#I know it was written in 1907 but some parts of it made me wonder if it was set before then so i did the math

[jessicas-pi]

She did not shrink back, though the pupils of her eyes dilated. Was it the wildest thing in the world which happened to her—or was it not? Without warning—the sudden rush of a thought, immense and strange, swept over her body and soul and possessed her—so possessed her that it changed her pallor to white flame. It was actually Anstruthers who shrank back a shade because, for the moment, she looked so near unearthly.

“I am not afraid of you,” she said, in a clear, unshaken voice. “I am not afraid. Something is near me which will stand between us—something which DIED to-day.”

---

behold: my artistic contribution to the small but enthusiastic You Should Totally Read The Shuttle (1907) By Frances Hodgson Burnett campaign

[ironmandeficiency]

13 x 7 = 28

pairing: no pairing (no reader mentioned)

word count: 1907

summary: naturally is in deep shit. he got in over his head during sabaac with a member of the five-oh-first and now owes the man in blue more credits than he’s ever had at once. luckily, his ori’vod have his back.

a/n: apparently a sequel to “who’s my commander” was something ppl wanted, and i was all too eager to write something with my darling twenty-fifth boys. heads up, this is a dialogue-heavy piece. tagging @boba-thot​, & @morganas-pendragons​ . please ask me abt my oc boys!! i have so many of them, i would love to share them with y’all!!!

“jort! ba! wait up!” the men in question slow down upon hearing their names being frantically shouted. if there was something bad happening that pertained to combat or one of the carnivorous felucian plants, they wouldn’t be the ones sought out. so they realized that it must be something of a personal nature and that allowed their heart rates to slow back down as they turned to identify the vod calling for them.

naturally was in deep shit. he had made the poor decision to join a few members of the five-oh-first in a game of sabaac and now owed them ninety-one credits, which was more than he’s ever had at once. the credits he had now only added up to half of that and knew that if he didn’t think of something, he’d be stuck on sanitation to pay off his debt to the cog-headed man.

jort would not admit that his mood softened a little upon identifying the distressed man as naturally. ba, however, knew that the man beside him was indeed sympathetic (sometimes too much for his own good) and that jort was now planning his evening around the needs of the frantic kih’vod in front of them.

“naturally, what’s wrong?”

“i was playing sabaac with the five-oh-first and got in over my head! i owe jesse more credits than i’ve had since i left kamino and i-“

the rookie was almost trembling and that was it, the older troopers were done for. naturally was now officially under the protection of him and jort, jesse be damned.

a metaphorical lightbulb lit up over jort’s head. ba could see said lightbulb the way he always does when his batchmate has an idea. the lightbulb hasn’t been able to distinguish good ideas from bad ones yet, but there was hope for jort yet.

“ninety-one, you say?”

“yeah, ninety-one credits.”

“well nat’ika, i’ve got just the trick to help you out.”

the youngest was almost too busy preening at the term of endearment to realize that his ori’vod was indeed going to help him. ba helped snap him back to reality as jort found a stick, beginning his lesson in the felucian mud.

ba had to admit that this plan was not only kriffing insane, but extremely world-tilting if executed right. it was jedi-level insanity and he didn’t doubt for a second that his batchmate learned the trick from the general.

after running naturally through the trick two more times, he felt that his training was paying off. ba had made the point of jesse knowing if naturally was lying about the credits he had on him and they both nodded their agreement. the youngest pulled his credits from his pouch and counted out twenty-eight, dropping the rest of them into ba’s hand.

jort takes this as a cue to continue. “now remember, you have to let him work some of it out himself towards the end. if you did it right from the start, he’ll be thinkin’ like you the longer it goes on and he’ll fall right into your trap.” naturally is soaking in the information like a sanitation duty sponge, part of him still reeling from the fact he’s being given such attention by a superior.

“does this trick help you a lot?”

jort smiles at the question. “only when the total i’m weaseling out of is ninety-one.”

ba rolls his eyes and butts in, “you say that as if you don’t try your damndest to make the total ninety-one as much as possible.” jort playfully scoffs at the insinuation as ba turns to naturally and grins like a loth-cat, enjoying the laugh he earns almost a tad too much.

this kid was making him soft.

to be truthful, ba would have taken the rookie under his wing the same as jort was currently doing if given the chance to do so in his own time. they’ve discussed as much with fortune, who led oracle company, about snagging a company transfer for the bright-eyed brother. fortune was on board with the idea because he saw how the newer medic worked, the way vode lost the panic in their eyes while being treated by him. it was a valuable trait to have as a medic and even more valuable to the men who fell under his care.

footsteps were heard around them and jort quickly went to mess up the numbers written in the mud. he didn’t want his information being spread where he didn’t want it, and judging by the look on his vod’ika’s face, the man approaching was indeed jesse.

“you think you can do it?”

“i know i can.”

“good man! find me when you’re done!”

ba and jort departed as jesse neared, and naturally was on his own.

“hey, naturally! you owe me for that game!”

naturally moved a hand to his pouch and made a show of getting every credit out. he let them clink together in the outstretched palm of the man in blue. “here’s twenty-eight credits, i’ll see you later-“

“alright, i- wait just a minute! there were seven rounds, and you bet thirteen each time. that’s way more than a measly twenty-eight!”

“that comes out to twenty-eight, vod.”

jesse’s wondering whether this guy’s tube was cracked. this rookie medic owes him ninety-one credits! on what planet does thirteen times seven equal twenty-eight? “did you get dropped on your head as a cadet?”

naturally suppressed a grin. “not that i can recall.”

“do you mean to tell me that you can prove that thirteen times seven is twenty-eight?”

“it’s gotta be, i owe you twenty-right credits.”

“tell you what: if you can prove it, you can keep the credits. if you can’t, you’ll owe me double.”

naturally stiffens a little at the prospect of having to owe one hundred and eighty-two credits to the cogged man who doesn’t seem to be the type to forget things like this. but he has faith in himself and the trick jort taught him, so he agrees to the deal and grabs the stick from earlier and begins the trick.

“seven into twenty-eight’s gonna come out to thirteen, watch.”

naturally draws a large seven in the dirt, followed by a significantly smaller twenty-eight separated by a slash, then another slash on the other side of the twenty-eight.

“can seven go into two?”

“no it will not.”

“that’s a giant seven to fit into that little bitty two.”

“... yes it is.”

“but we’re not gonna hurt the little two, so i want you to hold onto it for me.”

naturally “grabbed” the two from where he drew it in the dirt and “placed” it into jesse’s outstretched palm. that was simple enough so far, but there was still so much farther he had to go before getting out of this mess.

jesse was going with it only because he wanted his credits. that’s the only reason he was entertaining the bullshit of this rookie medic.

“can seven go into eight?”

“once.”

