Well-Bred & Well-Brewed

The date is December 4th, Wednesday, and today I’m traveling from Auckland, New Zealand to Los Angeles, California and then Los Angeles, CA to Portland, OR. Phew.   This week I’ll be on hiatus, check out Monday’s episode, December 2nd for the whole scoop! The Walrus and the CarpenterLewis Carroll   The sun was shining on the sea,   Shining with all his might:He did his very best to make   The billows smooth and bright—And this was odd, because it was   The middle of the night. The moon was shining sulkily,   Because she thought the sunHad got no business to be there   After the day was done—"It's very rude of him," she said,   "To come and spoil the fun!" The sea was wet as wet could be,   The sands were dry as dry.You could not see a cloud because   No cloud was in the sky:No birds were flying overhead—   There were no birds to fly. The Walrus and the Carpenter   Were walking close at hand:They wept like anything to see   Such quantities of sand:"If this were only cleared away,"   They said, "it would be grand!" "If seven maids with seven mops   Swept it for half a year,Do you suppose," the Walrus said,   "That they could get it clear?""I doubt it," said the Carpenter,   And shed a bitter tear. "0 Oysters, come and walk with us!"   The Walrus did beseech."A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,   Along the briny beach:We cannot do with more than four,   To give a hand to each." The eldest Oyster looked at him,   But never a word he said;The eldest Oyster winked his eye,   And shook his heavy head—Meaning to say he did not choose   To leave the oyster-bed. But four young Oysters hurried up,   All eager for the treat:Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,   Their shoes were clean and neat—And this was odd, because, you know,   They hadn't any feet. Four other Oysters followed them,   And yet another four;And thick and fast they came at last,   And more and more and more—All hopping through the frothy waves,   And scrambling to the shore. The Walrus and the Carpenter   Walked on a mile or so,And then they rested on a rock   Conveniently low:And all the little Oysters stood   And waited in a row. "The time has come," the Walrus said,   "To talk of many things:Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—   Of cabbages—and kings—And why the sea is boiling hot—   And whether pigs have wings." "But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,   "Before we have our chat;For some of us are out of breath,   And all of us are fat!""No hurry!" said the Carpenter.   They thanked him much for that. "A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,   "Is what we chiefly need:Pepper and vinegar besides   Are very good indeed—Now, if you're ready, Oysters dear,   We can begin to feed." "But not on us!" the Oysters cried,   Turning a little blue."After such kindness, that would be   A dismal thing to do!""The night is fine," the Walrus said,   "Do you admire the view? "It was so kind of you to come!   And you are very nice!"The Carpenter said nothing but   "Cut us another slice.I wish you were not quite so deaf—   I've had to ask you twice!" "It seems a shame," the Walrus said,   "To play them such a trick.After we've brought them out so far,   And made them trot so quick!"The Carpenter said nothing but   "The butter's spread too thick!" "I weep for you," the Walrus said:   "I deeply sympathize."With sobs and tears he sorted out   Those of the largest size,Holding his pocket-handkerchief   Before his streaming eyes. "O, Oysters," said the Carpenter,   "You've had a pleasant run!Shall we be trotting home again?"   But answer came there none—And this was scarcely odd, because   They'd eaten every one.Thank you for listening. I’m your host, Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening.

Hiatus Week Day 2: A belated autumnal poem to explain the Indian Summer phenomenon.  The date is December 3rd, Tuesday, and today I’m coming to you from Auckland, New Zealand.  This week I’ll be on hiatus, check out Monday’s episode, December 2nd for the whole scoop!  Legend of The Indian SummerKate Harrington I have learned a simple legend,Never found in books of lore,Copied not from old tradition,Nor from classics read of yore ; But the breezes sang it to meWith a low and soft refrain,While the golden leaves and scarletFluttered down to catch the strain. And the grand old trees above me,As their stately branches swayed,Threw across my couch of crimsonMore of sunlight than of shade. I had lain there dreaming, musingOn the summer's vanished bloom,Wondering if each penciled leafletDid not mark some flow'ret's tomb ; Thinking how each tree could tell meMany a tale of warrior's fame;Gazing at the sky, and askingHow the ''Indian Summer' came. Then methought a whispered cadenceStole from out the haunted trees,While the leaves kept dropping, dropping,To the music of the breeze. “I will tell thee,” said the whisper,“What I've learned from Nature's book;For the sunbeams wrote this legendOn the margin of a brook. “'Tis about an Indian maiden,She the star-flower of her race,With a heart whose soft emotionsRippled through her soul-lit face. “All her tribe did homage to her,For her father was their chief;He was stern, and she forgiving,—He brought pain, and she relief. “And they called him 'Indian Winter,'All his actions were so cold ;Her they named the 'Indian Summer,'For she seemed a thread of gold “Flashing through her native forest,Beaming in the wigwam lone,Singing to the birds, her playmates,Till they warbled back her tone. “When the summer days were ended,And the chilling months drew near,When the clouds hung, dull and leaden,And the leaves fell, brown and sere, “Brought they to the chieftain's presenceOne, a ‘pale-face,’ young and brave,But whom youth nor manly valorCould from savage vengeance save. “‘Bring him forth!’ in tones of thunderThus the 'Indian Winter' cried,While the gentle ' Indian Summer'Softly flitted to his side. 'When the tomahawk was lifted,And the scalping-knife gleamed high,Pride, revenge, and bloody hatredGlared within the warrior's eye; 'And the frown upon his foreheadDarker, deeper, sterner grew ;While the lowering clouds above themHid the face of heaven from view. ''Spare him ! oh, my father, spare him!'Friend and foe were thrust apart,While the golden thread of sunlightTwined around the red man's heart. 'And her eye was full of pity,And her voice was full of love,As she told him of the wigwamOn the hunting-ground above, 'Where great Manito was talking,—She could hear him in the breeze ;How he called the ' pale-face' brother—Smoked with him the pipe of peace. 'Then the warrior's heart relented,And the glittering weapon fell: For the maiden's sake,' he muttered,'Thou art pardoned,— fare thee well!' ' And the sun, that would have slumberedTill the spring-time came again,Earthward from his garnered brightnessThrew a flood of golden rain; 'And the 'Indian Summer' saw it,She, the gentle forest child ;And to ' Indian Winter' whispered,See how Manito has smiled !' 'All the tribe received the omen,And they called it by her name:Indian Summer, Indian Summer,It will ever be the same. 'Though the ' pale-face' gave anotherTo the lovely maid he won,Nature still receives her tributeFrom the wigwam of the sun. ' Here, alone, this shining symbolGilds the streamlet, warms the sod,For no Indian Summer comethSave where Indian feet have trod.' Thank you for listening. I’m your host, Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

