchester, New Hampshire, when we were making our way north from Boston.
We were the brie-chablis crowd, the folks with the MBA's and the designer bathrooms who spent weekends on Cape Cod and February vacations in Aspen.
In the early days, when the presses still ran and the six o'clock news was still being broadcast, there was all sorts of talk that it had been the test of some new thermonuclear weapon -- more frightening and more secret than the Bomb, which had every true-blooded Yuppie doing flips back then. We got out of the city in June, before the real panic hit, and we headed up the Connecticut coast. Eventually there was a run on sunscreen and finally supplies dried up, but Mather had been smart enough to buy cases of it before John Q. From a defensive perspective, the tunnel was a dream -- only one entrance, which we kept clear with occasional firefights. Immediately Mather decided to head north, where, he said, we would have the best chance of establishing a camp. You needed brains to build a camp, defend it, find a way to eat -- in our case, a small but successful fish hatchery, supplemented by freeze-dried and canned stuff we'd managed to hoard. The moon was three-quarters full and between that and the usual stunning array of stars we had no trouble keeping up a good clip. You could imagine being born in that village, growing up there, raising a family, walking your children down the aisle, bouncing your grandchildren on your knee, going to your grave a reasonably satisfied man. They were just beyond the bank of the river, roughly three hundred yards away, a band of people huddled in a circle on flat ground next to a burned-out but still standing barn.
Sun and disease had taken their toll, a toll few of the very young or very old were able to pay. The noise was startling, but before anyone down there could react much, I emptied the shotgun in their direction eight times. I suddenly had an old-fashioned thirst for an ice-cold beer, but there wasn't any beer any more. General Hospital, is exploring a number of new medical treatments, including ones involving gene therapy. I was thinking about tonight's forum, and what I would say about the role and responsibilities of journalists in this new world we have all entered.
My eye moved to the titles of the periodicals on the library shelves: Immunology Today, Gene Therapy, and Xenotransplantation, to name a few.
At the risk of inferring that some issues deserve a higher standard of journalistic excellence than others, I believe that nothing in the news today is more important than the genetics revolution and biotechnology in general. Today's intimacy of capitalism with genetics -- of IPOs with DNA -- has brought a new element, even to respected academic labs like the one in Boston.
I have that seat, but now comes the real challenge: getting inside the heads of the scientists.
Cal insisted on taking the lead and, unlike our last walk, in April, he refused assistance getting past deadfalls. Only a cellar hole is left of the farmhouse, destroyed some thirty years ago in a fire of suspicious origin. I wanted to carry him or at least hold his hand; instead, I took a breath and was silent on the matter. We left the quarry and made our way back to the cart path through a stand of towering Balsam firs, unlike any other on Wolf Hill.
The new European Community is in the process of dismantling all of the cumbersome customs checks between its member states. We walked along the Lake promenade and noted with interest the statues of George Washington and the Swiss hero, William Tell.
It was too high for me.The last few hundred yards of the journey looked almost vertical in its ascent. We settled in with Bill and Marie Mead for courses of pasta, salad, omelet(for me) and finally a Torte with cafea€™ for desert.
We saw musical scores and various mementos from operas created by the Italian masters Puccini,Verdi and Donizetti.
It was rebuilt according to original specifications, by the Italian Government, after the War. The imposing Soave Castle could be seen far off in the distance, dominating a hilltop and commanding the region.
We walked them and admired the architecture.Off one small lane we entered a courtyard,that of the Capuletti (small hat) family.
From the terminus of the causeway we boarded motor launches, for the 20 minute ride along the picturesque Grand Canal, to a landing area near our hotel, the 800 year old a€?Saturnia.a€? Another motor launch had been hired to carry our luggage to the hotel. Alessandro informed us that on 100 days of the year the square is entirely submerged in the waters of the nearby Adriatic. In this way, the Venetians insured a reasonable turnover in their chief executives.The average Doge ruled for 9 years. The Venetians had developed the techniques for making transparent glass in the 16th century and later the technique for making glass mirrors by adding silver to one side of transparent glass.
These vessels are sleek, ebony, highly -decorated canoe -like structures that operate with one large oar working off a stern mounted fulcrum and a hearty gondolier to propel them. After some exploring, we came upon the Museum but did not want to fight the hordes of students and tourists already occupying the place.We continued walking along the quaint back alleys and passed by the renowned a€?Peggy Guggenheima€? Museum of Modern Art. How were we going to get across without retracing our steps to the nearest bridge far behind us?
Mariea€™s nephew Michael and girlfriend Jennifer were able to join us for dinner and we enjoyed their company. Around his altar and tomb are pictures, letters and mementos from people who had their prayers answered by St. Many of its streets are lined with a colonade-type of walkway created by an overhanging second story of the buildings. My own brother Mike had attended this Universitya€™s Perugia Campus, so we took a few pictures for him.
It is a wonderful old trattoria that is a favorite of students and revelers.We descended into a basement that could well have been found in Bavaria. We checked into room # 334, unpacked, wrote some journal entries and tried to relax before dinner.
It is faced with green marble and trimmed in both red and white marble.Next to it and somewhat asymmetrical is the Agiotto bell tower, faced in the same marble motif.
Along the hallways, almost casually placed, are scores of Greco Roman statuary salvaged from private villas, public buildings and many other sources throughout the empire. The Florentines had ordered all of the gold merchants to center here in the middle ages.They and many jewelers still plied their trades along this venerable bridge over the Arno. Even the rain could not dampen the splendor of the place.Three fire places were ablaze as we entered the cozy villa.
We washed down this magnificent repast with both red and white wine and mineral water as a musical group played Italian folk songs.
