#so does finally framing the 1840

[marzipanandminutiae]

This antique picture frame sparks so much joy

#antiques #Victorian #so does finally framing the 1840 #fashion plate #I got at the Morbid Anatomy Museum 7 years ago

[thesimpireblr]

Welcome to Sims Petersburg Imperial Palace!! A private tour of HIM Tsarina Alexandra Private Apartments

Welcome one more to Sims Petersburg Imperial palace, the official residence of the Simpire Monarchs and my never-ending undergoing building project for the Simpire simblr story :). 

This project wouldn’t have been possible without the amazing contents of numerous creators, many researches and photos but ,most importantly, The Winter Palace Research blog (for floor plans and old photos of the palace in use) and the amazing Hermitage museum 360º tour!!

Without them it would be nearly impossible to build this palaces as close as I can ( and as sims 4 allow😅)!!

Thanks to all!!!

Now let’s start our exclusive tour through HIM Tsarina Alexandra Private Apartments, hope you enjoy the tour as much as I’m loving building this Palace :)

Her Imperial Majesty, Tsarina Alexandra Simnov of Simpire, welcomes you into her Private apartments on the official residence of Simpire, the grand Sims Petersburg Imperial Palace. Since Her Imperial Majesty is not in residence, for she is visiting Her sister-in-law, HIH Grand Duchess Anastasia Duchess of  Oldenburg, a special permission for our so requested tour of HIM Private Apartments in the Piano Nobile, was finally granted. ( just finished them 😅)

Arriving at the Imperial Palace from the Grand Palace Square, we find it’s main formal façade. HIM’s Private apartments face the grand square and the private garden of the palace and is located in its southwestern block

As we head to the southwestern block of the palace and climb through one of the ramps, we find HIM private entrance, this entrance leads directly to the private apartments of the Tsarina and is used whenever HIM arrives at the palace and wants to go directly to Her private quarters. 

Entering throw this doorway and turning right we find the October Staircase the grand ... 

... entrance to HIM private apartments. Restored and redecorated after great fire that destroyed the palace in 1837 the monumentality of the entrance was accentuated with sculptures and reliefs.

Today this room does not bear its original name and instead of HIM Grand Staircases, It was changed into October Staircase. A name chosen in memory of the revolutionary events of October 1917, when those storming the Palace entered the building by this route. The Staircase gives access to all of HIM private apartments, from the left we get access to the State Rooms of Tsarina Alexandra private apartments and from the right Her most private rooms...

We will take the door of the left and start our tour through the State Rooms of Tsarina Alexandra private apartments... please follow me...

The first room in our tour is HIM Own Staircase Landing a passage room that gives access, in one side, to the Hall of Cuirassiers first room of HIM State Rooms, and in the other side... 

... to HIM Own Corridor leading to the Small Fieldmarshal Hall, that we will visit shortly, some small rooms and a staircase... now please follow me and we will continue our tour to the...

...the Hall of Cuirassiers. This hall is part of HIM state rooms and, at the same time, the first of the Military Halls. It is in this room where a Garrison of the Imperial Guard was an d is placed to protect and receive HIM (as in the last post) on formal occasions in Tsarina Private apartments.

continuing with our tour, this hall leads from one side to the Military Halls and in the other side to...

... the White hall. This magnificent hall was designed by Alexander Briullov in 1841 before the wedding of Grand Duke Alexander Nicholaevich (future Alexander II and Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna. 

This tremendously large ceremonial hall, elegantly decorated with shades of white, is used for various celebrations and balls. The sculptural decoration of this hall designed for the Heir to the throne, and his wife, became the embodiment of the future Tsar reign, calling to  mind the might and greatness of Simpire and symbolizing the flourishing of the arts...

This great hall connects manny rooms around it, from one side the Hall of Cuirassiers, the Gold Drawing Room, the Green Dining Room and HIM Private corridor. Now If you may follow me we will enter...

...The Gold Drawing Room. This room redecorated by Alexander Brullov in 1841,  is notable for the opulence of its decor and its abundance of gold leaf. Ita was originally based on the Bavarian kings’ throne room in the Munich Residenz.

This Drawing Room is used for receptions, dances, and dinners for guests- in this room guests who just arrived wait for the private audiences. In December the Gold Drawing Room would be decorated with Christmas trees: each member of the Imperial Family have their own personal tree, with a table nearby for presents.

This magnificent Hall connects the white hall from one side, the green dinning room and the crimson Drawing room. Now let us take the door in our right and enter the...

Green Dinning room. In 1840, A. Briullov designed an interior staircase between the Gold Drawing Room and the White Hall in the apartments of Empress Marie Alexandrovna on the 2nd floor of the Winter Palace. As the rooms of the Empress had no space for books, she arranged bookcases on the walls of the staircase landing.

There was no dining room in the apartments of Alexander II and Empress Marie. They ate their meals with Nicholas I’s family in one of the three dining rooms in Empress Alexandra’s suite. In 1850, A. Stakenschneider demolished the staircase and created the green dining room in the rococo style we see today.

There are no windows in the dining room. The three doors that led to the Gold Drawing Room, White Hall and service pantry allowed the architect to add three fake doors for symmetry. The table extends to seat the 24 chairs and is normally used for small family dinners, meetings and receptions. 

Let’s now return to the Gold Drawing Room and continue our visit to...

... the Crimson Drawing Room or Study. This room serves as a transition between HIM Private and State Rooms. The room was decorated by Briullov in 1841 and reworked by Stakenschneider in the 1860s.

The room gets his name from the silk fabric color. The rich red color of the walls and curtains combines perfectly with the white stucco highlighted with gold leaf decorations on the ceiling. This room was, and still is, the setting for small concerts in which celebrated musicians and singers participate.

The crimson drawing room is used by HIM to receive relatives and personal guests as well as study to the Tsarina.

Now if you’ll follow me into the next room...

... HIM Boudoir. The boudoir was created for Tsarina Maria Alexandrovna 1841, by Briullov and lately reworked, by HIM request, in 1850′s by Harald Bosse one of the leading architects of the 19th century. 

Bosse produced an interior in the Rococo revival style in white, gold and Red and with a alcove is framed by a rich and elaborately shaped arch with caryatids. 

This room is used by the Tsarina to entertain family meetings and some more close friends.  

Following the tour, the next room we will enter is...

... HIM Tsarina Alexandra’s Bedroom. This bedroom was created for HIM Tsarina Maria Alexandrovna by Briullov In 1840.

The deep blue color of the walls contrast perfectly with  the white and gold exquisites arabesques of the vaulted ceiling, pilasters and columns.

The interior of this room gets a sense of dynamism from the combination of the coved  vaulted ceiling, over the main part, and cross vaulting above the sleeping area. The cubicle marked by a pair of columns and silk drapes to enclose the bed area. Although a part of HIM Tsarina Alexandra Apartments the Bedroom is used by both sovereigns.

TIM’s Bedroom gives access to, from one side, HIM bathroom and, in the other, the more modern and private rooms. Let’s follow our tour to the...

... HIM Bathroom. After the revolution and the transformation of the palace to a museum this bathroom was destroyed. After the restoration of the Imperial Regime, Their Imperial Majesties started the reconstruction process of the main apartments as they were. This bathroom was made to resemble the one Marie Alexandrovna had in this same room, but with the modern amenities.  Let us continue our tour to the...

... HIM Dressing room.  Briullov in 1841, decorated the dressing room all in pink; draped walls in pink fabric, curtains, upholstery, bed covers. The door on the left of Marie’s dressing room led to Alexander’s library and on the right to her bathroom and bedroom. 

But, in 1845, Briullov redecorated the dressing room in dark blue using silk damask on the walls. He added the frieze along the top of the walls that incorporated Drollinger’s paintings of Peterhof, i.e. the Farm Palace, Gothic Chapel, etc., that are still to be seen today.

A small door hidden behind the screen on the right led to the staircase to the 1st floor children’s nurseries.

This room connects HIM’s apartments with HIM the Tsar apartments and to the Small Fieldmarshal Hal.

We will continue our tour of the palace through the door in the back, the one that connects HIM dressing room to...

... the Small Fieldmarshal Hal...

...it is in this hall where a garrison of the Imperial Guard is placed to protect HIM’s bedroom. Here we can find portraits famous of Simpire rulers and today this Hall is used for small receptions, private concerts, meetings, dinners and larger events for the 1st Spare apartment.

This Hall connects Her Imperial Majesty’s private apartments, the Dark Corridor, the  1st Spare apartment and HIM Own Corridor leading to the October staircase.

Now let’s see HIM’s most modern additions to the palace, Her private and most daily used rooms...Passing through HIM Own Corridor...

....HIM Own Staircase Landing...

...The October Staircase and pass throng the right side door this time into...

... HIM Private Corridor. This corridor links the October staircase to HIM Modern Dining room, Modern drawing room, the Green Dinning room and the White Hall... for this corridor a contract between classic and modern was chosen... let's  continue to the...

... Modern Dinning room...

... since the revolution and the later palace conversion into a museum, many room where simplified and lost their royal appearance, a fact that allowed the current monarchs to leave their mark in the palace. In these 3 rooms her majesty decided to use dark wall colors to contrast with the rest of the rooms in her apartments and decorated with a collection of modern and contemporary art. 

With the intention of representing the best of Simpire artists on the Imperial collection, and being a well known patron of the arts, His Imperial Majesty Tsar Nicholas III Simnov decided to invite all of them to paint the vaulted ceilings, walls and other objects in some of the palace rooms.

 In HIM’s Modern Dinning  the artist invited was the well known painting МАКСИМ КАНТОР. 

Following the tour we will enter...

... HIM modern Drawing room....

Here a dark grey wall color and modern furniture was chosen to contrast with the new striking red vaulted ceiling...

... for this room His Imperial Majesty chose the famous painter Vitaly Komar... this set of modern rooms connect directly to...

HIM Tsarina Alexandra bedroom... Now, I’m sorry but we have to leave the apartments... just got the information that Her Imperial Majesty’s car is arriving at the square... having already seen all the rooms in our tour, please follow me as we exit through the Palace inner courtyard...

Hope you enjoyed our tour through HIM Tsarina Alexandra Simnov Private Apartments of Sims Petersburg Imperial Palace. Those will be some of the palace rooms featuring in the story!!

Sorry for another very long post, but I could not find a way to reduce the number of photos 😅.

Thanks to all the cc creators that made the most amazing content!! to @felixandresims​ for the always amazing architectonic and decor objects, @harrie-cc​ for building inspiration and re-colors, @thejim07​ and @the-regal-sim​ for the amazing paintings, sculptures and furniture, and many others that created wonderful objects (sorry if I forgot someone)

Hope you continue to enjoy the story and the many other buildings, still WIP, I’m working on (Sorry if I never show the full building, but I’m always working on so many projects at the same time and the first parts I finished are the ones needed for the Story, in this case HIM Tsarina Alexandra Simnov Private Apartments. Next to be visited will be His Imperial Majesty Tsar Nicholas III Simnov Apartments :) )  

#simpire #ts4 #monarchy #simnovdynasty #gen1 #sims royalty #sims 4 royal #sims 4 royal family #sims 4 royalty #simsroyalty #royalfamilychallenge #simblr #ts4 monarchy #the sims #the sims 4 #simpire imperial palace

[terramythos]

TerraMythos' 2020 Reading Challenge - Book 14 of 26

Title: The Count of Monte Cristo (1840s)

Author: Alexandre Dumas (English translation by Robin Buss)

Genre/Tags: Fiction, Historical Fiction, Revenge, Adventure, Classic, Re-Read, Slow Burn, Third-Person.

Rating: 10/10

Date Began: 5/07/2020

Date Finished: 6/13/2020

Young Edmond Dantès is about to get everything he’s ever wanted-- he’s set to marry the woman of his dreams and become captain of a distinguished trade ship. However, everything goes wrong when several jealous rivals frame him for a crime he did not commit, landing him in a horrific prison with no hope of trial or escape. After years of solitary confinement and despair, Dantès by chance meets a wise old abbé imprisoned in the neighboring cell. The two become close friends, and the abbé teaches Dantès everything he knows. On his deathbed,  Dantès’ mentor reveals the location of a fabulous treasure hidden on the abandoned island of Monte Cristo.

Dantès escapes prison after fourteen harrowing years and discovers that the treasure is real. Not only that, the men who ruined his life have obtained wealth and success. He reinvents himself as The Count of Monte Cristo, a mysterious and fabulously wealthy aristocrat. Utilizing this and a multitude of other personas, Dantès enacts a manipulative and intricate revenge on the men who wronged him long ago.

Click the readmore for the full review!

“Dantès cannot stay in prison for ever; one day, he will come out, and on that day, woe betide the one who put him there!”

The Count of Monte Cristo is, obviously, a famous classic. It’s also one of two books I had to read for a class in high school that I actually liked. Considering 15-year-old me was a “gifted” burnout who had stopped reading for pleasure at that point, it says something that an assigned 1200-something page classic novel not only captured my interest, but kept it to the bitter end. Reading this was genuinely one of the few good things that came out of my high school experience. While I didn’t understand everything about it (least of all French pronunciation when I tried to read it out loud-- good God), the adventure, political intrigue, and revenge were all very exciting. It was shocking to actually read a book for school that was so entertaining.

But it’s been about a decade since I’ve read The Count of Monte Cristo. A lot has changed about me as a person since then-- I’m older, maybe a little wiser, and an entirely different gender than I thought I was. So, is it the same novel to me now as it was back then? Yes and no.

On a reread, I found I understood the novel more than I did as a teenager; I was able to follow the multitude of characters, subplots, and events much better. While many people discuss and praise the revenge plot, myself included, Monte Cristo doesn’t fully embrace that narrative until the last quarter or so. Most of the book instead establishes characters, relationships, and events that pay off big time when the Count finally pulls off his various schemes. It’s satisfying to see how everything comes together, especially in the last leg of the story. Each time Dantès reveals his identity is a treat, and it’s always fresh, with different philosophical implications. It’s impressive how Dumas ties so many threads into a coherent and entertaining whole. 

Revenge itself is very psychological in this book. The Count’s revenge plots are premeditated and usually immaculate in execution. He doesn’t just get revenge on the men who wronged him -- he actively fucks with, manipulates, and ruins them in the eyes of society. Even when the unexpected happens, he’s usually quick-witted enough to figure things out and still accomplish his goals. Dantès sees himself as an agent of God, reasoning that it’s the only explanation for how he went from the utter despair of eternal imprisonment to wealthy and powerful. He believes his revenge is ordained by heaven to punish the wicked-- and he likewise shows paternal compassion and care towards those he deems to be worthy. It’s only when innocents begin to suffer for his actions that Dantès questions his pursuit of revenge, and whether his utter devotion to it was divine at all or even the right thing to do. Does a life dedicated to revenge truly make one happy? Does revenge actually improve the world? These are almost universal ideas in modern revenge stories, but there’s no doubt that The Count of Monte Cristo popularized them.

The Count of Monte Cristo is also surprisingly modern for a story written in the 1840s. Many elements would be considered unusual for the time. There’s honest-to-God, non-fetishized lesbians in the story, which was something I definitely didn’t catch on my first read (you can even interpret one of them as a trans dude, which is bonkers). One of my favorite characters is Noirtier, a disabled old man whose entire body is paralyzed except for his eyes. Despite this, he communicates via different blinking patterns to enact multiple complex schemes to protect his granddaughter. He’s a total badass, and the only character that gives the Count a run for his money re: ulterior motives. There’s also some pretty risqué elements-- Dumas really liked hashish, which features quite a bit in the story. Add in the graphic violence and an actual plot-critical serial killer, and you’ve got an adventure thriller that often feels like it was written for modern audiences.