The date is December 2nd, Monday, and today I’m traveling from Port Vila, Vanuatu to Auckland, New Zealand. This week I’ll be on hiatus, which may sound ridiculous considering the number of episodes I have to catch up on, but if you then consider that each episode takes me about 3 hours from research to writing to publication, I need time, that with working, I don’t always have.  So this hiatus week will be a recurring thing I do to help me stay on top of episodes while I figure out how to produce them faster (!). And each week I’ll share some content I couldn’t otherwise share on here. This week I’ll be sharing poems that I think are quite delightful and quirky but that would otherwise be too long for a regular episode. Future hiatus weeks may be something different! Stayed tuned.  So without further ado…. The Courtship of the Yonghy-Bonghy-BoEdward Lear On the Coast of Coromandel   Where the early pumpkins blow,      In the middle of the woods   Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.Two old chairs, and half a candle,One old jug without a handle--      These were all his worldly goods,      In the middle of the woods,      These were all his worldly goods,   Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,   Of the Yonghy-Bonghy Bo. Once, among the Bong-trees walking   Where the early pumpkins blow,      To a little heap of stones   Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.There he heard a Lady talking,To some milk-white Hens of Dorking--      "'Tis the Lady Jingly Jones!      On that little heap of stones      Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!"   Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,   Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. "Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly!   Sitting where the pumpkins blow,      Will you come and be my wife?"   Said the Yongby-Bonghy-Bo."I am tired of living singly--On this coast so wild and shingly--      I'm a-weary of my life;      If you'll come and be my wife,      Quite serene would be my life!"   Said the Yonghy-Bongby-Bo,   Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. "On this Coast of Coromandel   Shrimps and watercresses grow,      Prawns are plentiful and cheap,"Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo."You shall have my chairs and candle,And my jug without a handle!      Gaze upon the rolling deep      (Fish is plentiful and cheap);      As the sea, my love is deep!"   Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,   Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. Lady Jingly answered sadly,   And her tears began to flow--      "Your proposal comes too late,   Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!I would be your wife most gladly!"(Here she twirled her fingers madly)      "But in England I've a mate!      Yes! you've asked me far too late,      For in England I've a mate,   Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!   Mr. Yongby-Bonghy-Bo! "Mr. Jones (his name is Handel--   Handel Jones, Esquire, & Co.)      Dorking fowls delights to send   Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!Keep, oh, keep your chairs and candle,And your jug without a handle--      I can merely be your friend!      Should my Jones more Dorkings send,      I will give you three, my friend!   Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!   Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! "Though you've such a tiny body,   And your head so large doth grow--      Though your hat may blow away   Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy,Yet I wish that I could modi-      fy the words I needs must say!      will you please to go away      That is all I have to say,   Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!   Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!" Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle,   Where the early pumpkins blow,      To the calm and silent sea   Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle,Lay a large and lively Turtle.      "You're the Cove," he said, "for me;      On your back beyond the sea,      Turtle, you shall carry me!"   Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,   Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. Through the silent-roaring ocean   Did the Turtle swiftly go;      Holding fast upon his shell   Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.With a sad primeval motionTowards the sunset isles of Boshen      Still the Turtle bore him well.      Holding fast upon his shell,      "Lady Jingly Jones, farewell!"   Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,   Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. From the Coast of Coromandel   Did that Lady never go;      On that heap of stones she mourns   For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.On that Coast of Coromandel,In his jug without a handle      Still she weeps, and daily moans;      On that little heap of stones      To her Dorking Hens she moans,   For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,   For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. Thank you for listening. I’m your host, Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening.

The date is November 29th, Friday, and today I’m coming to you from Port Vila, Vanuatu.  And today is the birthday of Louisa May Alcott, American writer.  Louisa May was born to a small family in 1832 in what is now Philadelphia, PA. They didn’t stay long there. The family would move to Boston shortly following Dad’s dream of founding a Transcendentalist school. The family would move 22 times in 30 years, mostly in and around New England.  While Alcott’s father was a man of high-minded ideals, he was not a man of high income. From a young age Louisa May had to work to supplement the family’s income. She, her mother and sisters worked in a variety of domestic roles from governesses to seamstresses.  Her father’s transcendentalist ideas did allow him to circulate with the likes of Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson and meant he placed a strong emphasis on reading and philosophy. At one point the family corresponded with Frederick Douglass while a housing a fugitive slave as part of the Underground Railroad.  At age 27, Alcott began more seriously, a writing career. She started writing for The Atlantic Monthly, and, after a spell as a nurse in the Civil War— Alcott was a passionate abolitionist— and then as a patient from becoming deathly ill, her writing career took off. She published Hospital Sketches and Moods, both of which were well received for their humor and candor. She took on the pen name A. M. Barnard to publish more adventure-driven stories. When Alcott’s classic Little Women first appeared in 1868, Alcott was skeptical it would be reviewed favorably—perhaps because she was concerned at how close it was to an autobiography. But it did well enough to have three sequels which followed the “little women” from adolescence to adulthood with their own kids: Good Wives, Little Men, and Jo’s Boys.  One of Alcotts childhood homes in Massachusetts is now a museum dedicated to the Alcott family legacy, and Lousia May Alcott was inducted into the National Women’s Hall of Fame 1996.  Today is the birthday of Ann Dunham, American anthropologist.  Dunham was born in Kansas, but became an island girl when she followed her parents in moving to Hawaii. While a student at the new University of Hawaii at Mānoa, Dunham met an intelligent, independent man from Kenya named Barack Obama. The two, Dunham 18 and Obama 23, fell for each other and married, against the wishes of their parents, despite the fact that Ann Dunham Obama was already 3 months pregnant.  Dunham-Obama gave birth to Barack Obama II in August 1961 and was in classes the next semester, this time at the University of Washington in Seattle. Obama, Sr remained in Hawaii working in his original course of study. He departed for Harvard not long after that, Dunham raising little Obama in Hawaii with the help of her parents. Little did she know that her bundle of joy, who she would sometimes take with her to classes, would one day become that Barack Obama, the 44th President of the United States.  In addition to being a mother, Ann Dunham was an anthropologist who found her calling studying and aiding women of Indonesia. She lived in Jakarta with her second husband and 6-year-old Barack for a number of years before returning to Hawaii to begin work on a PhD, partially funded by a grant from The Asia Foundation. She would return again to Indonesia many times, a champion for women in rural communities and starting one of the early microcredit programs in Indonesia.   LullabyLouisa May Alcott Now the day is done, Now the shepherd sun Drives his white flocks from the sky; Now the flowers rest On their mother's breast, Hushed by her low lullaby.  Now the glowworms glance, Now the fireflies dance, Under fern-boughs green and high; And the western breeze To the forest trees Chants a tuneful lullaby.   Now 'mid shadows deep Falls blessed sleep, Like dew from the summer sky; And the whole earth dreams, In the moon's soft beams, While night breathes a lullaby.  Now, birdlings, rest, In your wind-rocked nest, Unscared by the owl's shrill cry; For with folded wings Little Brier swings, And singeth your lullaby. Thank you for listening. I’m your host, Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely weekend.

View this episode on our website.The date is November 28th, Thursday, and today I’m coming to you from Port Vila, Vanuatu. Today is Thanksgiving in America. It is a time for families and friends gather together to share a meal and spend the day reflecting on all the wonderful things, tangible and intangible, that have come our way over the past year. So today I will just share a poem :)  ThanksgivingElla Wheeler Wilcox We walk on starry fields of white    And do not see the daisies; For blessings common in our sight    We rarely offer praises. We sigh for some supreme delight    To crown our lives with splendor, And quite ignore our daily store    Of pleasures sweet and tender. Our cares are bold and push their way    Upon our thought and feeling. They hand about us all the day,    Our time from pleasure stealing. So unobtrusive many a joy    We pass by and forget it, But worry strives to own our lives,    And conquers if we let it. There’s not a day in all the year    But holds some hidden pleasure, And looking back, joys oft appear    To brim the past’s wide measure. But blessings are like friends, I hold,    Who love and labor near us.We ought to raise our notes of praise    While living hearts can hear us. Full many a blessing wears the guise    Of worry or of trouble; Far-seeing is the soul, and wise,    Who knows the mask is double.But he who has the faith and strength    To thank his God for sorrow Has found a joy without alloy    To gladden every morrow. We ought to make the moments notes    Of happy, glad Thanksgiving; The hours and days a silent phrase    Of music we are living.And so the theme should swell and grow    As weeks and months pass o’er us, And rise sublime at this good time,    A grand Thanksgiving chorus. Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely Thanksgiving.  