We had breakfast with Tom and Nancy Martenis, from Vermont , and then set off walking the narrow streets of Florence. The Piazza Duomo was, as always, awash in tourists.We briefly admired the church, bell tower and Baptistry before continuing on.
The sidewalk vendors performed a continual ballet of cat and mouse with the Carabinieri who shooed them away whenever they came upon them.The Ponte Veccio was similarly awash in people.
It stands 8 levels high and has that delightful a€?wedding cake a€? appearance so prominent in the Romanesque style.
The baptistry is similarly styled and the three building are harmoniously attractive architecturally as a grouping.The a€?leana€? of the bell tower makes a delightful photograph against the granite solidity of the other two structures. The Romans, thinking perhaps to catch the Carthaginians unawares, started their march in the predawn hours into the narrow defile.
Curiously, scores of tourists still filed down the side aisles headed for the tomb of St.Francis on the lower level, economics I suppose. The storied and very expensive Hotel Hassler stands at the top of the stairs awaiting the well heeled.
It was properly titled as a€?La Vigna dei Papia€? or the Vineyard of the Pope, but to us, it became the a€?Popea€™s Deli.a€? We had a wonderful minestrone zuppa, insalata, vegetables with desert, mineral water and several flagons of a tasty red wine, all for the modest sum of 75k Lire( for 2). Made of brown brick and originally faced with white marble, it now stands as a crumbling reminder to the glory that was Rome.
Much like our own football and baseball stadia, the fans scurried to their seats cursing the traffic and hoping not to miss the thrill of the first contact and the approving roar of the mob.
Nuns and priests from the far flung regions of the world wide church walked respectfully and purposefully amidst the sprawl of tourists from as many countries.
Even were it not religious, this carved block of marble would inspire awe and appreciation. It was sunny and warm out and the area was a throng of people.We sat by the fountain and watched the ebb and flow of the tourists as they took pictures, drank from the fountain(ugh) and milled about, not realizing that the principle activity was to sit and watch the others. A nice desert and all washed down with mineral water and liberal quantities of Abruzzi wine .
We had an early 7:15 bus to see one of the worlda€™s most renowned masterpieces, The Sistine Chapel. She told us that the normal wait could be up to two hours with a line winding back a mile or so into St.Petera€™s square. Trump La€™oeil paintings along the ceiling gave us the impression of three dimensional sculptures hovering above us. It seems Michailangelo wasna€™t above a fit of pique ,depicting a troublesome Vatican secretary as a horned devil in hell. It was windy and cool out as we returned to the hotel to pack for our departure tomorrow morning and prepare for dinner. The area Commander, American Mark Clark, resisted at destroying an Italian National Monument.
Italy long ago must have been a pyrotechnic land shaking with continuous earth tremors , the skies covered with ash from the erupting volcanoes.
It certainly puts everyone on notice to consider well what others will find and view in your home after your passing. The mind blink was warping in and out as images of ancient people inter phased with the modern tourists walking the lanes. It faces the bay with two wings of four stories of rooms.Five outdoor pools empty into one another on a second and lower terrace A Grand central lobby, with bars and restaurant to the sides, faces out onto a broad patio that overlooks the Bay of Naples. Still who could complain?The lemon and sour orange trees abounded in the hotel garden, the sweeping bay was gorgeous and the warm air wafted over us with the scent of lemon and orange.It worked for me. Traversing roads that were higher and narrower than those around a€?Big Sur.a€? in California. We stopped for pictures at a scenic overlook and fruit stand in Positano, the birth place of Sophia Loren. It was a delightful repast .The restauranta€™s hard earned reputation for great food and pleasant surroundings is well justified . We returned to our rooms to pack for departure and sleep, tired with the long and busy day. Finally, a massive earthquake had leveled the place in the 1300a€™s Now here it stood, pristine and formidable, a monument to the staying power of a remarkable and at times very powerful order of Monks.
The real estate here abouts is consecrated in the blood of many fine young men from lands far and near. On the whole we had found Italian merchants to be uniformly pleasant, inordinately honest and genuinely helpful and patient especially with the exasperating antics of the army of multi lingual tourists.
We milled for a time amidst the crowd, enjoying as always people watching and the diversity of the crowd We did not know when we would walk this way again. We viewed and admired again Michaelangeloa€™s Pieta by ourselves and then walked slowly and respectfully around the floor of the most famous and spectacular church in Christendom.
Then, we had a lighting 12 minute breakfast with the Meads and ran to catch the bus for the airport. But I drew up a time-line for the novel as early as July 1994, and for the next several years was constantly writing it in my head: thinking out plot, choosing historical characters and inventing fictional ones, researching issues, and composing snatches of incident and dialogue in my mind. I didna€™t receive much positive feedback, and one was honest enough to tell me to stick to nonfiction. Ronalda€™s encouragement kept me writing and cutting and revising, over and over, until I had only three chapters to go. In the days that followed, the Pentagon courtyard was turned into a field morgue, and the end of North Parking was turned into a crime-scene lab where Army graves-registration personnel, medical technicians, FBI agents, and corpse dogs sifted through every cubic inch of debris from the building for evidence and body parts.
By the time I returned to Washington, Ia€™d finished the first and all but two pages of the second. She spent an hour with me, a lot of her time for a novice like me, and impressed me with her analytical ability as she dissected the novel and identified things it needed: more about the BSI (I was glad to hear), and about how Woody feels when his marriage goes bad. I started on other things she wanted, and she continued encouraging me to get rid of those two chapters and make it a a€?Nazis dunnita€? story. I spent the two weeks after that in snowbound Vermont turning out a revised draft I sent her on the 20th. It needed to be my first big project after leaving Washington, and it kept Dan Stashower and me busy the rest of 2006 and 2007, in fact into 2008 with its post-publication aftermath.
