#Balloon Men of old Chinatown

[demospectator]

“Jewish Balloon Man” c. 1896 – 1906. Photograph by Arnold Genthe (from the collection of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division). Two Chinese men and a child inspect the offerings from a balloon seller at the northwest corner of the intersection of Dupont and Jackson streets, just outside the Globe Hotel.

Balloon Men of Old Chinatown

In the 21st century, online research is more likely to produce a plethora of entries about a Chinese spy balloon rather than the balloon sellers of pre-1906 Chinatown. Nevertheless, the photographic images of the non-Chinese balloon and toy vendors remain worthy of examination and consideration.

Toy balloon vendors plying their wares in old Chinatown, in addition to the storefronts of non-Chinese owned or operated businesses, provided a modest counter-narrative to the perception that the neighborhood represented an entirely foreign enclave. Historian Jack Tchen has written that "[s]everal white novelty peddlers on Dupont Street sold to tourists visiting Chinatown and the Barbary Coast. In contrast to the the often antagonistic relations between the Chinese and the irish and Italians, little conflict occurred between Jews and Chinese. Reportedly, two German Jewish brothers, known as the 'Sa Ling Brothers,' ran a store on Dupont Street and even spoke fluent Cantonese."

Even a notorious exoticist as Arnold Genthe, who went to great lengths to crop or scratch out non-Chinese figures and businesses from his photos of old Chinatown, could not resist taking his own photographs of balloon sellers catering to the whimsy of the 1,000 to 2,0000 children who lived in old Chinatown by the turn of the 20th century.

Buying Balloons or “The balloon man” c. 1897. Photograph by Arnold Genthe (from the collections of the California Historical Society and the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division). In this wider angle shot, a balloon seller working in Chinatown shows his wares to two boys and four girls. Based on the children’s attire (especially the headdresses worn by the girls), the photo was probably taken around the New Year holidays when children were seen walking freely around the neighborhood.

“The Balloon Man” c. 1897. Photograph by Arnold Genthe (from the collections of the California Historical Society and the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division).

The California Historical Society’s Director of Exhibitions, Erin Garcia, wrote about CHS’ copy of Genthe’s published print of his photo, The Balloon Man, as follows:

“In The Balloon Man, one of many photographs by Arnold Genthe (1869–1942) in the California Historical Society’s collection, we find ourselves transported to San Francisco’s Chinatown at the dawn of the twentieth century on a holiday. Children dressed in finery and group of men gather on a street corner around a balloon seller. Floating near their heads are three shiny orbs, rendered with a metallic luster on the gelatin silver photographic paper. The image is strangely dark and moody despite the festive subject matter and this piques my interest. The children should be delighted, but we cannot see their faces. The somber tone continues throughout the composition with the children surrounded by a mass of men in dark clothing. The balloon vendor is so darkly printed in his black coat and hat that he is practically indistinguishable from the background. All we see of his bouquet of balloons are the two attached to his stick; the rest hover above, beyond the frame of the photograph. We are not permitted to see the spectacle nor the reaction of those watching it. Instead Genthe wants us to focus on the children, in their bright clothing, like lights shining amid an indistinct darkness."

A child and a balloon man, c. 1889. Photographer unknown (taken in the manner of Sam Cheney Partridge?) from the Jesse B. Cook collection at The Bancroft Library. A third identifiable balloon seller working in Chinatown shows his wares to a boy

The Balloon Man” c. 1896 – 1906. Photograph by Arnold Genthe (from the collection of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division). Genthe's close-up print of a wider angle image. Two Chinese men and a child inspect the offerings from a balloon seller at the northwest corner of the intersection of Dupont and Jackson streets, just outside the Globe Hotel. The residential hotel would gain notoriety as the location where the first case of bubonic plague would be diagnosed in 1900.

One can only speculate how language barriers and cultural differences might have made communication more difficult, but the wonder of a rubber balloon to a child probably transcended such barriers for the sale.

Two girls and a boy speak with a balloon seller, no date. Photographer unknown (from a private collection). The façade seen in the background in the left was probably the entrance and second floor balcony of the Yoot Hong Low restaurant at 810 Clay Street. The vague outline of cable car tracks appears on the cobblestone street seen behind the girl at left.

“Two Girls with Balloons” c. 1900. Photograph by Arnold Genthe (from the collection of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division). The girls seen bringing home their balloons are probably attired for, and during, the Chinese New Year holiday. The older girl is wearing Qing-era platform shoes intended to emulate the walking style of a bound-foot woman.

“The Toy-Balloon Man” c. 1896. Illustration by Theodore Wores for his magazine article, “Children of Chinatown in San Francisco.”

Artist Theodore Wores wrote for the magazine St. Nicholas, vol. 23, no. 7 (May 1896) about New Year’s time and balloons as follows:

“About the time of the Chinese New Year Chinese children are particularly favored, and the fond fathers deny them nothing. The little ones always appear to be well provided with pocket-money to buy toys and candies. “As a result, not only the Chinese shopkeepers, but peddlers of other races, reap a rich harvest about this time by selling toys and novelties. The seller of toy-balloons seems very popular, and is surrounded by boys and girls eager to buy the fascinating rubber globes.”

A detail from the photo “Returning Home” c. 1896-1906. Photograph by Arnold Genthe (from the collection of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division). The father and daughter holding a balloon are walking west up the hill on the 800-block of Clay Street.

After the devastating 1906 earthquake and subsequent reconstruction of San Francisco's Chinatown, balloon sellers made a pleasant return to the streets, perhaps symbolizing resilience and continuity. Their reappearance undoubtedly conveyed a sense of familiarity and nostalgia, reminding the returned families of joyous moments, past and those to come, on the streets of old Chinatown.

A mother and four children examine the wares of a balloon and toy peddler at a corner of Grant Avenue, c. 1910. Photographer unknown (from a private collection).

The presence of non-Chinese balloon sellers in pre-1906 San Francisco Chinatown added an extra layer of diversity and charm to the community. Their presence represented the intermingling of cultures, fostering a sense of curiosity and wonder among residents and visitors alike. Thanks to the pioneer photographers of the old neighborhood, balloon sellers became part of the vibrant visual tapestry of old Chinatown, offering to a new generation perhaps a glimpse of the broader world beyond Chinatown's segregated borders and introducing a new form of entertainment.

“Balloon Man of Chinatown San Francisco 1904.” Oil painting by Mian Situ. Arnold Genthe's "Jewish Balloon Man" photo taken at the northwest corner of Dupont and Jackson streets (including the architectural detail of the old Globe Hotel at the top-center of the image), served as the inspiration for this work by modern artist Situ.

[galadrieljones]

That he may hold me by the hand - Chapter 12

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason  

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes and Situations, Violence, and Sexual Content)

Summary: After saving Albert from stumbling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph

Chapter 12: Awake, dear heart.

“If you’re concerned about leaving them behind, then ask them to come with us,” said Albert. It was the next morning. They were getting dressed, getting ready to head down to the saloon to meet John and Mary Beth for breakfast. Apparently Josiah was indisposed with a hangover and could not be bothered.

Arthur was tucking in his shirt. They had been talking about the Marstons. He paused a moment to regard Albert in his level of seriousness. It seemed quite high. The morning was sunny. The room was bright. “Bring them to California?”

“Yes,” said Albert. “I can—I can pay their way. I’m more than happy to do that.”

Arthur fixed his suspenders, exhaled with some gravity at the thought. “John’s gonna have a hard time taking your money, Al. That’s a pride thing. It’s nice of you though.”

“Of course. But the offer is on the table, all right? Will he take your money?”

“Maybe,” said Arthur. “I think he’s got some of his own, but with a woman and a boy, taking chances without enough—it ain’t smart. John ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’s got good instincts. I wonder how much he’s got.”

“You should talk to him,” said Albert. “Maybe he’ll let go of his pride. Or, put it on hold.”

“You don’t really know John.”

“No, I don’t,” said Albert. “But I’ve met him and talked to him enough times to know that he’s generally agreeable. And he’s not anywhere near as difficult as you are, Arthur, when it comes to prying back the lid.”

Arthur gave him a look. “Prying back the lid?”

Albert held his eyes. “I just mean that he's open. More so than you, or I. He's just somewhat...young."

"He's only five years younger than you."

"Five years is enough, and we're very different."

“I get it.”

“Talk to him. See what he’s willing to do.”

Arthur knotted his hair back and stood there. He looked down at his gun belt, where it lie in a pile on the floor. He was absorbing Albert’s observation, which he knew was most certainly correct. “Yeah, okay,” he said, scrubbing at the scruff on his cheeks. “I’ll talk to him. Today.”

“Splendid,” said Albert. He drew quiet then, a little wreath of quiet, hanging in the air.