Check out this episode on our website.The date is November 27th, Wednesday, and today I’m coming to you from Port Vila, Vanuatu. Today is the birthday of Fanny Kemble, British actress and writer.  Fanny was born to an acting dynasty in 1809 and as such received her education in Paris in music and theater as a child, branching out to study literature and poetry in her teen years.  She returned to London and set to work writing her own plays while performing in nearly all of Shakespeare’s classics on London stages, quickly becoming a favorite for her charm and good looks as well as her talent as a playwright. Although acting wasn’t her favorite, she was obviously talented, and it brought in a salary that she couldn’t refuse.  While on an acting tour in America she met and fell in love with Pierce Butler. The couple lived in Philadelphia and had two daughters. But the marriage would not end well. Butler inherited massive plantations in the South from his grandfather not long into the marriage. Butler would travel South to oversee the plantations, leaving Fanny and the girls behind, perhaps already aware of Fanny’s abolitionist sentiments. Begrudgingly Butler took the whole family to Georgia in the winter of 1838, where Fanny was appalled to see the reality of slavery. The marriage quickly devolved, Butler growing abusive after being confronted with his own sins and a few cases of obvious infidelity.  Kemble was finally able to separate from Butler in 1847. She made a living by turning to her writing and performing again at the theater circuits in America. She was forbidden to see her daughters who were in the care of their father.  No longer under the control and abuse of her husband, Kemble wholeheartedly took up the abolitionist cause, publishing, most famously, Journal of a Residence on a Georgian Plantation in 1838-1839, about, of course, that fateful winter she spent in Georgia on her husband’s plantations. The text was taken up by abolitionist circuits as more ammo for their cause.   She wrote a few additional plays, over ten memoirs regarding different times of her life, a collection of poetry, and translations of French plays. She returned to London, following a daughter who had married a British man. She passed away in 1893 at the age of 84.  And today is the birthday of Bruce Lee, Chinese- American actor and martial artist.  Bruce Lee was born in San Francisco, the son of a well-known Opera singer and heiress, though he spent his childhood in Hong Kong. After getting in an increasing number of street fights, some with persons in organized crime, his parents feared for his safety, though, he seemed to be winning a large number of the fights, thanks to his martial arts training. His parents sent him to America to finish his education. A few years into studies at the University of Washington in Seattle, Lee moved to Oakland where he opened his second martial arts studio with a buddy, and opened its doors to all people, much to the chagrin of other Chinese residents. Becoming a prominent figure in the booming Bay Area, Lee began to venture into a more public sphere with live fights, and he landed a role in the 1966 television series The Green Hornet. Lee had studied drama during his time at University and had a good amount of experience from acting roles as a child and teen in Hong Kong.  Bruce Lee is credited with elevating the image of Asians in America through his roles and public persona. He starred in eight feature films and either starred or was a guest in eight television series. Bruce Lee passed away unexpectedly at the age of 33 from a swollen brain, deemed to be the cause of a bad combination of painkillers. His legacy as the first big Asian American actor lives on.  A Wish Fanny Kemble Let me not die for ever when I’m laid   In the cold earth! but let my memoryLive still among ye, like the evening shade,   That o’er the sinking day steals placidly.Let me not be forgotten! though the knell   Has tolled for me its solemn lullaby;Let me not be forgotten! though I dwell   For ever now in death’s obscurity.Yet oh! upon the emblazoned leaf of fame,   Trace not a record, not a line for me,But let the lips I loved oft breathe my name,   And in your hearts enshrine my memory! Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

Check out this episode on our website.Charles Schulz basically made a killing with Peanuts! A fiercely independent American surgeon shares a birthday with the cartoonist. Poem by Lewis Carroll. The date is November 26th, Tuesday, and today I’m coming to you from Port Vila, Vanuatu. Today is the birthday of Charles M. Schulz, American cartoonist.  Charles Schulz had been working on his Li’l Folks cartoon for a few years before Peanuts evolved from it. Li’l Folks started out as a mostly one-panel comic and was featured in the St. Paul Pioneer Press newspaper for about three years before they cut ties. During that time Schulz did a few one-panel comics for The Saturday Evening Post.  With that credit and his experience at his local paper, he was able to strike a deal with United Feature Syndicate, a comic syndicating company. Under the new name Peanuts, Schulz comic was first published in 7 newspapers on October 2nd, 1950. It took a bit to catch on, but by the 1960s, Peanuts was a hit and had its first animated performance in a Christmas special titled “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” “A Charlie Brown Christmas” is still shown on NBC in December. After its premiere in 1965 it won an Emmy and a Peabody Award.  In all Schulz wrote over 17,500 strips, rarely taking off even a single day. The merchandising of Peanuts became a source of intense wealth for Schulz, so that he was bringing in about $30 million annually from product sales, licensing, and endorsement deals. When the ice skating rink near his home in California shut down, he and his wife bought it and kept it going.  Not keen on the business side of things, Schulz kept his focus on creating, hiring others to manage contracts and monetary affairs. In 1997, Schulz took a mandatory five weeks off for his 75th birthday - it was the only time during his life that Peanuts comics were “re-run.”   Schulz was honored with a Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame as well as a Congressional Gold Medal and various additional awards from the cartoon and comic community. He passed away in February 2000.  And today is the birthday of Mary Edwards Walker, American surgeon and activist. Mary Walker was a force to be reckoned with. Born in 1832 to a large family, Mary’s parents instilled in her a fierce independence and encouraged her to continually question gender and societal norms. In keeping with her family’s belief in equality and curiosity, Mary’s parents made sure their six girls and one boy received equal education. Since there were very few schools nearby, the Walkers started their own.  Mary quickly gained a fascination with medicine after discovering a number of anatomy and physiology textbooks in her father’s possession. She attended Syracuse Medical School, paying her own way after saving up from working as a teacher. She was the only woman to graduate in the class of 1855.  At the onset of the Civil War, Walker offered her skills as a surgeon to the US Army. Concerned that she was a woman, they declined, but offer her a position as a nurse, which Walker promptly rejected. Walker joined a civilian volunteer group as a surgeon instead.  During the American Civil War, Walker was famously captured as she crossed enemy lines to treat wounded soldiers on the battlefield. She wore men’s clothing as was her mode of late, finding them easier to move around in and perform tasks in. From an early age her mother and father had endorsed wearing clothes that were functional, rather than gendered. Her mother had ranted to her children about the restrictiveness of corsets as well as the physical strain they put on the body.   As a prisoner of war, she helped a confederate surgeon with an amputation before being sent to Castle Thunder. She was part of a prisoner exchange in 1864, just under a year before the war’s end.  For her heroism she received a Medal of Honor after the war. She remains the only woman to receive the honor, which is the highest and most prestigious military decoration. AcrosticLewis Carroll Little maidens, when you lookOn this little story-book,Reading with attentive eyeIts enticing history,Never think that hours of playAre your only HOLIDAY,And that in a HOUSE of joyLessons serve but to annoy:If in any HOUSE you findChildren of a gentle mind,Each the others pleasing ever—Each the others vexing never—Daily work and pastime dailyIn their order taking gaily—Then be very sure that theyHave a life of HOLIDAY. Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

Check out the show's website. The date is November 25th, Monday, and today I’m coming to you from Port Vila, Vanuatu. On this day in 1947, Hollywood studios in Los Angeles California instituted the first blacklist. Ten writers and directors under suspicion of communist sympathies were all fired from their respective posts and movie and TV studios were instructed not to hire them. The Hollywood Ten as they are known were requested to testify in front of the House of Un-American Activities. On the whole, the Ten believed the entire situation to be a witch-hunt by paranoid John McCarthy followers. Their “trial” was a clear demonstration of power on the part of the US Government, though the ordeal is rather hypocritical in light of first amendment rights which protect freedom of speech, including artistic expression.   The practice of blacklisting artists - including actors - continued into the 1960s.  And on this day in 1975, Suriname gained its independence from the Netherlands. Suriname is located on the northern coast of South America and is the smallest country by land mass on the continent. Its population is an estimated 580,000 with the majority of people living in the northern half of the country. The climate is tropical and the plant life is lush, so it’s perhaps no wonder that European trading companies immediately set to work developing plantations and creating an agrarian economy.  Suriname unfortunately, then became a center of slave exploitation. Primarily controlled by the Netherlands, slaves were shipped in from Africa, the East Indies, and India. To this day, Suriname is one of the most ethnically diverse countries.  Suriname has struggled with corruption in government for decades although high literacy rates are a sign of improvement. Democracy was restored in the early 2000s, though current president Dési Bouterse has a questionable history, involving military dictatorship in the 1980s. The next elections in Suriname will be held in 2020.  Tourism is indeed a part of the Suriname economy. The country is home to an extraordinary set of flora and fauna, as well as natural beauty like towering waterfalls, thanks to encompassing part of the Amazon rainforest. The interior of the country is said to be a birdwatcher's paradise.  And today is the birthday of Kate Gleason, American businesswoman, engineer, and philanthropist.  Kate Gleason was just shy of 12 when her father began training her as his assistant. Her step-brother had tragically died of typhoid fever leaving a void in her father’s heart as well as his gear-making company. Kate stayed by his side at the company, Gleason Works, for nearly 7 years, leaving at age 18 to enrolled at Cornell University’s engineering school, one of the first women to do so.  Gleason was soon back by her father’s side though. She had become an integral part of management and development and Gleason Works didn’t last more than a semester without her. Kate Gleason went back to work and enrolled at the nearby Mechanics Institute, today Rochester Institute of Technology.  Gleason took on increasing responsibility in the company and even ventured overseas to make sales in Europe, making Gleason Works one of the first American manufacturing companies to expand globally.  Gleason left Gleason Works at age 47 and began to explore other fields. She got into construction and took on various building projects, in Rochester, South Carolina, and California.  When she passed away in 1933, she left the majority of her $1.4 million estate (about $27 million in today’s dollars) to institutions in and around Rochester, NY, including her alma mater the Rochester Institute of Technology and the main Rochester Public Library. In turn RIT named their engineering departments the Kate Gleason College of Engineering and the Library’s main auditorium also bears her name.  The Cherry TreesEdward Thomas  The cherry trees bend over and are sheddingOn the old road where all that passed are dead,Their petals, strewing the grass as for a weddingThis early May morn when there is none to wed. Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