Bird, gives him an uneasy choice: he can not only stay, but win promotion to partner years ahead of the usual time, if he discreetly acts for bootlegger-mobster Owney Madden, who wants to cash out of his illicit empire and retire. There was a silence at the other end, and then, explosively: a€?Timothy Hutton stole the best girlfriend I ever had!a€? Ok, hea€™s out of the movie.
In The Cotton Club Frenchy DeMange was played i??memorably by Fred Gwynne, but as endearing as that was, ita€™s less in my mind than Bob Hoskinsa€™ Madden.
In The District Messenger I said, a€?Fact and fiction sit so easily together that ita€™s often hard to tell which is which.
Any browser interested in the history of American Sherlockians (including such well-known figures as Rex Stout, Christopher Morley, and Elmer Davis), or in a realistic view of espionage from pre-World War II through the Cold War, will find much of interest here and be prodded to seek out the parent novel. This time, perhaps because I was reading with intent, I noticed how well you delineated among the Irregulars in the tone and rhythm of their speech. I was also impressed by the extent you used real events from the OWI and two types of cryptanalysis, sliding Woody into them neatly. We knew about other parts of the country, where whole camps had been wiped out by typhus, diphtheria, all the diseases that had gone completely out of control since the sky blew off.
The only ones we'd disposed of were the ones that got too close or started acting too weird or hung around too long, like stray dogs begging for handouts.
She'd probably been pretty once, but the sun had left her skin runny and raw and made her hair fall out.
Pinks layered over blues and oranges and yellows, some soft strokes, some bold ones splashed up there with a powerful hand. He'd told me more than once that killing still turned his stomach, no matter how many times he saw it or did it. At night, you didn't have to worry about whether the ultraviolet was going to burn the skin off your back or make you go blind or cook your brains or fry your sperm. There wasn't a one of us who wasn't making fifty grand then, minimum, not a one of us who wasn't employed with one of Wall Street's or Madison Avenue's most reputable firms.
There was still gas left, although there were shortages and growing lines at the stations, so we drove, charging up a storm on our American Express and Visa cards as we went. From the survival point of view, it gave us decent access to stores and warehouses, particularly those mammoth ones along the waterfront, which were still stocked weeks after everything else ran out. We passed other bands as we walked, and we had some skirmishes, losing two of our original group in the process.
It took brains to beat the sun, escape the heat, and it took brains to keep the germs at bay. I wanted to get in and out quickly; I had some business back with Lisa, who'd been my girlfriend in the West Side days, and who Mather had decided was still an acceptable mate for me.
And the cars that were parked in the driveways were beginning to rust; every tire was flat, and roamers had busted the windshields. We'd have a devil of a time tracking them down, and some would probably slip away, and then there'd be hell to pay with Mather. The river wasn't cool, no rivers were any more, but it still felt refreshing around the ankles. Huddled at their feet in the dirt were a half dozen children, most younger than the kid who'd made it to our perimeter.
What there was was hooch, which Mather had discovered you could make from canned peaches, dandelions, anything that had sugar in it, even bark from certain trees. Life-saving protocols already in clinical use have been pioneered in this lab, and I expect that more will follow. And this thought, hopefully not a trite one, occurred to me: The Wright Brothers transported people. It came this year at the customary time, when the sugar maples are at their peak and the oaks are only beginning to turn.
Rusting machinery, barrels and bedframes are strewn about, and the woods are slowly claiming them, too.
The quarry has not been worked since the 1800s, but if you look around town, you will see many foundations made of its imperfect granite.
The plane, a wide-bodied monster, was packed to the gunwales with passengers of all types.We spotted a few Central Holidays carry on bags and wondered if these folks would be on the tour with us.
Lucio pointed out the a€?CHa€? designation on the license plates of the Swiss automobiles.It stands for Confederation Helveticorum, the Roman and official name of Switzerland.
It has a wonderful pedestrian promenade lined with sycamores and Cherry trees that were just starting to bloom. In the performance hall, the audience seating is constructed in a a€?Ua€? shape facing the enormous stage. Historians credit Marini for making popular the use of macadam for the roads surrounding the facility.The soft material quieted somewhat the noise made by the metal wheels of the many carriages passing by and enhanced the acoustical enjoyment of the house.


There, on the second level, is what is thought to be the balcony featured so prominently in Shakespearea€™s a€?Romeo and Juliet.a€? If it isna€™t the real one, it should be.
The Gondoliers and their gondolas competed for space with the water taxis and work boats along the many narrow side canals.
Fettucini with Tuna, salad, Dover sole,risotto with cockles and shrimp,ice cream and coffee, accompanied by red wine and mineral water presented us with a memorable repast. The fourth side is the wonderful Byzantine Masterpiece,the Church of St.Mark , from which the area takes its name. We had a new appreciation for the ornate glassware that we previously thought somewhat tacky.
The effect is a vaulted and arched colonnade lined with shops, and safe form the elements. Off in the distance we could see the distinctive shapes of the Duomo with its majestic bell tower and the Chiesa Santa Croce (Church of the Holy Cross) Mark Twain was a frequent visitor to the area and once remarked that the Arno would a€?be a credible river if someone would pump some water into it .a€? It wasna€™t Twaina€™s Mississippi but it was scenic and pastoral. The hands are brutish and large and I wondered at the contrast to the graceful lines of the whole.The eyes look unfocused and stare off into the distance. Opposite both of these structures is the domelike a€?Baptistrya€? with its fabled 15 foot high doors of gold.The golden portals had been replaced by bronze ones, the originals placed in a museum. A massive swirl of tourists, from everywhere, window-shopped for gold and jewelry along both sides of the the bridge.