Arthur looked up from where he was buttoning his collar. “What’s the matter?”

Albert was standing still, fully dressed, looking sharp in a pale blue collared shirt with a navy vest. He was staring at the floor between them. He said nothing.

“You worried?” said Arthur, fishing for his eyes. He found them, eventually. “You’re worried.”

“Somewhat.”

“We’re just bringing in a bounty, Al. It’s legal work.”

“I know,” said Albert. “I don’t really care about the legal part. Just be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” said Arthur. He leaned in and kissed him once. “Weren’t no other outlaw so careful as me.”

A couple of weeks before, John had got a lead on a bounty to collect in the southern bayou region of Lemoyne. The guy was a moonshiner who had killed his two partners in pursuit of their share in the earnings, and was most likely on his way to killing more. The new Sheriff in Rhodes had a strict NO SHINE policy and was kind of a stern, mean, and old motherfucker. He chewed on pieces of bark and had been sober since 1883. He didn’t care for outlaws, but he did not disdain them either. He seemed to understand that, inevitably, in the ecosystem of the law, a strategic utilization of organized lawlessness had its direct advantages. He sure as shit didn’t want to hunt down shiners in the bayou himself. Was a lot easier, and faster, to hire a couple young guns with a distinct financial thirst and an understanding of how to discretely circumvent the polite order of things. Plus, his deputies were shit.

John, upon his acquisition of the task, had asked Arthur to assist him. In the meantime, Albert had offered to show Abigail and Jack around St. Denis. They had never been to the city before, and though Mary Beth had initially signed on to do it, she had been called upon unexpectedly by Tilly to aid in a housekeeping scam, and she could not turn down the money.

That day, after Arthur and John left for Rhodes, where originated their lead, Albert, Abigail, and Jack departed the saloon and took a walk around the city. Abigail very much liked St. Denis. The sights and sounds and all of the people filled her with energy. She also enjoyed spending time with Albert. He was a skilled gentleman, a very kind man. He opened doors, pulled out chairs, talked to Jack with a great deal of enthusiasm, and he was soft-spoken, which was calming. Abigail was used to a kind of brute chivalry in men but not to Albert’s sense of refinement. It was, in some ways, intoxicating. He was also very stoic, she thought. He was loquacious, but it felt like kind of a show, to distract from how well he was able to control his inner-self. In this way, he was a lot like Arthur.

The weather was pretty that day, and not too humid. The sun was exquisitely bright, so Albert purchased for Abigail a parasol at the shop of a Russian dressmaker near Chinatown. Abigail was overwhelmed by the gesture. He told her it was no trouble. She was so enchanted by the accessory, however, she felt herself the envy of every other woman on the promenade. She studied the seams and construction of the piece so that she might one day be able to make her own. It didn’t seem too difficult if she could get ahold of the right materials.

“My mother was a seamstress for many years,” said Albert, a surprise reveal, while they walked along the shore of the lake.

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he said, smiling. He held his hands in his pockets as Abigail twirled the parasol. Jack had a balloon. He was running up and down the sand with it, chasing pigeons. “Even after she married my father, she still made her own dresses, always has.”

“It’s a good skill,” said Abigail.

“Indeed, it is,” he said.

They had a picnic lunch on a large checkered blanket, which they laid beneath the shade of a magnolia tree. There were not many people about, but more were starting to emerge as the day wore on. Jack had been feeding the ducks, was now asleep in the grass with his hand still full of bread crumbs. Albert was lying on his side, eating grapes, propped up on one elbow. Abigail was leaning back on her hands, with her legs crossed, barefoot, surveying the beauty of the light and how it warmed the green grass.

Albert refilled her glass. They were drinking a kind of elegant sherry, which he had brought from his apartment.

“It’s such a beautiful day,” said Abigail. “Thank you, for doing this. And it’s just been so nice to meet you, spend time with you. I hope I ain’t being too forward.”

“Not at all,” said Albert, smiling. “I have been wanting to meet you, and Jack. Arthur talks about the two of you quite often.”

“He does?”

“Yes,” said Albert. “You seem to play a big role in his daily consciousness.”

She smiled to herself and drank some of her sherry. She glanced to Jack, who was very peaceful. She had not enjoyed a day so much in some time. “Mr. Mason,” she said, after a little while.

“Yes.”

“Can I…tell you something? I really feel I must.”

“Of course,” he said. “Anything.”

She watched him as he watched the lake. She took a deep breath. She was nervous. He was so like Arthur. Impenetrable. It became more and more clear, the more time they spent, making more and more sense. Of course, it manifested differently in Albert. Where Arthur was morose and pensive, Albert was polished and mannered. It seemed a product of his societal upbringing, more than anything. “I just wanted to say that—well. Let me start from the beginning.”

Albert was a good listener. “Okay.”

She straightened up, placed her hands in her lap. The parasol was by her side, folded up, so pretty, like a bird. “I have known Arthur for about five years,” she said, looking down at her hands. “It ain’t that long, in the grand scheme of things. But you get to know people fast when you live with them. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Anyway, I just—I don’t know how to say it.” She looked at him, searched his eyes. They were very dark, like Dutch’s eyes, but they were so much softer around the edges. Almost sleepy. She could understand what Arthur saw in him. “There have been a lot of women, come through,” she said. “A man like Arthur—well, you get it. Tall, good-looking, rough and tough. Kind of mysterious. He’s a hundred licks smarter than any of these other reprobates, too, and that makes him seem unattainable. Women die over that sort of thing. Anyway, Arthur weren’t never a cad, but women have never been difficult for him. He’s had many chances over the years.”

“Yes,” said Albert, following her eyes. “He’s told me.”    

“I’m sure he has,” she said, blushing. “I ain’t meaning to overstep. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not overstepping,” said Albert. “Go on.”

“Okay,” she said. “It’s just that, in the past year or so? Arthur kind of shut down. He’s such a good man, but I was certain he’d be alone forever, that he’d given up on love. You know, when Jack was first born, John weren’t ready. He completely freaked out, disappeared on me. He didn’t come back for near on a year. In the time he was gone, Arthur was so generous. He spent time with me, helped with the baby, provided. He’s very good at that, providing. I always hoped he would find somebody who could provide for him in return. Somebody as generous as he is. Somebody that would love him without trying to change him. You know what I mean?”

“I do,” said Albert, softly.

She smiled. “Anyway, when John told me about you, I’ll admit that I was surprised. It was just so unexpected. But the way he described you, he made it sound like Arthur was finally happy, cared for. And what I wanted to say was, I can see now, why that is. I’m sorry if I sound like a moron. But thank you for letting me talk.” She exhaled, took a big gulp of her sherry, and shrugged.

Albert was warmed. Abigail was very pretty, and she was easy to be around. She reminded him of Mary Beth, just a little bit more practical, blunt. She had seen more. He could tell. He said, “You’re certainly not a moron. An thank you.”

Abigail looked up at the tree top overhead. She was counting birds, bird nests. “This city is so big,” she said after a little while. “I can’t believe it.”

“Where were you born?” said Albert.

“Denver City,” she said. “It booms some, but it ain’t like this. What about you?”

“Philadelphia.”

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

Albert shrugged. “I’m not sure.” He looked away then, as if something had changed.

“What’s the matter?” she said.

He sighed. He picked up his glass, swirled the sherry, but he didn’t drink it. “Nothing is the matter.”

“You’re fretting,” she said. “About Arthur. Ain’t you? I can see it. I could see it all day. You hide it well, but I know what I’m looking for.”

He sipped then, looked at her from over the rim of his glass. After he swallowed he peered down into the sherry, as if he had been caught, and said, “I am, somewhat.”

This sort of warmed her heart. “I get it,” she said. “You know I thought I would get used to it, over time, the worrying. But it never goes away. I’ve just learned to deal with it a little better.”

“How do you deal with it?” he said. “I’m curious.”

“Well,” she said. “I just consider the facts.”

“Which are?”

She kind of squared up with him then. She was an outgoing woman. She didn’t really hold things back or sugar coat. “The facts are, Arthur Morgan is a fast fucking gun, Mr. Mason.” She smiled to herself in reverie, as if recalling happy memories from the past. “Can’t nobody get the drop on him. He’s one of the foremost gunslingers in the west. Universally acknowledged in our circles. Formidable in every goddamn sense of the word. And he’s taught John everything he knows. Together, they can’t be stopped.”

Albert had a crease, between his eyebrows. It only showed up when he was nonplussed.

“By the looks of you I’m guessing you didn’t realize who you had fallen for,” said Abigail. She ate a grape.

“No, no,” said Albert. “I’m quite clear on who Arthur is. I just—I’ve never heard it described in quite those terms before.”

“I hope I ain’t scaring you. Arthur is really a big old pussy cat. He ain’t nothing to fear unless you got it coming.”