“right, so i’m gonna put the one over here,” naturally drew a one next to the second slash. 

“now we’re gonna carry the seven, because it’s a big seven and it’s getting kinda heavy, and we’re gonna drop it down here below the eight.” as naturally speaks, jesse nods and follows along intently. “and seven from eight is?”

“one.” come on, jesse thought, i’m not that kriffin’ stupid.

“alright, now you’ve had that two long enough, give it here.” naturally holds his hand out for jesse to give him the two, and the older trooper isn’t sure as to why he’s playing into the little game this rookie’s got going but he “drops” the two into his palm nonetheless.

“you see that twenty-one? how many times can seven go into it?”

“three times.”

“so the three goes over here,” naturally continues as he draws a three into the dirt next to the one, “and look at that, thirteen.”

sure enough, there was now a thirteen drawn into the dirt next to the twenty-eight. jesse didn’t completely believe what he was looking at, much less the fact it made sense! he had to get more evidence, surely this wasn’t right.

“nah man, you’ve gotta prove it better than that if you expect me to believe that your math checks out.”

“alright, certainly.”

“you gotta multiply it.”

apparently there was still more to say and write if he wanted to save his head from being mounted on a five-oh-first bunk. thank the maker for jort’s extensive explanation or else naturally would have been screwed.

so he smeared away the numbers with a gloved hand, not bothering to care as to how it dirtied the leather, and continued on.

“let’s see here,” naturally mumbles to himself as he begins to draw in the dirt once again, tongue poking out between his teeth. a thirteen is now in the dirt with a seven below it, with a line under the seven. “okay. so we’ve got thirteen times seven. three times seven is?”

“twenty-one.”

“exactly, so we bring a twenty-one down. now one times seven is…”

“seven.”

naturally hums in agreement as he draws a seven below the one in twenty-one. “now twenty-one plus seven is-“

“twenty-eight.” jesse seems to be contemplating the lesson very hard, putting it side by side with everything he had been taught prior to then. it looked like it made sense, and his brain said it made sense, but to make him feel better he had to check it one more time.

“but now we gotta add it, just to be sure.”

“of course.”

this is where naturally sees if his hard work paid off, if jort’s lessons paid off. if he did his part good enough, then jesse would follow along and this would be easy peasy. most importantly though, he wouldn’t be bucket deep in debt to the trooper next to him.

smearing the mud one last time, he began to give jesse the final piece of the puzzle. “i’m gonna our down seven thirteens and add ‘em from there, alright?”

“alright.”

he puts the numbers down, one above another, and draws a line below the last. taking his stick, he begins to count by threes when the other man cuts him off halfway through. “no no no, let me do it this time!”

jesse starts to count by threes and ends on twenty-one, like he should, but also jort was sure to tell him that if he didn’t take over now that the plan was doomed to fail.

so in an effort to save his plan, naturally began pointing to the ones with his stick as he counted, “twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight!”

he spoke the numbers with confidence as he wrote the twenty-eight into the dirt, turning to give a dignified smirk to the cornflower painted trooper next to him.

jesse looked so lost and had no idea as to why this made a lick of sense, but had to concede that the young medic was right. to answer his earlier question, felucia is a planet where thirteen times seven is twenty-eight.

with a grin naturally collected the credits that had still been clutched in the other’s hand, stepping on the numbers casually enough to not raise suspicion as to why he was stepping on them. he was saved from a terrible fate and got to keep his money; it was a good night for naturally.

[wayward-mikaelson]

Don’t Wake Me-Part Three (Dean’s POV)

Word Count: 1907

Pairing: Dean x Dream!Reader

Characters: Dean, Reader, Rowena, and Sam

Summary: Dean has a peaceful dream about the Reader who knows that she’s dead in the real world. Rowena gives Dean the recipe/spell for the tea with a warning. 

Disclaimer: Language

A/N: This was supposed to be out a couple days ago. So sorry but I had internet issues. 

*18+ Content. Anyone that is younger than 18 will need to scroll right on. I don’t want to risk my account being thanosed

**Please DO NOT copy and paste my work WITHOUT my permission and WITHOUT giving me the proper credit. I work way too hard on my work to have to stolen. You may share the link to this post.

***This work is also posted on Instagram, Wattpad, and AO3. Please go show it some love over there.

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*****DMs are OPEN for REQUESTS

Story Inspired by Skillet’s song Don’t Wake Me. Click HERE to listen

Forever Tags: @donnaintx​ @myinconnelly1​ @hobby27​ @elansaidaris​ @magssteenkamp​ @440mxs-wife​

Dean/Jensen Tags: @akshi8278​ @squirrelnotsam​ @sandlee44​

Story Tags: @vicmc624​ @supernatural-bellawinchester​ @zug-zwangg​

STORY MASTERLIST

PART TWO

SHY’S FAVORITE FIC LIST

"What are you still doing sleeping? Come help me make breakfast."

It isn't the blanket being pulled off me that wakes me up.

It's the voice.

That perfect and beautiful yet, dominate voice.

My eyes snap open and there, standing at the foot of the bed with the blanket in her hand is YN. Alive. Smiling. She has that look in her eyes where if I don't get onto what she needs to, she will eat me alive. In a very not so sexy way. I can't help but stare at her and take her in.

She's wearing one of my flannels over one of her novelty shirts. I notice she isn't wearing any shorts or pants either. I look back at her face, her beautiful face. The way her lips are curved into that mischievous smile when she messed with someone. The little scrunch of her nose when something tickles it. Her big, beautiful  Y/E/C eyes as they stare into mine. Waiting for me to answer her. Her hair is thrown up into the bun being held together by her only hair band. Strands of hair fall perfectly around her face.

I wish I could wake up to this sight still. But this, her standing here, in this dream will have to do. It's better than nothing.

"Earth to Winchester," Her voice calls out to me again. "What are you staring at?"

"You," I say sitting up in bed. I notice I don't have a shirt on. I also notice the small little bite YN does to her lip. "You're so fucking beautiful, you know that?"

She looks down and I see her cheeks get pink. After years of her and I being together she always blushed when I told her she was beautiful. YN didn't have it easy growing up. Her mother left her and her father when she was four. Her father degraded her until she ran away from home. She had been on her own for some years until Sam and I saved her from a demon possession. She stuck with us since then. It wasn't until a case that we learned that she was never told she was beautiful or looked good. I made it my goal every, until the day she died, to tell her that she was beautiful.

"You can say it once more," YN drops the blanket and climbs on the bed and straddle my lap. She takes my face in my hands and I can't help but wish this were real. I close my eyes and focus on her touch. "So, are you going to help me with breakfast? And by that, I mean you cooking the bacon how I like it."