Do I recommend reading Monte Cristo? Yes, absolutely-- but there are definitely some caveats. The length is an obvious consideration. If you want to read this, be prepared for a commitment-- I read pretty fast, and it still took me over a month to get through it. While it’s long, it is entertaining (and often humorous) throughout, even to a modern reader. You also want to avoid the multitude of abridged versions, as they tend to cut out most of the interesting subtleties of the story and focus on the action sequences. The translation I read clocks in at a cozy 1276 pages, and they definitely aren’t short. While I haven’t read other translations, this one (the Penguin Classics translation by Robin Buss) seems to be considered the best English version.

While I mentioned the modern aspects of the story, and Dumas was considered liberal, The Count of Monte Cristo is still a product of its time. Dumas has some very interesting female characters, for example, but their roles are generally still true to the sociopolitical climate of the 1840s. Slavery is just a thing in the story, and while there’s some nuance there considering Dumas’ own heritage, it’s worth mentioning. The Count’s relationship with Haydée is pretty yikes, even though I like her as a character and her role in one of the revenge schemes. Generally speaking, this book also has more pop culture references than a Shrek film, and while the footnotes help, there’s still a lot that isn’t annotated and totally went over my head.

In my opinion, though, The Count of Monte Cristo is definitely one of the most captivating classic novels out there. It’s had an immense impact on modern storytelling, and I can’t understate how genuinely fun it is to read. Definitely give it a try if you’re in the market for a classic and the sheer length doesn’t scare you away.

#taylor reads #10/10 #sorry for the shit picture -- i literally couldn't find one for this edition without horrible jpeg artifacts lmao #2020 reading challenge

[disinvited-guest]

3/15/18 Recap

I arrived at First Avenue way before I wanted to line up, especially since it was much colder out now that I had driven North for several hours.  I ended up hanging out in a Target a few blocks away, since it had both heat and a restroom.  I was on my way back and was almost to the venue when I heard someone call “Amber” behind me.  I turned around, and there was Danny, about half a block behind me.

I stopped so he could catch up, and we walked the half block or so to the stage door together.  He wanted to know where I was from, and how many more shows I would be at.  He seemed concerned that I was traveling on my own and that I must be tired, then told me that what really wears them out is the travel, not the performing.  When we got to the door he smiled, told me he’d see me inside, and went in.

I think I get an A minus for how I handled it. The only thing I really did that was strange was to lag behind at one point so that he could pull ahead if he wanted to stop talking to me.  I was so excited that I passed all the way through freaking out and into some semblance of calm, meaning I was able to converse like a person.  

The wait was long and cold, but we eventually got in and I found a spot just to the right of Flans’ mic.  They were onstage later into Gypsy (the intro music) than normal, which I later found out was because of the vibe report Flans was doing. At the time though, I just noticed that Flans was holding his pink iphone, which he soon put down, and that he had a pair of glasses on but his clear frames hanging on the front of his shirt.  They went straight into Let’s Get This Over With.  During the first chorus, Linnell sang something besides “planet,”  I didn’t catch what it was, but it sounded intentional.  I also saw Flans mouthing along for a few words of the first verse.

After the song ended, Flans and Linnell both began swaying back and forth like video game characters when they’re standing still.  They introduced themselves and Flans called “Pass me the ball Marty, I’m open,” which made Marty laugh.  Linnell explained that they were undulating because it was “What humans do.”  They riffed on that idea for a while then Flans called  “Pass me the ball Marty, I’m open” again, using the exact same tone and inflection, and Marty took that as his cue to start them into Damn Good Times.

The intro bit played for a while and Flans stepped up to the mic to sing, but instead he went back to his amp and took off the glasses he had on, putting on his regular clear frames as the rest of the guys continued repeat the intro bit of the song.  Flans stepped up to the mic again and told us “I had my reading glasses on ladies and gentlemen,” before starting into the song.

They played Your Racist Friend and stopped to introduce Curt.  Flans then told us that he and Linnell felt delirious because they had to wake up earlier than they were used to “it’s like you’re taken out of bed in the middle of the night into a scared straight program and you’re not sure what you did wrong.”  Flans then explained about the interview and the radio station in mankato doing tmbptmbg.  Linnell chimed in that they were nice people, and Flans added that the people waking them up for the interview were shouting “they’re nice people” while shaking them.

Linnell told us “We have no idea what we said, although at one point i think i said ‘I hate children’ and i’m sure some malicious person is gonna tweet that out of context.”  Flans replied that person was “Mr. Trout, our 4000 lb arch nemesis.”

Moving on, Flans introduced the next song by telling us this was the first song they wrote for a project they did about fourteen years ago.  This lead into First Avenue, which I was incredibly excited for and sounded fantastic.  They changed the lyrics to include Curt, so the song went “Danny was yelling at Marty and Curt, John threw stuff at Dan.”

I believe it was after that song that Linnell was trying to introduce the next song.  Flans interrupted him, phone in hand “Hold on, i’m trying to take a picture of you.”  Linnell paused until Flans stepped back, then tried again.  Flans interrupted him a second time to announce “It turned out great.”  Linnell reached into his back pocket for his phone telling us “I have a few unanswered texts.”

Rather than getting around to those texts, the band played All Time What.  At one point, Linnell got up next to Curt on his riser, and bowed before taking a place next to him.

As Linnell was switching his clarinet for his accordion, Flans looked into the audience and declared that there were lots of lit majors in the crowd. He knew this because they all had glasses match his.

Linnell brought up the name Waning Gibbous from the show the night before.  They riffed on the idea for a while.  I can’t remember most of what was said, but Flans somehow tied it to the banter being run by teleprompter.  He would say “next slide,” pause and say something completely ridiculous then “still waiting.”

They played Whistling in the Dark, then started introducing people.  Dan was standing on the drum riser, waiting his turn.  I guess Flans saw, because he introduced Marty, Danny, Curt and then the audience to themselves before finally relenting and introducing Dan.

They were about to start the next song when Flans was distracted “Does that guy have something on his head?”  It was a worker carrying drinks to the crowd on a tray, he took it off of his head to reassure Flans and they moved on to Underwater Woman.

Flans introduces the next song as “Our most controversial, because it posits that science is real.”  The crowd cheered at that, but Flans continued “For those people who take issue with that, i encourage them to consider it more deeply the next time they’re on a plane.”  This led, of course, into Science is Real and then I Left My Body.

After the song finished, Flans realized “I don’t play guitar on these next two songs.”  He went and put his guitar down, and on the way back to his mic stand, Dan said something to him, apparently that he didn’t play guitar for the next three songs, because Flans responded jokingly that he did play guitar on the third song and that he had “worked something out on the bus.”

Linnell mentioned that I Left My Body used three part harmony, and told us that it used to be illegal.  Flans asked him “When? Back in the forties?  That explains why they arrested the Andrews Sisters.”

Linnell pressed on that there was “a time in 80s when there could only be two part until [name I didn’t catch] made it ok again.”

Flans told Linnell that that “explains the cultural boycott of Bad Religion,” but Linnell refused to be sidetracked.

“No, but this next song--- this is called a segue, what I’m doing, it will all make sense, this next song also has 3 part harmony.”

Flans seemed surprised by that revelation “Oh yeah!”  He moved his mic stand back by Dan, telling us “I’m gonna go stand by my partner.”  The next three part harmony song was The Mesopotamians.  

They then played This Microphone.  I keep forgetting in these recaps to describe how awesome Marty is during this song.  He has this drumstick/shaker hybrid thing in one hand and he transfers from using the one as a shaker to a drumstick and back several times throughout the song, all while using the regular drumstick in his other hand.  It looks and sounds fantastic and is really a great reminder of how insanely talented the man is.

Linnell told us that the next song, unfortunately, only had a two part harmony, but that it had “chose it off of a list of songs that are impossible to do well.”

Flans agreed, and told us that since they had memorized it, they would play it for us.  He went on to say that Linnell would be playing Beyonce “and I, I will be fulfilling my lifelong dream of playing the part of Kelly Rowland.”  They finished off the set, going from Bills Bills Bills straight into Spy before leaving the stage.

Marty was back on for the second set a solid ten seconds before the Johns.  He did this hilarious thing where he pretended to be surprised to see his Quiet Storm setup, then whipped of the cover and threw it at Fresh before sitting down.  Flans and Linnell joined him and they played Older.  It had an extra long pause in it, and all three of them bowed when it was over.  

During I Like Fun Flans forgot some lyrics, afterwards he clarified what they were for us saying “I’m sorry, I meant to say ‘my EXCELLENCE at Parkour is not to be discounted.’”  He went on to introduce Tippecanoe and Tyler Too as a song from 1840 that was popular in bars.  

After the song, Linnell said  “People laugh when we say this song is from 1840 because they’re used to us saying fake stuff that's supposed to be funny. But this song really is from 1840.”

Flans promised us “You can google that one,”  then introduced Marty on the high school alarm bell.

They played Shoehorn With Teeth, during which Marty was as overly dramatic as ever, and as soon as they finished, Linnell started the accordion part for How Can I Sing Like A Girl.  Flans went along with it, but afterwards Linnell realized “Oh, that wasn’t next on the setlist!”  Flnas assured him it wasn’t a big deal and Linnell agreed “Now we’ve both messed up, so we’re even!” Flans responded off-mic with something I didn’t catch, but it made Linnell laugh and relax before starting Self Called Nowhere.

The  Dans returned to the stage for Istanbul.  Dan and Curt switched off during one of the fake endings again, which was as amazing as the night before, and Curt was absolutely, unbelievably fantastic during the real ending.

Flans was announcing to us that the band was back onstage when a person in the crowd yelled something incomprehensible.  Linnell announced that it meant “We’ve reached the yelling random crap portion of the show.”

After Hearing Aid Flans outlined basically the entirely of their future touring, starting with the Canadian tour “We know people here know people from Canada!”

Linnell chimed in to add “We love Canada!”  Then mutter a comment about Tim Horton’s selling horse meat.

Flans then told his story about announcing the 8 city tour and how the first comment under the announcement was “We have 8 cities?”

Moving on, Flans reminded us that the JoCo Cruise would be hosting them in San Juan.  Linnell asked him who else was going to be there and Flans said that he thought Aimee Mann and them were the only ones who had been announced.  Linnell asked if Open Mike Eagle was going to be there, and  Flans replied “I know he was this past year but I don’t… You know what? Sure. Open Mike Eagle is going to be on the JoCo Cruise!”

“And I would think Jonathan Coulton would be there,” Linnell continued.  

Flans agreed it would be odd if he wasn’t at own cruise but “What a power trip, it’s like Ozzy Osbourne not being at Ozfest.”

They then mentioned the next song as having a typo in the liner notes “a first for us” and launched into a longer run of songs, moving from When the Lights Come On, through Wicked Little Critta and Twisting.

Flans introduced the next song as being of of their new album which received “three stars out of an unknown number of stars.”

“An infinite number,” Linnell told him.

“It received three stars out of an infinite number of stars ladies and gentlemen,” Flans amended.

This lead into Mrs. Bluebeard and then New York City.  Flans then introduced the band, telling us when introducing Marty “He’s come all the way from New York City, he’s a Sagittarius, and he’s come to hear you scream!” (it’s important to note that Marty is not a Sagittarius, stay tuned for the Milwaukee recap)

They played when will you Die, then started into Particle Man.  They got us to start clapping then Linnell told us “We might ask you to stop, but don’t stop clapping, no matter how much we beg!” and played Here You Come Again for the interlude.  They held the last note of Particle Man for a long time before they left the stage.

They played Birdhouse in Your Soul and The Guitar for the first encore, with Flans sticking to the album lyrics and an extra wild Future of Sound.  The second encore was Dr Worm, and they held that final note even longer than they had held for Particle Man.

Flans, Marty, and Danny were soon back out with stickers.  Someone handed Danyn a TMBG license plate to get signed, and he was running around stage with that, a sharpie, and a setlist in his hand, but he wasn’t giving any out.  After a minute or so he walked over to me with a setlist.  Ii was worried he felt obligated to give one to me, and I must’ve looked conflicted of something because he asked me if i wanted it.  Of course I did so I nodded vigorously and took it from him.  

It wasn’t until the next day, when I saw a picture of another copy that looked different, that I realized the reason he was carrying the setlist along with everything else around stage was so he could add How Can I Sing Like A Girl onto it for me!

#tmbg #recap

[readyfleettruckparking-blog]

New Post has been published on https://fleetconcepts.com/drayage/about-drayage-what-drayage-does/

All About Drayage and What Drayage Does For You

What is drayage? Drayage is a necessary logistics sector service and can contribute to the cold chain logistics sector. Learn more about exactly how drayage plays a role in the logistics process as well as this needed step can help you.

Comprehending the drayage process and its beginning can assist you to take advantage of this logistics solution. Drayage is a logistics term that involves shipping goods a short distance by means of ground freight. Drayage can aid fill up the spaces in intermodal shipping. The terminology drayage describes a niche shipping service required to relocate huge containers for a truck, ship or rail. In shipping, drayage is a crucial action in moving freight.

What Are Drayage Services?

Basically, the term drayage refers to a specialty logistics service that carries freight over a short-range. It is a crucial part of intermodal shipping. Drayage belongs to the container shipping market. According to the Intermodal Organization of The United States And Canada (IANA), there are more than 60 million drayage activities every year in North America.

The word drayage also refers to a particular niche shipping service required to relocate large containers for a truck, ship or rail. In shipping, drayage is a crucial action in moving freight. How does freight arrive from a rail car to a ship? Additionally, exactly how does a container get from rail to a truck? It all happens via drayage.

Drayage carriers should have the essential bonding as well as licensing. Drayage companies take containers in and out of storehouses, rail terminals, seaports, and harbors. This often involves taking significant steel shipping containers off rail cars and also ship decks and then loading them on truck trailers. From there, the container is hauled to a warehouse or storage facility to get ready for the next step in the intermodal shipping process. Drayage belongs to a longer logistics process.

In drayage services, the containers carried usually remain in the exact same metropolitan area or close area. This is different than wider regional or national shipping. Drayage transportation can usually be finished in one driver change.

Before we get as well far along, recognize the term also has a variety of extra meanings throughout the industry.

Drayage additionally means:

The vehicle utilized to accumulate the shipment at a boarder, seaport or intermodal factor

Call of the charge charged for the solutions

Transporting Making Use Of Drayage

The range as well as time-frame it takes a drayage service to move a container totals up to a really brief period in the overall traveling journey of the delivery. When a container ship arrives in port, a large contingency of drayage service drivers rapidly relocates the area to carry designated cargo.

Drayage also suggests delivering cargo to a warehouse, to one more port or supply to finish destination within a specified distance. A number of companies have the ability to cover a diversity of services. Nevertheless, others may select to develop a niche like just rail-to-rail drayage.

In shipping, drayage is a needed step to maintain whatever relocating smoothly towards delivery. Nevertheless, as will certainly various other aspects of shipping, points take place that might trigger drayage hold-ups by a few hours and even days. A lot of solutions have the capability to change sources to comprise the moment as a result of the short distances.

Drayage is an important step in the supply chain. The only method your freight can arrive from the port or intermodal terminal to the next set of transport is by means of drayage.

What is Intermodal Shipping?