Albert blushed. He removed his hat to study the brim. “It’s quite all right. I just—I was going to say that I think I actually saw that part of him once, in action. I just didn’t know what I was seeing at the time.”

“Seriously?” said Abigail. “When?”

“It was a while ago, before we…well, when we were just friends. In Big Valley. We were camped in a meadow, near the creek. A couple of men ambushed us early in the morning, and I was held at gunpoint, and Arthur was as well. But Arthur—he was very calm. It’s almost like, like he was playing with them. When the moment of opportuity presented itself, he disarmed his attacker, shot him dead, point blank. The other man released me and ran off in fear. It was so fast—at the time I was terrified and just relieved for it to be over. But looking back, it was impressive.”

“Yeah. That sounds like Arthur,” said Abigail, plucking a handful of grass from the earth. She had been scooping it all up into a pile when suddenly, she looked at Albert full of remorse. It was as if she had made a huge mistake. “Shit,” she said, squashing the grass pile. “I hope I haven’t said too much. He’s gonna kill me. You truly love him, Mr. Mason. Don’t you? No matter what?”

Albert found this amusing. He had flattened out onto his back, so that he could look at the sky, the sunlight poking through the cracks in the leaves on the tree. He folded his hands on his chest. “More than words,” he said, on no uncertain terms.

“What would it take,” said Arthur. “To get you to leave with me, and Albert. You and Abbie, and the boy.”

They were in Rhodes that night, drinking at the Parlour House, seated in a booth toward the front of the saloon. They were planning to spend the night after interrogating a couple guys in town, at a back alley card game hosted by the local fence. They would head out hunting in the morning.

“Leave with you?” said John. He straightened up boyishly, took off his riding gloves, set them in a pile on the table. “You mean, come to California?”

“Yeah,” said Arthur. “That’s what I mean. Come to California. What would it take?”

“Not much convincing,” said John. “I’ve been wanting to get the hell out of here since Blackwater. But it would take money, I guess. More of it.”

“How much you got.”

“I got about a thousand saved.” He was thinking on it, seriously. “From jobs and such. It ain’t enough though, for the three of us to make a fresh start. You know that.”

“The land is cheaper out there than it is out here,” said Arthur. “Maybe you and me, we could go in on something.”

“Like what.”

“We can talk about it,” said Arthur. “There’s plenty to do. One decision at a time.”

“How much you got?” said John. “Just you.”

Arthur smiled. “I got a lot more than a thousand dollars. I’m gonna hack off a small amount of my savings and leave it to Mary Beth, and Mr. Mason, well—he’s offered. He’ll pay anything, but that ain’t the point. You stick with me, you don’t need to worry about money, Marston. If you want, you can pay me back as we go, but that ain’t my concern.”

“Mr. Mason,” said John, shaking his head and looking down at his bare hands. “Jesus Christ. I wonder what that’s like.”

“What what’s like?”

“That kind of money. What’s it look like, Arthur? Has he talked to you about it at all?”          

Arthur blinked. They each had a glass of bourbon. There was a man on the piano, playing a ballad, and many loud women laughing nearby. “Some,” he said, drinking. “Guys like Albert, they don’t really talk about money, but he’s got property, a couple of trusts. I mean, before him, I weren’t even used to sleeping indoors. It’s been kind of a whirlwind.”

John closed his eyes, set his head back against the cushion. “You gonna let him keep taking care of you with it?” said John. “You should. Life’s a bitch, Arthur. Live while you can.”

Arthur chuckled at this. He said, “It ain’t my land in Carmel-by-the-Sea. And I sure as shit ain’t staying here.” He looked at John, in earnest now. He squared up with him and said, “You come with us, with me, that safety net is yours as well as mine. I want you to know that. We lucked out. Somehow, I don’t know. I lucked out, and I’m letting you in on that, free and clear, if it’s what you want.”

John took a deep breath. He was looking down into his cup, and they were listening to the piano. The room smelled like warm beer and cigars. John was nodding quickly to himself, as if making complex calculations in his mind.

“What’ll it be, Marston.”

“Okay,” he said, finally, affirmative. “What the hell.”

Arthur slammed his hand down on the table, a product of anticipation. “Very good,” he said. He held out his hand, John shook it. “It’s the right choice, John. I promise you.”

“I know,” said John. The handshake resolved and they both returned to their whiskey. John was turning the cup in his fingers.

“Not gonna lie. I thought you might be more stubborn.”

“I thought I’d have more pride about it, too,” John said, sipping, “but I don’t know. Lately, I don’t give a shit about pride. I just wanna do right by Abbie. I’ve hurt her too much. And she would want this. She’s gonna be real pleased when she hears.”

“I want you to know that this is unconditional,” said Arthur. “I ain’t wanting for you to pay me back, unless you can. I don’t care about that. It ain’t about me. It’s about you, and your family. I ain’t Dutch. You got that?”

John was staring at him, nodding his head. It seemed like he might start asking more questions—about Dutch, about Hosea, but for the time being, he skipped it. “I got it,” he said. “Thank you, Arthur.”        

“You’re goddam welcome.” He threw back his whiskey in a single gulp, signaled to the barkeep for another. The barkeep gave him a mean look, shook his head, and went back to shining his glass.

“Jesus,” said Arthur.

“They really hate us here.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Hey, Arthur,” said John.

“Yeah.” He was reaching in his pocket for a couple dollars to wave in the air.

“I just—I wanted to say something else, if that’s okay.”

“Shoot.”

“It ain’t about the money, or the going with you to California. I’m all in on that.”

“What’s it about?

“I just wanted to say that…I think you’re a changed man,” said John. It was like falling off a cliff. It came fast and unexpected. “You seem changed.”

Arthur gave him a look. “How so?”

“I don’t know,” said John, like he was feeling stupid. He usually said what he felt. He just wasn’t so good at words, and with Arthur, this tended to embarrass him. “I mean, you’ve always been there for me, even if you hated every minute of it. I get it. I been kind of a piece of shit these past few years.”

“It’s okay. I been there, too.”

“But you—” John continued, “you just seem real sure of yourself these days. That’s all. In a good way. And I don’t mean on the job. You’ve always been sure of yourself on the job—to an annoying degree. I just mean, like you know who you are, and you’re okay with it. Things ain’t always been like that for you. It’s not easy. You know?”

Arthur looked down into the empty glass. He felt warm, though he hid it well. He said, “Yeah, well. I’ve had a lot of positive reinforcement these past few months. Turns out it works wonders.”

“Turns out,” said John. “Anyway, I’m gonna go give this bartender a piece of my goddamn mind.”

“No violence,” said Arthur. “We got business in town.”

“Yeah, yeah.” John went over to the bar. Arthur watched closely as John cussed out the barkeep, plain and simple, and then in crass, but diplomatic fashion, placed five dollars on the counter. Then the barkeep, wide-eyed and furious, gave him a whole bottle of bourbon and told him to get the fuck out and to never come back. “Never come back!” he said. John laughed at him, returned with the bottle, looking like a dog that had just dug a bone. Arthur was none too disappointed, and they left. They camped outside the town on a muddy creek and fished their dinner, like old times. After the meal, they got piss drunk and high off a bunch of hash cigarettes, made plans they would not remember by morning, and passed out when the moon was still high. The next day, they road into the bayou, brought in the bounty, alive, with very little trouble, made a $500 return, handed to them by the surly Sheriff in question.

“You boys come back in the future,” said the Sheriff, chomping on a cigar. “It has been a real pleasure.”

“Maybe,” said John, counting the bills. “Maybe not.”

They split the take down the middle.

“Awake, dear heart,” said Abigail. “Awake.”

Back in Albert’s room, above the saloon, while Jack slept on the couch, wrecked from a long day in the sun, they were reading Shakespeare by the light of the lanterns—The Tempest. Abigail read slowly, but with encouragement, she was better than she thought she was.

“Keep going,” said Albert. “You’re doing very well.”

“Thou hast slept well,” she continued, pleased. She liked the play. It was strange. She didn’t know old writing like that could have so much magic. Then, she paused for a moment, set the book down in her lap. She seemed to sense the future. She looked at Albert and said, “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” he said.

She glanced toward the door, smiled once. It was spurs, in the hall.

[chiseler]

Utopia and Apocalypse: Pynchon’s Populist/Fatalist Cinema

The rhythmic clapping resonates inside these walls, which are hard and glossy as coal: Come-on! Start-the-show! Come-on! Start-the-show! The screen is a dim page spread before us, white and silent. The film has broken, or a projector bulb has burned out. It was difficult even for us, old fans who’ve always been at the movies (haven’t we?) to tell which before the darkness swept in.