I open my eyes to see the those Y/E/C staring into mine. I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer to me, pressing my lips to hers. Her lips are as soft as I remember.  "Of course," I say pulling back.

"Awesome," YN jumps off the bed and walks out of the room. I watch her and catch a glimpse of her flower tattoo that sits on the back part of her thigh. Then I notice that we aren't in the bunker. We are at one of Bobby's old hunting cabins. The one YN and I always escape to when we need to unwind after a hard case.

I get up and get dressed. I walk out to the main part of the cabin and see YN working at the old stove. She's got the eggs going and she's cut up some strawberries. I stand there and watch her move around the kitchen.

This is the first time I don't feel like my chest has a gaping hole in it.

This is the first time I can breath and not feel like I'm going to fall apart.

This is the first time I feel normal.

YN turns around to see me standing and staring at her. "What is with you this morning?" She smiles and gives a light chuckle. "Was the sex that good?" She laughs out loud. "Of course it was, I did that thing that you absolutely love." She pulls the bacon out of the old fridge that I continue to fix up and keep running. She sets it on the counter and goes back to her cooking.

"I guess your reward for doing such thing is making the bacon you like," I pick up the bacon and bring it over to the stove. I have an idea of what move she's talking about.

We eat breakfast in peace and decide to take a walk around the woods. This is something that YN always loved to do whenever we came out here. Watching her take in the nature around her pulls at my heart. I'm going to miss her terribly again when I wake up.

YN turns around and the look on her face tells me that she knows somethings up. She walks over to me and takes my hands and looks into my eyes. "I was wondering when that would catch up with us."

"What?" I ask hoping she didn't know that this was a dream.

She laughs. "Dean Winchester, don't play me." She raises a hand to my face. "I know this is a dream. I know I'm dead out there. And it's not your fault. So if you remotely think it is, you know I'll figure it out and come back and kick the shit out of your ass."

I smile and let go of the breath I am holding in. "I don't want to wake up," I whisper. I touch her face. She leans into it and sighs.

"I know, but I will always be right here," YN touches my chest and my head. "When you sleep next, I'll be waiting."

The dream fades to black and soon I find myself waking up. I'm in my room on my bed. I grab my phone and realize it's the next day. My body feels well rested. But I can't help but feel the aching in my chest still. Its different like part of the hole is closing off. I drop my head on my pillow and just replay the dream in my head.

YN had been so beautiful and I miss her already.

There a slight knock at the door and it opens. Sam steps in and sees that I'm awake. "Hey," He says with a smile on his face. "I was just checking on you. How did you sleep?"

"To be honest, great," I say sitting up and swinging my legs to the side of the bed. "I feel really well rested." We sit in silence for a while. I know what Sam must be thinking. He doesn't have to say it. It's written all over his face. "She was there, Sam. She was fucking gorgeous man. I felt like she never left."

Sam looks up. "I'm happy man, I really am. Does that mean you've let her go?"

I look down at the ground. "No Sam, it means that I can slowly process and accept her death. Then when the time comes, I'll let her go. So no burning things unless I give the okay."

I get up and walk out of the room. I make my way to the kitchen cause I'm starving like a motherfucker. I open the fridge and stare at the contents. Eggs. Bacon. Sams rabbit food. I reach in and pull out the bacon. I set it on the counter and grab a pan and set it on the stove . Turning around, I nearly have a heart attack seeing the familiar red headed witch sipping on coffee.

"Fuck," I hold one hand to my chest and the other on the edge of the counter. "Rowena, how long have you been sitting there?"

"No very long dear," she sets her mug down and folds her hands. "You look very well rested. But not your soul. Don't worry," she sees the shock on my face. "The death of a loved one takes time to get over. I will leave the recipe for the tea to help you sleep whenever you need it. But don't drink too much of it in one day. Too much will start to slow your body down and kill you."

Rowena stands up and walks over to me. She slips a paper into my hands and pats my hand. "Um, thank you," I say. I'm not sure what to do with this, I think. I put the paper in my pocket and get back to making my food.

After Rowena leaves in the early evening, Sam goes out for a supply run.

"Do you want to tag along?" He asks before walking out of the bunker.

"Nah," I say opening up my laptop. "I think I'm going to scroll through and find us a case." Total lie of course.

"Okay," Sam walks out. I wait until he and the impala are gone for awhile before heading to the infirmary and grabbing what I need for the tea. A lot of it called for healing and sleeping herbs and then a few things from the kitchen spice cabinet that YN always used when she was alive. That's one of many, many things I am going to miss.

YN was the best cook ever. Aside from the bacon she could never get it right. She knew how to season and grill meat to perfection. Even her crock pot meals were the bomb. She always saved them in a small book so she could use them later. I open the drawer that the book sits in and pull it out.

I open the book to where paper is sticking out and see the words Deans B-day Dinner and Pie. I cover my mouth and feel some tears form in the corner of my eyes. I've been so caught up in loosing YN that I realized my birthday came and went without me knowing. I close the book and set it back in the drawer. I take a deep breath and move onto my room with the cup in hand.

I sit on my bed and stare at the cup on the nightstand next to me. I really don't need it, but I really want to see YN. Being in that dream world made everything seem so normal. It also helped me get through the day and I didn't once pour myself a drink. But Rowena's warning rings through my ears.

If I drink too much, I could die.

I pull out my pocket knife and press the blade to the palm of my hand when I feel a slight cool breeze on my arm. I stop and look around and spot that my AC vent was open and thought that the AC kicked on. I shake my head and cut a small but deep enough cut to drop a few drops of blood into the cup. I bring my hand over to the cup to find that it isn't there. I turn around and spot it on the dresser by the door.

"How did you get over there?"  I say out loud. "Maybe I'm loosing my mind." I pick the cup up and sit back on the bed and squeeze my hand so a few drops fell into the cup. I swirl the liquid around and say the small latin incantation. Then I take a huge drink.

Before passing out, I swear I see a flicker of YN standing in my room.

[artificialqueens]

The Biggest Con in History, Chapter One (Sashea) - Roza

summary: 1927 cannot possibly be more dreadful as the bolsheviks overtake the former imperial russia. despite this, citizens are uplifted on the rumour that the czar's daughter may still be alive. sasha, focused on finding a job during the oppression, finds herself in the whirlwind of a lifetime. [ anastasia au, based heavily on the broadway version of the classic film. ]

author's note: after heavy demand and interest in this I absolutely had to write, I hope I can finish it because I picture it so vividly in my head. I'm so glad I get to be eastern european as possible, it's been such an honour to get to do the same with jackie and the middle east so I feel full circle having fics now with both sides of my culture. I hope while this au is for good fun that you might learn some things about slavic history/culture! just me being soft, that's all. thank you to dear alex for being the best beta!

AO3 Link / My Tumblr: @leljaaa / ♡

— *.✧

"Тетя, do you have to go to Paris?"