We had Campari and soda and chatted with our fellow travelers while admiring the casual splendor of the formerly private Villa. We found the Via Turnabuoni and window-shopped the many pricey stores like Gucci, Bvlgari and Cartier.
We walked by the a€?Church of the Medicia€™sa€?.It is now surrounded by what is called the a€?straw marketa€?, rows of vendors and merchants selling cheap leather goods and souvenirs.
The tower leans about 14 feet off center and is now counter balanced with steel cables and 900 tons of concrete. We took a last walk to the Arno River sensing that it would be a long time before we walked this way again.
As they marched into the rising sun they could see only the swirling lake and mountain mists above them.They marched confidently and unknowingly into the grinding maw of a killing machine waiting on the slopes above them. We sat for a time thawing out and awaiting the luncheon that the hotel was putting on for us.
We surveyed, for a time, the swarm of people walking and sitting along the length of the stairs and decided it was time to head back.
We laughed heartily about the two sets of Spanish steps and enjoyed the camaraderie and the enjoyment of being in the Eternal City.The heavens opened while we were inside and we felt grateful to the elements for holding off until we were undercover. I could look above to the Papal balcony, now draped in flowers for the Easter address in 48 languages.
Nora shepherded us through the entrance way and via the elegantly paneled elevators, to the second floor level of the Vatican Museum. Three are the works of the master, Botticelli, the others by Perugino and his school, depicting biblical scenes and medieval Italy. His Intelligence section had informed him that the Germans were not occupying the Abbe or using it as a defensive position.Churchill intervened with Eisenhower, who acceded to the New Zealandera€™s plea. One wonders, like Thornton Wildera€™s a€?Bridge of San Luis Reya€?, what quirk of fate brought these people to this unfortunate time and place. We read for a while and then, to the faint odor of lemon and orange blossoms, drifted off to sleep. Our tour company had been thoughtful enough to get one, so we inched into the sea side parking area where some forty other tour buses sat in rows awaiting their camera clicking occupants. The Moorish arches in the colonnade, along the front vestibule, were visually pleasing and a nice adaptation of another integrated architectural style. There were 5 star resort hotels like the a€?Grotto Emeraldaa€? and the a€?Santa Caterinaa€? along the way, but they passed in a swirl of mist.Without so daring and capable a wheel man we may well have been sitting in a cafe someplace waiting for the weather to clear. There was even a sign, posted outside the rest stop in Italian, warning of shady characters offering items for sale, with cartoon like bad guys depicted.
The Abbe, and the La Scala opera house in Milan, had been the two national monuments reconstructed by the Italian Government immediately following the war.
There should be a novel in here some place.It was cold and windy out with a light rain spattering around us, as we approached the rising entrance of this fortesslike Abbe.
A short hallway behind the main chapel leads to a grotto of sorts below the main altar.I could see light reflecting from a rather magnificent chamber tiled in deep blue and gold ceramic tiles.
They too had hammered upon the granite slate of history, but with a more hardened mallet whose imprint still remains, alive and vital.Only time and winsome fate will determine the duration of its impression.
It was a meal worthy of a Roman Senator and a fitting finalea€™ to a gustatory onslaught that would be long remembered by all of us. For hundreds of years they were a bellicose and fearsome people who dominated, civilized and even terrorized the known world. Sources and Methods are critical to collection of raw intelligence and its analysis into useful product to inform policy; and in wartime, strategy and operations.
A serious one, about life in the 1930s, the struggle over Americaa€™s course as Europe went to war, the wara€™s clandestine side after we entered, and afterwards the birth of the Cold War in which my own generation was born and grew up.
Finally one day in 1999, with Irregular Crises of the Late a€™Forties out, and a bit bored with a wargame in which I was playing at U.S. Theya€™re when Woody finally understands what really happened in his personal life, and resolves everything! After Woodya€™s initial meeting with Madden and his henchman Frenchy DeMange, he gets started on it, acquiring along the way a first-hand understanding of the New York underworld he has previously been only vaguely aware of. Its long-time machine-boss Tom Pendergast finally went to prison the year before I was born, making a big difference in local corruption and vicea€” even though in the 1950s a€?the Factionsa€? (the machinea€™s remnants) still ran K.C. Con-gratulations!a€? Ia€™m not sure Woodya€™s that a€?balanceda€? as a person, and nobody describes me that way either, but I take what I can get. But hea€™s still in my minda€™s eye as Woody, in the opening and closing scenes of The Golden Spiders especially. Robinsona€™s Little Caesar when it came out in 1931, but his reference to King Kong must have been based on previews, because his remark comes in February a€™33 and the moviea€™s New York premiere wasna€™t until March 7th. I have trouble not seeing Bob Hoskins as him, thanks to Francis Ford Coppolaa€™s 1984 movie The Cotton Club. But the name is a Kansas City in-joke: Emery Bird Thayer was a genteel department store for ladies there, from the Civil War until 1968. While Woody in his comings and goings wouldna€™t have run into him on the sidewalk, I imagine he bumped into Archie Goodwin more than once.
It put him down on a lower level, and at the same time brought him a lot closer and a lot meaner. Lellenberg reports that an agent who represented the novel for a time thought it could have sold to a major publisher and become a bestseller if the author would have dropped the final two postwar chapters, which would have been a bad decision artistically if not commercially. As much as that, I liked reading about the reasons that emerged for some of your choices -- it all made the novel much richer. His body quivered a bit and then his mouth became a fountain of blood, but it didn't last long. She was delirious, talking nonsense about salvation, redemption, apocalypse, all that other Bible crap, like so many of the roamers we'd seen since New York. Back when I was in parochial school, I remember thinking the walls of heaven must look that beautiful.