Intermodal shipping is a means of moving freight or freight that includes multiple techniques of shipping. Intermodal shipments could trip on a mix of truck, ship, rail or aircraft. Most of the time, intermodal shipments make use of special containers so that items can be moved in between settings of transport without having to be unpacked.

According to the Intermodal Association of The United States And Canada (IANA), approximately 95 percent of all worldwide manufactured items traveling in a container at some time. This means intermodal shipping puts on various sorts of cargo.

Drayage solutions attach these containers of freight from one intermodal point to an additional. For instance, a drayage solution may consist of carrying a container from an obtaining dock at a seaport to a trucking terminal for transportation to its final location.

Drayage Classifications

Drayage service isn’t a one-size-fits-all approach. You’ll locate a variety of categories of drayage solutions. The adhering to categories come from the IANA:

Expedited drayage: Freight containers are transferred quickly. This best relates to time-sensitive shipments.

Inter-carrier drayage: This is what comes to mind first when the majority of people consider the word drayage. It involves the shipping of goods between different carriers. As an instance, inter-carrier drayage may involve transferring products from a trucking terminal to a rail station.

Intra-carrier drayage: Intra-carrier drayage entails taking freight to 2 various hubs possessed by the same carrier. Freight might be transported from an intermodal hub to a rail hub.

Pier drayage: Do you need freight to move from a rail terminal to an ocean shipping dock or pier? You might require pier drayage. This approach uses freeways to get freight to the pier.

Shuttle drayage: Shuttle drayage involves re-locating an intermodal unit to a temporary stopping point. This approach is utilized when the hub of origin could be jammed.

Door-to-door: Delivery by truck of containers to a retail customer.

The category of service you pick depends upon your shipping requirements.

Carriers need to establish which kind of drayage service best offers the freight for delivery to finish the following leg of the trip. Moreover, it may be required for a freight container to move by means of drayage service several times throughout delivery.

The freight, if moved by intermodal drayage, would include more than one transportation kind prior to reaching a final delivery point. Shipping using intermodal drayage makes up a lion’s share of the market.

Each solution group covers a selection of things for the delivery. The designated driver might take the freight numerous hundred feet to a waiting truck or haul the cargo a couple of miles away to a storage facility near the port.

Whether the freight goes from truck to rail or ship to warehouse or any other mix, the link in the overall supply chain is drayage solution. Think of drayage as the short runner in the marathon of shipping.

Drayage Solution and the Cold Chain

Cooled shipping containers can make drayage a part of the cold chain. These units, also called reefer containers, are designed to preserve a low-temperature level for subject to spoiling items during the shipping process. Reefer containers can be used to ship items that must maintain a constant temperature level. Items like pharmaceuticals, create, food, cut flowers and also more are frequently delivered in cooled containers.

The cold chain must never be broken, particularly for solutions like just how to transport gelato and also shipping fresh fruit and vegetables. Cold chain logistics describes the procedure of shipping, keeping and dispersing cold and icy items.

Chilled containers are made to function individually. This implies they’ll stay cold no matter whether they are passing by rail, on a truck or over the sea. Reefer containers are insulated by almost 1,000 pounds of foam and also include their own air conditioning devices. Reefer containers function like the refrigerator in your kitchen, however on a larger scale. Three primary parts make the reefer trailer job: the compressor, condenser, and evaporator help the container stay trendy.

Cold chain logistics rely upon drayage solution to get items from one mode of shipping to the next.

The Background of Drayage Service and the Cold Chain

Drayage isn’t a brand-new principle. Current drayage techniques utilize state-of-the-art trucks and also modern containers. Yet did you know that drayage goes back to prior to the 18th century? Chroniclers say that drayage predates the industrial age.

Actually, the term drayage originates from the words “dray.” A dray was a cart drawn by horses. Dray horses transported really hefty loads of freight. Because the freight was so heavy, the horses could just travel short ranges. The horses, as well as carts, worked near ocean ports, canal terminals, as well as railroad terminals. Dray horses, as well as carts, functioned till trucks took control of in the 1910s.

The cold chain isn’t new either. The initial cold shipments happened in the 1840s. Shippers waited until the weather condition was cold outside and after that delivered their disposable things on ice to maintain their cold temperature level. Cold chain innovation progressed in the 1910s when cold items were after that shipped on ice in trucks. The initial variation these days modern reefer trucks initially hit the trail in 1942, when the cooled truck was developed. Since then, reefer trucks and containers have made the cold chain feasible.

Why Drayage Service is Needed

Along with ports with intermodal containers, retail places along with exhibition sites likewise make use of drayage service. Comparable to relocating freight at a port, a great deal happens behind the scenes at mall and trade shows.

Take the mall as an example. Obtaining freight in and out of stores, specifically, those without outside packing locations takes collaborating with a drayage solution to obtain delivery from the delivery truck to the store. Commonly, a typical delivery hub is offered at retail shopping malls. Nevertheless, this brief range is essential for the shop to cover often.

The hectic globe of the exhibition also depends on drayage service to relocate exhibitors in and out of the website in an effective manner. Once materials for every exhibitor reaches the location, it is a frenzy of activity to obtain everything ready. Exhibitors might send out a team to create displays a few days beforehand.

Carriers gotten by the exhibitor supplies the shipment to the convention facility or location for the trade show. Next off, the drayage solution takes over to relocate the freight the short distance from the packing dock to the exhibitor’s area on the tradeshow flooring. While drayage covers a fairly short distance, whatever is normally is taking place at a stable pace. Crews are on hand to obtain seasonal goods shops or transfer exhibit cubicles and equipment to the appropriate place.

Drayage solutions are the unhonored heroes behind-the-scenes, ensuring to complete the work so others look great. When the show finishes up, the service goes back to relocate whatever back out to the dock location, all set for carrier pick-up.

From time to time, the question may arise if drayage service is needed. The answer is likely yes because of what it requires to move freight from the dock to the intended room.

How to Contract a Drayage Solution Provider

When the demand develops to contract a drayage solution, a couple of things may be helpful to ask about when getting quotes.

How does the company calculate prices? Is monitoring readily available for shipments? Is keeping empty cages or containers an added cost? When is delivery to the area set up? What is the timeline of the delivery start/finish?

Knowing beforehand the service degree or if other costs will certainly be billed can help in budgeting for the service beforehand. In some cases, the drayage service uses an inclusive plan covering multiple facets for one cost.

In a retail or trade convention setup, the driver from the dray solution might have much more adaptability in their routine versus the driver functioning an ocean or rail transfer.

Sorts Of Drayage Containers

The containers made use of for shipping freight been available in several dimension specifications and also with different features. A standard size container is either 20-feet, 40-feet, or 45-feet in size. A lot of containers are in between 6-feet to 8-feet in height.

Each container, constructed from either steel or aluminum, have optimal weight constraints on contents packed for delivery. A cooled container is likewise readily available to transfer freight that must keep a detailed temperature level.

Container types include:

Dry or basic

Open top

Flat Rack

High Cube

Cooled

The standard size and performance of the containers make them simple to load or unload for a selection of transportation settings. Yes, these containers are a few of the exact same ones you often see while waiting for a long line of train cars to whiz by.

A contracted drayage solution needs to be well equipped to handle any one of the conventional shipping containers.

Fleet Concepts and Drayage

What is drayage? Currently, you can address this question confidently. Fleet Concepts can be your partner in cold chain logistics and drayage. Our skilled and also professional team has the skills as well as understanding needed to obtain your disposable items from here to there. Make the most of our cold chain knowledge and allow us to help you.

#container shipping #crossdocking #intermodal shipping #Drayage

[fnrys]

strawberry

theme: chriseva (skam) words: 1840 about: when chris and eva are drunk at a party there’s only one way things can end, yet something is different on the morning after.

Oh, she was mad. She was mad, but most of all, she was hurt. Given the freedom that came with it, she didn’t usually mind that her mother was never home. It had stung at first, when she didn’t really understand that it was the only way to mantain their small family, but then everything inside her had settled, to a point when sometimes she almost felt happy to have the whole house to herself. But this time it had gone too far.

It had been two weeks before when she fell sick. And with sick, she meant not leaving bed for one week straight. The fever had been the worst of it, and it had got bad enough that her friends took turns to skip school and stay with her during the day, and sometimes even take her to the ER, altough both times she had been sent back home with a prescription and orders to stay in bed. And her mother, her mother, hadn’t even cared. Or if she did, she didn’t shown signs of it other than the stupid, useless daily calls that usually the girls answered.

And then, just the day before, her birthday. Every year her mother would come home with an extravagant gift of wherever she had been last. This time it should have been obvious that it would be different. After all, her mother hadn’t done shit when Eva felt sick and wanted to die, why would she come home for something so useless and boring as her birthday?

So, anyway, after the depressing “hello honey, happy birthday” call she had got, she decided one thing: she was Eva Kviig Mohn, and she wouldn’t take shit from anyone, not even her mother. So she put the empty house to good use.

She started with vodka shots around the time when only her friends were there. One for every year of life, and then… then everything was blurry. Maybe beer? Wine? Honestly, she didn’t even care.

And here she was now, kissing soft lips of a stranger whose face she hadn’t seen. They had been like that for several minutes, or what felt like several minutes anyway, but she didn’t feel like going upstairs. Not yet, at least, and given that this wasn’t the first person she had hooked up with tonight, it was starting to get weird.

Like hell would she end the night without getting laid. She wouldn’t allow herself to end it as bad as the day had started.

She feels a small hand grab her by the shoulder and shake her a little, so she spares the stranger a few seconds and turns to look, if only because there’s only one person she knows that is little but has the strength of a truck.

Sana is there, looking for something and slightly amused. She make Eva a question, probably about whatever or whoever she is looking for, but the loud music and the diziness make it impossible for her to hear, so she simply shrugs and turns to the stranger again.

And, oh, it’s a girl. She has probably met her somewhere, but it’s not like she will ask, especially since the girl is totally hooked with some guy that must have made a move while Sana was there. She could insist on getting some attention too, but the little to no interest is completely gone now and she has better things to do, like drink some more alcohol.

She focuses enough that she can get to the kitchen without even touching the wall. Then, the fridge, and then to open a beer without help. 

Fortunately for her, people prefer the rest of the house, given that the music is not so loud in there. There’s a group of apparently sober kids, and apart from them, only her and Penetrator Chris.

He is seated on the counter with his back to the wall, head thrown back and eyes closed, one of his legs hanging loose and the other flexed so that he can rest one of his arms on his knee. Surpisingly, he’s alone, and probably as drunk as one can be. And handsome, always so fucking, annoyingly handsome.

She chucks half the can before leaving it, and then she walks to him. 

There’s nothing she can do to back off once she’s near. Her hand lands softly on his arm to make him look at her, and once he is, once those dark eyes are on her and anything but her, she’s sure she has already lost it.

“Hello, Eva.” There’s a smirk, that gods damned smirk that makes her crazy, and then there’s just his lips, and him, and them. His hands on her back, her hair, her legs; her mouth on his neck, his jawline, his shoulder, and their eyes usually locked in a desire so strong she can barely resist it.

There’s a set of stairs at one point, and then she’s sure they are in her room. She can feel the coldness of the wall against her back, but there are also his breath on her neck, his chest against hers and his hands on her hips, and she gets lost again.

She can't… God, she can’t do anything but feel. It’s always like that when it’s about him. Be it after a party or after school, in the house or in the fucking car. Always.

(…)

The first thing she notices is the soft yet constant sunlight on her face. The second, when she moves to grab the pillow, is that someone has their arms around her waist. And finally, the third realization, is that she fucked Chris Schistad. Again.

She moves away a few inches, if only because his face is buried on her neck, and carefully places her head on the pillow, that must have moved while they were sleeping, or... actually, while they were fucking. 

Still heavy with sleep, she has to press her lips in order to avoid smiling. It’s not usual that he stays for the night, or until she’s fully awake. His face is relaxed in sleep, his usual smirk and badboy ways completely gone, although a small frown causes a few wrinkles on his forehead, where some strands of hair are resting. 

He looks great. Of course he still does, Eva thinks while rolling her eyes, but there’s something different this time. He looks so peaceful, so relaxed, he almost doesn’t look like himself. Nothing about the boy at her side could suggest anything about the one everyone hears gossip about.

A warm feeling inside her chest lights up at the thought that he actually trusts her enough to let his guard down. Even when they only play games, she thinks, something does happen.

Not like anyone would ever know.

She quickly looks away when a smirk appears on his face and his arms detangle from her waist. He turns so that he’s laying face down and hides both arms under the pillow, eyes still closed but the smile so evident it’s clear he’s awake.

“You really are a creep, Mohn.” He laughs. His voice is deep and raspy from sleeping, and Eva can’t do anything but turn to look at him again because, just, fucking hell.

She could tease him so easily bringing up the hug she woke up to… still, she doesn’t. She knows better than that. Better than to make him run back to whatever cage he likes to hide in, and instead, simply laughs.

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows shoot up in a small attempt to look surprised, even when she has pretty much sold herself.

“Oh, yeah, don’t use that card with me. I know you were looking at me. Like, staring. Not that I blame you, but, really, cliché.”

She rolls her eyes and laughs while showing him her middle finger before standing up without a second thought. She covers herself on the way to the door with a random t-shirt on the floor, and simply leaves the room. She could offer breakfast, or a shower, but it’s Schistad we’re talking about, plus, she needs to check the state of the house as soon as possible.

Fortunately for her, some angel or more probably Noora helped her last night, because other than tons of empty bottles and beer cans, a should-be-impossible mess and so much dirt and sticky substances on the floor she doesn’t know how she’ll clean it up, there’s nothing out of place or, for that matter, broken.

The kitchen is crystal clear, and again, she can’t do anything but think about Noora and her pet peeve. Yes, it was definitely her friend that ended the party and made sure nothing extremely bad happened, because, after all, dirty kitchens are Noora’s and only Noora’s pet peeve.

Her stomach growls in a way that shouldn’t be natural and suddenly she realizes she needs as much food as she can have. There aren’t any cereals or bread for french toasts, so she simply settles for a few strawberries she finds at the back of the fridge and puts them in a bowl, eating silently while on the counter.

Chris appears only seconds later, now looking fully awake and just like his everyday self, as if he hadn’t been the most adorable human being just minutes ago. He’s wearing the black skinny jeans from the night before with the same white plain shirt he seems to love and a warm looking jacket that hangs from his index finger over his shoulders.

He leans on the door frame, smirk and raised eyebrows and all, and she can’t help but look at him amused, strawberry still between her fingers.

“Want a strawberry?” Is all she can think about. He barks out a laugh, and she’s about to correct herself with another question that isn’t so stupid, when he walks to her and softly, carefully, takes the strawberry from her fingers with his mouth.

It is so unexpected she’s left gasping like a fish out of the water. He’s looking at her, searching for a reaction while that stupid smile of his is still there, apparently glued to his face, but she can’t seem to find any that suits the moment. 

“Fucking hell, Schistad” Is the only thing that comes to her mouth. She could add something else, anything, only she doesn’t want to. And once again, Chris seems to think just like she does, because he’s over her before she can see it coming.

She feels dizzy as soon as his lips are on hers, hungry, and this time she can’t blame the alcohol. He’s moving them so fast she can barely keep the pace, but there’s no way in hell she’ll let him get away with it, so she brings him closer abruptly, grabbing him by the hem of his jeans, and once he’s close enough, she closes her legs around his waist.

“Let’s have a decent breakfast, Eva” He says, and just like that she looses sense of everything but him.

hello! i hope you guys liked my humble addition to the fandom. it’s not the first thing i’ve written and not the best either, but it is the first one i’ve ever shared. my name is pilar and i’m from argentina.