Yekaterina sighed gently, her suitcase clamped shut as she turned her head towards the voice of the smaller blonde's voice.

"Alexandra, you can always come visit me, you're my niece!" The empress replied, a smile across her lips as she bent down towards her brother's daughter.

The younger girl seemed distraught at the idea of her aunt leaving for France, especially when the revolution had just ended in the empire.

It was 1907 and the royal family was struggling to stay in one piece though Alexandra certainly wouldn't know any better; she spent her days happily whisked away with siblings or at balls.

"It is still wonderful here," Yekaterina insisted though deep in her heart she knew that this revolution was directed towards the government.

This was only the beginning somewhat of a downfall; Yekaterina knew her brother, who had managed to become the czar of the empire, was struggling. The economy was in shambles and the people were using their voice to say something.

The balls went on: change didn't.

A lightbulb suddenly brightened within Yekaterina's head; she hummed softly as she skipped over to the cherry wood cabinet next to her bedside.

"I have a gift for you," she called out from the other side of the room as her fingertips reached into the top drawer, her hand pulling out a music box she had custom made by a merchant in Spain.

Alexandra tilted her head, the young princess completely amazed at the trinket. Her eyes widened, every little carving and detail absolutely stunning.

Every colour imaginable seemed to cover the exterior of the music box, images of roses and a man and woman dancing painted with bright oils and prized stones.

It was a sight to behold certainly.

"For me?" The small girl squeaked, "Спасибо за подарок!"

Yekaterina chuckled, gently handing it over to the blonde beside her. "No thanks needed, I got it made so you'll always have a piece of me, consider it my parting gift."

'Plus you're definitely not old enough to drink yet.' The empress reminded herself as she watched Alexandra completely focused on attempting to open the music box.

The little girl gasped in suspense, biting her bottom lip as she attempted to gently open the contraption.

Alexandra finally managed to shove her fingernails in to open it. The empress blinked, perhaps it wasn't in hindsight the smartest thing to give a girl who was only six years old.

The twenty year old smirked hearing the music begin, she saw the smile across her niece's face widen. She clearly was attempting to reminisce on what made the melody so familiar.

"It's our lullaby, you'll always have it with you now."

Alexandra teared up, her eyes watered as she tightly hugged her aunt, Yekaterina sighed heavily knowing that she had to escape this empire to somewhere a bit safer even if it meant compromising family whereabouts.

"I'll miss you," she mumbled against the fabric of her golden dress. The older woman kissed her forehead promising that one day they will unite in Paris and keep in contact.

"I'll miss you as well."

Eleven years had passed in the blink of an eye, the empress felt an overwhelming worry overtake her head as she heard of the Bolshevik overtake.

The royal family was beginning to decline in popularity and many blamed the family for every economic and social issue in the crumbling empire.

Yekaterina tapped her foot impatiently before hearing a loud knock upon her bedroom door in Paris.

"Come in," the thirty year old yelled as she took a final sip of her imported alcohol, she looked up to find Trinity, a countess who had been married to a member of the imperial court and escaped with her.

"Katya, I have some news," The brunette spoke grimly. Her hands clasping a handwritten letter, the blonde tilted her head, confused, noticing the brush strokes that bled through the paper.

The letter was clearly written in Cyrillic, it must have been from her motherland, from Russia. "Bring it here," Katya said urgently, praying that it was a message about her brother or her nieces and nephews.

Trinity walked quickly in her heels, the countess dropped the letter in Katya's lap. The confusion in her expression suddenly ceased.

Nothing but white overtook her face; her hands shook as she finished reading the message, her eyes closed rapidly as if it was impossible and simply a dream she could shut out and wake up from.

"No," the empress whispered before she dropped the paper at her bedside, her face suddenly red from the river of tears that rushed down the side of her cheeks.

The only thing that then filled the room were the deafening screams and sobs of the dowager empress. Trinity quickly crouched down as her servants came worriedly, asking what could possibly be the matter.

"Это сон…"

Trinity quickly picked up the paper from the ground, her eyes darted towards the message again; staring aimlessly at the brush strokes.

"Екатерина Петро́вна Замоло́дчикова,

каждый член семьи Замоло́дчикова был убит большевистскими лидерами.  

Они лежали мертвыми на Урале."

Trinity crumpled the paper, she didn't need to read it again and neither did Katya; Russian or English, it didn't matter. The sentiment still stood.

The entire Zamolodchikova royal family had been murdered; the dynasty had ended and was officially gone.

Murdered in cold blood, one right after the other. Katya sobbed, she'd never wanted so badly to hope that somehow, someway not everyone was gone.

Please, if I am a decent woman, please at least let one have survived.

— *.✧

1927.

"мои друзья нам нужно поговорить!"

Brianna felt herself bite her tongue as she stood above the average Russian citizens, her hands gripped the side of the wooden stand.

The Bolshevik general sighed heavily, knowing that this speech wasn't going the best. There was nothing but an overwhelming amount of anger happening in the streets, her army stood command in case anyone did something stupid.

It felt like an utter disaster.

My father wouldn't want this. All I inherited was trauma and chaos.

"I hear you comrades, the revolution hears you," she yelled as she raised her hands, the crowd beginning to silence as many reporters stood aside, recording every word on their paper pads.

"Together we will forge a new Russia and we'll be the envy of all the world," the girl began, her Star of David necklace tightened around her neck as she bit her tongue.

"The Czars St. Petersburg is now the people's Leningrad!"

The citizens listened or heard the speech: in person, in newspapers, it all seemed to spread throughout the entire country eventually. This revolution was being heard by all, and yet no action was being taken to help those in awful condition.

A country now in shambles economically and physically. All that remained were fragments of an old, thriving royal family and giant murals or posters with propaganda.

Shea rolled her eyes.

"They can call it whatever they want. Same name, new empty stomachs."

Times were somehow even worse.

Every day that dawned seemed to bring new sets of laws and rules that only tightened the eye around every citizen who lived within borders.

Police and members of the guard put in place at every corner, lines for basic rations of food and shotguns to the head if anyone complained of something, even the most miniscule detail.

The walls now had ears and those who would argue seemed to disappear in a wink, it was as if every basic right had been stripped away.

Leningrad was gloomy, the constant reminders of old, Imperial Russia stuck out like a sore thumb against the working class and their crowded, barely stable apartment buildings and factories.

In one corner, Yusupov Palace.

It's architecture was a glimmering masterpiece and piece of old Russian history. As the sun shined, the gold palace would sit and bask in glory, just across the Moika river.

Next to it, a dirty and rotten government -owned shop for daily rations of bread, beans or grains.

Hail our great new land.