Check out today's episode on our website. The date is November 22nd, Friday, and today I’m coming to you from Port Vila, Vanuatu. On this day in 1995, Toy Story premiered in theaters.  Toy Story was the first feature-length film created completely using computer-generated imagery. It took around 5 years and $30 million to make. It was a worthy investment as Toy Story grossed nearly $380 million at the box office worldwide, was nominated for three Academy Awards and two Golden Globes, and launched a franchise of related merchandise, video games, and sequels. The most recent sequel, Toy Story 4, came out in June 2019 and grossed $1 billion at the box office.  And today is the birthday of George Eliot, English writer.  Of course many listeners will know that George Eliot is a pen name - the writer’s true identity was Mary Ann Evans.  As a young child, Mary Ann Evans was declared unpretty. She did possess obvious smarts though, and so her father sent her to a boarding school in the hopes that she could develop her brains to make up for her lack of beauty. The amount of formal schooling she received was unusual for a country girl in the first half of the 1800s.  George Eliot returned from school around 16 to take care of the home after her mother’s death. She continued reading voraciously and corresponded via letters with her former teacher.  Still unmarried at age 21, George Eliot followed her father in his move to a town near the larger-sized Coventry, where she became friends with a well-connected couple, and started to mix with the intelligentsia of the town. When Eliot’s father passed away in 1849, it was if she was newly liberated.  Eliot subsequently took a trip to mainland Europe with close friends of her and stayed in Geneva for a spell. Upon her return to England she relocated to London, taking up a position as an editor at a couple literary magazines as she continued to write on her own. While an editor she made up her mind to write novels, perhaps to fill a hole in what she saw as “Silly Novels by Lady Novelists.”  Partly to keep her writing career separate from her editing career, and also to escape public scrutiny, Mary Ann Evans published all her novels as George Eliot. At the time, Eliot was living with a married man, and polite society disapproved of the arrangement, despite Eliot’s partner being in an open relationship.  Mary Ann Evans was forced to admit that it was she who was truly George Eliot after other writers began claiming they were George Eliot. Fortunately, Eliot’s books had already become beloved by the public and Mary Ann carried on living with her partner without harm to her book sales.  Eliot’s most notable novels include Adam Bede, The Mill on Floss, and Middlemarch. Middlemarch in particular stands out among her works - it is the novel most often adapted to TV and film and although scholarly opinions remain mixed, Emily Dickinson and Virginia Woolf were personal fans of the novel. Emily Dickinson once said in a letter to her cousin: “What do I think of Middlemarch? What do I think of glory?”  Count that Day LostGeorge Eliot If you sit down at set of sun And count the acts that you have done, And, counting, find One self-denying deed, one word That eased the heart of him who heard, One glance most kind That fell like sunshine where it went -- Then you may count that day well spent.  But if, through all the livelong day, You've cheered no heart, by yea or nay -- If, through it all You've nothing done that you can trace That brought the sunshine to one face-- No act most small That helped some soul and nothing cost -- Then count that day as worse than lost. Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely weekend. 

Don't forget to check out our website!The date is November 21st, Thursday, and today I’m coming to you from Port Vila, Vanuatu. Today is the birthday of Catharina Questiers, Dutch writer.  Catharina was born in 1631 in Amsterdam where she lived her whole life. She focused her efforts on plays and poetry and is speculated to be the youngest person to write Dutch plays and have them professionally produced.  Catharina Questiers gained public noteriety when her play, based on the structure of the popular Spanish romances, premiered starring the alluring Ariana Nozeman, a top-billed actress. Sold out performances and positive reviews solidified Questiers as a playwright to watch.  Questiers amassed a substantial amount of wealth in her lifetime. She didn’t marry until age 34 which was strange for the time. She claimed to have put off marriage because she enjoyed her freedom so much. Questiers also knew that once she were married she would have to give up any paid work, which she did after marrying Johan Cough in 1664. Her last play was The Battle for Laurels.  And today is the birthday of Voltaire, French philosopher, writer, and historian.  Voltaire was born Francois-Marie Arouet in 1694 in Paris to an upper-middle-class family. His parents hoped he would grow up to become a lawyer or at least have a steady career in government. But the independent-minded youngin wished to become a writer instead.  However, young Voltaire did still have to make money and so he worked some jobs set up by his father. He wrote essays, histories, and poetry, developing a quick wit which made him a popular among the socialites in Paris.  Naturally, his independent spirit and penchant for satire got him in trouble along the way. He went to jail or was exiled to England a few times in response to unflattering depictions of the Regent and the Church - though the French Regent would later honor Voltaire for his writings.  Voltaire adopted the name “Voltaire” in 1718 after one of his spells in jail. His last name “Arouet” unfortunately was very similar to the French word for getting beaten up - an easy target for puns and highly unglamorous. As a child, Voltaire’s sister had often called him “un petit volontaire” or “a determined little thing.” Voltaire is also an anagram for the Latin-ized form of the French name “Arouet” - the anagram theory is supported by scholars. In any case, it certainly made him stand out even more among his contemporaries.  Voltaire’s exile to England proved rather productive as he mixed with the best the literary community had to offer. Returning to France, he was able to finally sort out his shabby financial situation and receive money his father had tied up in a trust for him. With that, Voltaire could devote himself entirely to writing, without having to worry about money - must’ve been nice.  Voltaire lived to the ripe old age of 83 - quite a feat in the 18th century. He is one of the most beloved French writers, countless writers, scholars, and politicians of his time and after cite Voltaire’s works as instrumental in forming their own philosophies.  Famous quotations attributed to Voltaire include:“Best is the enemy of good.”“Those who can make you believe absurdities, can make you commit atrocities.”“The more I read, the more I acquire, the more certain I am that I know nothing.” And“Common sense is not so common.” birth-dayLucille CliftonIf you like this poem, check out the collected works of Lucille Clifton, a modern American poet.Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