#skam #chriseva #chris x eva #fanfiction #my writing

[the-record-columns]

Feb. 26, 2020: Columns

An amazing afternoon, an amazing service...

Rickard's Chapel AME Zion Church

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

  This past Sunday I had the pleasure of visiting the Rickard's Chapel AME Zion Church on Old US Hwy 421 in Wilkesboro. 

The occasion was an annual event sponsored since 2010 by the Rev. Richard Watts and the congregation of the church honoring Wilkes County Pioneers. 

Each year has a particular theme, this one being The Influence of the Black Church.  There are some photographs elsewhere in this edition of The Record, but I wanted to share some more information I gleaned from the beautiful program which was printed for the event.

 The format of the 4 p.m. service was to recognize the over 20 Black churches in Wilkes by displaying a photo of the church and inviting a representative of the church to accept a statuette commorating the event and a brief biography of the church was read to the congregation. The program was compiled from the Centennial Year 1980 edition of the Yadkin Valley Baptist Association, personal stories, church members, church history books as well as the internet and websites.  The program committee responsible for this beautiful full color, 36-page program are Rev. Watts, Dr. Alexander Erwin, Dr. Kim Erwin, and Mrs. Marnita Harris—who also compiled the data and photos.

  As a small boy in the 50’s, my father, Rev. C.S. Welborn, was sometimes asked to fill in for the pastor of the First Baptist Church on B Street (now Main) in North Wilkesboro.  Also, as I went with my dad on his many visits to the Fairplains Community, I knew about the Beulah Presbyterian Church on Sparta Road.  However, I had no idea that these two churches had been around basically since the Town of North Wilkesboro was founded in 1890.  The First Baptist was organized in 1896 and Beulah in 1895. 

The property for the Beulah Presbyterian Church was 15 acres originally purchased from W.F. Trogdon for a school near Trogdon Street in North Wilkesboro.  This is the same Mr. Trogdon who basically started North Wilkesboro in 1890 from scratch around the train depot.  Beulah moved in 1932 to the Fairplains location it still uses.  The original frame building First Baptist began worshipping in was donated by Frank Blair, Sr., who, I think, owned the ice plant in North Wilkesboro.  There is even an old photo of their original building in the program.

  And, while I was aware of some other black churches in Wilkes, I had no idea how many.  There is a small church in Ferguson, the Darby Mennonite Brethren Church which is also over 100 years old.  The list continues, Beaver Creek Methodist Church, 1840; Chapel Hill AME Zion Church on Rock Quarry Road in North Wilkesboro, 1895; Denny Grove AME Zion Church in Wilkesboro, 1901; Mount Valley Missionary Baptist Church in Ronda, 1896; Parks Grove Missionary Baptist Church in Wilkesboro, 1905; Pleasant Hill Baptist Church in North Wilkesboro, 1906; Poplar Springs Missionary Baptist Church in Roaring River, 1879; New Damascus Baptist Church in Wilkesboro, 1865;  Thankful Missionary Baptist Church, 1869;  and Rickard's Chapel AME Zion Church in Wilkesboro, 1899—and there are many others.

  I cannot begin to imagine the countless hours of work that went into producing this program, both from the churches who researched their histories, and the Rickard's Chapel committee who compiled and edited the program.  I have a couple of copies I will be glad for anyone to see, but, frankly, this event Sunday was entirely too good, too important, and too timely not to do again.  I would encourage the organizers of Sunday’s service to save everything associated with their amazing program and make it a cornerstone of next year’s Black History Month events.  Or, for that matter, anytime they have the time and a venue available, and want to.

  After all, as it says on the title page of their program, "Our Church served as the pillars for our forefathers to persevere over many trials and tribulations.  Through faith and the bond of our religious beliefs, we have come this far, trusting in the Lord.  The Church has, and continues to be, the foundation of the life of Black People."

  Amen.

 The Flag on my desk

By HEATHER DEAN

Record Reporter

A few months ago, a gentleman cleaning out an abandoned warehouse brought some things by the office.

“I knew you’d know what to do with it and make sure it was given a safe space.”

It was a burial flag, and a small box containing the Memorial book and newspaper clipping from a veteran’s funeral.

Frank Little was a WWII veteran, born in May 1924 in Wilkes County. Frank Little, Jr., was laid to rest on Feb. 2, 2000, in Woodlawn Cemetery. Of the less than two dozen people that signed his book, only two names are familiar to me: Luther Parks, and Ward Eller, two of the finest men I know.

There’s not much more information than that, but the flag sits on my desk, in front of a list of local soldiers lost in the Vietnam conflict, and beside a rock that a local veteran painted for me. As long as Frank’s flag is on my desk, it has a home, and a place of respect.

WWII was a war that touched every life in my family. Both my grandfathers, a great uncle, and a grandmother served in that war. They were indeed the greatest generation, and we have precious few of them left. At many funerals I have witnessed the flag draped casket, the Honor Guard giving the 21 gun salute, and finally the ceremonial folding of the flag, being handed off to a family member becoming the most treasured of keepsakes.

It makes me wonder how this flag on my desk made its way to me. I keep promising the flag that I will find out where it belongs, but for now, it gives me comfort in what seems to be another tumultuous time in our nation’s history, knowing there are still brave soldiers protecting us.  

The flag on my desk sits silently, stalwart and starched, as a reminder of the things we most treasure, and the price for them.

The flag on my desk does not waiver.

The flag on my desk does not judge.

The flag on my desk does not care that I am a civilian.

The flag on my desk does not care about my religion, race, political affiliation, gender, place of birth, who I love, or what accent I speak in.  

The flag on my desk reminds me to honor and serve those that have come before me and worn this flag on their uniforms.

The flag on my desk implores me to hold space for those brave men and women, and not let them be forgotten — especially the ones who are still here, still fighting depression, PTSD, or just need someone to talk to.

A religion married to terrorism

By AMBASSADOR EARL COX and KATHLEEN COX

Special to The Record

 Western democracies tend to sacrifice reality on the altar of well-intentioned hope. We approach all our dealings and negotiations with Islamic countries from a Western mindset expecting that fairness, honesty and integrity will be the order of the day.  To those who embrace Islam, these values are meaningless and are, in fact, signs of weakness to be exploited.  A Muslim will adhere to an agreement with an infidel (all non-Muslims) only long enough to buy time to overcome.

According to historical documentation, Islamic wars have not been defensive but rather Jihad-driven offensives.

Since the beginning of this year, there has been an increase in the number of adherents to fundamental Islam such as that which is espoused by the Muslim Brotherhood, Turkey’s President Erdogan, Iran’s religious leaders (the Ayatollahs), ISIS and others.  Their brand of aggressive Islam is in pursuit of global imperialism and it’s taught in Muslim schools to children beginning at early ages to include the Palestinian Authority.  It will take generations to detox the minds of young Muslim children who are being taught that Jews are to be hated along with all infidels, and Israel has no right to exist as a Jewish state. 

The basic precepts of Islam, as outlined by the Quran and Sharia Law, make it clear that Israel has no real partner sitting with them at the peace table and the United States has no trustworthy Middle East ally aside from Israel. 

Islam is the sole legitimate religion, divinely ordained to rule the world,

Infidels must unconditionally submit themselves to Muslims either peacefully or by force,

Holy war (Jihad) is a commitment every Muslim makes to Allah and Islam.  72 virgins are waiting in paradise for those who die a martyr’s death,

Terrorism is a lawful tactic to defeat infidels, 

Treaties, agreements, accords, ceasefires and so on are non-binding with infidels but are used by Muslims as a delay tactic allowing time to regroup and rearm.

Double-speaking and out right lying is considered acceptable and even honorable if it achieves the end goal of defeating the infidels. 

These are not the types of precepts upon which a real and lasting peace plan can be established.  Again, it’s not peace the Palestinians want with Israel.  Israel is the only one seeking peace.  What the Palestinians want is the total elimination of Israel and terrorism is their method of choice. 

A few days ago, a Palestinian woman from eastern Jerusalem was stopped by passersby when she attempted a stabbing attack at the popular Armon Hanatziv promenade in the city.  While attempting the stabbing, she was yelling “Allahu Akbar.”  Bystanders tackled her to the ground and held her until police arrived. 

In a separate incident, IDF soldiers prevented a suspected car-ramming attack in the Arab village of Beitin, near Ramallah which is less than twelve miles from Jerusalem. The driver was shot when he accelerated towards an IDF checkpoint. Thankfully, no IDF soldiers were injured.

Until the Palestinians stop glorifying death and hating Israel, there can never be peace.  According to Islamic belief, a martyr’s funeral is considered a wedding (remember the 72 promised virgins?). Becoming a martyr represents the highest religious achievement that a Muslim can attain.  Peace is simply not part of their vocabulary and especially not with Israel and the Jews.

[kansascityhappenings]

Independent movie studio produced film inspired by the dark lore of Skidmore, Missouri

SKIDMORE, Mo. — A small rural town in northwest Missouri sets the stage for a new movie about violence, disappearance, and mystery. Kansas City filmmaker Clayton Scott will debut his first feature film next year.

Inspired by the crimes and lore of Skidmore, the film centers around the chilling, but fictional, disappearance of Susie Potter. Below the Fold is set a decade after the girl vanished. Two journalists uncovered a nerve-racking new detail in the cold case. This leads the pair on a quest for answers — which ultimately takes them deep into a dark labyrinth nestled in Nodaway County.

The filmmakers opted out of filming in Los Angeles, Atlanta, or other big entertainment metros. Scott felt filming the movie where the story originated would help give the film authenticity and the town the respect that it deserves. The small rural community rests on a hill above the Nodaway River amid cornfields.

Production photo from Below the Fold. Submitted by director Clayton Scott.

Skidmore has a population just under 300. Despite the small size, the town has had cycles of high-profile murders, violence, and disappearances. Many of these tales have inspired writers and television producers. The area is reminiscent of the towns in Maine that influenced some of Stephen King’s most beloved stories.

The 2001 cold case disappearance of Branson Perry heavily influenced Below the Fold. A faded billboard of Perry was sampled for the movie — filmmakers superimposed and manipulated other images onto the sign to make it Susie Potter’s missing person ad. The director felt using the original billboard’s location gave the film an extra layer of authenticity. He also said it is haunting how the years go by and the real billboard image fades, deteriorates, and only an empty shell lingers there. No sets were used in the making of the movie; the crew worked hard to scout out real locations. Clayton argued they may have tried to fit too many locations into the shooting schedule.

The production picture of actress Sarah McGuire peeking into the house was filmed near where Perry went missing. The crew said it was surreal to film in close proximity to where real tragedies took place. Submitted by director Clayton Scott.

The town itself is a character. One of the actors told the director it was easy to get into the right emotion because Skidmore’s gray and overcast skies and abandoned properties spoke volumes. Shooting in fall and winter added to the foreboding feel the director wanted. Clayton mentioned it’s not easy to get to Skidmore:

“It’s not off a major highway, and it’s a tricky drive. The town knows when a stranger is there, and usually visitors come for one reason — because of the lore they have heard.”

Image from Below the Fold teaser trailer.

Clayton didn’t grow up in Skidmore, but close enough to hear stories about the small town. Several of his family members have connections there. A relative of his played with Bobbie Jo Stinnett as a child. Another person he knows reminisces on occasion about how he wanted to take Trena McCloud to prom before her life got mixed up with Ken McElroy.

Many of these tales growing up influenced Clayton’s perspective on the area. Before writing Below the Fold, he read up on everything about the rural community — from message boards, articles, novels, tales from townspeople, and the like. Clayton said people like Ken McElroy had a hold on the community and to this day just about everyone has a story about him.

“One big reason for why this Skidmore lore really hit home for me is not just the McElroy stuff — which is fascinating, but before my time. When those three crimes in the early 2000s happened, it was during a really impressionable time… 12 to 16 years old. And Bobbie Jo’s brutal crime really brought back the national attention to the area. And that really had an impact on my lifelong fascination with the town” Clayton said.

Image from Below the Fold teaser trailer.

The Hard Work Behind the Scenes

Piecing together an independent movie takes a great deal of initiative and creative thinking. Clayton and his wife Sara Scott, who was an executive producer on the movie, used some of their savings for the movie budget. Through some connections with people in the KC film community, the ball started rolling. It took a couple of years, a few rounds of script drafts, and some tenacity to make it work. A tight skeleton crew filmed the movie on weekends starting in November 2017 and into the winter months.

“No one is going to just tell you to direct an independent movie. You have to buck up and make the $10,000 baby happen yourself” Clayton said.

Several people in Skidmore happily helped the crew, though Clayton said they did run into a couple of strange happenings. A woman yelled at them to get off her property when they were on a sidewalk. An officer also yelled at them for breaking into properties, which they told police wasn’t the case. Clayton said the officer appeared to have mixed them up with someone else who was getting into mischief.

Filming for Below the Fold  wrapped up production just a couple of weeks ago. The filmmakers will submit it to film festivals across the United States and overseas. Those interested in seeing it will have to wait till next year.

Independent studio Rockhaven Films produced the movie. Below the Fold may remind viewers of similar Missouri centered movies or shows, like Winter’s Bone, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri, Gone Girl, Ozark, and The Act.

    The movie includes performances from Sarah McGuire who plays Lisa Johnson and Davis DeRock as David Fremont. The three founders of Rockhaven Films worked on it as director of photography, Iain Trimble, editor Edward Schroer, and executive producer Josh Doke. Austin Wagoner produced and acted as assistant director. Clayton’s brother-in-law and sister, Andrew and Jessica Wigger, also worked as executive producers. Original music is by Ho-Ling Tang, production design and art direction by Kristin Yager Holland. Associate producers: Tyler Bachert, Danny Bowersox, Logan Compton, Carlin Larson, and Harrison Sissel.

Clayton is particularly happy with the cinematography and the performances of the actors. He said taking the extra time to focus on shots and do some old school film techniques helped give it the professional quality he wanted. Clayton hopes to direct another movie again, but first he wants Below the Fold to pick up traction at film festivals. A large amount of resources, time, and labor went into bringing out the magic of Skidmore. Clayton wanted the journalists to have the right dialogue, so he consulted with Karra Small, a FOX4 News assignment editor. The journalists in the movie work at The Maryville Forum.

As for the story, Clayton said once he had a clear ending, the rest of the story fell into place.

Daily Life in Skidmore

In reality, Skidmore’s lore is more in the backdrop of the community and more akin to chats at a bar or at a neighbor’s porch. True crime addicts love to talk about Skidmore and Nodaway County, but for natives of the town the harrowing tales bring a kind of dissonance. Many see the rural farming community as a safe place to raise children where they can roam and be free, climb some trees, eat fresh food, play on a rope swing or other rustic playground equipment. It’s a place where adults rise early to work on the farm, clock in at a factory, work at the dozen or so shops, or work in the town offices.

The current mayor of Skidmore, Tracy Shewey, has said before that she sees the dreadfully awful events in the town as isolated incidents. She said the following for a piece in the Missouri Life Magazine back in February 2018:

“Just because those bad things happened doesn’t mean the whole town and the whole community is bad. For newcomers, it does come up. And what we say is, ‘That’s not all that we’re about. We’ve had a couple of things that have been not so pleasant, but to us that doesn’t define the town. Please see past that. If you can’t, you’ve got to move on.’”