Now it was a land of royalty and the colour red. New ideology had spread far and wide outside Russia, Shea felt her stomach shake finding out news from the stand next to the small market square.

St. Petersburg was completely run on the thrill of gossip; it got everybody through the new troubles of the empire.

Shea grinned upon hearing the old men and women bicker at the stand, pretending to read through magazines and books to not seem as suspicious to nearby guards.

"Although we know the Czar certainly didn't survive, along with most of the family, they say that one daughter may be still alive."

"Princess Alexandra!" A woman called out chipper though she was quickly shushed by all those next to her. Shea felt a plethora of ideas sneak into her head at the idea of a lost princess.

"They say the empress, her aunt Yekaterina will pay her entire royal sum if someone can find the lost princess," a brunette whispered excitedly to her group of friends.

Shea exited the store, the woman immediately spotting a figure running towards her.

"Shea!"

The voice was undeniable, the woman turned in her shoes, covering her shoulders with her wool jacket as she waved to Detox who almost crashed into her.

"They've closed another border!" She moaned in distress. Her long, pale blonde hair blew in the direction of the wind as she stood still and explained how they should have ran for the West while they still could.

"Detox, I've been thinking about Princess Alexandra."

"Oh not you falling for these tales as well," she spoke, disappointed as she explained that the chances of any Zamolodchikova family member making it out of execution were close to none.

"Trust me on this."

She supposed Detox was one to trust in this situation, she had been a count in the royal court, she knew the family like the back of her hand and had fled her own execution date just in time.

"Princess or not, we're stuck in Russia unless we make a move now."

Shea pondered, though her mind seemed overtaken at the thought of an entire royal sum in her hands; how would the old woman know it was Alexandra?

"I have an idea and you need to trust me on this."

Detox sighed, pushing her hair back as she adjusted her scarf, listening intently to whatever plan the conman had up her sleeves.

"We find a girl, a look-alike and take her to Paris," she began before the blonde's eyes grew wide and shined in the desolate Russian sunrise.

"Imagine the reward the empress would pay!"

"Exactly," Shea said as she shook her friend's shoulders, the two walking towards the end of the market square.

"We need something to use to fool the dowager empress," Shea mumbled under her breath as she and Detox walked through the busy and crowded streets of St. Petersburg or— Leningrad rather.

Shea stared at the music box for a few brief moments; her memories seemed to swirl into one as the words left her lips before she had even thought about the idea.

"How much is that music box?"

She noticed her fellow con man immediately whip her head towards the peasant seller who seemed intrigued by her interest in the detailed, rusty item.

He insisted that it was priceless and was nothing but the original from the Alexander Palace itself.

"I simply can't part with such an antique!"

Detox rolled her eyes, the ex-imperial court member quickly tightening the grip of her brown fur coat as she attempted to pull along her friend.

Shea felt a smirk build across her lips as she let go of the blonde's grip around her wrist. "I'll give you an entire ration of grains, two days worth."

"Done."

They walked out before the man could even speak of a trade back, Shea ran in front of her friend, another devilish smirk across her lips. They had their plot, all they needed was a woman to be their princess and beautiful replacement.

"Do you believe in fairytales Detox?"

The blonde shook her head, "Maybe once upon a time I did, but certainly not now. Don't even know if it's allowed," she teased, though Shea chuckled holding the music box up, proud of their prize.

"We're going to create a fairytale that the entire world is going to believe, even the girl we find to play the part!"

As their feet trailed across the heavy path of snow, they spoke about a possible audition process, though Detox insisted that would get them into far too much trouble.

"We'll do it across the river, opposite of the current camp and at the abandoned theatre," Shea explained calmly as Detox frowned.

She knew it was a decent idea however that certainly wouldn't stop people from finding out somehow .

"It's a risky idea, are you sure that this is a good idea for the both of us? Money wouldn't buy our dead bodies back."

Shea nodded quickly, nothing could possibly sway the young woman's opinion on the matter.

"Hopefully disaster won't ensue."

"It'll all go smoothly, no worries, just large bags of money from the empress herself," Shea reminded as Detox finally began to accept the dangerous plan.

"We'll be rich and out of Russia, what more could you possibly want?"

"Nothing," Detox replied as she held an arm around the younger woman's shoulder. Shea cheered, insisting that they begin to look throughout St. Petersburg for their princess.

Alive or dead, who knows.

— *.✧

Sasha ran her hands through her hair, licking her fingertip as she began to tighten the braids that made up the front row of her head.

"One job interview, this is the only chance you get Sasha," the blonde repeated to herself aloud as she made her way through the heavy and cold Eastern European weather.

The orphan looked down at her brittle skin, she didn't remember a single thing about her life since she had been found by members and staff of the orphanage and taken in.

Amnesia was what the staff at the center had told her, they found it impossible that a girl couldn't remember a single thing about herself.

Her mind a cloud: no one had claimed her in the twenty years she had stayed however she refused to believe that there wasn't at least someone out there waiting for her.

Everything felt like a lost cause in her life except the dreams she had of her lost family, she could hear singing or laughter when she slept or dreamt sometimes.

All of these things seemed to only confuse her further—she wished for a sign .

The only semblance of a clue she had was Paris; it was always in her dreams, her spirit, everything she had worked for seemed to be for this one destination.

I have to have family somewhere, is it in Paris? It certainly can't be in Russia.

Sasha had managed to book herself an interview for a job down at the local market, it was to help with selling fish; not the most attractive offer but it was still money.

It was far better than the hospital in Odessa or the factory in Perm.

The twenty six year old held her hands together, her nerves beginning to rise as she passed what she knew to be Bolshevik territory.

Her eyes glanced over to the trucks that lined up across the camp and small buildings.

She wasn't technically trespassing, it was public access however she couldn't help but feel watched.

A shot rang out and the blonde screamed, immediately she fell into the snow, raising her hands to show that she meant no harm.

"It was a truck backfiring," a voice spoke clearly as the footsteps quickened towards Sasha.

The blonde was far too horrified to look before she felt a gentle tap at her shoulder, she turned and opened her eyes as she crouched on the snow.

The face of Brianna, the general of the party smiled. Sasha felt her heart race, not in a good way. "I am so sorry," she quickly began before the brunette asked her to breathe.

"It is okay, it was simply a test. Those days of neighbors fighting are over."

The Russian nodded even if her entire body seemed to vibrate. The thought of being near the general especially scared her.

"You're shaking," Brianna said aloud before taking her hand and offering to show her to a local tea shop just steps away from the building's base.

Sasha shook her head. "Thank you but no."

"What's the hurry?"

The question seemed innocent enough, though the blonde never knew how they may use it against her or twist her words.

"I cannot lose this job, I'm sorry, they're certainly not easy to come by."

Brianna nodded, it was a respectful response, though the image of this stranger, this woman, felt engraved inside of her memory.