 The date is November 20th, Wednesday, and today I’m coming to you from Port Vila, Vanuatu. Today’s episode is brought to you by the generous, the warm-hearted, the green-thumbed Candy P. or Oregon. Today is the birthday of Selma Lagerlöf, Swedish writer.  Lagerlöf was the first woman to win a Nobel Prize in Literature, receiving the award in 1909 at the age of 51 “in appreciation of the lofty idealism, vivid imagination and spiritual perception that characterize her writings.” Lagerlöf was quiet and contemplative as a child, busying herself with books in between private tutoring sessions with her siblings and listening enraptured by her grandmother's telling of fairy and folk tales.  She finished reading her first novel at age seven and by age ten had read the Bible cover to cover.  She received an education to become a teacher and for a few years in the 1880s, she gladly regaled her students with stories during all possible lessons. She worked on her first novel in her spare time.  Her first novel, Gösta Berling's Saga, slowly became a hit and it’s eventually status as a bestseller allowed her to quit teaching to write full time.  Her next works were largely inspired by her travels to Israel, the East, and Italy. She was commissioned to write a children’s book with an emphasis on teaching geography. The final product was The Wonderful Adventures of Nils, the Swedish title I will not be attempting to pronounce. It became so popular as to be translated into 30 languages. The tale revolves around main character Nils who gets shrunk down to three or four inches and then flies around on the backs of geese trying to make his way home so he can be returned to his proper size.  In addition to publishing prolifically over a 50-year career, Lagerlöf was deeply involved in the women’s suffrage movement in Sweden. In addition to being the first woman to win a Nobel Prize in Literature, she was also the first woman to be a member of the Swedish Academy and the first woman to be featured on Swedish currency.  During WWII, Lagerlöf donated her gold Nobel Prize to neighboring Finland who was in the midst of fending off encroaching Soviet Forces. Reportedly, the Finnish government was so moved Lagerlöf’s donation, that they returned the prize after raising the equivalent monies themselves.   The Copernican SystemThomas Chatterton The Sun revolving on his axis turns,And with creative fire intensely burns;Impell'd by forcive air, our Earth supreme,Rolls with the planets round the solar gleam.First Mercury completes his transient year,Glowing, refulgent, with reflected glare;Bright Venus occupies a wider way,The early harbinger of night and day;More distant still our globe terraqueous turns,Nor chills intense, nor fiercely heated burns;Around her rolls the lunar orb of light,Trailing her silver glories through the night:On the Earth's orbit see the various signs,Mark where the Sun our year completing shines;First the bright Ram his languid ray improves;Next glaring watry thro' the Bull he moves;The am'rous Twins admit his genial ray;Now burning thro' the Crab he takes his way;The Lion flaming bears the solar power;The Virgin faints beneath the sultry show'r,Now the just Balance weighs his equal force,The slimy Serpent swelters in his course;The sabled Archer clouds his languid face;The Goat, with tempests, urges on his race;Now in the Wat'rer his faint beams appear,And the cold Fishes end the circling year.Beyond our globe the sanguine Mars displaysA strong reflection of primoeval rays;Next belted Jupiter far distant gleams,Scarcely enlighten'd with the solar beams,With four unfix'd receptacles of light,He tours majestic thro' the spacious height:But farther yet the tardy Saturn lags,And five attendant Luminaries drags,Investing with a double ring his pace,He circles thro' immensity of space.These are thy wondrous works, first source of Good!Now more admir'd in being understood. Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening.  

The date is November 19th, Tuesday, and today I’m coming to you from Port Vila, Vanuatu. Today is the birthday of Hiram Bingham III, American professor and explorer.  Born in Hawaii to arguably successful missionaries, Hiram Bingham III would hold on to his father’s work ethic and adventurous spirit, though he would not be quite so pious or humble. In fact, It was Hiram Bingham III who felt that, “If a man were going to work that hard, someone ought to know about it.” Hiram left Hawaii for the mainland as a teen, bound for the East Coast where he completed his education among Ivy-league colleges. He studied Latin American history and married Alfreda Mitchell, an heiress to the Tiffany & Co fortune in 1900 at age 24. The Tiffany side of Alfreda’s family looked down on Bingham who they felt had yet to prove himself worthy .  Bingham then spent his next few years as a professor, first at Harvard, then at Princeton under Woodrow Wilson, and finally landing back at his alma mater Yale in 1907.  Bingham had his first taste of exploration after attending a conference in 1908 in Santiago, Chile. Crossing through Peru on his way back, he was convinced by a local to check out the nearby Incan ruins of Choquequirao. Bingham published an account of his travels when he returned back to the states, which threw him unofficially into the ring of the last age of discovery.  Wanting to prove himself to the world and his wife’s family, and inspired by tales of the Lost Incan City, Bingham had the audacious idea to go find it. An amateur archaeologist and explorer, Bingham was able to get funding from Yale and pull together a crew for the trek into the Andes to find the “Lost City.” After rediscovering the Incan ruins of Vilcabamba and Vitcos, finally, in July 1911, Hiram Bingham was led by a local villager up to Machu Picchu. Armed with a camera and plenty of carry on space, so to speak, Bingham carefully documented his findings and photographed what he could, with the intent to submit an article on his discover to National Geographic magazine.  Bingham’s party packed up items from the city covered in vines and plants of all kinds. It unclear just how many artifacts Bingham took, and the return of the artifacts to the Peruvian government has been a cause for consternation between Peru and Yale for decades now.  Bingham published an account of his journey to Machu Picchu in 1948 titled Lost City of the Incas and it was an instant bestseller.  If you are thinking that Hiram Bingham’s story sounds familiar, you’ll likely be able to recognize many of his characteristics in movie character Indiana Jones - though Bingham had a much more wiry build compared to the muscle-y Jones depicted by Harrison Ford. Upon the HeightsYone Noguchi And victor of life and silence,I stood upon the Heights; triumphant,With upturned eyes, I stood,And smiled unto the sun, and sangA beautifully sad farewell unto the dying day.And my thoughts and the eve gatheredTheir serpentine mysteries around me,My thoughts like alien breezes,The eve like a fragrant legend.My feeling was that I stood as oneSerenely poised for flight, as a museOf golden melody and lofty grace.Yea, I stood as one scorning the swordsAnd wanton menace of the cities.The sun had heavily sunk into the seas beyond,And left me a tempting sweet and twilight.The eve with trailing shadows westwardSwept on, and the lengthened shadows of treesDisappeared: how silently the songs of silenceSteal into my soul! And still I stoodAmong the crickets, in the beauteous profunditySung by stars; and I saw meSoftly melted into the eve. The moonSlowly rose: my shadow on the groundDreamily began a dreamy roam,And I upward smiled silent welcome. Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

The date is November 1st, Friday, and today I’m coming to you from Sydney, Australia.  On this day in 1955, the Vietnam War began. It would last 19 years and be a massive stain in the history of American international affairs. It is also known in some parts of Vietnam as the War of American Aggression or simply the American War. History books may call it the Second Indochina War.  The fight over Vietnam started earlier with the First Indochina War, also known as the Anti-French Resistance War. At the end of WWII, Vietnam was split into two with North Vietnam under the influence of China and South Vietnam under the influence of France.  There was a desire for all of Vietnam to unite, however, with two nations of opposing forms of government vying for influence, war broke out.  Fighting between French forces, supported by the USA, and Guerilla and Northern Vietnam forces, supported by China lasted for seven years. The Geneva Peace Conference of 1954 temporarily halted the conflict, again dividing Vietnam into two states, against the wishes of the majority of Vietnamese.  The US was then even more heavy-handed in their behind the scenes meddling in Vietnamese affairs, using the “domino theory” to justify their early actions. The Domino Theory asserts that if one nation becomes communist, surrounding nations are more likely to also adopt communism. To mitigate the risk of Vietnam uniting as a communist country, American foreign policy leaders quietly assisted Ngô Đình Diệm in becoming President of South Vietnam. However, Diệm quickly took advantage of his power, in essence creating a dictatorship. The American CIA  then supported the generals in South Vietnam who lead the coup against Diệm. The Vietnam War remains a difficult one to tease out. To many Americans, it seemed meddling in the affairs of another nation was in direct conflict with supporting a Democratic process. Young men were drafted in increasing numbers to fight for unclear purposes, except to not lose. The unauthorized release of the classified Pentagon Papers in June 1971 by The New York Times created a storm of outrage and calls to end American involvement in Vietnam reached a fever-pitch.  The final US troops were withdrawn from Saigon, what is now Ho Chi Minh City, in April 1975.   Repressions of War ExperienceSiegfried Sassoon Now light the candles; one; two; there's a moth;What silly beggars they are to blunder inAnd scorch their wings with glory, liquid flame—No, no, not that,—it's bad to think of war,When thoughts you've gagged all day come back to scare you;And it's been proved that soldiers don't go madUnless they lose control of ugly thoughtsThat drive them out to jabber among the trees.  Now light your pipe; look, what a steady hand.Draw a deep breath; stop thinking; count fifteen,And you're as right as rain….                                     Why won't it rain?…I wish there'd be a thunder-storm to-night,With bucketsful of water to sluice the dark,And make the roses hang their dripping heads. Books; what a jolly company they are,Standing so quiet and patient on their shelves,Dressed in dim brown, and black, and white, and greenAnd every kind of colour. Which will you read?Come on; O do read something; they're so wise.I tell you all the wisdom of the worldIs waiting for you on those shelves; and yetYou sit and gnaw your nails, and let your pipe out,And listen to the silence: on the ceilingThere's one big, dizzy moth that bumps and flutters;And in the breathless air outside the houseThe garden waits for something that delays.There must be crowds of ghosts among the trees,—Not people killed in battle,—they're in France,—But horrible shapes in shrouds—old men who diedSlow, natural deaths,—old men with ugly souls,Who wore their bodies out with nasty sins. * * *You're quiet and peaceful, summering safe at home;You'd never think there was a bloody war on!…O yes, you would … why, you can hear the guns.Hark! Thud, thud, thud,—quite soft … they never cease—Those whispering guns—O Christ, I want to go outAnd screech at them to stop—I'm going crazy;I'm going stark, staring mad because of the guns. Thank you for listening. I’m your host, Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely weekend.  