Didn't have to take your chances bundled in a hundred layers of clothes and sunscreen coating your body like axle grease. Perhaps the good father gave his final sermon, then put it to his head and squeezed off a round.
That disposing of them might be a greater logistical problem than we'd had to deal with in a long, long time, maybe ever.
The day the looting began in earnest, we grabbed enough canned juices and beef stew and hams for at least a year, according to Mather's calculations.
He hadn't assigned Pete a woman, but he had occasional privileges, which he was always pleased to exercise.
The trees that once had shaded back yard barbecues now were blighted, their leafless branches waving in the wind like the thin fingers of a skeleton. Except for the wrinkles, they wore identical expressions: that peculiar hybrid of fright and exhaustion and malnutrition I'd seen on roamers before. On my way out of the barn, I was lucky -- I found a five-gallon can of gas, and it was full. It is one of several labs in New England where I have been hanging around over the last few months.
Scientists today are on the verge of being able to DESIGN people -- and if not design them, then certainly change them in ways that can -- or should -- make their lives better and longer.
Often lost in the reporting of stem-cell research, for example, is the fact that embryonic stem cells can grow uncontrollably into teratomas, or cancer. Imagine when the first scientist doesn't merely clone a baby, but custom-builds one by manipulating the germline. The temperature at dawn read 29 or 30 degrees, depending on the angle the thermometer was viewed. We went through the backyard and onto the cart path that ascends Wolf Hill, a fanciful name in the nineties, even for a rural town like ours. We marveled together at a sight as strange as grape vines entwined around a bedframe, and I tried explaining how a house not unlike our own had been reduced to ruin, but I don't believe I succeeded, nor did I really try. It resembles a den, and the forest floor is softly carpeted and often dotted with toadstools -- certainly a spot, I allowed, where elves dance under the starry sky. It appeared to us that the majority of the flight was filled with Italian nationals returning home from a visit to the United States.
The trees were first planted by the Romans and named a€?Cherrya€? after the Roman word a€?Cherazza.a€? The term is a truncation of a region in Turkey where the Romans had found the tree in abundance. It was delicious and set well the stage for the ensuing caloric tide that was to pleasantly engulf us over the next two weeks.The food here is wonderful. Private boxes rise six levels along the a€?U.a€? The interior floor level of the a€?Ua€? is filled with seating as well. Regions like the Po river valley make up the remainder and are heavily involved in agriculture and grape production. This marble covered and gilded apparition is an architectural delight.The soaring bell tower next to it dominates Venice. I had never experienced Varonese or Tintoretto on such a grand scale before and enjoyed immensely the sweeping saga in oil that lay before us.
When dried,it is saturated with vegetable oil three times yearly and buffed to a high finish.The result is marble in appearance, yet vibrant and giving to the various strains of the building. How they manage to steer these fragile craft around the narrow turns and in and out of the crowded boat traffic is a mystery to me, but they did.
We saw some energetic young men oaring a sleek black gondola across the choppy waters of the Grand Canal. We sat for a while in the Piazza to watch the crowds swirl and then Mary and I headed back to the Piazza Signorini to enter one of the worlda€™s more renowned art museums,The a€?Uffizzia€? Gallery. The municipal workers were sweeping the sidewalks with old fashioned besom-style brooms.Then the modern street sweeper and sprinkler would come by and finish the process. I am not sure the haughty Medicis would have approved, but then maybe that was the point of it all.
Unable to maneuver in the narrow valley and outmatched by superior cavalry, the Roman legion was ground to pieces against the Carthaginian phalanx.
In a bright and high- windowed room, over looking the valley below,we were served Pasta, vegetables(for me) ,cream puffs, white wine, mineral water and cafea€™latte. We walked on in the night admiring the lighted splendor of the Vittorio Emmanuel Monument, through the Piazza Venezia and along the busy Via Corso to the upscale Via Condotti and finally to the most famous gathering point in Rome, The Spanish Steps , named after the former residence of the Spanish Ambassador. It was a family outing in ancient Rome.The language had evolved to English for us, but the thirst for blood and the animal frenzy of the crowd remain with us even today.
The victorious general, driven in an ornate and ceremonial chariot ,nodded approvingly at the tumultuous cheers from the Roman people.
My minda€™s ear heard the cheer of the teeming throngs who often packed the square to hear the Papal address a€?il Papaa€? they chanted. Nora was taking us directly to the Sistine Chapel, bypassing the rest of the museum in order to give us time to better enjoy the chapel unhurriedly. There are more interior Corinthian columns, along the circular walls and supporting the circular and convex dome whose center is open to the elements. Toasts of a€?Arrivederci Romaa€? and a€?Salutea€? passed back and forth.It was a wonderful farewell party for those leaving Italy tomorrow. The Abbe was bombed and completely leveled, much to the anger of the Italians then and now. Outside, we got a delicious Italian treat from a small pushcart vendor,lemon ice(2k) .It was delicious. In front of the 5 star Hotel Quisianna, playground of the well heeled, Roberta cut us loose for a few hours to have lunch and do some shopping. Someone actually did approach me, but unknownst to him I hadna€™t a clue as to what he was saying in his staccato burst of Italian.
Yet today, they are a gentle, good-hearted and decent nation who love family and the quiet enjoyments of food, wine and music.