Her soft, curly, shoulder length blonde hair and her rubbish clothing; she looked quite put together for someone who clearly had less than nothing to her name.

"I'm here everyday," she finally replied as Sasha gave a slight smile, immediately beginning to walk away and pace her own steps faster and faster towards the Market.

The intervention left the woman in shambles, her nerves clearly felt by those around her.

She couldn't bear the life of an orphan who worked at a market. This couldn't possibly be her narrative for the rest of her life.

Being near so many people seemed like a positive even if her anxiety began to trickle down, all of her thoughts focused on if she should even take the job or not.

She spent an unsuccessful hour at the common square, still looking for that tent before seeing the corner of books and magazines - her attention immediately caught by the drawing of Paris that hung on the wall.

Sasha looked at the various books, though she knew she couldn't afford them, and eventually began to listen in on the daily gossip.

The environment met with whispers by older grandmothers who spoke about a woman named Shea who was apparently holding tickets to Paris.

"They're holding auditions, you know, to try and find the princess. They'll even do all the papers to get out of Russia."

Paris?

"Where can I find this woman?" The blonde suddenly asked.

She knew it was not her business to intrude on conversation so rudely, but this seemed like the one chance she had.

It was certainly better than working with dead animals.

They turned, amused that the young lady had taken such a sudden want and interest in the idea.

One of the grandmothers mentioned something about a nearby Palace, and Sasha quickly ran off and thanked the gaggle of women that surrounded her.

Sasha had never felt herself run so fast, a twist of fate and she was now bustling back into the piles of snow for a small pinch of hope that this girl could help her out.

This is my chance, my chance to find my family.

[blackkudos]

Louis Armstrong

Louis Armstrong (August 4, 1901 – July 6, 1971), nicknamed Satchmo, Satch, or Pops was an American trumpeter, composer, singer and occasional actor who was one of the most influential figures in jazz. His career spanned five decades, from the 1920s to the 1960s, and different eras in jazz. Coming to prominence in the 1920s as an "inventive" trumpet and cornet player, Armstrong was a foundational influence in jazz, shifting the focus of the music from collective improvisation to solo performance. With his instantly recognizable gravelly voice, Armstrong was also an influential singer, demonstrating great dexterity as an improviser, bending the lyrics and melody of a song for expressive purposes. He was also skilled at scat singing.

Renowned for his charismatic stage presence and voice almost as much as for his trumpet playing, Armstrong's influence extends well beyond jazz, and by the end of his career in the 1960s, he was widely regarded as a profound influence on popular music in general. Armstrong was one of the first truly popular African-American entertainers to "cross over", whose skin color was secondary to his music in an America that was extremely racially divided. He rarely publicly politicized his race, often to the dismay of fellow African Americans, but took a well-publicized stand for desegregation in the Little Rock crisis. His artistry and personality allowed him socially acceptable access to the upper echelons of American society which were highly restricted for black men of his era.

Early life

Armstrong often stated that he was born on July 4, 1900, a date that has been noted in many biographies. Although he died in 1971, it was not until the mid-1980s that his true birth date, August 4, 1901, was discovered by the researcher Tad Jones through the examination of baptismal records.

Armstrong was born into a poor family in New Orleans, Louisiana, and was the grandson of slaves. He spent his youth in poverty, in a rough neighborhood known as the Battlefield, which was part of the Storyville legal prostitution district. His father, William Armstrong (1881–1933), abandoned the family when Louis was an infant and took up with another woman. His mother, Mary "Mayann" Albert (1886–1927), then left Louis and his younger sister, Beatrice Armstrong Collins (1903–1987), in the care of his grandmother, Josephine Armstrong, and at times his uncle Isaac. At five, he moved back to live with his mother, her relatives and a parade of "stepfathers".

He attended the Fisk School for Boys, where he most likely had early exposure to music. He brought in some money by selling newspapers, delivering coal, singing on the streets at night, and also by finding discarded food and selling it to restaurants, but it was not enough to keep his mother from prostitution. He hung out in dance halls close to home, where he observed everything from licentious dancing to the quadrille. For extra money he also hauled coal to Storyville, and listened to the bands playing in the brothels and dance halls, especially Pete Lala's, where Joe "King" Oliver performed as well as other famous musicians who would drop in to jam.

After dropping out of the Fisk School at age eleven, Armstrong joined a quartet of boys who sang in the streets for money. He also started to get into trouble. Cornet player Bunk Johnson said he taught Armstrong (then 11) to play by ear at Dago Tony's Tonk in New Orleans, although in his later years Armstrong gave the credit to Oliver. Armstrong hardly looked back at his youth as the worst of times but drew inspiration from it instead: "Every time I close my eyes blowing that trumpet of mine—I look right in the heart of good old New Orleans... It has given me something to live for."

He also worked for a Lithuanian-Jewish immigrant family, the Karnofskys, who had a junk-hauling business and gave him odd jobs. They took him in and treated him like family; knowing he lived without a father, they fed and nurtured him. He later wrote a memoir of his relationship with the Karnofskys, Louis Armstrong + the Jewish Family in New Orleans, La., the Year of 1907. In it he described his discovery that this family was also subject to discrimination by "other white folks" who felt that they were better than Jews: "I was only seven years old but I could easily see the ungodly treatment that the White Folks were handing the poor Jewish family whom I worked for." Armstrong wore a Star of David pendant for the rest of his life and wrote about what he learned from them: "how to live—real life and determination." The influence of Karnofsky is remembered in New Orleans by the Karnofsky Project, a nonprofit organization dedicated to accepting donated musical instruments to "put them into the hands of an eager child who could not otherwise take part in a wonderful learning experience."

Armstrong developed his cornet playing skills by playing in the band of the New Orleans Home for Colored Waifs, where he had been sent multiple times for general delinquency, most notably for firing his stepfather's pistol into the air at a New Year's Eve celebration (it was only an empty shot, as police records confirm). Professor Peter Davis (who frequently appeared at the home at the request of its administrator, Captain Joseph Jones) instilled discipline in and provided musical training to the otherwise self-taught Armstrong. Eventually, Davis made Armstrong the band leader. The home band played around New Orleans and the thirteen-year-old Louis began to draw attention by his cornet playing, starting him on a musical career. At fourteen he was released from the home, living again with his father and new stepmother, Gertrude, and then back with his mother and thus back to the streets and their temptations. Armstrong got his first dance hall job at Henry Ponce's, where Black Benny became his protector and guide. He hauled coal by day and played his cornet at night.

He played in the city's frequent brass band parades and listened to older musicians every chance he got, learning from Bunk Johnson, Buddy Petit, Kid Ory, and above all, Joe "King" Oliver, who acted as a mentor and father figure to the young musician. Later, he played in brass bands and riverboats of New Orleans, and began traveling with the well-regarded band of Fate Marable, which toured on a steamboat up and down the Mississippi River. He described his time with Marable as "going to the University," since it gave him a much wider experience working with written arrangements.