Skidmore Origins and Pastimes

William Bunton settled the area for Skidmore in 1840. He did this shortly after the Platte Purchase opened up land to settlement. Skidmore was platted in 1880 when M. Skidmore donated 20 acres to the Nodaway Valley Railroad Company.

The small town is about 45 miles north of St. Joseph. It has a few shops and restaurants from Backwoods Bar & Grill, Good Time Charlie’s, Countryside Café & Catering, Looks Salon & Day Spa, and Farmers Frame & Auto Repair. There is at least one bank, church, and a postal office. As of the 2010 census, about 285 people live in the city, residing in 122 households, and broken into 81 families. Demographics wise, it’s about 99.3% white, 0.4% Native American, and 0.4% listed as another ethnicity.

The infamous crimes and mysteries put Skidmore in the national light, but the daily run-of-the-mill activities are much more tame. The city council has worked hard the past few years to pass ordinances to keep yards tidier, the city sewage system needs updating, many of the adults work multiple jobs, neighbors bring cookies and help carry boxes for newcomers, and there is an effort to attract live music acts to venues. Skidmore is also full to the brim with fruit pies and fried chicken dinners.

One of the biggest pieces of news for the community this year wasn’t crime-related. Instead after years of rumors, the Skidmore Punkin Show finally returned. This past August was the first time the small farming community held a “Punkin Show” since 2004. Event staff wanted to bring back the festival as a way to unify families, children, and neighbors. Activities included musical acts, a barbecue cook-off, a horseshoe tournament, a cake walk, a pie-eating contest, tire throwing, skillet-throwing, and bingo.

Crimes and Other Mysteries

Nodaway County overall has a population of about 22,810. It was on the frontier in its earliest days and has a long history of violence. The first execution in the county took place in Maryville on July 22, 1881. The town hanged two brothers, Albert Talbott and Charles Talbott, after a court convicted them of killing their own father, Dr. Perry Talbott. The local physician, newspaper editor, and state legislator died on September 18, 1880 at his home in Arkoe, a town he helped co-found. He blamed his political enemies for his demise with his final dying breath. Nevertheless, authorities charged the sons with the crime, and despite their pleas of innocence — the jury didn’t see otherwise.

The brothers’ tombstone in the family cemetery is a vertical column with two hands clasped in friendship. The inscription reads: “We Died Inocent.” The word “innocent” is misspelled on the headstone.

The Ken McElroy Shooting

A murder from the early 1980s first put Skidmore in the international spotlight. A man considered a town bully had upset too many people, and this led to a violent retaliation against him.

On July 10, 1981, Ken McElroy died in a rain of bullets. Investigators confirmed the shooting included at least two guns. McElroy was shot while sitting in his truck in front of the D&G Tavern. A crowd of about three dozen people witnessed the crime in broad daylight, but all of them denied seeing anything that would help police identify the culprits.

McElroy’s reputation far preceded him. He had a long list of offenses following him from theft, rape, child molestation, arson, hog and cattle rustling, burglary, and assault. In the months before his murder, McElroy was appealing a light sentence for shooting a 70-year-old grocer in the neck — he was out of jail on bond. Many of the townspeople were annoyed with the courts’ inability to properly deal with him and get him off the streets permanently. No one was ever prosecuted for McElroy’s murder. It’s an unsolved likely vigilante-style murder.

Ken McElroy

The man’s life doesn’t get anymore pleasant with closer examination. McElroy met his last wife, Trena McCloud, when she was an eighth grader at the shy age of 12. He fathered more than 10 children in his lifetime with different women and minors.

Trena became pregnant at the age of 14. She dropped out of school her freshmen year of high school and then moved-in with Ken and his third wife, Alice. Ken eventually divorced Alice and married Trena — in part to avoid charges of statutory rape.

Sixteen days after Trena gave birth, both she and Alice ran away to Trena’s mother’s and stepfather’s house. Court records indicate Ken found both Trena and Alice there and that he brought both of them back to his residence.

Sometime later Ken went back to Trena’s parents’ house. Realizing her relatives were not there, he shot the family dog and burned down the home.

Ken McElroy

On July 9, 1984, Trena McElroy filed a $6 million wrongful death lawsuit against the Town of Skidmore, Nodaway County and its Sheriff Danny Estes, Mayor of Skidmore Steve Peters, and Del Clement. Trena accused the last person as the shooter in the crime. The case settled out of court by all parties for much less than what Trena was seeking: a sum of $17,600. No one admitted any guilt. Trena remarried and moved to Lebanon in southwest Missouri. She died of cancer on her 55th birthday on January 24, 2012.

Author Harry N. MacLean wrote about Ken McElory in his bestselling and award-winning book, In Broad Daylight. In 1991 a made-for-TV movie portrayed the events — although it was filmed in Texas. The Ken McElroy shooting was also the focus of an episode on the A&E Network program City Confidential. It also served as story material for a Drunk History episode, as inspiration for a song by British hard-rock band UFO, a web series episode by BuzzFeed, and as fodder for multiple podcasts.

Death of Wendy Gillenwater

On October 16, 2000 Greg Dragoo beat and stomped on his girlfriend, Wendy Gillenwater. He dragged her down several country roads outside Skidmore leading to her death. Detectives found Gillenwater’s body outside her home. An autopsy revealed someone had stomped on her brutally. Prosecutors charged Dragoo with murder. A Nodaway County Judge sentenced him to life in prison. He is currently incarcerated in the Western Missouri Correctional Center in Cameron.

The Disappearance of Branson Perry

On April 11, 2001, 20-year-old Branson Perry vanished from his father’s home in Skidmore. Someone last saw him walking from the house to a storage shed. No one has ever been charged in his disappearance, but there has been at least one suspect: Fulton resident Jack Wayne Rogers. He is in prison now for other crimes. Rogers did at one point brag about murdering Perry. He later denied ever knowing him.

Branson Perry

Rogers appeared like a lawful, good citizen. He was a Presbyterian minister and a Boy Scouts leader, but he had many disturbing secrets. Officers arrested Rogers on child pornography and obscenity charges, as well as first-degree assault, and practicing medicine without a license. His troubles came to light when he removed a trans woman’s genitals in a makeshift gender reassignment surgery at a hotel in Columbia, Missouri. The operation, as you would expect, didn’t go well. Rogers couldn’t stop the bleeding and the woman called 9-1-1.

While investigating Rogers’ personal belongings, police discovered child porn on his computer. Detectives also found message boards where Rogers graphically described torturing and assaulting multiple men. Rogers claimed all the posts were only macabre fantasies. One of those posts described picking up a blond male hitchhiker, then raping, torturing, and murdering him. Rogers also wrote about burying the body somewhere in the Ozarks. While performing a search at Rogers’ property, detectives found a turtle claw necklace resembling one Perry used to wear.

A court sentenced Rogers to 17 years in prison for assault on the trans woman and seven years for performing illegal surgery. He also received 30 years for child pornography. At his sentencing, Perry’s mother, Rebecca Klino, pleaded for Rogers to reveal what he did to her son. Rogers again denied any involvement in the young adult’s disappearance. After the sentencing, Klino said she no longer believed Rogers was responsible for her son’s disappearance:

“The police are not completely ruling him out, but now the investigation has turned toward Skidmore again. They have received new leads there. I suppose time has a way of unraveling secrets. I believe someone in that area knows what happened to Branson. In my heart, I don’t believe this suspect is responsible. Despite the nightmare I lived through [at his sentencing], I am thankful that someone with that much evil will never walk the streets again.”

Sadly, both of Perry’s parents died a handful of years after he disappeared. Bob Perry died in 2004. Rebecca Klino died in February 2011 after battling melanoma cancer. In her obituary, it noted that Klino was “preceded in death” by her son. She was buried beside an empty plot for Perry. It lists his date of death as April 11, 2001, the same day he vanished.

Murder of Bobbie Jo Stinnett

On December 16, 2004, Skidmore once again received national attention when Bobbie Jo Stinnett, a relative of Branson Perry, was murdered. She was eight months pregnant at the time and someone had cut her unborn baby from her womb. After an extensive search aided by the public, police found the baby alive at a farmhouse in Melvern, Kansas. Police arrested Lisa Montgomery; she eventually received a federal death sentence for killing Bobbie Jo. The baby, Victoria  Jo Stinnett, survived the attack and kidnapping. She now lives with her father, Zeb Stinnett. Victoria Jo is 14 years old.

Bobbie Jo Stinnett

Before the murder, Bobbie Jo and Zeb ran a dog-breeding business from their home. Montgomery met Stinnett online in a rat terrier chatroom called “Ratter Chatter.” Stinnett was expecting buyers for a terrier about the time of her murder. In messages, Montgomery told Stinnett she too was pregnant and excited about motherhood. The women happily chatted online and exchanged emails about their pregnancies. Authorities believe Montgomery, posing as “Darlene Fischer” arranged to meet with Bobbie Jo at her home on December 16, 2004  — the day of the murder.

Montgomery’s former husband testified in court that she had a history of falsely telling strangers and new acquaintances she was pregnant — and this was after she had her tubes tied in 1990. Her doctor recommended she undergo the surgery after her fourth child was born two months premature.

Police said Montgomery and her current husband Kevin showed off Stinnett’s baby as their own in Melvern before her arrest. Kevin said he had no part in the killing. He also testified about fake pregnancies during the marriage. He said Montgomery told him she got an abortion for a fetus in New Mexico. The second fake pregnancy, she told him something was wrong with the baby and she donated it to science. He claimed he didn’t realize at the time that these were lies.

Lisa Montgomery is currently the only woman with a federal death sentence incarcerated at Federal Medical Center, Carswell in Fort Worth, Texas.

New and emerging technology aided in the investigation. An issued AMBER alert enlisted the public’s help in finding the baby, DNA testing confirmed the infant’s identity, and an enormous amount of media attention helped bring in tips.

Lisa Montgomery

Author Diane Fanning described the case in her book Baby Be Mine and M. William Phelps described it in his novel Murder in the Heartland. The case was also featured in the 5th episode of the documentary No One Saw A Thing. The documentary just premiered on the Sundance Channel on August 29, 2019.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/09/05/independent-movie-studio-produced-film-inspired-by-the-dark-lore-of-skidmore-missouri/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/09/05/independent-movie-studio-produced-film-inspired-by-the-dark-lore-of-skidmore-missouri/

[shontaviajesq]

What to do when an American president (or anyone else) is vindictive, racist, and out to get you - Lessons from Ona Judge

When I was in middle school, I went on a field trip from my small town in South Carolina to Washington D.C. I was part of something called Kennedy on Stage, which was kind of like “Glee” for middle school students. I wasn’t particularly musically or artistically inclined, but I knew KoS had great field/performance trips and I wanted desperately to visit anywhere outside of my small town, so there I was.

I remember two things distinctly from the D.C. trip. #1 was the fact that it was SO STRANGE for me to see my teachers outside of school. Who knew that middle school teachers had lives outside the classroom? Even though I had a number of teachers in my family (including my own mother), it was strange to see my teachers in shorts and sneakers, bopping to whatever was playing on their Walkmans (Google it, Generation Z-ers).

#2 was our opportunity to tour Mount Vernon, the plantation of George and Martha Washington. This was the earliest of the 90s, and what I most recall from the tour was not hearing much at all about the enslaved people who lived and toiled there. There was some brief mention of them, mostly of the happy slave variety, and I was pissed. At that age, my parents had taught me a lot and I knew the dangerous nature of this kind of revisionist narrative, as terribly illustrated by this TRAGEDY of a children’s book:

I had a right to be pissed. One of the stories missing from that tour was that of Ona “Oney” Judge, who I learned about much later in life. Ona’s life and story is remarkable, and there’s a lot we can learn from her even today. There are [at minimum] three things I think we can learn from Ona, who was targeted and hunted by America’s first president, who was vindictive, racist, and out to get her.

#1. Run away from, and stay away from, the President’s (or other aggressor’s) house.

Ona had been enslaved by George and Martha Washington at Mount Vernon from the age of ten years old (Washington himself had, quite literally, been a slave owner for most of his life—he received his first ten slaves at eleven years old). Ona’s mother was an enslaved woman owned by Martha Washington’s first husband. When he died, Martha received a lifetime interest in a group of enslaved people, including Ona. Essentially, these people had to work for Martha, but then once Martha died any ownership interest would go back to her first husband’s family (this all may sound familiar to those of us who suffered through 1L property law). Le sigh.

Ona became a skilled seamstress and worked mostly for Martha. When George became America’s first president in 1789, he took seven enslaved people with him to the nation’s capital (then New York City). Ona was one of those seven. When the capital moved to Philadelphia in 1790, Ona was one of nine enslaved people who was taken there too.

Interestingly, Pennsylvania had a law called “An Act for the Gradual Abolition of Slavery,” which authorized a-slow-but-deliberate end to slavery in 1780 in Pennsylvania. It also prohibited people from importing slaves into Pennsylvania, while providing some flexibility to slave owners who came to visit the state. While the law was somewhat complicated, it basically allowed slaveholders visiting Pennsylvania to keep slaves in the state for up to 6 months. A term longer than this meant that slaveholders had to free their slaves.

George Washington, who had moved to Pennsylvania to serve as president, exploited a loophole in the law. He would rotate his slaves out before the 6 month deadline, thus keeping them in bondage so that they didn’t have to be freed under the Pennsylvania law.

Ona was one of the people rotated in and out of Pennsylvania this way by George Washington. She hated being enslaved, particularly after having seen free blacks during her rotations in Pennsylvania. She decided to escape after being told that she was going to be given to the Washington’s granddaughter as a wedding gift. The next time she was scheduled to go back to Virginia, she secretly boarded a ship to New Hampshire and successfully escaped. This was in 1796. She had made friends with free blacks in Pennsylvania and they helped her get out undetected (at least for a long enough period of time to make it out).

Ona began to make a new, life in New Hampshire—getting married, having children, and finding work where she could. While it was difficult, and she experienced significant familial and other hardships, she was quoted later as saying that her freedom had been worth it all. Leaving the president’s home was a good move for her.

On to the next lesson…

#2. Do not negotiate with someone who does not or cannot honor an agreement.

George was furious upon learning that Ona had escaped, and he used the full force of the federal government to pursue her. Here’s the ad he placed in the newspaper to solicit others to catch her and return her to him:

George solicited the help of the most powerful people in government to hunt down Ona, including the U.S. Secretary of the Treasury, Oliver Wolcott Jr. In his letter to Oliver, George notes “the ingratitude of the girl, who was brought up & treated more like a child than a servant (& Mrs Washington's desire to recover her) ought not to escape with impu[nity] if it can be avoided.”

Oliver enlisted the help of other government officials in New Hampshire to capture Ona, but she thwarted all attempts. Joseph Whipple, Portsmouth, New Hampshire’s collector of customs, was one of those local officials. Joseph tricked Ona into coming to his office and tried to negotiate with her. He suggested that she return in exchange for freedom at some point in the future, and she played along once she realized the ploy (seemingly so that she could get out of there unscathed). Ona told Joseph she’d return if George and Martha freed her upon their deaths. When Joseph shared that with George, he was incensed. He wrote to Joseph:

I regret that the attempt you made to restore the girl (Oney Judge as she called herself while with us, and who, without the least provocation absconded from her Mistress) should have been attended with so little success. To enter into such a compromise, as she has suggested to you, is totally inadmissible, for reasons that must strike at first view: for however well disposed I might be to a gradual abolition, or even to an entire emancipation of that description of People (if the latter was in itself practicable at this Moment) it would neither be politic or just, to reward unfaithfulness with a premature preference; and thereby discontent, beforehand, the minds of all her fellow Servants; who by their steady adherence, are far more deserving than herself, of favor.