The date is October 31st, Thursday, and today I’m traveling from Ho Chi Minh City/Saigon in Vietnam to Sydney, Australia.  Today is Halloween for most of the globe. Halloween is typically celebrated with costume dressing, trick-or-treating, carving pumpkins, bobbing for apples and general mischief.  Many people believe that Halloween traditions have sprouted out of a Christian festival, but its true roots are not that simple.  Halloween is indeed a Christian name: it is a shortened version of “All Hallows’ Eve.” November 1st is celebrated as All Saints Day, or All Hallows’ Day and November 2nd is All Souls Day in the Christian tradition.   Of course, All Saints Day and All Souls Day didn’t start out on Nov. 1st and 2nd - at first they were celebrated by Christian parishes at all different times, many occurring in April or May.  When the church finally did decide on November 1st and 2nd, the Gaelic festival Samhain began to blend with the feast days.  Samhain celebrated the end of the harvest season and kicked off the darker part of the year. It was a day of cleansing and so big bonfires were lit, offerings were made to the dead, and the barrier between worlds was supposedly at its thinnest.  The spookiness surrounding Halloween likely stems from the clear ties to honoring those that have died but whose souls live on - and may try to come back to Earth.  The trick-or-treating and costuming is theorized to mainly be a repeating of Christmas traditions, which included almsgiving to the poor, role swapping, and “mumming,” a silent play where actors wear costumes, similar to a nativity pageant.  The practice of “trick or treating” is said to derive from the practice of working-class people visiting the homes of their employers asking for a handout or donation. If the upperclassmen did not comply, “tricks” were played, usually on the boss’s property. Again, this was originally part of Christmas celebrations, but it seems to have duplicated at Halloween.  Candles and fires, part of the Gaelic Samhain, became integral parts of the new Halloween tradition. Candles helped offer the dead light to see by while mating their way out of the world. Jack O'Lanterns then served a dual purpose: to scare away evil spirits and offer light for the good ones.  It’s a bit difficult to say just how much businesses have contributed to Halloween, but it’s safe to say the candy and confectionery industry have done their best to make and keep candy an integral part of Halloween. In 2018, Americans spent $2.6 billion on Halloween candy.  After Halloween traditions spread to North America in the late 19th century, the holiday began its slow evolution into the spooky day we know now. Today countries all over the world celebrate Halloween - even here in Vietnam there are pumpkins and cobwebs decorating restaurants and homes.  If you’re looking for the full story on Halloween, check out the book Halloween: From Pagan Ritual to Party Night by Nicholas Rogers. A Little GhostDame Mary Gilmore  The moonlight flutters from the skyTo meet her at the door,A little ghost, whose steps have passedAcross the creaking floor. And rustling vines that lightly tapAgainst the window-pane,Throw shadows on the white-washed wallsTo blot them out again. The moonlight leads her as she goesAcross a narrow plain,By all the old, familiar waysThat know her steps again. And through the scrub it leads her onAnd brings her to the creek,But by the broken dam she stopsAnd seems as she would speak. She moves her lips, but not a soundRipples the silent air;She wrings her little hands, ah, me!The sadness of despair! While overhead the black-duck's wingCuts like a flash uponThe startled air, that scarcely shrinksEre he afar is gone. And curlews wake, and wailing cryCur-lew! cur-lew! cur-lew!Till all the Bush, with nameless dreadIs pulsing through and through. The moonlight leads her back againAnd leaves her at the door,A little ghost whose steps have passedAcross the creaking floor. Thank you for listening. I’m your host, Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a Happy Halloween. 

The date is Wednesday, October 30th, and today I’m coming to you from Ho Chi Minh City/Saigon in Vietnam.  Today is the birthday of Elizabeth Madox Roberts, American writer.  Elizabeth grew up in Springfield, Kentucky in the late 1800s. She attended the University of Kentucky briefly, dropping out on account of poor health. Roberts was gravely disappointed as she wholeheartedly enjoyed literature and philosophy. She moved back home, taking up a career in teaching.  In 1910, Elizabeth had had enough of her hometown and moved to Colorado bear her sister. It seems the new environment was beneficial to her and she began writing more seriously, publishing a short book of poetry. After encouragement from a professor friend, Roberts, at age 36, found herself a college student once again, this time at the University of Chicago. She thrived in the academic community and achieving her lifelong dream of a college education seemed to bolster her can-do spirit. She returned back to Springfield, Kentucky and began writing novels. Her first novel The Time of Man (1926) was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, and Roberts went on to write ten more novels, all fairly successful during her lifetime.  Elizabeth Maddox Roberts passes away at the age of 59 in 1941 from Hodgkin’s lymphoma.  And today is the birthday of Georges Gilles de la Tourette, French physician.  Although today Tourette is remembered for first recognizing maladie de tics, or Tourette’s Syndrome, he did quite a bit more than that.  Gilles de la Tourette began medical studies at the age of 16. Instead of heading to premier academic institutions in Frances, his mother urged him to go to Poitiers. She was concerned that the “temptations” of Paris would distract and corrupt her son.  However, he could not be kept from Paris forever. At age 20, Tourette enrolled in additional medical studies in Paris. He became a standout pupil of Dr Jean-Martin Charcot, a leading physician and neurologist. Charcot took Tourette on as an assistant when Tourette finished his studies.  As Charcot’s assistant at Salpêtrière Hospital Tourette came in contact with a wide range of patients, which is where he began to make the connection between patient who all exhibited certain tics that they could not control. He wrote a scientific paper on his finding describing it as “maladies de tics,” but it was Charcot who re-named it after Tourette.  Influenced by his mentor Charcot, Tourette took a keen interest in the infant field of neurology. He wrote and lectured extensively on hysteria, hypnosis, and later in life, on forensic science. It’s possible that Sigmund Freud attended some of Tourette’s lectures in Paris and was influenced by his work.  Tourette, for all his smarts, was turned down for advancement in management - it was clear his passion lay in the research and treatment of patients, and not administration. Taking his career as a whole it’s clear Tourette loved the puzzles and mysteries neurology afforded him. Even after a deranged former patient shot at him in his office, Tourette continued to practice, lecture, and write.   AutumnElizabeth Maddox Roberts Dick and Will and Charles and I Were playing it was election day, And I was running for president, And Dick was a band that was going to play,  And Charles and Will were a street parade, But Clarence came and said that he Was going to run for president, And I could run for school-trustee.  He made some flags for Charles and Will And a badge to go on Dickie's coat. He stood some cornstalks by the fence And had them for the men that vote.  Then he climbed on a box and made a speech To the cornstalk men that were in a row. It was all about the dem-o-crats, And 'I de-fy any man to show.'  And 'I de-fy any man to say.' And all about 'It's a big disgrace.' He spoke his speech out very loud And shook his fist in a cornstalk's face. Thank you for listening. I’m your host, Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