In 1919, Joe Oliver decided to go north and resigned his position in Kid Ory's band; Armstrong replaced him. He also became second trumpet for the Tuxedo Brass Band.

Career

1920s

Throughout his riverboat experience, Armstrong's musicianship began to mature and expand. At twenty, he could read music and started to be featured in extended trumpet solos, one of the first jazz men to do this, injecting his own personality and style into his solo turns. He had learned how to create a unique sound and also started using singing and patter in his performances. In 1922, Armstrong joined the exodus to Chicago, where he had been invited by his mentor, Joe "King" Oliver, to join his Creole Jazz Band and where he could make a sufficient income so that he no longer needed to supplement his music with day labor jobs. It was a boom time in Chicago and though race relations were poor, the city was teeming with jobs available for black people, who were making good wages in factories and had plenty to spend on entertainment.

Oliver's band was among the most influential jazz bands in Chicago in the early 1920s, at a time when Chicago was the center of the jazz universe. Armstrong lived luxuriously in Chicago, in his own apartment with his own private bath (his first). Excited as he was to be in Chicago, he began his career-long pastime of writing nostalgic letters to friends in New Orleans. Unusually, Armstrong could blow two hundred high Cs in a row. As his reputation grew, he was challenged to instrumental "cutting contests" by hornmen trying to displace him. Armstrong made his first recordings on the Gennett and Okeh labels (jazz records were starting to boom across the country), including taking some solos and breaks, while playing second cornet in Oliver's band in 1923. At this time, he met Hoagy Carmichael (with whom he would collaborate later) who was introduced by friend Bix Beiderbecke, who now had his own Chicago band.

Armstrong enjoyed working with Oliver, but Louis' second wife, pianist Lil Hardin Armstrong, urged him to seek more prominent billing and develop his newer style away from the influence of Oliver. Lil had her husband play classical music in church concerts to broaden his skill and improve his solo play and she prodded him into wearing more stylish attire to make him look sharp and to better offset his growing girth. Lil's influence eventually undermined Armstrong's relationship with his mentor, especially concerning his salary and additional moneys that Oliver held back from Armstrong and other band members. Armstrong and Oliver parted amicably in 1924. Shortly afterward, Armstrong received an invitation to go to New York City to play with the Fletcher Henderson Orchestra, the top African-American band of the time. Armstrong switched to the trumpet to blend in better with the other musicians in his section. His influence upon Henderson's tenor sax soloist, Coleman Hawkins, can be judged by listening to the records made by the band during this period.

Armstrong quickly adapted to the more tightly controlled style of Henderson, playing trumpet and even experimenting with the trombone. The other members quickly took up Armstrong's emotional, expressive pulse. Soon his act included singing and telling tales of New Orleans characters, especially preachers. The Henderson Orchestra was playing in prominent venues for white-only patrons, including the famed Roseland Ballroom, featuring the arrangements of Don Redman. Duke Ellington's orchestra would go to Roseland to catch Armstrong's performances and young horn men around town tried in vain to outplay him, splitting their lips in their attempts.

During this time, Armstrong made many recordings on the side, arranged by an old friend from New Orleans, pianist Clarence Williams; these included small jazz band sides with the Williams Blue Five (some of the most memorable pairing Armstrong with one of Armstrong's few rivals in fiery technique and ideas, Sidney Bechet) and a series of accompaniments with blues singers, including Bessie Smith, Ma Rainey, and Alberta Hunter.

Armstrong returned to Chicago in 1925 due mostly to the urging of his wife, who wanted to pump up Armstrong's career and income. He was content in New York but later would concede that she was right and that the Henderson Orchestra was limiting his artistic growth. In publicity, much to his chagrin, she billed him as "the World's Greatest Trumpet Player". At first, he was actually a member of the Lil Hardin Armstrong Band and working for his wife. He began recording under his own name for Okeh with his famous Hot Five and Hot Seven groups, producing hits such as "Potato Head Blues", "Muggles" (a slang term for marijuana cigarettes: Armstrong used marijuana daily for much of his life), and "West End Blues", the music of which set the standard and the agenda for jazz for many years to come.

The group included Kid Ory (trombone), Johnny Dodds (clarinet), Johnny St. Cyr (banjo), wife Lil on piano, and usually no drummer. Armstrong's band leading style was easygoing, as St. Cyr noted, "One felt so relaxed working with him, and he was very broad-minded ... always did his best to feature each individual." Among the most notable of the Hot Five and Seven records were "Cornet Chop Suey," "Struttin' With Some Barbecue," "Hotter Than that" and "Potato Head Blues,", all featuring highly creative solos by Armstrong. His recordings soon after with pianist Earl "Fatha" Hines (most famously their 1928 "Weather Bird" duet) and Armstrong's trumpet introduction to and solo in "West End Blues" remain some of the most famous and influential improvisations in jazz history. Armstrong was now free to develop his personal style as he wished, which included a heavy dose of effervescent jive, such as "whip that thing, Miss Lil" and "Mr. Johnny Dodds, Aw, do that clarinet, boy!"

Armstrong also played with Erskine Tate's Little Symphony, which played mostly at the Vendome Theatre. They furnished music for silent movies and live shows, including jazz versions of classical music, such as "Madame Butterfly", which gave Armstrong experience with longer forms of music and with hosting before a large audience. He began to scat sing (improvised vocal jazz using nonsensical words) and was among the first to record it, on the Hot Five recording "Heebie Jeebies" in 1926. The recording was so popular that the group became the most famous jazz band in the United States, even though they had not performed live to any great extent. Young musicians across the country, black or white, were turned on by Armstrong's new type of jazz.

After separating from Lil, Armstrong started to play at the Sunset Café for Al Capone's associate Joe Glaser in the Carroll Dickerson Orchestra, with Earl Hines on piano, which was soon renamed Louis Armstrong and his Stompers, though Hines was the music director and Glaser managed the orchestra. Hines and Armstrong became fast friends and successful collaborators.

Armstrong returned to New York, in 1929, where he played in the pit orchestra of the successful musical Hot Chocolate, an all-black revue written by Andy Razaf and pianist/composer Fats Waller. He also made a cameo appearance as a vocalist, regularly stealing the show with his rendition of "Ain't Misbehavin'", his version of the song becoming his biggest selling record to date.