--from the last page of Gravity’s Rainbow

To begin with a personal anecdote: Writing my first book (to be published) in the late 1970s, an experimental autobiography titled Moving Places: A Life at the Movies (Harper & Row, 1980), published in French as Mouvements: Une vie au cinéma (P.O.L, 2003), I wanted to include four texts by other authors—two short stories (“In Dreams Begin Responsibilities” by Delmore Schwartz, “The Secret Integration” by Thomas Pynchon) and two essays (“The Carole Lombard in Macy’s Window” by Charles Eckert, “My Life With Kong” by Elliott Stein)—but was prevented from doing so by my editor, who argued that because the book was mine, texts by other authors didn’t belong there. My motives were both pluralistic and populist: a desire both to respect fiction and non-fiction as equal creative partners and to insist that the book was about more than just myself and my own life. Because my book was largely about the creative roles played by the fictions of cinema on the non-fictions of personal lives, the anti-elitist nature of cinema played a crucial part in these transactions.`

In the case of Pynchon’s 1964 story—which twenty years later, in his collection Slow Learner, he would admit was the only early story of his that he still liked—the cinematic relevance to Moving Places could be found in a single fleeting but resonant detail: the momentary bonding of a little white boy named Tim Santora with a black, homeless, alcoholic jazz musician named Carl McAfee in a hotel room when they discover that they’ve both seen Blood Alley (1955), an anticommunist action-adventure with John Wayne and Lauren Bacall, directed by William Wellman. Pynchon mentions only the film’s title, but the complex synergy of this passing moment of mutual recognition between two of its dissimilar viewers represented for me an epiphany, in part because of the irony of such casual camaraderie occurring in relation to a routine example of Manichean Cold War mythology. Moreover, as a right-wing cinematic touchstone, Blood Alley is dialectically complemented in the same story by Tim and his friends categorizing their rebellious schoolboy pranks as Operation Spartacus, inspired by the left-wing Spartacus (1960) of Kirk Douglas, Dalton Trumbo, and Stanley Kubrick.

For better and for worse, all of Pynchon’s fiction partakes of this populism by customarily defining cinema as the cultural air that everyone breathes, or at least the river in which everyone swims and bathes. This is equally apparent in the only Pynchon novel that qualifies as hackwork, Inherent Vice (2009), and the fact that Paul Thomas Anderson’s adaptation of it is also his worst film to date—a hippie remake of Chinatown in the same way that the novel is a hippie remake of Raymond Chandler and Ross Macdonald—seems logical insofar as it seems to have been written with an eye towards selling the screen rights. As Geoffrey O’Brien observed (while defending this indefensible book and film) in the New York Review of Books (January 3, 2015), “Perhaps the novel really was crying out for such a cinematic transformation, for in its pages people watch movies, remember them, compare events in the ‘real world’ to their plots, re-experience their soundtracks as auditory hallucinations, even work their technical components (the lighting style of cinematographer James Wong Howe, for instance) into aspects of complex conspiratorial schemes.” (Despite a few glancing virtues, such as  Josh Brolin’s Nixonesque performance as "Bigfoot" Bjornsen, Anderson’s film seems just as cynical as its source and infused with the same sort of misplaced would-be nostalgia for the counterculture of the late 60s and early 70s, pitched to a generation that didn’t experience it, as Bertolucci’s Innocents: The Dreamers.)

From The Crying of Lot 49’s evocation of an orgasm in cinematic terms (“She awoke at last to find herself getting laid; she’d come in on a sexual crescendo in progress, like a cut to a scene where the camera’s already moving”) to the magical-surreal guest star appearance of Mickey Rooney in wartime Europe in Gravity’s Rainbow, cinema is invariably a form of lingua franca in Pynchon’s fiction, an expedient form of shorthand, calling up common experiences that seem light years away from the sectarianism of the politique des auteurs. This explains why his novels set in mid-20th century, such as the two just cited, when cinema was still a common currency cutting across classes, age groups, and diverse levels of education, tend to have the greatest number of movie references. In Gravity’s Rainbow—set mostly in war-torn Europe, with a few flashbacks to the east coast U.S. and flash-forwards to the contemporary west coast—this even includes such anachronistic pop ephemera as the 1949 serial King of the Rocket Men and the 1955 Western The Return of Jack Slade (which a character named Waxwing Blodgett is said to have seen at U.S. Army bases during World War 2 no less than twenty-seven times), along with various comic books.

Significantly, “The Secret Integration”, a title evoking both conspiracy and countercultural utopia, is set in the same cozy suburban neighborhood in the Berkshires from which Tyrone Slothrop, the wartime hero or antihero of Gravity’s Rainbow (1973), aka “Rocketman,” springs, with his kid brother and father among the story’s characters. It’s also the same region where Pynchon himself grew up. And Gravity’s Rainbow, Pynchon’s magnum opus and richest work, is by all measures the most film-drenched of his novels in its design as well as its details—so much so that even its blocks of text are separated typographically by what resemble sprocket holes. Unlike, say, Vineland (1990), where cinema figures mostly in terms of imaginary TV reruns (e.g., Woody Allen in Young Kissinger) and diverse cultural appropriations (e.g., a Noir Center shopping mall), or the post-cinematic adventures in cyberspace found in the noirish (and far superior) east-coast companion volume to Inherent Vice, Bleeding Edge (2013), cinema in Gravity’s Rainbow is basically a theatrical event with a social impact, where Fritz Lang’s invention of the rocket countdown as a suspense device (in the 1929 Frau im mond) and the separate “frames” of a rocket’s trajectory are equally relevant and operative factors. There are also passing references to Lang’s Der müde Tod, Die Nibelungen, Dr. Mabuse, der Spieler, and Metropolis—not to mention De Mille’s Cleopatra, Dumbo, Freaks, Son of Frankenstein, White Zombie, at least two Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers musicals, Pabst, and Lubitsch—and the epigraphs introducing the novel’s second and third sections (“You will have the tallest, darkest leading man in Hollywood — Merian C. Cooper to Fay Wray” and “Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas any more…. –Dorothy, arriving in Oz”) are equally steeped in familiar movie mythology.

These are all populist allusions, yet the bane of populism as a rightwing curse is another near-constant in Pynchon’s work. The same ambivalence can be felt in the novel’s last two words, “Now everybody—“, at once frightening and comforting in its immediacy and universality. With the possible exception of Mason & Dixon (1997), every Pynchon novel over the past three decades—Vineland, Against the Day (2006), Inherent Vice, and Bleeding Edge—has an attractive, prominent, and sympathetic female character betraying or at least acting against her leftist roots and/or principles by being first drawn erotically towards and then being seduced by a fascistic male. In Bleeding Edge, this even happens to the novel’s earthy protagonist, the middle-aged detective Maxine Tarnow. Given the teasing amount of autobiographical concealment and revelation Pynchon carries on with his public while rigorously avoiding the press, it is tempting to see this recurring theme as a personal obsession grounded in some private psychic wound, and one that points to sadder-but-wiser challenges brought by Pynchon to his own populism, eventually reflecting a certain cynicism about human behavior. It also calls to mind some of the reflections of Luc Moullet (in “Sainte Janet,” Cahiers du cinéma no. 86, août 1958) aroused by Howard Hughes’ and Josef von Sternberg’s Jet Pilot and (more incidentally) by Ayn Rand’s and King Vidor’s The Fountainhead whereby “erotic verve” is tied to a contempt for collectivity—implicitly suggesting that rightwing art may be sexier than leftwing art, especially if the sexual delirium in question has some of the adolescent energy found in, for example, Hughes, Sternberg, Rand, Vidor, Kubrick, Tashlin, Jerry Lewis, and, yes, Pynchon.

One of the most impressive things about Pynchon’s fiction is the way in which it often represents the narrative shapes of individual novels in explicit visual terms. V, his first novel, has two heroes and narrative lines that converge at the bottom point of a V; Gravity’s Rainbow, his second—a V2 in more ways than one—unfolds across an epic skyscape like a rocket’s (linear) ascent and its (scattered) descent; Vineland offers a narrative tangle of lives to rhyme with its crisscrossing vines, and the curving ampersand in the middle of Mason & Dixon suggests another form of digressive tangle between its two male leads; Against the Day, which opens with a balloon flight, seems to follow the curving shape and rotation of the planet.

This compulsive patterning suggests that the sprocket-hole design in Gravity’s Rainbow’s section breaks is more than just a decorative detail. The recurrence of sprockets and film frames carries metaphorical resonance in the novel’s action, so that Franz Pökler, a German rocket engineer allowed by his superiors to see his long-lost daughter (whom he calls his “movie child” because she was conceived the night he and her mother saw a porn film) only once a year, at a children’s village called Zwölfkinder, and can’t even be sure if it’s the same girl each time:

So it has gone for the six years since. A daughter a year, each one about a year older, each time taking up nearly from scratch. The only continuity has been her name, and Zwölfkinder, and Pökler’s love—love something like the persistence of vision, for They have used it to create for him the moving image of a daughter, flashing him only these summertime frames of her, leaving it to him to build the illusion of a single child—what would the time scale matter, a 24th of a second or a year (no more, the engineer thought, than in a wind tunnel, or an oscillograph whose turning drum you can speed or slow at will…)?