Special Operations Command at MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Fla., I suddenly started writing. It was the first thing I saw upon arriving in the morning, and the last thing I saw when I went home at night.
While Ia€™d never consciously thought about it before, what popped into my mind was Armageddon, Leon Urisa€™s epic about the birth of the Cold War, which Ia€™d read multiple times. Then I went West, not East, for college, and instead of Law studied International Relations for a career in government.
16 herein about this.) Once that was decided, it made sense to make Woody Owney Maddena€™s diffident lawyer early in the novel, a big part of his real-life education, including getting him over some (though maybe not all) of his insecurities from a lower-middle-class Midwestern upbringing as he makes his way through professional life in New York, dealing principally with different kinds of people. But Baker Street Irregulara€™s Madden is based primarily on the i??chapter about him in The Night Club Era (1933) by Herald Tribune city editor Stanley Walker (a character in the novel himself), who knew Madden in person; and secondarily on Graham Nowna€™s 1980 book The English Godfather (though I doubt the very Irish Madden, despite having been born in Leeds, would have cared to be called an Englishman). It was a fixture in town when I was growing up, with its Country Club Plaza branch just up the block from my mothera€™s business. Ita€™s only referred to, and I wish a scene could have been set there, after seeing it when Thomas Kavaler Esq., from a firm just down the street, took me to lunch there so we could talk about Wall Street law firms then and now. But Baker Street Irregulara€™s Madden is based primarily on the chapter about him in The Night Club Era (1933) by Herald Tribune city editor Stanley Walker (a character in the novel himself), who knew Madden in person; and secondarily on Graham Nowna€™s 1980 book The English Godfather (though I doubt the very Irish Madden, despite having been born in Leeds, would have cared to be called an Englishman). In less than three minutes, long enough for a smoke, his nerves stopped firing and he was still.
We didn't find a body, but maybe one of his parishioners had dragged it away for burial when that Mass was over. I have written a handful of pieces for The Journal, and over the next many months will write more.
And adult stem cells are notoriously difficult to isolate and direct, another fact that is sometimes overlooked. Water has long filled where men once labored, of course, and a century's worth of sediment covers the bottom, making it impossible to gauge true depth (although we have tried, with our sticks). Generations of tourists had rubbed her right breast for luck and it sparkled in contrast to the dull sheen of bronze covering the rest of the statue. Similarly, the floor joists and timbers between floors are constructed all of wood so that thebuilding will give with the stress and strain of frequent movement. Ten panels on the bronze doors ,framed in black marble, depicted various biblical scenes. As we left the Villa Viviani, the skies cleared and a full moon shined over the Tuscan hills.It was the stuff of which tourist brochures are made. Broken swords and bodies littered the scenic landscape for years afterwards.A few of the local village are named a€?pile of bonesa€? or a€?bloody fieldsa€? to memorialize the slaughter. Behind him, in the chariot, stood a slave with a laurel wreath of gold , held over the generala€™s head, whispering in his ear an admonition, the phrase a€?Sic transit gloria.a€? Fame is fleeting.
A roseate marble glimmered in the filtered light from the polished walls.There are several small shrines to San Guiseppe and other saints.
The irony of the situation is that the Germans took over the rubble of the abbe and made an excellent defensive position of it for the coming battle of Monte Cassino, which I will describe later when we visit the abbe.
We arrived uneventfully at the hotel around 4:30 and retired to our rooms to read and relax before dinner. I want instead to disclose the sources and methods behind Baker Street Irregular for readers whoa€™d like to know more about the personalities, institutions, and events in it. I had no idea how much Ia€™d actually find once I started looking, or that, a decade later, Ia€™d have done five volumes and some shorter works for over 1500 pages a€”with the 1950s still to go.
But industry like that came in spurts, alternating with obsessive editing instead, or just plain neglect. Her view, reasonable for a literary agent, was that keeping the novel focused on what readers of World War II thrillers expect greatly increased the chance of a big sale to a publishing house, maybe even a bestseller.
1, but contributing a reference by way of tribute, is The Blue Dahlia starring Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake, for which Raymond Chandler received an Oscar nomination for Best Original Screenplay, 1946. My schoolmate John Stapleton Altman, co-founder of The Great Alkali Plainsmen of Greater Kansas City in 1963, blew me a raspberry by email about the name. When Cal is a little older, I will tell him -- as I did his sisters -- spooky stories of the goings-on here when the moon is full. We drove by the 600 year old Visconti Palace, with its imposing tower and battlements.The fortress had once had 132 drawbridges across its formidable moat.
The walls of the stone courtyard are covered with hundred of linked initials in heart shapes, a curious graffiti memorial to young love. An enterprising photographer took snaps of us in the gondolas when we left and had them developed upon our return.
In a mind blink I had traveled across the centuries and now sat looking at a beautiful lake scape where so much death had once occurred.
In any case we much enjoyed our stay as guests in this beautiful land amidst a people that we found both warm and charming.We hope often to return and visit them.
And for the sake of the historical record, since I spent thirty-five years in the kind of work that Woody Hazelbaker, the novela€™s protagonist and narrator, goes to Washington in 1940 to do, in Ch. Eventually I resumed periodically editing what Ia€™d already written, and at some point showed it to a fellow Washington BSI, Daniel Stashower, with whom I collaborate on Conan Doyle projects.
I sent what Ia€™d done, and he more or less demanded that I finish it, and he talked to his high-powered literary agent in New York about representing me. The reference is to the a€?campaign table with bottles and glassesa€? in Maddena€™s apartment (p. Baker Street Irregular is an ambitious novel and a very considerable achievement.a€? This new volume, unexpectedly but appropriately, forms part of the BSI Archival History Series. Wearing gloves and masks, we carried him downhill, away from the hatchery, and put him ten feet under, as deep as we could dig in the two hours we had before the sun came up.