His letter also makes veiled threats to Ona’s family and friends, who are still enslaved by the Washingtons. He also references the fact that he knows she may be pregnant, alluding to the potential peril her children could be in by her actions.

Even after George left the presidency, he continued to send people to try to capture Ona. In one particularly harrowing event, George‘s nephew, Burwell Bassett Jr., came to New Hampshire to kidnap Ona and her recently-born infant child. Burwell went to Ona’s home, knocked on her door, and told her he was there to take her back to the Washingtons. Ona refused to go and instead escaped and hid in a small town several miles away. This kind of thing was part of Ona’s life as long as George was alive.

Ona did not even find reprieve once George Washington died. While George and Martha both freed many of their slaves either by will or manumission, Ona was not one of those because of her status as a dower slave.

This lesson from Ona is an important one. She did not attempt to negotiate with George to her peril. Had she actually returned to the Washingtons, she never would have been freed because of her status as a dower slave, no matter what the Washingtons did or did not do. Her first husband’s family held a property interest in both her and her children. Ona knew this and was not intimidated into second-guessing herself.

On to the final lesson:

#3 Speak out and share your truth.

Ona valued her freedom more than nearly anything in her life. She actually did not go quietly into the night—she gave several interviews to anti-slavery newspapers in the 1840s. In fact, more is known about her than any other enslaved person from Mount Vernon because of these interviews. She was unapologetic about escaping—when asked if she ever regretted it or felt sorry for leaving the Washingtons, she replied "No, I am free, and have, I trust been made a child of God by the means.”

Here’s an excerpt from one of the articles, though you can read the full text of both at this link:

Ona’s interviews marked her place in history and allowed others of the day to hear about and frame opposition to slavery. Her story is now the most robust of nearly all of the other people enslaved at Mount Vernon. What is also remarkable is that roughly 90% of the fugitive slave narratives exist are from men, which makes Ona’s story even more important.

Experiences like Ona’s have led Mount Vernon to more fully share the experiences of those enslaved there. Remaining silent was not an option for her, and American history is better for it.

Ona Judge left us with not only an important recounting of the American slavery, but also with lessons for how to survive in a world driven by hate, greed and grudges. I, for one, am taking those notes. Shoot me a comment if you have other lessons to share from Ona and her experiences.

If you’d like to hear a fuller accounting of Ona Judge and her life, check out Uncivil’s episode on her life, titled “The Fugitive.” It is brilliant.

#Page 2

[seniorbrief]

A Town Was Engulfed in Flames, but One Church Still Stands Today

Yasu+Junko for Reader’s Digest

The church shouldn’t be there, but every Sunday, parishioner John Mayernick goes anyway.

He opens the door that shouldn’t be standing, walks past the pews that should have burned, and mounts the stairs to the balcony that should have been razed. As sunlight pours through the stained glass windows and gleams off the gilt-trimmed icons, he grabs three ropes and rings the bells as Mass begins and the congregation sings the hymns no one thought they’d hear again.

This is the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary church in Centralia, Pennsylvania. In 1962, an 
underground mine caught fire, its fumes and heat slowly choking the town. Over the next 20-some years, all but five of its citizens up and left. The government flattened most of the homes and storefronts before the fire could. Today, where generations of miners once raised families, there are only a few stretches of sidewalks to nowhere. More than 56 years later, the fire is still smoldering belowground.

But thanks to an accident of geology, the church was spared from the flames and the bulldozers. Its sky-blue dome still pokes up above the trees, and its pews fill with parishioners on Sundays.

“There are many different kinds of miracles,” says the church’s priest, Father Michael Hutsko. “The flash-of-lightning kind, the sick person who’s suddenly healed after praying are easy to identify. But there’s the other, not-so-evident miracles that take place, that perhaps you don’t even realize until you arrive at a certain place and say, ‘I was praying for this,’ and you realize that God’s hand is in it.”

When Centralia was settled in the 1840s, the miracle of this rugged stretch of Appalachia was the coal itself. Back then, anthracite coal—jet-black, rock hard, and clean burning—was the most powerful fuel known. Its discovery in northeast Pennsylvania triggered a gold rush of sorts. Immigrant workers poured in, and Poles, Hungarians, Czechs, and Ukrainians filled booming mining towns such as Centralia.

Built in 1911, Assumption was one of many Ukrainian Catholic churches founded in the region. Centralia’s immigrants could worship within its simple wood frame and hand-laid stone walls just as they had for centuries back home. They sang in their native tongue. They celebrated the distinctive Ukrainian Catholic Mass. They prayed beneath its three-bar crosses.

Evelyn Mushalko, an Assumption parishioner born in Centralia in 1944, remembers a town of soda fountains and penny candy stores; a town where fathers worked hard and didn’t talk much about it; a town where you went sledding in winter and huckleberry picking in summer and ran home after school to catch Roy Rogers or Dick Clark’s American Bandstand on your family’s new black-and-white TV.

“It was a good time to grow up,” she says. “It was a nice town. People were friendly.”

And then the town caught fire.

No one knows for sure how or even when in 1962 it started, but the best guess is that it was after town workers burned some trash at the local dump.

The next day, something was still burning—an exposed seam of coal. There was little worry at first; such fires are common in coal country. But Centralia’s blaze proved relentless as it fed on other coal seams and long-sealed tunnels full of broken timbers.

Slowly, the earth began to heat up and hollow out. Smoke belched from cracks in the ground. A long stretch of Route 61 buckled and crumbled, glowing red at night. Residents reported hot basement walls and 
noxious fumes; one was knocked unconscious while watching TV. Local and state government spent millions trying to douse the fire, without success.

Finally, on Valentine’s Day 1981, the earth buckled in Todd Domboski’s grandmother’s backyard, almost swallowing the 12-year-old whole. The fire had exposed a mineshaft hundreds of feet down. He survived by grabbing a tree root before being pulled to safety.

That was the beginning of the end for Centralia. In 1984, citing the danger to its citizens, state and federal officials began buying up properties and ordered the town evacuated. Streets were emptied. Homes were leveled. A bulldozer knocked down the Roman Catholic church, then went after the Methodists’.

Courtesy Father John M. Fields The last church standing in Centralia.

But Assumption stayed. The entire property, it turned out, sat on one of the massive slabs of sandstone that forms the backbone of the region’s mountains. The stone protected the church from the burning anthracite that sat below the rest of the town.

When Father Hutsko took over Assumption in 2010, he found a building in rough shape and a small congregation badly in need of assurance. Now scattered around the region, the parishioners would drive back to Centralia every Sunday wondering, “Who keeps a church in a town that doesn’t exist anymore?”

Father Hutsko does. A Pennsylvania native, he knew the value of the church in coal-country towns. The priest and his flock dug in for the long haul. They tore down the abandoned and crumbling rectory. They fixed the roof and its blue dome. They added new siding to keep vandals out of the basement. They scrubbed their jewel until it shone.

In late 2015, the archbishop of 
the Ukrainian Catholic Church—its patriarch—visited America and requested to see the church in the now-famous burning town. The archbishop had been entranced by the way its survival story echoed the Gospel of Matthew: “On this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.”

When he entered the tiny jewel box—with its gilt-framed paintings, its cozy pews and ornate sanctuary, its thick, soft carpet and scent of 
incense—the archbishop was moved to establish Assumption as the site of an annual pilgrimage.

“As soon as we went in, he was just in awe,” Hutsko remembers. “He said, ‘This is a holy place. … It has to be a place to call people to prayer.’”

Courtesy Bill Hangley Jr. Father Husko refused to abandon his flock.

At last, Assumption’s mission was clear. The church wasn’t to be just a final refuge for the scattered residents of a lost town. It was to be a symbol of hope for people of faith everywhere.

“The church had found its purpose,” Hutsko says.

Three years ago, at Assumption’s first annual pilgrimage, hundreds gathered on the church’s neatly tended lawn, the largest event in Centralia in years.

“As long as the church stands here, as long as the bells ring, that will be the voice of God calling you into his presence,” the archbishop told the pilgrims, “reminding you that he has not abandoned you, any more than he has abandoned the people of this town.”

But the pilgrimage comes only once a year. On the other Sundays, things go back to the way they’ve been for the past 107 years. The bells ring. The people of Centralia gather with their children and grandchildren, singing and praying, and, when Mass is over, sitting in the pews with coffee and doughnuts and talking.

“’Comforting’ is a good word for it. It’s like your old couch,” said Mayernick. “Everything’s peaceful.”

And for those few hours, as Mayernick and Mushalko and Father Hutsko and the others worship and chat, it won’t just be the Gospel that lives.

It will be Gert’s candy store that lives. And Bill’s pizza shop. And the sledding hill known as Rae’s, the swimming hole known as the Townie, and the music joint called the Hop where the Jordan Brothers used to play.

The fire that killed the town is still burning, but as long as the church stands, Centralia will continue to rise above the ashes. Next, read about these random acts of kindness that changed people’s lives.

Original Source -> A Town Was Engulfed in Flames, but One Church Still Stands Today

source https://www.seniorbrief.com/a-town-was-engulfed-in-flames-but-one-church-still-stands-today/

#seniorbrief #seniors

[benrleeusa]

[Eugene Volokh] "Freedom of the Press" as the Equal Freedom of All to Using Printing Press Technology, from the 1820s to 1930

In this post, I'm finishing up my series on "Freedom for the Press as an Industry, or for the Press as a Technology? From the Framing to Today," based on my Penn Law Review article. In earlier posts, I argued that around the time of the Framing and in the decades following, the freedom of the press was understood as protecting the right of all to use the printing press, and not just a right of a particular industry (the professional media). Here, I will discuss how this became the established, oft-repeated, unanimous view of courts (and nearly unanimous view of scholars) from the mid-1820s until 1931, the year in which the Supreme Court first started forcefully enforcing free speech protections against government action (including state and local government action).

Indeed, the first cases that I found that took the press-as-industry view (and they are outliers even so, and contradicted by recent U.S. Supreme Court precedent) didn't arise until after 1970. But for more on that, and on the Supreme Court cases starting with the 1930s, you should read the article.

[1.] The 1820s -- Dexter v. Spear (1825) and Root v. King (1827)

As early as the 1820s, courts began to make explicit the approach I described in my earlier posts: printers and editors had precisely the same rights under the freedom of the press as other writers did. Thus, in Dexter v. Spear, leading Supreme Court Justice Joseph Story (deciding a lower court case while riding circuit) wrote that "[t]he liberty of speech and the liberty of the press do not authorize malicious and injurious defamation. There can be no right in printers, any more than in other persons, to do wrong." Similarly, Root v. King (an 1827 New York case) stated that, under the state constitution's "liberty of the press," newspaper editors have no "other rights than such as are common to all."

As the cases suggest, lawyers for newspapers had by the 1820s indeed begun to make arguments for special protection for the press-as-industry. But these arguments were consistently rejected.

[2.] The Understanding Around the Ratification of the Fourteenth Amendment

By the years surrounding the ratification of the Fourteenth Amendment, the freedom of the press-as-technology understanding was even more clearly established. (Much recent scholarship has suggested that originalist analyses of Bill of Rights provisions applied to the states via the Fourteenth Amendment should consider the original understanding as of 1868 in addition to that of 1791.) To begin with, a long line of [state court] cases expressly held that the institutional press had no greater rights than anyone else. Thus, Aldrich v. Press Printing Co. (1864) held, "The press does not possess any immunities, not shared by every individual." Sheckell v. Jackson (1852) likewise upheld a jury instruction that stated,

[I]t has been urged upon you that conductors of the public press are entitled to peculiar indulgence, and have especial rights and privileges. The law recognizes no such peculiar rights, privileges, or claims to indulgence. They have no rights but such as are common to all. They have just the same rights that the rest of the community have, and no more.

Smart v. Blanchard (1860), Palmer v. City of Concord (1868), Atkins v. Johnson (1870), People v. Storey (1875), Johnson v. St. Louis Dispatch Co. (1877), Sweeney v. Baker (1878), Barnes v. Campbell (1879), and Delaware State Fire & Marine Ins. Co. v. Croasdale (1880) all echoed this position.

So did leading treatises and other reference works. Thomas Cooley's A Treatise on the Constitutional Limitations (1868) noted, in the section on "Liberty of Speech and of the Press," that "the authorities have generally held the publisher of a paper to the same rigid responsibility with any other person who makes injurious communications." Townshend's A Treatise on the Wrongs Called Slander and Libel (1868) likewise noted, in the section on "freedom of the press," that, "independently of certain statutory provisions[,] the law recognizes no distinction in principle between a publication by the proprietor of a newspaper, and a publication by any other individual. A newspaper proprietor ... is liable for what he publishes in the same manner as any other individual." Morgan's Law of Literature (1875) noted, "[A] writer for a newspaper ... stands in the same light precisely as other men; he is in no way privileged.... [T]he freedom of the press is, when rightly understood, commensurate and identical with the freedom of the individual, and nothing more."

The one partial exception to this pattern appeared in the "Liberty of the Press" discussion in Cooley's Treatise on the Law of Torts (1879), which suggested (without citation) that it "is not so clear" "whether the conductor of a public journal has any privilege above others in publishing." But even that treatise stated that "the freedom of the press implies ... a right in all persons to publish what they may see fit, being responsible for the abuse of the right" and that "[t]he privilege of the press is not confined to those who publish newspapers and other serials, but extends to all who make use of it to place information before the public."

Some of the sources mentioned in this Section spoke of the press-as-industry as having no special rights generally, while others noted this specifically in the context of libel law. But it's not surprising that many of these assertions were made in libel cases. Freedom of the press arguments in the 1800s were most commonly made in libel cases; libel law was probably the main restriction on publication. And there were credible arguments for giving newspapers some special exemption from the severest aspects of libel law. As the "Freedom of the Press" section of Townshend's Slander and Libel treatise noted, with sympathy,

[A]s respects newspapers, it is argued that the exigencies of the business of a newspaper editor demand a larger amount of freedom. That circumstances do not permit editors the opportunity to verify the truth, prior to publication, of all they feel called upon to publish, and that they should not be responsible for the truth of what they publish.

But despite the presence and plausibility of these arguments, the cases kept saying (in Townshend's words): "A newspaper proprietor ... is liable for what he publishes in the same manner as any other individual."

Some other cases spoke of the liberty of the press in cases where the speaker was not a member of the institutional press. In 1876, Life Ass'n of America v. Boogher held, just as Brandreth v. Lance had held, that it would violate "the freedom of the press or of speech"—"the right to speak, write, or print, ... secured to every one" by the state constitution—for a court to enjoin publications and oral statements by a businessman that criticized another business. In 1846, Fisher v. Patterson, like many of the earlier cases from 1784 to 1840, mentioned the liberty of the press in a case that involved a defendant who was apparently a businessman and a politician, not a newspaperman, though the court concluded that the liberty did not substantively extend to libels.

Finally, Thomas Cooley, the leading American constitutional commentator of the second half of the nineteenth century, wrote in 1880 that "[b]ooks, pamphlets, circulars, &c. are ... as much within [the freedom of the press] as the periodical issues." This too shows that the liberty of the press extended to material that was generally not written by full-time newspaper and magazine writers and—at least in the case of circulars—to material that was often not funded by members of the press-as-industry.

The rule thus had not changed from the early Republic to the Ratification era: "the press" in "[t]he freedom ... of the press" was seen as referring to the press-as-technology, not to the press-as-industry.