***

Cinema, in short, is both delightful and sinister—a utopian dream and an apocalyptic nightmare, a stark juxtaposition reflected in the abrupt shift in the earlier Pynchon passage quoted at the beginning of this essay from present tense to past tense, and from third person to first person. Much the same could be said about the various displacements experienced while moving from the positive to the negative consequences of  populism.

Pynchon’s allegiance to the irreverent vulgarity of kazoos sounding like farts and concomitant Spike Jones parodies seems wholly in keeping with his disdain for David Raksin and Johnny Mercer’s popular song “Laura” and what he perceives as the snobbish elitism  of the Preminger film it derives from, as expressed in his passionate liner notes to the CD compilation “Spiked!: The Music of Spike Jones” a half-century later:

The song had been featured in the 1945 movie of the same name, supposed to evoke the hotsy-totsy social life where all these sophisticated New York City folks had time for faces in the misty light and so forth, not to mention expensive outfits, fancy interiors,witty repartee—a world of pseudos as inviting to…class hostility as fish in a barrel, including a presumed audience fatally unhip enough to still believe in the old prewar fantasies, though surely it was already too late for that, Tin Pan Alley wisdom about life had not stood a chance under the realities of global war, too many people by then knew better.

Consequently, neither art cinema nor auteur cinema figures much in Pynchon’s otherwise hefty lexicon of film culture, aside from a jokey mention of a Bengt Ekerot/Maria Casares Film Festival (actors playing Death in The Seventh Seal and Orphée) held in Los Angeles—and significantly, even the “underground”, 16-millimeter radical political filmmaking in northern California charted in Vineland becomes emblematic of the perceived failure of the 60s counterculture as a whole. This also helps to account for why the paranoia and solipsism found in Jacques Rivette’s Paris nous appartient and Out 1, perhaps the closest equivalents to Pynchon’s own notions of mass conspiracy juxtaposed with solitary despair, are never mentioned in his writing, and the films that are referenced belong almost exclusively to the commercial mainstream, unlike the examples of painting, music, and literature, such as the surrealist painting of Remedios Varo described in detail at the beginning of The Crying of Lot 49,  the importance of Ornette Coleman in V and Anton Webern in Gravity’s Rainbow, or the visible impact of both Jorge Luis Borges and William S. Burroughs on the latter novel. (1) And much of the novel’s supply of movie folklore—e.g., the fatal ambushing of John Dillinger while leaving Chicago’s Biograph theater--is mainstream as well.

Nevertheless, one can find a fairly precise philosophical and metaphysical description of these aforementioned Rivette films in Gravity’s Rainbow: “If there is something comforting -- religious, if you want — about paranoia, there is still also anti-paranoia, where nothing is connected to anything, a condition not many of us can bear for long.” And the white, empty movie screen that appears apocalyptically on the novel’s final page—as white and as blank as the fusion of all the colors in a rainbow—also appears in Rivette’s first feature when a 16-millimeter print of Lang’s Metropolis breaks during the projection of the Tower of Babel sequence.

Is such a physically and metaphysically similar affective climax of a halted film projection foretelling an apocalypse a mere coincidence? It’s impossible to know whether Pynchon might have seen Paris nous appartient during its brief New York run in the early 60s. But even if he hadn’t (or still hasn’t), a bitter sense of betrayed utopian possibilities in that film, in Out 1, and in most of his fiction is hard to overlook. Old fans who’ve always been at the movies (haven’t we?) don’t like to be woken from their dreams.

by Jonathan Rosenbaum

Footnote

For this reason, among others, I’m skeptical about accepting the hypothesis of the otherwise reliable Pynchon critic Richard Poirier that Gravity’s Rainbow’s enigmatic references to “the Kenosha Kid” might allude to Orson Welles, who was born in Kenosha, Wisconsin. Steven C. Weisenburger, in A Gravity’s Rainbow Companion (Athens/London: The University of Georgia Press, 2006), reports more plausibly that “the Kenosha Kid” was a pulp magazine character created by Forbes Parkhill in Western stories published from the 1920s through the 1940s. Once again, Pynchon’s populism trumps—i.e. exceeds—his cinephilia.

[cutsliceddiced]

New top story from Time: Singapore Was a Coronavirus Success Story—Until an Outbreak Showed How Vulnerable Workers Can Fall Through the Cracks

Since mid-March, Asadul Alam Asif has watched nervously as Singapore reported more and more COVID-19 cases in migrant workers’ dormitories like the one where he lives.

The 28-year-old Bangladeshi technician counted himself lucky each day that nobody was infected in his housing block, where around 1,900 workers reside in cramped conditions that make social distancing impossible. To relieve congestion, Asif’s company rehoused some people, which left half of the 16 bunk-beds in his small room empty.

But then, one day last week, seven people in Asif’s dorm tested positive.

He received a text message instructing all residents on the fifth and sixth floors—including him—not to leave their rooms.

“All of us slept very late that night, like 1 or 2 a.m.,” he told TIME by phone. “We were all so worried.”

Asif is one of the more than 200,000 foreign workers living in Singapore’s dormitories, where often 10 to 20 men are packed into a single room. Built to house the workers who power the construction, cleaning and other key industries, these utilitarian complexes on the city-state’s periphery have become hives of infection, revealing a blind spot in Singapore’s previously vaunted coronavirus response.

As of April 28, these dorms were home to 85% of Singapore’s 14,951 cases.

“The dormitories were like a time bomb waiting to explode,” Singapore lawyer Tommy Koh wrote in a widely circulated Facebook post earlier this month. “The way Singapore treats its foreign workers is not First World but Third World.”

As the coronavirus continues its insidious spread, Singapore’s outbreak suggests the danger of overlooking any population. Even when containment efforts appear to succeed in flattening the curve, keeping it that way remains a difficult, relentless endeavor.

“If we forget marginalized communities, if we forget the poor, the homeless, the incarcerated… we are going to continue to see outbreaks,” says Gavin Yamey, Associate Director for Policy at the Duke Global Health Institute. “This will continue to fuel our epidemic.”

Roslan Rahman—AFP/Getty Images A healthcare worker collects a nasal swab sample from a migrant worker testing for the COVID-19 novel coronavirus at a dormitory in Singapore on April 27, 2020.

Essential workers

The world’s estimated 164 million migrant laborers are particularly vulnerable both to the disease and to its economic fallout. Their risk of infection is compounded by factors like overcrowded living quarters, hazardous working conditions, low pay and often limited access to social protections.

“Migrants are likely to be the hardest hit,” says Cristina Rapone, a rural employment and migration specialist at the U.N.’s Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO).

For undocumented workers, the threat of the virus is even higher. “They might not seek healthcare because they may risk being deported,” Rapone says.

Read more: Coronavirus May Disproportionately Hurt the Poor—And That’s Bad for Everyone

In the Gulf, a wealthy region dependent upon blue collar labor from South Asia, Southeast Asia and Africa, the virus has also ripped through migrant worker housing. Figures from Kuwait, the U.A.E. and Bahrain suggest the majority of cases have been among foreigners, many of whom live in unsanitary work camps, the Guardian reports.

Migrant workers with insecure, informal or seasonal jobs also tend to be among the first to be let go in a crisis. When Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi hastily announced an impending nationwide lockdown in March, hundreds of thousands of internal migrant workers suddenly found themselves unemployed and homeless, forced to flee the cities en masse. The arduous journeys back to their villages—some reportedly walking as much as 500 miles—were made worse by the stigma of being seen as both patients and carriers of the virus.

Noah Seelam—AFP/Getty Images Indian migrant workers walk along a highway on the outskirts of Hyderabad, India, on April 28, 2020.

“There is increasing risk that migrants returning to rural areas face discrimination and stigmatization, because they are said to be carrying or spreading the virus,” says Rapone. FAO staff in Asia and Latin America have reported such cases, she adds.

Yet the spread of the coronavirus has also revealed just how much of the “essential work” depends on migrants, from the medical sector to deliveries to the global food supply.

In the U.S., about half of the farmworkers are undocumented immigrants, according to the Department of Agriculture. Classified as essential workers, they continue to toil in fields, orchards and packing plants across the nation, even as much of the economy is shut down. Limited access to healthcare, cramped living and working conditions, and even a reported lack of soap on some farms can put them at high risk of contracting the virus.