There was only one way to know for sure, I said: Some fine summer night, we would have to camp out here, being careful to stay awake until midnight. Getting a ticket to a performance here is difficult at best,even though the place is enormous. It was the voice of the killer.a€? Same with Owney Madden, something Woodya€™d begun to forget. If youa€™ve read Baker Street Irregular youa€™ll find that the facts behind it add depth to your appreciation.
I brought him to Your disciples, but they couldna€™t heal him.a€?A  Jesus replied, a€?You unbelieving and rebellious generation! Then we burned our clothes and bathed in rubbing alcohol and Lysol we'd come across on our last trip to the A&P warehouse.
A few nocturnal animals still survived, owls and raccoons among them, and their voices seemed to come from a hundred directions at once, or no direction at all. We could well visualize a hearty rendition of a€?Carmena€? or a€?Aidaa€? performed before enthusiastic and cheering crowds. I noticed one in the gangstera€™s apartment in The Blue Dahlia, the first time I watched it eons ago, and ita€™s always stuck in my mind. When we were done, we walked naked back inside the compound, pulling the razor wire tight behind us. Our April walk was during a nor'easter, and we got soaked playing in the waterfall, but it was gone now, too.
Rachel is in high school now, and Katy, four years younger, is sneaking looks at Seventeen. For the first time, I could picture myself chanting a€?Bravoa€? during a performance and not looking pretentious.
Like the novel, Sources and Methods follows Lord Reitha€™s policy for the BBC: it informs, it educates, it entertains. Cal was worried it would never return, but I reassured him it would, with the next steady downpour. Rosenblatt, BSI.) Born in 1907, Ed was Harvard Law himself from Woodya€™s era, and a Wall Street lawyer I got to know well in the BSI and The Five Orange Pips.
Bring him here to Me.a€? Then Jesus rebuked the demon, and it came out of him, and from that moment the boy was healed. He'd been keen on mushrooms since our last swim at Wallum Lake, when he found ones as big as my hand that had materialized overnight beneath a picnic bench. He was tired, and as I carried him home, I promised we'd camp out next summer, bugs and all. His son Andrewa€™s moving talk about him, at the Pips dinner following Eda€™s death in 1996, began: a€?My father was born by gaslight when Theodore Roosevelt was President,a€? and is an appendix in this book. Then the disciples approached Jesus privately and said, a€?Why couldna€™t we drive it out?a€? a€?Because of your little faith,a€? He told them. He also gathered acorns, which he proposed to feed to squirrels, a word he still had difficulty pronouncing. Ed also appears as himself later on in the novel, so there will be more to say about another role he played in history. Ed was one of the princes of the realm in the BSI I entered in 1973; there are few like him left in it, and I dona€™t deceive myself that Ia€™m one of them.
However, this kind does not come out except by prayer and fasting.a€?This same story is repeated in Mark Chapter 9, vs. I was there for forty days and forty nights, all that time I ate no food and drank no water. The Lord gave me the two tablets on which God had written with his own finger all the words he had spoken to you from the heart of the fire when you were assembled at the mountain. At the end of the forty days and nights, the Lord handed me the two stone tablets inscribed with the words of the covenant.Matthew Chapter 4, vs. 1-2 (NLT): Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted there by the devil. 16-18 (NLT): And when you fast, dona€™t make it obvious, as the hypocrites do, for they try to look miserable and disheveled so people will admire them for their fasting. Then no one will notice that you are fasting, except your Father, who knows what you do in private. As you can see above: Demons are cast out, the Holy Spirit speaks, Moses received the Ten Commandments, and Jesus had the strength to overcome Satana€™s temptations. It can strengthen our faith and get difficult prayers answered.There are different types of fasting. We are trying this for 21 days to achieve some answers from God and help get some desperate and difficult prayers answered.
Fasting, praying, and special giving during the first month of the year sets the tone for the rest of the year. Fasting should be done in combination with things that can increase your faith, wisdom, and hearing from the Lord.
Read a good Christian book, read Goda€™s Word in the Bible, listen with praise and worship to Christian music, and of course pray. Thought for the week:A  For more advice and understanding read a€“ a€?Fastinga€? by Jentezen Franklin. 22-24: The Lord God used the rib of the man to make a woman, and then he brought the woman to the man.
And the man said, a€?Now, this is someone whose bones came from my bones, whose body came from my body. 13: If a man has sexual relations with another man as a man does with a woman, these two men have done a hateful sin.
Most are basically good people that give to charities, help with the homeless, do good deeds and are friendly and nice to people.
There are gay celebrities on TV that do wonderful works of mercy and charity for other people.
However, if you are gay and dona€™t turn from your present life style and accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior you will go to the pool of fire (Hell). Yes, there is such a place and it is for eternity.A  If you intend to do it a€?somedaya€™, I hope you dona€™t get hit by a car and die before that happens. He wrote the rule book (the Bible) and it is expressed in it several times that he feels the punishment for this is death. We are all sinners in one way or another and must try hard to turn from our former self before we knew Jesus as our Lord. To the ones who say it is genetic or upbringing, I offer this: Alcoholism can be passed down through genes and wife-beating can be passed down through upbringing. God is the highest authority, how do you think he will judge according to the Ten Commandments and his Word in the Bible?
Hook up with a good faith based organization like a€?Food for the Poora€? or a€?World Visiona€? and help these people out.