[3.] The Understanding from 1881 to 1930

By 1881, the view that the press-as-industry has no special constitutional rights had become a firmly entrenched orthodoxy that would continue for the next fifty years and beyond. Consider, for instance, Coleman v. MacLennan (1908), the case that first recognized something like an "actual malice" test for speech about public officials, and that was later cited prominently for this proposition by New York Times Co. v. Sullivan:

Section 11 of the [Kansas] Bill of Rights sets off the inviolability of liberty of the press from the right of all persons freely to speak, write, or publish their sentiments on all subjects, and this fact has given rise to claims on the part of newspaper publishers of special privileges not enjoyed in common by all.... So far [such claims] have been rejected by the courts, and the present consensus of judicial opinion is that the press has the same rights as an individual, and no more.

Likewise, Negley v. Farrow (1883) held that "[t]he liberty of the press guaranteed by the Constitution is a right belonging to every one, whether proprietor of a newspaper or not." And these were just two of the many cases to acknowledge the press-as-technology view during the last decades of the nineteenth century and during the start of the twentieth.

Reference works of the era echoed this press-as-technology view, explaining that newspapers had the same freedoms of speech as private citizens. For instance, one 1917 work noted that "[i]t is well settled that a newspaper or other printed publication has, as such, no peculiar privilege in commenting on matters of public interest. It has no greater privilege with respect to such comment than has any private person." Similarly, a 1901 encyclopedia described the freedom of the press as "only a more extensive and improved use of the liberty of speech which prevailed before printing became general, and is the right belonging to every one, whether the conductor of a newspaper or not." And a 1905 reference work noted that newspapers are treated the same as other speakers when it comes to freedom of the press claims in libel cases, and that this view "has been affirmed by the courts of this country and England with great uniformity."

[* * *]

The historical evidence points powerfully in one direction—throughout American history, the dominant understanding of the "freedom of the press" has followed the press-as-technology model. This was likely the original meaning of the First Amendment. It was almost certainly the understanding when the Fourteenth Amendment was ratified. It remained the largely unchallenged orthodoxy until about 1970.

Since 1970, a few lower courts have adopted the press-as-industry model, but this has been a decidedly minority view. The Supreme Court continues to provide equal treatment to speakers without regard to whether they are members of the press-as-industry. And though several Supreme Court opinions have noted that the question remains open, the bulk of the precedent points toward equal treatment for all speakers—or at least to equal treatment for all who use mass communications technology, whether or not they are members of the press-as-industry.

This evidence can prove valuable in interpreting the Free Press Clause, to the extent we focus on its "purpose," its "history," the long-term traditions of the American legal system, and precedent. It also suggests how we should interpret the Clause to the extent we focus on the "text." Appeals to the text that the Framers ratified are naturally affected by what that text meant when it was ratified. "[T]ext and meaning ultimately are inseparable; to understand what the Framers said, we inevitably seek to discover what they meant." Even Justices who do not broadly endorse originalism accept that original meaning evidence may be relevant to interpreting ambiguous legal phrases, even if it is not dispositive.

And evidence of original meaning is especially valuable for assessing arguments based on the supposed literal meaning of an ambiguous text. By way of analogy, consider the Seventh Amendment, which secures the right to civil jury trial in "Suits at common law." "Suits at common law" could refer to claims brought under Anglo-American law as opposed to civil law, claims brought under judge-made law as opposed to statutory law, or claims that have been historically decided by courts of law as opposed to equity or admiralty.

Our legal system resolves this type of ambiguity not by adopting the meaning most commonly used today—which is probably judge-made law as opposed to statutory law—but rather by considering how the ambiguous phrase was originally understood (claims of a sort historically decided by courts of law, back when law, equity, and admiralty courts were separate). The same reasoning applies to "the press." Arguments based on an ambiguous text should consider which of the several possible meanings the text was originally understood to have.

Of course, the Supreme Court has never limited itself to analyzing constitutional provisions based solely on historical sources. Justices remain free to decide for themselves what they think best serves the values they deem protected by constitutional provisions. The goal of this Article is simply to say that an argument for a press-as-industry interpretation of the Free Press Clause must rely on something other than original meaning, text, purpose, tradition, or precedent.

[shannara-fashion]

Growth in Britain:

The 19th century was a period of huge growth in Britain, which had a profound effect on art and design. The Industrial Revolution saw Britain become a major manufacturing power, as displayed in the Great Exhibition of 1851. The Victorian period saw the British Empire reach its peak, and designers increasingly looked to the East for inspiration.

The 19th century saw the beginnings of a shift in outlook towards gender, as roles for women in public and professional life widened. However, at the same time, prostitution, illegitimacy and same-sex relationships were increasingly stigmatised.

The fashion of the 19th century?

It was renowned for its corsets, bonnets, top hats, bustles and petticoats. Women’s fashion during the Victorian period was largely dominated by full skirts, which gradually moved to the back of the silhouette. However, towards the end of the period, the less restrictive Aesthetic style began to emerge.

Women's Dress:

As the 19th century progressed women's dress gradually revealed the actual form of the body. In the 1820s and 1830s the waistline deepened, returning to its natural position. As the natural waist returned the bodice required a tighter fit and in contrast the skirt became fuller and bell-shaped. There were several different sleeve styles but short puffed sleeves were generally worn for evening and long sleeves for day. Corsets continued to be worn. These were lightly boned and quilted, with a deep busk. Several layers of petticoats with frilled hems, sometimes of horsehair, were worn to support the full skirts. Some petticoats of the 1840s were feather-quilted. Later examples of the 1850s and 1860s were made of 'crin' and steel hoops. The term 'crinoline' is derived from the French word crin which means horsehair.

Bonnets or hats were worn outdoors and linen caps indoors. During the 1820s hair styles became very elaborate with raised top knots and the crowns of bonnets or hats were designed to accommodate them. By the middle of the century, by contrast, hairstyles had become smooth with a central parting finished with ringlets on either side of the face and a small bun at the back or simply swept back from the face to a chignon (a mass of hair arranged on a pad at the back of the head and held in place with a net or snood). Bonnets and hats continued to be worn until the 1860s when small, elegant styles appeared which simply perched on top of the head. Even smaller hats appeared in the 1870s when hairstyles rose in the form of elaborate chignons. In the 1880s and 1890s hairstyles remained `up' but did not retain the heights or bulk of the 1870s styles. Small hats decorated with birds and feathers and artificial flowers were fashionable.

In the 1860s the skirt was very full and worn over a cage crinoline, a petticoat supported by a frame of steel hoops that held it away from the legs. A boned corset was worn over a chemise. Large shawls were sometimes worn indoors or outdoors instead of a coat or cloak.

The 1870s to 1880s introduced styles that revealed the natural silhouette. A popular style was the `princess line' dress, which was made without a waist seam to reveal the figure. Skirts fitted tightly and required streamlined all-in-one underwear combinations. Corsets became longer and were more rigidly boned. The busk, known as the spoon busk because of its shape, extended to the stomach. Sleeves were tight. In the 1880s a bustle pad, or a tier of stiffened horsehair or fabric frills, was introduced. After 1887-1888 the bustle went out of fashion. Hair was curled on top and taken into a bun at the back. Often a ringlet was brought forward over the shoulder as a finishing touch.

By the 1880s an elite group of women began to adopt simpler and easier styles that were known as `artistic' dress. Artistic dress was cut much more loosely than conventional attire and did not require restrictive corsetry to be worn. During the last years of the 19th century it was fashionable for women's hair to be arranged on the top of the head in a bun and puffed out around the face. A large-brimmed hat would be fastened on with hat pins unless a simpler, smaller hat, such as the straw boater, was required for informal dress. The skirt was floor length with a slight train. The waist remained small and a corset which either laced up or fastened with clips was generally worn. A small pad was worn at the back of the waist to support the skirt. In the 1890s the top of the sleeves were sometimes puffed into an enormous leg of mutton' shape which required lightweight stiffening or padding. The neckline for day wear was very high featuring a stand-up collar in a lightweight fabric which was boned or wired around the edge to hold it up under the chin. Women adopted a simple and rather masculine-looking shirt, jacket and skirt for day wear.

Towards the end of the 19th century the rate at which the fashionable silhouette changed quickened. The increasing popularity of paper patterns and the growth of women's fashion periodicals encouraged home dress-making during the second half of the 19th century. The withdrawal of the paper tax in the middle of the 19th century had stimulated the growth of publications, especially magazines aimed at women. It was during this period that magazines introduced paper patterns. By the 20th century the pace of change in the fashionable silhouette became ever more rapid as the expanding fashion industry, in conjunction with the media, became more effective at stimulating demand for a constant flow of new styles.

V&A Dress collection:

The V&A's Victorian dress collection represents the fashions worn by the wealthy in the 19th century, and reflects their lives and aspirations. The clothing featured here also showcases the high level of skill in dressmaking and design carried out by dressmakers and tailors in Victorian times. The degree of workmanship involved in making these clothes meant that they were expensive to make -they were high fashion comparable to today's haute couture.This meant that even expensive garments could be worn longer and were worn out with day-to-day wear.

The middle classes generally would not wear such high value items such as these. However, the style of these clothes would have spread further than the small social group for whom they were made, much the same as adapted catwalk fashions can be found in high street retailers today. The middle classes could afford to have high fashion copied by local dressmakers and tailors, or made their own new clothes.

The poor would rely on the huge second-hand clothes trade prevalent during the period, spending hours altering old clothes for themselves and their families to make them fit or to make them more fashionable. Clothes could be dyed and the good parts of a garment made into children's clothes or accessories, and areas of wear could be patched. There was even a market for ragged clothes that had been through several owners - these were still worn by the destitute.

Women's clothes 1860s-1890s In the late 1860s the fullness of the very large crinoline was moved to the back of the skirt and trailed behind the wearer. The back of the skirt was swept up into a bustle in the 1870s, held out over a pad or frame and allowed to flow down into a short train. To make this type of skirt requires many hours of skilled work. In the last decade of Queen Victoria's reign, women's clothes were plainer, and the bustle smaller. Day dresses show that women were leading rather more active lives. However the dresses of the 1890s, with their very small waists and need for tight stays, still restricted movement. Many of the bodices and blouses had high necks stiffened with bones or wire. The chin had to he held up and the hair was puffed out and topped with a large hat, secured with a hat pin. Evening dresses were made from luxurious, heavy silks and had boned bodices and trains.

How does this relate my concept ?

researching about 19th century fashion helps me to understand why they wore the things they did. The 19th century buildings inspired me and the fashion of the 19th century influenced me to do a futurist hoop skirt.

I enjoyed researching about the 19 century because it was the beginning of changes in Britain , new inventions , new rights, beginning of a revolution. movement of fashion changed drastically. yet today it is still has a influence in todays fashion. I began to adapt my hoop skirt and decided to see what it would look like if I made a full long length dress, adding old bedding sheet and pinning it around. It looked just like a Victorian dress. I then experimented with plastic bin bag , and using a zig zigged stitched on the sewing machine I pin tucked the plastic to make a futurist corset. just to see what it would look like visually. I ended up not using this technique or sample in my final piece , but if I did have enough time to make a collection it would have been apart of my collection.

(video clip of the before section of my hoop skirt when it had 3 hoops.)

why was it dangerous to wear crinolines ?

It is particularly easy to see how women could stray too near an open fire in their large, buoyant crinolines. But one should bear in mind that moralists, publicists and satirists were often out to condemn the fripperies of fashion and tended to focus on the most extreme situations. The story about ladies not being able to fit into carriages or through narrow doorways, for example, is clearly exaggerated. The cage crinolines might look very rigid but spring steel is in fact incredibly flexible and could be compressed. Accidents did happen but women would learn how to walk in crinolines and how to sit down so that they did not reveal all their underclothes. The spring steel structures were also very light so rather than imprisoning women in cages (as some of the reports and images suggest) they had a liberating effect. They freed women from the layers and layers of heavy petticoats and were much more hygienic and comfortable. The Lady's Newspaper of 1863 extolled the virtues of a cage crinoline 'So perfect are the wave-like bands that a lady may ascend a steep stair, lean against a table, throw herself into an armchair, pass to her stall at the opera, and occupy a further seat in a carriage, without inconveniencing herself or others, and provoking the rude remarks of observers thus modifying in an important degree, all those peculiarities tending to destroy the modesty of Englishwomen; and lastly, it allows the dress to fall in graceful folds’.

#gif

[daemonvols]

Chapter One

The Newborn

      He summoned me by Post-it note! Derek Zanger came into my house in the dark of mid-spring night, used my pens and sticky-notes and slapped his summons in the middle of my computer screen.

    I don’t know what made me want to hurl my Eggo waffle at the screen more. The summons itself (about as welcome as a traffic ticket), knowing that arrogant bloodsucker swept into my house in the (excuse the expression) dead of night to leave me a note, or knowing I had to obey the summons. Maybe all of the above, and I came within a curse word of having to clean maple syrup out of my office keyboard as I read this in loopy, nineteenth-century lawyer-script:

    “Farmer – south gate, 9:30 p.m. You will be there.”

    I should explain. My job, according to the contract renewed with a member of my family since 1840, is to “care for, maintain the peace of and do all towards the good and well-being of the residents of the Sayresville Cemetery” etc., etc. I don’t know if the founders considered the undead to be residents, but in a somewhat technical, legal sense they are. Ergo, to use the legalese, obeying a summons from the oldest vampire in the place landed squarely with two undead feet into my job description.

    And so, on that mid-April night, just after sundown, I watched from a hundred feet away as Derek stood centered in the wrought-iron arch at that entrance of the cemetery waiting to “instruct” the newborn vampire.

The ritual did not begin well.

Derek had “secured” another expensive business suit and dress white shirt for the occasion. Probably courtesy of the hospital executive found dead in his tidy-whiteys in his back yard in Liverpool three days before. Derek wore his thick black hair slicked back from his high-cheek boned face, and I would bet he had only that week scored the solid gold, aviator-style, framed eyeglasses from yet another affluent victims.  Still, he did not look happy.  He had not planned for, nor wished for, another addition to his flock of nearly two dozen vampires. And yet, here he was, waiting at the south entrance for the most-recently buried but far from dead resident of the CPF.

And Ambr’ Cadwallader was once again in his face.

I was a tad late and too far away to get much of the argument, but no one could mistake Ambr’s signature whining. Derek, his face already taut with annoyance, spat out his replies. He waved her away with his long-fingered hand, but she did not move. Finally, his right hand swept up and across his chest to backhand her in hopes of shutting off the relentless whine. But he paused. Ambr’ did not flinch most of us would. She leaned in with a half-smile, her face tilted to one side, inviting the blow that would probably break open her undead cheek.

“Get away from me,” he snarled. He turned his back to her.

Ambr’ stood seconds, perhaps minutes before she accepted that he would not turn back to her. She stomped back to the rest of the “family” in their divisions.

    The six Old Guards (undead for at least a century) waited in the shadows around the headstones in Section H to the south This is  the burial site for World War I and II soldiers who wanted no part of Arlington; I think there is two or three deserters in there, if certain ghostly gossips are to be believed. The twelve mid-termers (undead for more than fifty years, but less than a century), including Ambr’ who had resumed her nightly visual adoration of their leader from afar, guarded the matching arch at the north entrance. These “elders” of the CPF undead community all kept a close watch on the hill that is Section A of the cemetery grounds, each one wanting to be the first to spy the newborn. Finally, the six newbies (50 years or less on the “night shift”) paced Section C.