“Globally, we’re very dependent on migrants to fill up jobs that are absolutely essential to sustain our economies,” says Mohan Dutta, a professor who studies the intersection of poverty and health at Massey University in New Zealand. He adds that health authorities need to do more to protect them.

A ‘hidden backbone’

Singapore’s outbreak highlights what can happen if some of the lowest paid and most vulnerable people in society go unnoticed during the health crisis. After reporting single-digit daily caseloads in February, the island nation of 5.6 million now has the highest number of reported COVID-19 infections in Southeast Asia.

This month, cases began surging past 1,000 per day, and almost all the patients were migrant workers.

“The government was really focused on fighting COVID-19 on two battlefronts: community transmission and imported cases,” says Jeremy Lim, co-director of global health at the National University of Singapore’s Saw Swee Hock School of Public Health. “But it overlooked the vulnerabilities of this third front that’s now glaringly obvious to everyone.”

Singapore’s 1.4 million foreign workers make up about one-third of the country’s total workforce, according to government figures. Most of the low-wage workers are from India, Bangladesh, Myanmar, China and other countries.

Advocacy group Transient Workers Count Too (TWC2) calls them the “hidden backbone” of Singapore society.

“Everything you see as development, [like] the building sector, the marine sector—all this depends very, very much on migrant workers,” says Christine Pelly, an Executive Committee member of TWC2. “Their contribution permeates throughout society in a very necessary and essential way.”

Migrant workers, Mohan adds, are an invisible community in Singapore. Their dormitories are located on the outskirts of the city and on their rest days, they congregate in districts like Little India and Chinatown, where ethnic food shops and money remittances are located. Due to fear of losing their jobs, many do not complain about their living and working conditions.

“Not only are they unseen, but their voices are also unheard,” says Dutta.

Ore Huiying—Getty Images A migrant worker has his temperature checked by a security guard before leaving a factory-converted dormitory in Singapore on April 17, 2020.

TWC2 says it has spent years trying to call the government’s attention to the cramped and dirty dormitory conditions that now pose a grave public health threat. Government regulations stipulate that each occupant be allotted 4.5 square meters (about 48 square feet) of living space, meaning that rooms for 20 people can be as small as 960 square feet, while facilities like bathrooms, kitchens and common rooms are shared.

Some dorms now have hundreds of cases. One of them, the sprawling S11 complex, has over 2,200. Nizam, a 28-year-old Bangladeshi, moved out of S11 after his roommate tested positive earlier this month. He was transferred to a quarantine center.

“One hundred and seventy people share [a] common washroom, kitchen and the room where we eat,” the construction worker says. “Everything is shared. That’s why the virus is spreading like that.”

Besides the dormitories, rights groups have also sounded the alarm on the trucks that ferry migrants to and from work in the gleaming city center. Workers, usually about a dozen or more, are typically packed shoulder to shoulder in the open backs of lorries.

Pivoting strategies

Singapore is scrambling to neutralize the ballooning crisis by locking down the dorms and trying to space out residents.

“This is Singapore’s largest humanitarian public health crisis ever. So the logistics of moving thousands of people, feeding and separating them is not at all straightforward,” says Lim, who also volunteers to help migrant workers.

Around 10,000 workers have been moved out of their dormitories and into vacant housing blocks and military camps. Medical personnel have been stationed at dorms to carry out “aggressive testing,” Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong said in an April 21 address.

Dormitory residents have been instructed to stop working. The government has said employers must continue to pay their migrant workers during that period, and that testing and treatment will be free.

While workers are being provided three meals a day and free wifi, they are completely dependent on handouts. Workers TIME spoke with say they have not been allowed to leave their dorms, not even to buy groceries or other necessities.

Their treatment also contrasts with the four and five-star hotels that the government has paid to house Singaporeans returning from overseas, fueling criticism of further inequities.

Read more: The Coronavirus Is Hitting Our Nation’s Prisons and Jails Hard. And It’s Exposing a Crisis That Existed Long Before the Outbreak

A warning from Singapore

As migrant workers endure the brunt of Singapore’s outbreak, observers say the situation should serve as a reminder for other countries to pay attention to vulnerable residents, especially those for whom social distancing is a luxury.

“They need to be spread out, but they also need to have access to basic infrastructures like ventilation, clean toilets, adequate supply of water, adequate cleaning supplies,” says Dutta, the New Zealand professor.

Seeking to blunt the economic repercussions of the pandemic, many countries are now rushing to restart their economies. Several states in the U.S. have started reopening this week, while in Germany and France schools and businesses are making plans to resume.

But Dutta cautioned against loosening restrictions before ensuring vulnerable groups have access to basic sanitation and decent accommodation. Infections among marginalized communities, if not properly contained, could increase the risk for the entire population, he warns.

“Inequalities are the breeding grounds for pandemics,” he says. “Countries absolutely have to learn [from Singapore] before it’s too late.”

Please send tips, leads, and stories from the frontlines to virus@time.com.

via https://cutslicedanddiced.wordpress.com/2018/01/24/how-to-prevent-food-from-going-to-waste

[dinafbrownil]

Corralling Hard-To-Reach Voters With Traveling Voting Machines

LOS ANGELES — Instrumental string music filtered into the sprawling multipurpose room, where a dozen people rolled their hips, stretched their arms and twisted from side to side. Nearby, small groups of women huddled over elaborate needlepoint embroidery while men and women shuffled dominoes and mahjong tiles at game tables.

A crowd formed outside an adjoining room of the AltaMed Program of All-Inclusive Care for the Elderly (PACE) center in Chinatown, where several seniors, some using canes, walkers and wheelchairs, lined up in chairs. They chatted excitedly in English and Spanish about Tuesday’s upcoming presidential primary.

Sen. Bernie Sanders of Vermont — “el viejito,” an endearment for “old man” — was a favorite among the Spanish speakers.

The multipurpose room is the hub of activity at the AltaMed PACE center in L.A.’s Chinatown. (Anna Almendrala/KHN)

The adult day care center, intended to keep frail and infirm older adults out of hospitals and nursing homes — and in their own homes for as long as possible — is one of 41 locations in Los Angeles County bringing new voting machines to groups of people with historically low voter turnout. The customizable touch screens allow voters to read a ballot in 13 languages, adjust the screen contrast and text size, and more.

During the 10 days before Super Tuesday, the machines have been rotating through various nonprofit organizations, jails and elsewhere — up to two machines per location, and usually for one-day stints — in an effort to reach people with disabilities, the incarcerated, the homeless and older adults.

The voting room at the AltaMed PACE center in L.A.’s Chinatown was flanked by purple and silver balloons on Feb. 24.(Anna Almendrala/KHN)

Early in-person voting for the 15 Voter’s Choice Act counties began Feb. 22. This voting center in Mission Hills, California, has 40 touch-screen voting machines available.(Anna Almendrala/KHN)

  Some election experts are raising the possibility that these efforts may merely shift where and how people are voting — instead of increasing voter turnout. But at the AltaMed center in Chinatown, the mobile voting machines drew both new and repeat voters.

Maria Melendez, a 95-year-old former seamstress, and Alicia Turcios, a 77-year-old former cotton picker, used the touch screens Feb. 24 to vote for the first time.

Both women, who met at the center and have been friends six years, are from El Salvador. They use walkers because of knee pain, they said, and couldn’t walk more than a block because they feared falling.

Alicia Turcios and Maria Melendez voted for the first time at the AltaMed PACE in Chinatown, an adult day care center located in Los Angeles. The two have been friends for six years, and both use walkers because of knee pain. (Anna Almendrala/KHN)

Melendez became a U.S. citizen about 15 years ago but said she has never voted because she has been in and out of hospitals or homebound during elections. Turcios became a citizen three years ago.

“It was special,” Melendez said in Spanish. “I can’t walk, and here an opportunity arrives.”

Melendez identifies as Republican but left the presidential choice blank. “The truth is that I’m happy, and the current government gives me what I need,” she said.

Turcios, a Democrat, said she voted for Sanders, “el viejito,” mostly because he seemed to be the front-runner.

“I had seen on the television that he was winning by a lot in Las Vegas,” she said.

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Los Angeles County is modernizing its elections in several ways, as are 14 other counties participating in the state’s Voter’s Choice Act election system. Adopted in 2016, the law allows counties that have met requirements to replace assigned neighborhood polling places with voting centers open to all registered voters in the county, starting 10 days before Election Day.

The law also requires all participating counties to mail ballots to registered voters (although Los Angeles is exempt from this rule the first four years), as well as provide ballot drop-off locations 28 days before Election Day.

Although several other counties began adopting this election system two years ago, Super Tuesday marks the debut for the state’s most populous county, which has about 5.4 million registered voters.