God Bless.====================================================================Pastor Pop-Pop 1-21-2010. We run the risk of becoming weaker when we stay at home, so gradually we wona€™t even notice. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.a€? Notice it says he is looking for someone, like a lion does. They need Christian friends and other Christian adults if they are to survive in this world. Persevere in them, because if you do, you will save both yourself and your hearers.a€?7 Because we need the help of good people. Pastors cannot serve full-time, a building cannot be purchased, missionaries will not be sent out, ministries to the community wona€™t be fulfilled, and the lost wona€™t be saved. And how can they preach unless they are sent?a€?10 Because God says we should go to church regularly.
30-31: And then the sign of the Son of Man will appear in heaven, and all the tribes of the earth will morn, and they will see the Son of Man coming upon the clouds of heaven with power and great glory. And he will send out his angels with a trumpet blast, and they will gather his elect from the four winds, from one end of the heavens to the other. 10: But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a mighty roar and the elements will be dissolved by fire, and the earth and every thing done on it will be found out. 36-43: But of that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father alone. In (those) days before the flood, they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, up to the day that Noah entered the ark. Be sure of this: if the master of the house had known the hour of the night when the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and not let his house be broken into. So too you also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come. Pilots vanish, drivers vanish, wives vanish, neighbors vanish, and it is a world wide supernatural event that happens at the exact same time. There are no second chances of dropping to your knees and asking for forgiveness because it comes and goes in a blink of an eye. Wars, Nation against Nation, famines, earthquakes, natural disasters, and a sin loving generation. I always interpreted the a€?He will come like a thief in the nighta€? as have a duel meaning. Some people know in advance when they will die and they, believe it or not, are the lucky ones.
Hint: It is hot, miserable, people are gnashing their teeth and screaming, and your caretaker has horns --------- hhmmmmmm. However, if you have accepted Jesus as your Lord and Savior and turned your life around you will be going somewhere that is truly pure love. If I am wrong, then worms get me just like you but if I am right I live in love and you dona€™t.
I just dona€™t know where people get their ideas from because the Bible tells it like I do.
Also, it is also true that before Jesus came to the earth as a man, that all the pagan nations were defeated by Goda€™s people the Israelites.
Why ---- because the Israelites worshiped the only God there is and the pagans worshiped false ones. A PS:A  Hope youa€™re not on one of those planes where the Pilot is a follower of Christ when the Rapture comes. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.
I was impressed by the many many friends who came to offer condolences and said kind things about her.
To go through life with so many people that call themselves your family around you is a tribute to the love that is shown and radiates from you.
Some are acquaintances, some good acquaintances, others are friends and still others are good friends.
I think I need to add a new one that shows love beyond that of the latter a€“ it is family. Thought for the week:A  Happy Valentines Day !!!!!=============================================================================Pastor Pop-Pop 2-22-2010.
You see the fire trucks pull up and the fire men run from the trucks, get their ladders, hook up the hoses and then ------- sit down and take a coffee break. Your company is told that there is a mother and two children screaming for help from the third floor and they are close to being consumed by the flames.
You and your men run over to see what instructions he has but he presents all of you with some Coffee and doughnuts. All of us know of people, friends, and family that have not accepted Jesus as their Lord and Savior and are not saved. They are like the family in the house.A  Because of pride, fear, or some other human emotion, we either do not share the Word with them or are not persistent with it to get them saved. The people we know then end up dying either naturally or prematurely in an accident and end up burning in the ever lasting flames of Hell. 18-20: And Jesus came and said to them, a€?All authority on heaven and on earth has been given to me.
Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. There were actually two letters that I have combined and edited to eliminate the womana€™s identity. It is offered here as another a€?building blocka€? about evangelizing and spreading Goda€™s will. I agree that we are all called to share the gospel with others and that we often fall short of that.
The Holy Spirit is the one who draws them, ("No one can come to me unless the Father who sent Me draws him" John 6:44) convicts them and makes them see that they are sinners. People are drawn to God in us when they see something about us that they dona€™t have and they are made thirsty for. But they all have heard the truth many times and they refuse to acknowledge that they are sinners in need of a rescue.
My part is to pray for them, live my life for Jesus (let my light shine) and share the truths of the gospel when there is an opening to do so.
It took many years, but I am at peace knowing that if they die without knowing Jesus therefore spending eternity in hell, that it was their choice. Another interesting fact is that we have different witnessing styles and people respond to different styles of witnessing. But perfect love casts out fear" 1 John 4:18) To love others more than yourself and to know that without Christ they will spend all eternity separated from Him. When I go on mission trips, I pray for the hearts of the people that God is going to put onto my path and I pray that God would give me His eyes to see them as He sees them and His heart to love them as He loves them, and His words to speak to them.
Although it is debated if they are actually God speaking, they are recognized by most as books that are still good to teach from.
Still others like the book of Sirach which is used a lot by the Catholic church brings question into mind that it may have been eliminated by Martin Luther just as a statement to his rebellious nature within that church. He even wanted to eliminate other books including the book of Revelation but, as history records, -- cooler minds prevailed.
60: Then all the people shouted and praised God, who saves those who put their trust in Him.
Someone had a dream that as the soldier drew back to hit Christ that he grabbed the soldiers arm.
As they talked and discussed, Jesus himself drew near and walked along with them;Mark 16, vs. The doors were locked, but Jesus came and stood among them and said, a€?Pease be with youa€?. A Jesus also appeared to 500 others, Saul (whom later became Paul), and to his disciples again when he rose up and ascended into Heaven. Since Biblical times the tradition that the Roman Emperor Domitian ordered that the Apostle John be executed by throwing him into a cauldron of boiling oil has been widely held.



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