In this section of the cemetery, the rumor runs that section was so named because most of the folks buried there died in the 1800s of cholera. This is factually not true. According my family records, most of the choleric bodies were burned, but still the story brings in a lot of curious visitors.

We all waited for what seemed too long a time. Immortal or not, it was past the vampires’ feeding time. The natives, as they said if “they” talked about the undead, were growing restless. Some of the midtermers were panting and all were on high alert. The newborn was not going to sneak past Derek and drag this out any longer. They’d pounce and feed on the unmannerly bloodsucker first.

    “Where the fuck is he?” hissed a newbie. “I’m starving!”

    “Language!” an Old Guard named Tessa tutted.

    “And you suck, old hag!”

    “We all suck, young man. That’s how we feed, or did you forget?”

    “Shut up!” Derek snapped. He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. We all tensed. If he started pacing, that meant the newborn would suffer. All undead eyes and one living pair of eyes fixed on the hill.

    Now, the initiation process for each newborn vampire in the CPF is about the same. Or it has been the six times I’ve been summoned to “maintain the peace”. The newborn, in this case a man, sleeps for two to four days after being made by one or more vampires. Call it a gestation period; vampires are no more “made” immediately than humans are born spontaneously. Nature simply does not work that way. And it’s not an exact thing because, like the living, vampires “mature” and get hungry at different rates and hunger is what brings them up out of the ground. He claws or shoves or does whatever has to be done to disinter himself and starts the long trek. Up the broad backside of the hill flicking off the dirt and grass, over the crest and, flinching at the electric light, down the steep face of Section A to face Derek.

    It’s not something any newborns look forward to doing.

    If I think about it, it might have been easier to for a newborn to bolt in the early days. In the early spring of 1840, the a group of well-heeled men proclaimed themselves Board members and bought a hill and two acres from the back forty acres of Edmund Polehouse’s farm. They liked the hill because it swept up majestically with an oak tree at the top and promised to be The Spot for the best of society to rest eternally under ornate headstones facing the main thoroughfare of Mansfield Road. No walls or fences, no hedges and no neighbors.

    Time, grave-robbing and kids gathering to smoke dope, of course, has changed all that. Nowadays to the south there is a line of generic shrubbery between the cemetery and the owner of the Ace Hardware store’s yard. My family’s house and the garage housing my grandfather’s late 1990s tank of a Chrysler cut off the north end. The Polehouse family sold more and more of their land until the whole forty-two acres became the CPF, with a busy state highway now stopping any westbound traffic.

    And in front of Mansfield Road to the east we now have the brick wall. I don’t know if it originally had white mortar or any mortar when it was built in 1888, but the current Board has taken great pride in modernizing it to resemble a two-hundred foot loaf of red brick bread, held together with pinkish tubing.

That was the location I was assigned to crouch and observe.

    A hiss of excitement heralded the new arrival.

    The newborn this night was in my grave site record books as Ian McNulty, aged fifty-two when he “died.” Coming down the hill, he looked older: thinning brown hair, at least a two-piece set of luggage under his watery blue eyes and a droopy, basset-hound expression. The story from the police who found him was that he had only moments earlier left a spray-tanning salon before he was “attacked” and bled out.  

What the police report does not say is that two of Derek’s mid-termers, Helen and Nestor, were hunting at the strip mall and thought it would be fun to make a newborn vampire. They chose this guy. They also told anyone who would listen that the spray tanning solution gave them a hell of a buzz. Good for them, not great for their progeny.

Ian’s relations buried him in the same suit, down to the blood-stained dress shirt he’d worn to work that day. His skin had been orange from the tanning solution when Helen and Nestor “made” him, so the paling of the skin that comes with joining the undead had turned his skin a milky, pale orange. Think Dreamsicle.

    “Ian McNulty!” Derek pronounced in a voice as loud as if he’d swallowed a bullhorn.

    Ian flinched. His legs appeared to go soft. “What the f - ? Yes, that’s me.”

    “Come to me and receive my instructions.” Derek spoke as if he addressed a court of law, which he had done before his death a hundred and twenty-two years ago. A few of the mid-termers snickered.

    “Hell, no! I mean, I’d really rather – shit! – not. Fuck it!” His head snapped to one side. He reached out as if to grasp something, then jerked his hands back.

    Derek strode over to him and shoved the newborn to his knees. “Shut your mouth and obey me!” Ian held up his orange ice cream hands in surrender. Derek yanked the newborn’s head the same side that bore Helen and Nestor’s marks. He bared Ian’s neck and bit hard. Ian whimpered. How much Derek drank depended entirely on how angry he was. And he was furious, so, as I said, the newborn suffered. He writhed and sobbed and cursed, but did nothing to stop his master.

Derek shoved Ian back onto the grass when he had finished. Derek looked startled and almost smiled at first. Apparently, the tanning solution did offer the predator a nice buzz. But Derek shook his head and resumed his scowl. He leaned down until he was pointy nose to Ian’s softer, rounder nose.

    “This is my abode,” he hissed, spraying Ian’s face with his own blood. “You obey me. You hunt where I say and when I say. You kill when I say and you let live when I say. If you do not, I will end you.”

    Helen and Nestor shifted their feet. They’d heard the same threat two days ago when Ian had been buried and the truth was known. “Ending” is very messy, very painful.  I had to replace the gravel along two paths towards Sections G and F the last time Derek tore the head off one of his “family.”

    Derek leaned down until he was nose to nose with Ian. “Do you understand, Ian McNulty?”

    Ian’s head twitched to one side. “Y-yes – shithead!”

    “What did you say?” Derek demanded.

    “I said yes. Faggot!” Ian’s tongue snaked out.

    Nestor and Helen looked around with wide eyes. This was not looking good for them and their choices were reduced to two: run back to their resting places or bulldoze through the newbies and over the wall. Nestor stepped on my foot, then jumped two feet back into her when I yelped. They both fell back against Ambr’, who glared at me as if it were my fault her worship of Derek had been interrupted.

    Derek did not seem to hear us. He stared at Ian. “What is wrong with you?”

    If the pole lights did not deceive my eyes, Ian was crying. “Tourette’s Syndrome. Shit! Had since I was a kid. I can’t always stop it. Hell no, I can’t!”

    Some of the newbies tittered. Derek turned to glare them into silence. Several of the Old Guard yawned out loud. Some checked their watches, waiting for dismissal.

    “Go hunt in Jamesville,” Derek said. He brushed off his sleeves and hands as if touching Ian had dirtied him. “And kill whomever you take.” Ian was up and scuttling towards the arch without a second command. “Helen and Nestor!”

    Everyone froze. Ambr’ licked her lips. The newbies actually quivered with hope of an easy feed.

    Derek turned to face them. “Helen and Nestor, you made this newborn. You are responsible for him.”    

Many a pair of vampire shoulders sank in disappointment when he waved the rest of them on their way to hunt and feed.

The mid-termers and newbies made it a point, once they were on their way to Derek and the south arch, to shove me this way and that. But they always shoved past me, or tried to knock me down when I stood in or near their path. I used to think they were showing me a rough kind of affection, acknowledging me as part of the “family.” Sometime later, I realized they were being jerks. And “maintaining the peace” did not allow me to shove back.

    “Grace Farmer.” Derek stood in front of me. He’d crossed the hundred feet between us in less than a second. I jumped a little in surprise, but I could look up into his black eyes without fear. I knew too much about him.

    Specifically: Derek Zanger, scion of a wealthy family in Old Virginia, born circa 1850, where he grew up rich and spoiled. He attended a New York university where, on paper, he studied law, but, in truth, he majored in gambling and alcohol. Somewhere in between poker hands and bottle after bottle of bourbon, he married and had three children.

    There’s nothing in the records that indicate how or why he came to the melodramatic and clichéd crossroads of repenting his evil ways. All I found relevant in the local archives of the time was a poster board advertisement of a religious revival out by one of the Finger Lakes hosted by the Reverend Julius Belcher. I also found a daguerreotype of Belcher online: large best describes him from a massive head, bushy hair on top and beard below large eyes, a long narrow nose and very thick lips. Along with the image I found only a single article on his “ministry.”  Seems to have consisted largely of travel, impromptu sermons and mass baptisms in local waters. And all of the above at night because, you guessed it, Belcher was also a vampire. Go figure.

As for Derek, it has taken me six years and the kind of cajoling and flattering that makes me puke thinking back on it to get him to tell me the story of his “making.” He related it in approximately these words:

Anxious to reunite with his rigidly pious wife and his three children, Derek went out to pray, repent and be baptized in the bitter cold waters of the lake.  He was not the only sinner thirsting for redemption that weekend in September 1893, mind you.  The newspaper reports counted over a hundred people coming to the tents, donning white baptismal robes and entering the lake waters to be baptized by the muscular and very hairy preacher. But Derek was the only “found sheep” who “died” that night.

    Reverend Belcher held him back from the mass baptisms, saving the “Best” for last. Considering the time of year and how cold that lake can get, the burly and very hairy minister had to have super-human endurance to last the two hours of standing waist-deep in freezing water and plunging nearly a hundred white-robed people into those waters before he beckoned Derek to come to him.

The hirsute Belcher took Derek in his thick arms. “The last indeed be first,” the preacher announced to all on the shore. He lowered Derek under the cold waters and repeated, “The last shall indeed be first. My first.” He raised the shivering sinner and clutched Derek to his chest. Then Belcher bit into Derek’s neck.

Derek would never admit to making a sound or thinking a thought as Belcher sucked him dry. But he would admit to feeding with high delight on Belcher’s blood and then of the first wet old woman Reverend Belcher could catch. As for her side of it, Derek described the woman’s agonies as if he were describing the swatting of a pesky mosquito.

Beyond this point in the story, he has been very tight-lipped (not a pleasant picture, given his bulging canine fangs). The most that he will say of what followed his transformation would be to curse his stingy wife for burying him in such a cheaply-made pine box in Section B of the “fashionable” cemetery of the day in Sayresville.

Thus vampirism came to the CPF.

Since he had no elder to initiate him, Derek invented all the rituals along with the rules to sustain what he liked and the procedures for eliminating what he didn’t. So far, the procedures hadn’t included eliminating me. I grew up believing he viewed my family and me as something useful, if distasteful.

    “Grace Farmer. Or should I say, Baumann?” I’ve heard that in literature vampires have attractive, almost erotic smiles. These authors never met this vampire. For all his luxurious black hair and high, olive-skinned cheek bones, Derek still had Ian’s blood ringing his lips and that smile looked like bad clown makeup. I felt queasy.

    “It’s been Farmer since the sinking of the Lusitania and you know it,” I said, crossing my arms.

    “How do you like our new arrival?”

    I watched Helen and Nestor try to steer Ian through the gate. His legs were still weak and Nestor had to keep yelling at him, “Keep your fucking tongue inside your fucking mouth!”

    “He’ll never hunt on his own,” I said.

    Derek frowned. “Why do you say that?”

    “First, he’s on the timid side. Second, he’s got what are called complex tics including his choice of language. He’ll send rats scurrying with those shout-outs, not to mention any humans that are still conscious.”

    Derek shrugged. “It’s not my problem.”

    “Will be if they’re seen and/or caught.”

    “That,” he hissed, bringing his face in close enough for me to smell Ian’s drying blood, “will never happen. I won’t have it. I will summon you to watch an ending first.”

    “Thanks, but I’ve seen enough of animals eating their own on C-SPAN. Are we done here or are there more festivities tonight? I’ve really got to get to bed. Busy day tomorrow.”

    “Is it?” He bared his teeth in another ugly smile. “Another one of your disgusting Jewish holidays?”

    “No,” I said. My neck hurt looking up at him and he was giving me a pain somewhere else as well. “Eulalie Plutarch’s funeral is tomorrow afternoon. They’re sending Varney and Trumbull to mow the grass tomorrow morning. I might, and I mean might, have time to clean up after the mowers in Section B before the funeral.  But you know those two will knock over the headstone and turn Old Sharpe loose after sundown. I’ll probably be up half the night trying to get him back in his grave.”

    Derek groaned. “You need to stake that old spook.”

    Ever the politically incorrect 19th century man. “You. Can’t. Stake. A ghost,” I said. “It can’t be done.”

    “Then pour cement under the headstone so they can’t knock it out of place.”

    I shook my head. “The Board won’t pay for that and what there are of the old fart’s relatives don’t want to acknowledge him, let alone pay for any maintenance to his grave. I’d pay for it myself, but that gets into union regs and all sorts of legal issues.”

    Derek made a noise I interpreted as scoffing laughter. The sound reminded me of a German shepherd barking. “I understand legal issues. I was a lawyer.”

    I threw up my hands. “About a hundred and twenty years ago! The law’s a bit different these days. You’d better go feed. Your mood does improve after you feed.”

    I won’t repeat what he said before he stalked off down Mansfield Road.

    I really did not care. It was after ten and I had my nightly routine to follow.

    I crossed the “skirt” of Section A to the two-story house my many-times great grandfather Jacob had insisted be part of his compensation for serving as the CPF’s first gravedigger and caretaker. The Board of Directors of the CPF has grudgingly kept up the outside of the place, replacing the original clapboards with lemon yellow siding several years ago, coughing up for three asphalt roofs over the last century and a half, mostly, I believe, because we have always refused to take the yellow sign with big black letters that read “Cemetery Office” down from the front door. Some appearances, the Board felt, had to be kept up to societal standards.

However, the rest we Farmers have had to do ourselves. The original stairs to the second floor were built right in the middle of the parlor, which led all the Farmers I have record of to make one side a sitting room with sofa, and in later generations, a television; and the other side the cemetery office with a monster of a wooden desk and old leather chair that I believe my great-grandfather Jack purchased after World War I. That is, it feels that old and cranky to my seated form.

Sliding doors beside the office lead to a tiny dining room so that the rest of the back of the house consists of a country kitchen. My grandparents updated the appliances more than ten years ago, but at least I have an island and reasonably modern appliances. I’m not complaining. For all the cooking I do, it’s more than enough.

Going back to the night of Ian’s initiation, I locked both the back and front doors    once I was inside, mostly to keep the live intruders out (Derek had once again proved I couldn’t do much about the dead and undead kind). I wound my grandfather’s old cuckoo clock, which twitters merrily on the hour, over the fire place next to my desk.

I checked that Grandma Rose’s porcelain lamp in the front room/office and kitchen sink light in the back were turned on for the night. Then I took myself upstairs to the only bedroom I’ve ever had.

    It’s not huge, maybe twelve by twelve feet with one window overlooking the driveway, garage and the CPF beyond. Five years ago, I painted the walls a snow white over the cotton candy pink my grandparents chose for me when I was born. Some of the pink shows through, but it keeps the white from appearing too cold. My full-size bed is next to the door to the bathroom and I have two almost green stuffed chairs that belonged to my great grandmother Rivvy with an end table and lamp between them in one corner.

    The best feature of my room, I must say is the shelf that is four inches deep and sits atop the wainscot along three of the walls. I have filled every inch of those shelves with my romance novel collection.

    How many do I have? I have no idea, but I don’t read anything else. When one falls apart, and sadly they do, I bury it in the back yard, then, after a week, I replace it or find another at the used book store down on Egret Road.

    That night I changed into a T-shirt that I believed I would never wear outside but liked too much to throw away and began my hunt for a good read.

    I half-muttered, half-chanted the Shema as if Grandma Rose still sat next to me listening as we faced the blue-black sky studded with start out the north window towards the CPF. Then I fell asleep on top of my covers after reading half way through an old favorite, His Arms Around Me.