The biggest (most priceless) jewel heist happens at the American Museum of Natural History. It’s arguably also the easiest. Poem by Robert Frost. The date is October 29th, Tuesday, and today I’m coming to you from Ho Chi Minh City/Saigon in Vietnam.  On this day in 1964, the biggest jewelry heist in history took place at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. Notable gems stolen included the 563-carat sapphire Star of India, the 100-carat DeLong Ruby, and the 16-carat Eagle Diamond. Jack “Murf the Surf” Murphy and Alan Kuhn were the brains of the operation. In Miami they had reputations as party boys, not afraid to spend their profits from steady burglary jobs. They never used force, preferring to burgle and steal while wealthy hotel guests were out of their rooms. A few times hotel staff and insurers were even in on the jobs.  Partially on a whim, Murf and Kuhn flew up to New York in October of 1964 with only a general plan to do some burgling. They explored New York, as tourists do, and Murphy noticed that some of the museums had surprisingly minimal security. He turned the group’s attention to the Natural History Museum which housed jewels of the J.P. Morgan collection.  Murphy and Kuhn spent about a week casing the museum by day, and partying rather conspicuously by night. When it came time to do the job, things went incredibly smooth.  Connecticuter Roger Clark played lookout and getaway driver, while Murphy and Kuhn were hands on. The two scaled the spiked fence around the Natural History Museum, climbed up the stone face of the museum building, and finally opened a fourth floor window, entering right into the gallery that housed the jewels. The pair waited in the quiet darkness to see if guards would come walking by - but not a single guard appeared. Murf and Kuhn were utterly alone in the gallery. They set to work silently cutting open the glass displays. As they lifted the gems out of their cases, they braced for a cacophony of alarms…but no alarms ever went off.  Clark picked up Murf and Kuhn, and the three drove off into the night. Murf and Kuhn were on a flight back to Miami before the first guard noticed the jewels were missing.  The burglars victory dances didn’t last long though - they were apprehended within 48 hours - much of their partying and flamboyant spending habits in New York making them stand out as suspicious to hotel staff and restaurateurs.  The lead detective on the case managed to pick up Roger Clark by staking out the boys’ hotel room. Clark eventually flipped on the two masterminds, and Kuhn and Murf were picked up by police at their apartment in Miami and taken back to New York for processing.  Despite their crimes, Murf and Kuhn became celebrities of sorts during the prosecution of their heist in New York City. As young tanned Florida men with mischievous smiles, it was easy to be charmed by the thieves. During the investigation it was obvious that the American Museum of Natural History had serious gaps in their security system and also had neglected to insure numerous precious stones.  Click here to read a full article on the 50th anniversary of the heist. A Dream PangRobert Frost I had withdrawn in forest, and my songWas swallowed up in leaves that blew away;And to the forest edge you came one day(This was my dream) and looked and pondered long,But did not enter, though the wish was strong:You shook your pensive head as who should say,‘I dare not—too far in his footsteps stray—He must seek me would he undo the wrong.’ Not far, but near, I stood and saw it allBehind low boughs the trees let down outside;And the sweet pang it cost me not to callAnd tell you that I saw does still abide.But ’tis not true that thus I dwelt aloof,For the wood wakes, and you are here for proof. Thank you for listening. I’m your host, Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

The date is Monday, October 28th, and today I’m traveling from Vung Tau to Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam.  Today is the birthday of Edith Head, American costume designer. Prolific from the 1940s through the 1970s, Edith was nominated for 35 Academy Awards, and won 8, a record that has yet to be topped.  Costume design was actually Edith’s second career. She received a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in French from UC Berkeley and Stanford University, respectively. She taught French at the high school level in the 1920s in Los Angeles and offered to teach art as well in the hopes of increasing her salary. When given the position Edith scrambled to enroll in a few evening courses at two local design schools, including Otis College of Art and Design.  Fully in love with drawing, Edith traded teaching for an entry level job as a costume sketch artist at Paramount Studios in 1924. By the 1930s, Edith Head had worked her way up through the ranks of costume design at Paramount. Her first big success which gained her public notoriety, was her “sarong” dress design for Dorothy Lamour in the 1937 film The Hurricane.  Edith Head became popular among the Paramount Studio starlets of the 1940s and ‘50s and personally dressed a number of them. She would give special attention to the female stars, consulting with them on projects, making her a favorite as compared to her male counterparts. Paramount would sometimes “loan out” Edith to other studios at the request of various actresses.  In addition to her work in Hollywood classics such as Carrie (1952), Roman Holiday (1953), The Ten Commandments (1956), Funny Face (1957), and TV series Bewitched, Edith Head continues to influence costume culture today. Perhaps the most recognizable tribute to Head is in the Incredibles series’ character Edna Mode. The characters thick rimmed glasses, straight bangs, and penchant for all-black ensembles are taken straight from Edith Head’s own personal “look.” And today is the birthday of Eileen Shanahan, Irish poet.  Born in 1901 in Dublin, Eileen never published a collection of poems. To date we only know of about 70 poems that she wrote. However, the 11 that were published during her lifetime have been published widely in periodicals and anthologies. Perhaps busy with raising a family and working for the League of Nations, Shanahan just didn’t have time.  Her poetry is generally melancholic or dark, centering on themes of war, lost love, and childhood.  And today is the birthday of Erasmus of Rotterdam, Dutch philosopher.  Erasmus, who said, “When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left, I buy food and clothes,” wrote prolifically during the Reformation Age in the 1500s. His allegorical essay In Praise of Folly was a runaway best-seller by today’s standards. Upon a “republication” of the work, German artist Hans Holbein, a favorite portraitist of Henry VIII and court, provided illustrations for the essay.  He managed to become a favorite philosopher of both the Protestant and Catholic leaders, for his criticisms of abusive Catholic practices and his loyalty to the Pope in Rome.  The Three Children (near Clonmel)Eileen Shanahan I met three children on the road—The hawthorn trees were sweet with rain,The hills had drawn their white blinds down—Three children on the road from town. Their wealthy eyes in splendour mockedTheir faded rags and bare wet feet—The King had sent his daughters outTo play at peasants in the street. I could not see the palace walls,The avenues were dumb with mist;Perhaps a queen would watch and weepFor lips that she had borne and kissed. And lost about the lonely world,With treasury of hair and eye,The tigers of the world will spring,The merchants of the world will buy. And one will sell her eyes for gold,And one will barter them for bread,And one will watch their glory fadeBeside the looking-glass, unwed. A hundred years will softly passYet on the Tipperary hillsThe shadows of a king and queenWill darken on the daffodils. Thank you for listening. I’m your host, Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

The date is September 10th, Tuesday, and today I’m coming to you from Tejakula, Bali. Today is also our 100th episode!On this day in 1960, Abebe Bikila became the first sub-Saharan African to win an Olympic gold medal, and the first Ethiopian gold medalist.  It was the Summer Olympics in Rome and Abebe Bikila had just bought a new pair of shoes a week earlier for the marathon. The shoes, to his disappointment gave him awful blisters and so Bikila decided he would just run without shoes.  That’s right, Abebe Bikila won a Gold Medal running barefoot. Luckily for Bikila the race started in the late-afternoon and finished after dark so the course was cooling down while he ran.  Bikila was neck-and-neck with another competitor until the last 500 meters (nearly a third of a mile) when he took off in a sprint. Italian soldiers holding torches lit the rest of the way as Bikila zoomed past them.  He finished in 2 hours, 15 minutes, 16.2 seconds, breaking the world record by eight tenths. As soon as he crossed the finish line, he began a calisthenics routine, touching his toes, jogging in place, and reported feeling quite well, later stating he felt he could have run another 10 to 15 km further.  And today is the birthday of Hilda "H.D." Doolittle, American writer.  Doolittle was born in 1886, the only girl in a family of 6 children. Education was important in the family: Doolittle’s father was an astronomy professor and her brothers were expected to get a proper education.  At 15, Doolittle met 16-year-old Ezra Pound, a student at nearby University of Pennsylvania. They began a teenage romance that continued into their early twenties. Pound composed at least 25 poems inspired by Doolittle.  When it came time for continued education Doolittle attended Bryn Mawr College, a short distance from her home and UPenn. Pound encouraged Doolittle in her writing and dubbed her “H.D.” the pen name which she would use all her life. The two were engaged, but Doolittle’s father rejected the match and their relationship cooled.  In 1911, she boarded a ship to Europe for a vacation with her female lover Frances Gregg. However, upon arriving in London, Doolittle, a beauty with a sharp, creative mind, was eagerly welcomed by the intellectual community. She stayed in London, working at a literary magazine. In 1913 around age 26, H.D. married poet Richard Adlington.  Her poetry took advantage of classic Greek mythology and modern psychoanalysis. H.D. was openly bisexual after her marriage failed in 1938 and worked with Sigmund Freud for a while as she explored her own sexuality.  In addition to her multitude of poems, H.D. Also penned several novels, some of which were published posthumously. Of her poetry collections, her first Sea Gardens published in 1916 remains an important work in the Imagist movement in which H.D. played a key role.  H.D. was not making any particularly big waves during her lifetime. It was really the feminist and pride movements of the 1970s that saw a revival of her work, reviewing H.D.’s dissection of gender roles and sexuality.   Baia H.D. I should have thoughtin a dream you would have broughtsome lovely, perilous thing,orchids piled in a great sheath,as who would say (in a dream),"I send you this,who left the blue veinsof your throat unkissed." Why was it that your hands(that never took mine),your hands that I could seedrift over the orchid-headsso carefully,your hands, so fragile, sure to liftso gently, the fragile flower-stuff--ah, ah, how was it You never sent (in a dream)the very form, the very scent,not heavy, not sensuous,but perilous--perilous--of orchids, piled in a great sheath,and folded underneath on a bright scroll,some word: Flower sent to flower;for white hands, the lesser white,less lovely of flower-leaf,orLover to lover, no kiss,no touch, but forever and ever this.  Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