California Secretary of State Alex Padilla casts his vote in a Mission Hills, California, voting center on Feb. 22. (Anna Almendrala/KHN)

The long lead time makes voting easier for people of all abilities, said California Secretary of State Alex Padilla, after casting his vote in Mission Hills on Feb. 22, the first day of early in-person voting.

Mobile voting is not new in California. Counties also use traveling machines to attract voters in areas with high foot traffic, such as zoos and theme parks, and give rural voters in remote locations a chance to cast their ballots in person.

Los Angeles County wanted to take it a step further by teaming with nonprofits to bring the machines to people who could benefit the most.

For instance, AltaMed operates eight PACE adult day care programs in Los Angeles County, and the machines will make an appearance at all of them. Of the nearly 2,800 participants, 84% are Hispanic and all struggle with chronic diseases or disabilities.

While national turnout among all voters went up in the 2018 midterm elections, voters with disabilities voted at a rate that was 4.7% lower than voters without disabilities, according to a national analysis from Rutgers University researchers Lisa Schur and Douglas Kruse. That gap represents about 2.35 million fewer voters with disabilities.

Turnout among eligible black, Asian and Latino voters is also historically low. In the 2016 presidential election, turnout for Latino voters was 47.6%; for Asian voters, 49.3%; and black voters, 59.6%, while white voters showed up at a rate of 65.3%. (Latinos can be of any race.)

Los Angeles is not unique in trying to increase voting access with traveling voting machines. El Dorado County in Northern California has pop-up vote centers in four places, including the Shingle Springs Health & Wellness Center, which serves Native American, Spanish-speaking and low-income groups.

But it’s too soon to say whether these programs will increase turnout.

“Are you providing something that would just switch people from one method to another, or are you actually increasing voter turnout?” asked Kruse, a professor specializing in disability research at the Rutgers School of Management and Labor Relations.

Mindy Romero, director of the California Civic Engagement Project at the University of Southern California, said she hopes counties will study whether these programs attract hard-to-reach voters.

At the Disabled Resources Center in Long Beach, which hosted two of the Los Angeles voting devices Feb. 24, 15 people cast votes, said Dolores Nason, executive director of the organization. Three were first-time voters.

At midday, the voting machines sat unused. One woman entered, read a voter guide and decided she needed more time to do her homework.

But this doesn’t mean the effort was a waste, Kruse said.

“The cost of getting these 15 voters, that doesn’t concern me,” he said. “That’s democracy. We want to get people to vote.”

Richard Hernandez used the new voting machines at the Disabled Resources Center in Long Beach, where he works as an advocate. He said the machines were user-friendly and accommodated his wheelchair. (Anna Almendrala/KHN)

Two of the voters were staff members, including Richard Hernandez, 46, the organization’s legislative advocate.

Hernandez has been unable to walk or stand since a car accident damaged his spinal cord 26 years ago. He has always voted by mail because his disability made it difficult to travel to new polling places. When he learned his organization would offer the touch-screen voting machines, he wanted to try it.

“The machines are really user-friendly, and they’re low enough for the wheelchair,” said Hernandez, who cast his vote for Sanders. “I was able to go up to the machine and vote for who I wanted to vote, with no assistance whatsoever.

“I liked it because it gave me a sense of being so-called normal.”

from Updates By Dina https://khn.org/news/corralling-hard-to-reach-voters-with-traveling-voting-machines/

[gordonwilliamsweb]

Corralling Hard-To-Reach Voters With Traveling Voting Machines

LOS ANGELES — Instrumental string music filtered into the sprawling multipurpose room, where a dozen people rolled their hips, stretched their arms and twisted from side to side. Nearby, small groups of women huddled over elaborate needlepoint embroidery while men and women shuffled dominoes and mahjong tiles at game tables.

A crowd formed outside an adjoining room of the AltaMed Program of All-Inclusive Care for the Elderly (PACE) center in Chinatown, where several seniors, some using canes, walkers and wheelchairs, lined up in chairs. They chatted excitedly in English and Spanish about Tuesday’s upcoming presidential primary.

Sen. Bernie Sanders of Vermont — “el viejito,” an endearment for “old man” — was a favorite among the Spanish speakers.

The multipurpose room is the hub of activity at the AltaMed PACE center in L.A.’s Chinatown. (Anna Almendrala/KHN)

The adult day care center, intended to keep frail and infirm older adults out of hospitals and nursing homes — and in their own homes for as long as possible — is one of 41 locations in Los Angeles County bringing new voting machines to groups of people with historically low voter turnout. The customizable touch screens allow voters to read a ballot in 13 languages, adjust the screen contrast and text size, and more.

During the 10 days before Super Tuesday, the machines have been rotating through various nonprofit organizations, jails and elsewhere — up to two machines per location, and usually for one-day stints — in an effort to reach people with disabilities, the incarcerated, the homeless and older adults.

The voting room at the AltaMed PACE center in L.A.’s Chinatown was flanked by purple and silver balloons on Feb. 24.(Anna Almendrala/KHN)

Early in-person voting for the 15 Voter’s Choice Act counties began Feb. 22. This voting center in Mission Hills, California, has 40 touch-screen voting machines available.(Anna Almendrala/KHN)

  Some election experts are raising the possibility that these efforts may merely shift where and how people are voting — instead of increasing voter turnout. But at the AltaMed center in Chinatown, the mobile voting machines drew both new and repeat voters.

Maria Melendez, a 95-year-old former seamstress, and Alicia Turcios, a 77-year-old former cotton picker, used the touch screens Feb. 24 to vote for the first time.

Both women, who met at the center and have been friends six years, are from El Salvador. They use walkers because of knee pain, they said, and couldn’t walk more than a block because they feared falling.

Alicia Turcios and Maria Melendez voted for the first time at the AltaMed PACE in Chinatown, an adult day care center located in Los Angeles. The two have been friends for six years, and both use walkers because of knee pain. (Anna Almendrala/KHN)

Melendez became a U.S. citizen about 15 years ago but said she has never voted because she has been in and out of hospitals or homebound during elections. Turcios became a citizen three years ago.

“It was special,” Melendez said in Spanish. “I can’t walk, and here an opportunity arrives.”

Melendez identifies as Republican but left the presidential choice blank. “The truth is that I’m happy, and the current government gives me what I need,” she said.

Turcios, a Democrat, said she voted for Sanders, “el viejito,” mostly because he seemed to be the front-runner.

“I had seen on the television that he was winning by a lot in Las Vegas,” she said.

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Los Angeles County is modernizing its elections in several ways, as are 14 other counties participating in the state’s Voter’s Choice Act election system. Adopted in 2016, the law allows counties that have met requirements to replace assigned neighborhood polling places with voting centers open to all registered voters in the county, starting 10 days before Election Day.

The law also requires all participating counties to mail ballots to registered voters (although Los Angeles is exempt from this rule the first four years), as well as provide ballot drop-off locations 28 days before Election Day.

Although several other counties began adopting this election system two years ago, Super Tuesday marks the debut for the state’s most populous county, which has about 5.4 million registered voters.

California Secretary of State Alex Padilla casts his vote in a Mission Hills, California, voting center on Feb. 22. (Anna Almendrala/KHN)

The long lead time makes voting easier for people of all abilities, said California Secretary of State Alex Padilla, after casting his vote in Mission Hills on Feb. 22, the first day of early in-person voting.

Mobile voting is not new in California. Counties also use traveling machines to attract voters in areas with high foot traffic, such as zoos and theme parks, and give rural voters in remote locations a chance to cast their ballots in person.

Los Angeles County wanted to take it a step further by teaming with nonprofits to bring the machines to people who could benefit the most.

For instance, AltaMed operates eight PACE adult day care programs in Los Angeles County, and the machines will make an appearance at all of them. Of the nearly 2,800 participants, 84% are Hispanic and all struggle with chronic diseases or disabilities.

While national turnout among all voters went up in the 2018 midterm elections, voters with disabilities voted at a rate that was 4.7% lower than voters without disabilities, according to a national analysis from Rutgers University researchers Lisa Schur and Douglas Kruse. That gap represents about 2.35 million fewer voters with disabilities.

Turnout among eligible black, Asian and Latino voters is also historically low. In the 2016 presidential election, turnout for Latino voters was 47.6%; for Asian voters, 49.3%; and black voters, 59.6%, while white voters showed up at a rate of 65.3%. (Latinos can be of any race.)

Los Angeles is not unique in trying to increase voting access with traveling voting machines. El Dorado County in Northern California has pop-up vote centers in four places, including the Shingle Springs Health & Wellness Center, which serves Native American, Spanish-speaking and low-income groups.

But it’s too soon to say whether these programs will increase turnout.

“Are you providing something that would just switch people from one method to another, or are you actually increasing voter turnout?” asked Kruse, a professor specializing in disability research at the Rutgers School of Management and Labor Relations.

Mindy Romero, director of the California Civic Engagement Project at the University of Southern California, said she hopes counties will study whether these programs attract hard-to-reach voters.

At the Disabled Resources Center in Long Beach, which hosted two of the Los Angeles voting devices Feb. 24, 15 people cast votes, said Dolores Nason, executive director of the organization. Three were first-time voters.

At midday, the voting machines sat unused. One woman entered, read a voter guide and decided she needed more time to do her homework.

But this doesn’t mean the effort was a waste, Kruse said.

“The cost of getting these 15 voters, that doesn’t concern me,” he said. “That’s democracy. We want to get people to vote.”

Richard Hernandez used the new voting machines at the Disabled Resources Center in Long Beach, where he works as an advocate. He said the machines were user-friendly and accommodated his wheelchair. (Anna Almendrala/KHN)

Two of the voters were staff members, including Richard Hernandez, 46, the organization’s legislative advocate.

Hernandez has been unable to walk or stand since a car accident damaged his spinal cord 26 years ago. He has always voted by mail because his disability made it difficult to travel to new polling places. When he learned his organization would offer the touch-screen voting machines, he wanted to try it.

“The machines are really user-friendly, and they’re low enough for the wheelchair,” said Hernandez, who cast his vote for Sanders. “I was able to go up to the machine and vote for who I wanted to vote, with no assistance whatsoever.

“I liked it because it gave me a sense of being so-called normal.”

Corralling Hard-To-Reach Voters With Traveling Voting Machines published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/

[stephenmccull]

Corralling Hard-To-Reach Voters With Traveling Voting Machines

LOS ANGELES — Instrumental string music filtered into the sprawling multipurpose room, where a dozen people rolled their hips, stretched their arms and twisted from side to side. Nearby, small groups of women huddled over elaborate needlepoint embroidery while men and women shuffled dominoes and mahjong tiles at game tables.

A crowd formed outside an adjoining room of the AltaMed Program of All-Inclusive Care for the Elderly (PACE) center in Chinatown, where several seniors, some using canes, walkers and wheelchairs, lined up in chairs. They chatted excitedly in English and Spanish about Tuesday’s upcoming presidential primary.

Sen. Bernie Sanders of Vermont — “el viejito,” an endearment for “old man” — was a favorite among the Spanish speakers.

The multipurpose room is the hub of activity at the AltaMed PACE center in L.A.’s Chinatown. (Anna Almendrala/KHN)

The adult day care center, intended to keep frail and infirm older adults out of hospitals and nursing homes — and in their own homes for as long as possible — is one of 41 locations in Los Angeles County bringing new voting machines to groups of people with historically low voter turnout. The customizable touch screens allow voters to read a ballot in 13 languages, adjust the screen contrast and text size, and more.

During the 10 days before Super Tuesday, the machines have been rotating through various nonprofit organizations, jails and elsewhere — up to two machines per location, and usually for one-day stints — in an effort to reach people with disabilities, the incarcerated, the homeless and older adults.

The voting room at the AltaMed PACE center in L.A.’s Chinatown was flanked by purple and silver balloons on Feb. 24.(Anna Almendrala/KHN)

Early in-person voting for the 15 Voter’s Choice Act counties began Feb. 22. This voting center in Mission Hills, California, has 40 touch-screen voting machines available.(Anna Almendrala/KHN)

  Some election experts are raising the possibility that these efforts may merely shift where and how people are voting — instead of increasing voter turnout. But at the AltaMed center in Chinatown, the mobile voting machines drew both new and repeat voters.

Maria Melendez, a 95-year-old former seamstress, and Alicia Turcios, a 77-year-old former cotton picker, used the touch screens Feb. 24 to vote for the first time.

Both women, who met at the center and have been friends six years, are from El Salvador. They use walkers because of knee pain, they said, and couldn’t walk more than a block because they feared falling.

Alicia Turcios and Maria Melendez voted for the first time at the AltaMed PACE in Chinatown, an adult day care center located in Los Angeles. The two have been friends for six years, and both use walkers because of knee pain. (Anna Almendrala/KHN)

Melendez became a U.S. citizen about 15 years ago but said she has never voted because she has been in and out of hospitals or homebound during elections. Turcios became a citizen three years ago.

“It was special,” Melendez said in Spanish. “I can’t walk, and here an opportunity arrives.”

Melendez identifies as Republican but left the presidential choice blank. “The truth is that I’m happy, and the current government gives me what I need,” she said.

Turcios, a Democrat, said she voted for Sanders, “el viejito,” mostly because he seemed to be the front-runner.

“I had seen on the television that he was winning by a lot in Las Vegas,” she said.

Email Sign-Up

Subscribe to KHN’s free Morning Briefing.

Sign Up

Please confirm your email address below:

Sign Up

Los Angeles County is modernizing its elections in several ways, as are 14 other counties participating in the state’s Voter’s Choice Act election system. Adopted in 2016, the law allows counties that have met requirements to replace assigned neighborhood polling places with voting centers open to all registered voters in the county, starting 10 days before Election Day.

The law also requires all participating counties to mail ballots to registered voters (although Los Angeles is exempt from this rule the first four years), as well as provide ballot drop-off locations 28 days before Election Day.

Although several other counties began adopting this election system two years ago, Super Tuesday marks the debut for the state’s most populous county, which has about 5.4 million registered voters.

California Secretary of State Alex Padilla casts his vote in a Mission Hills, California, voting center on Feb. 22. (Anna Almendrala/KHN)

The long lead time makes voting easier for people of all abilities, said California Secretary of State Alex Padilla, after casting his vote in Mission Hills on Feb. 22, the first day of early in-person voting.

Mobile voting is not new in California. Counties also use traveling machines to attract voters in areas with high foot traffic, such as zoos and theme parks, and give rural voters in remote locations a chance to cast their ballots in person.

Los Angeles County wanted to take it a step further by teaming with nonprofits to bring the machines to people who could benefit the most.

For instance, AltaMed operates eight PACE adult day care programs in Los Angeles County, and the machines will make an appearance at all of them. Of the nearly 2,800 participants, 84% are Hispanic and all struggle with chronic diseases or disabilities.

While national turnout among all voters went up in the 2018 midterm elections, voters with disabilities voted at a rate that was 4.7% lower than voters without disabilities, according to a national analysis from Rutgers University researchers Lisa Schur and Douglas Kruse. That gap represents about 2.35 million fewer voters with disabilities.

Turnout among eligible black, Asian and Latino voters is also historically low. In the 2016 presidential election, turnout for Latino voters was 47.6%; for Asian voters, 49.3%; and black voters, 59.6%, while white voters showed up at a rate of 65.3%. (Latinos can be of any race.)

Los Angeles is not unique in trying to increase voting access with traveling voting machines. El Dorado County in Northern California has pop-up vote centers in four places, including the Shingle Springs Health & Wellness Center, which serves Native American, Spanish-speaking and low-income groups.

But it’s too soon to say whether these programs will increase turnout.

“Are you providing something that would just switch people from one method to another, or are you actually increasing voter turnout?” asked Kruse, a professor specializing in disability research at the Rutgers School of Management and Labor Relations.

Mindy Romero, director of the California Civic Engagement Project at the University of Southern California, said she hopes counties will study whether these programs attract hard-to-reach voters.

At the Disabled Resources Center in Long Beach, which hosted two of the Los Angeles voting devices Feb. 24, 15 people cast votes, said Dolores Nason, executive director of the organization. Three were first-time voters.

At midday, the voting machines sat unused. One woman entered, read a voter guide and decided she needed more time to do her homework.

But this doesn’t mean the effort was a waste, Kruse said.

“The cost of getting these 15 voters, that doesn’t concern me,” he said. “That’s democracy. We want to get people to vote.”

Richard Hernandez used the new voting machines at the Disabled Resources Center in Long Beach, where he works as an advocate. He said the machines were user-friendly and accommodated his wheelchair. (Anna Almendrala/KHN)

Two of the voters were staff members, including Richard Hernandez, 46, the organization’s legislative advocate.

Hernandez has been unable to walk or stand since a car accident damaged his spinal cord 26 years ago. He has always voted by mail because his disability made it difficult to travel to new polling places. When he learned his organization would offer the touch-screen voting machines, he wanted to try it.

“The machines are really user-friendly, and they’re low enough for the wheelchair,” said Hernandez, who cast his vote for Sanders. “I was able to go up to the machine and vote for who I wanted to vote, with no assistance whatsoever.

“I liked it because it gave me a sense of being so-called normal.”

Corralling Hard-To-Reach Voters With Traveling Voting Machines published first on https://smartdrinkingweb.weebly.com/