The date is September 9th, Monday, and today I’m coming to you from Tejakula, Bali.  Today is the birthday of Colonel Harland David Sanders, American businessman, founder of KFC. Sanders was born in 1890 in southern Indiana, not far from the Indiana-Kentucky state line. His mother was a devout Christian and it was perhaps her warnings about the evils of drink that led Sanders to be vehemently against alcohol consumption his whole life. (Her preaching against cursing, however, did no good.) Sanders’s father died when he was just five and as the oldest child, he was quickly made a helping hand in the home.  By age seven he was adept in the kitchen. After bouncing around jobs in his teens and twenties and even his thirties, Sanders finally settled down a little bit around age 40 with his family in Kentucky. He already had experience in sales and business which helped served up success in his new restaurant venture.  Sanders’s “Colonel” title is not from any military service - rather, it is a title bestowed on him by the state of Kentucky. In the mid-1930s Sanders received his first “Colonel” for good deeds in his Kentucky community. He donated food, helped in a few midwifing incidents, and volunteered to drive some of his fellow townsfolk to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.  With the success of his local Kentucky restaurant, Kentucky again “Colonel’ed” Sanders and this time Sanders began using the title regularly, particularly as he began to promote his Kentucky Fried Chicken recipe.  For a snarky, well-written article on the life of Colonel Sanders and KFC, see the link in today’s show notes.  Today is the birthday of Mary Hunter Austin, American poet.  She took a special interest in the Native American peoples living in the Mojave Desert. Her poetry generally reflects life in the California expanse and celebrates the wildlife and delicate ecosystem of the area.  Mary Austin was active in the California Water Wars, particularly in Owens Valley where she lived. As Los Angeles extended its reach into surrounding counties for more water to meet its exploding population, the city preyed upon the watershed in Owens Valley. They effectively bullied their way to the water, disrupting the small communities and driving out farmers and residents who were left with few options but to move.  When she found herself on the losing side of the California Water Wars….Mary Austin relocated to Carmel-by-the-Sea in California, joining a community of writers and artists. She produced a fair amount of work there, however it was her home in Santa Fe where she would be the most inspired and productive. Two of her most well known works include a collaboration with Ansel Adams and her collection The Land of Little Rain.  The Gods of the Saxon Mary Hunter Austin  We have set the White Christ forward, we have bid the old gods go, We be Christians, Christian peoples, singing psalm tunes staid and slow. We have strewn the graven idols, we are bounden to the Lord, In hoc signo it is written -- but we prove it with the sword.  For the old gods played us hazards, and they tracked us in their wrath By the smoke of sacrifices that we made along our path; Saved us to outwit each other; broke us if they listed, then, And at best of all their saving they were gods, and we were men.  But the White Christ he is lowly, he hath thorns about his brow, He hath sorrowed, he hath suffered, -- Lord, what boots thy sorrow now? Seeing that we give our brother to the kite-kind and the crow, And the shell-strewn bones to whiten where the shy wild cattle go.  And the old gods gather, gather where the shrilling bugles break, For the hot blown breath of battle fans the elder gods awake, Calling high above the trumpets, saying, 'Thus the old rune runs, By the net that took the fathers ye shall surely snare the sons.  'By the bitter lust of empire, by the fret of boasts withstood, By the itch of prideful peoples that must make their boastings good, In the fern damp, by the veldt-side, we have brought them stark and low, They that wake no more for mornings, nor for any winds that blow.'  We be Christians, Christian peoples, thinking scorn of ruder days, But above the Pax Vobiscum, keener than the prayers we raise, Come the jeering gods of warfare from the ends of all the earth, By the White Christ, wan and wounded, and they mock him with their mirth. Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely evening. 

The date is September 6th, Friday, and today I’m coming to you from Tejakula, Bali in Indonesia.  Today is the birthday of Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, French military leader and political influencer. Lafayette, as he is known in the States, was instrumental in the American Revolutionary War and the French Revolution both in the second half of the 1700s.  The first part of Lafayette’s life was of true comfort. He was born to wealthy aristocratic parents in 1757. His upbringing and education were balanced and with a long line of military men before him, Lafayette developed a healthy taste for action. (His father died in battle when Lafayette was a month away from 2 years old.) At 16 he was betrothed to 14-year-old Adrienne de Noailles and they married soon thereafter.  Around age 18 Lafayette became a believer in the American Revolution. He came to see the cause as a noble one - the colonies were fighting for justice against a greedy Britain. As a French aristocrat, Lafayette likely already had a deeply entrenched sense of contempt for the British nation.  Going against a royal decree, Lafayette traveled to America to join the fight against the British. His military training would prove invaluable for the Americans and he was present at a number of important Revolutionary battles including the final Battle of Yorktown.  And today is the birthday of Zelia Nuttall, American anthropologist and archaeologist.  Despite what may seem like a nerdy description, Nuttall was a force. She was born to an Irish father and Mexican-American mother in San Francisco in 1857.  After a lengthy education in Europe, Nuttall discovered a fascination with MesoAmerica in a visit to Mexico in 1884. Her clear passion and excitement for the history of native peoples in Mexico shone through in a paper about a grouping of Mexican artifacts. The publication impressed the archaeology community so much that Nuttall was given a position at Harvard University as the Special Assistant of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology. Nuttall would come to love Mexico and its history so much that she moved there permanently. She continued archaeological and anthropological work even though she was rarely paid for it. She did find a benefactor in Phoebe Hearst, mother of William Randolph Hearst, who funded a number of her projects.  Nuttall work on Mexico’s ancient history served to give a newfound pride to the nation and helped to dispel popular but negative narratives of MesoAmericans.  To FayetteSamuel Taylor Coleridge As when far off the warbled strains are heardThat soar on Morning's wing the vales among,Within his cage th' imprison'd matin birdSwells the full chorus with a generous song:He bathes no pinion in the dewy light,No Father's joy, no Lover's bliss he shares,Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight—His Fellows' freedom soothes the Captive's cares!Thou, FAYETTE! who didst wake with startling voiceLife's better sun from that long wintry night,Thus in thy Country's triumphs shalt rejoiceAnd mock with raptures high in the dungeon's might:For lo! the morning struggles into day,And Slavery's spectres shriek and vanish from the ray! Thank you for listening. I’m your host Virginia Combs, wishing you a good morning, a better day, and a lovely weekend. Links: https://wellbredandwellbrewed.com/support/https://www.buymeacoffee.com/wbandwbpodhttps://www.patreon.com/bePatron?u=22816142