1930s

Armstrong started to work at Connie's Inn in Harlem, chief rival to the Cotton Club, a venue for elaborately staged floor shows, and a front for gangster Dutch Schultz. Armstrong also had considerable success with vocal recordings, including versions of famous songs composed by his old friend Hoagy Carmichael. His 1930s recordings took full advantage of the new RCA ribbon microphone, introduced in 1931, which imparted a characteristic warmth to vocals and immediately became an intrinsic part of the 'crooning' sound of artists like Bing Crosby. Armstrong's famous interpretation of Carmichael's "Stardust" became one of the most successful versions of this song ever recorded, showcasing Armstrong's unique vocal sound and style and his innovative approach to singing songs that had already become standards.

Armstrong's radical re-working of Sidney Arodin and Carmichael's "Lazy River" (recorded in 1931) encapsulated many features of his groundbreaking approach to melody and phrasing. The song begins with a brief trumpet solo, then the main melody is introduced by sobbing horns, memorably punctuated by Armstrong's growling interjections at the end of each bar: "Yeah! ..."Uh-huh" ..."Sure" ... "Way down, way down." In the first verse, he ignores the notated melody entirely and sings as if playing a trumpet solo, pitching most of the first line on a single note and using strongly syncopated phrasing. In the second stanza he breaks into an almost fully improvised melody, which then evolves into a classic passage of Armstrong "scat singing".

As with his trumpet playing, Armstrong's vocal innovations served as a foundation stone for the art of jazz vocal interpretation. The uniquely gravelly coloration of his voice became a musical archetype that was much imitated and endlessly impersonated. His scat singing style was enriched by his matchless experience as a trumpet soloist. His resonant, velvety lower-register tone and bubbling cadences on sides such as "Lazy River" exerted a huge influence on younger white singers such as Bing Crosby.

The Great Depression of the early 1930s was especially hard on the jazz scene. The Cotton Club closed in 1936 after a long downward spiral, and many musicians stopped playing altogether as club dates evaporated. Bix Beiderbecke died and Fletcher Henderson's band broke up. King Oliver made a few records but otherwise struggled. Sidney Bechet became a tailor, later moving to Paris and Kid Ory returned to New Orleans and raised chickens.

Armstrong moved to Los Angeles in 1930 to seek new opportunities. He played at the New Cotton Club in Los Angeles with Lionel Hampton on drums. The band drew the Hollywood crowd, which could still afford a lavish night life, while radio broadcasts from the club connected with younger audiences at home. Bing Crosby and many other celebrities were regulars at the club. In 1931, Armstrong appeared in his first movie, Ex-Flame and was also convicted of marijuana possession but received a suspended sentence. He returned to Chicago in late 1931 and played in bands more in the Guy Lombardo vein and he recorded more standards. When the mob insisted that he get out of town, Armstrong visited New Orleans, had a hero's welcome and saw old friends. He sponsored a local baseball team known as "Armstrong's Secret Nine" and had a cigar named after him. But soon he was on the road again and after a tour across the country shadowed by the mob, Armstrong decided to go to Europe to escape.

After returning to the United States, he undertook several exhausting tours. His agent Johnny Collins's erratic behavior and his own spending ways left Armstrong short of cash. Breach of contract violations plagued him. Finally, he hired Joe Glaser as his new manager, a tough mob-connected wheeler-dealer, who began to straighten out his legal mess, his mob troubles, and his debts. Armstrong also began to experience problems with his fingers and lips, which were aggravated by his unorthodox playing style. As a result, he branched out, developing his vocal style and making his first theatrical appearances. He appeared in movies again, including Crosby's 1936 hit Pennies from Heaven. In 1937, Armstrong substituted for Rudy Vallee on the CBS radio network and became the first African American to host a sponsored, national broadcast.

1940s

After spending many years on the road, Armstrong settled permanently in Queens, New York in 1943 in contentment with his fourth wife, Lucille. Although subject to the vicissitudes of Tin Pan Alley and the gangster-ridden music business, as well as anti-black prejudice, he continued to develop his playing. He recorded Hoagy Carmichael's Rockin' Chair for Okeh Records.

During the subsequent 30 years, Armstrong played more than 300 gigs a year. Bookings for big bands tapered off during the 1940s due to changes in public tastes: ballrooms closed, and there was competition from television and from other types of music becoming more popular than big band music. It became impossible under such circumstances to support and finance a 16-piece touring band.

During the 1940s, a widespread revival of interest in the traditional jazz of the 1920s made it possible for Armstrong to consider a return to the small-group musical style of his youth. Following a highly successful small-group jazz concert at New York Town Hall on May 17, 1947, featuring Armstrong with trombonist/singer Jack Teagarden, Armstrong's manager, Joe Glaser dissolved the Armstrong big band on August 13, 1947, and established a six-piece traditional jazz group featuring Armstrong with (initially) Teagarden, Earl Hines and other top swing and Dixieland musicians, most of whom were previously leaders of big bands. The new group was announced at the opening of Billy Berg's Supper Club.

This group was called Louis Armstrong and His All Stars and included at various times Earl "Fatha" Hines, Barney Bigard, Edmond Hall, Jack Teagarden, Trummy Young, Arvell Shaw, Billy Kyle, Marty Napoleon, Big Sid Catlett, Cozy Cole, Tyree Glenn, Barrett Deems, Mort Herbert, Joe Darensbourg, Eddie Shu and the percussionist Danny Barcelona. During this period, Armstrong made many recordings and appeared in over thirty films. He was the first jazz musician to appear on the cover of Time magazine, on February 21, 1949. In 1948, he participated in the Nice Jazz Festival, where Suzy Delair sang "C'est si bon", by Henri Betti and André Hornez, for the first time in public.

1950s–1970s

June 26, 1950, Armstrong recorded the first American version of C'est si bon (Henri Betti, André Hornez, Jerry Seelen) and La Vie en rose (Louiguy, Édith Piaf, Mack David). When it was released, the disc garnered worldwide sales. In the 1960s, he toured Ghana and Nigeria, performing with Victor Olaiya during the Nigerian Civil war.

By the 1950s, Armstrong was a widely beloved American icon and cultural ambassador who commanded an international fanbase. However, a growing generation gap became apparent between him and the young jazz musicians who emerged in the postwar era such as Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, and Sonny Rollins. The postwar generation regarded their music as abstract art and considered Armstrong's vaudevillian style, half-musician and half-stage entertainer, outmoded and Uncle Tomism, ". . he seemed a link to minstrelsy that we were ashamed of." Jazz publications of the 1950s widely referred to Armstrong's presence among the already emerged contemporary players as they would a dinosaur, and he answered back in his own form of chosen polemic: refraining from a direct epicurean denigration, "Bebop is Chinese music." While touring Australia, 1954, he modified his anatomical references for the sake of the gentle ears of his host country, "Bebop?" he husked. "I just play music. Guys who invent terms like that are walking the streets with their instruments under their arms "

After finishing his contract with Decca Records, he became a freelance artist and recorded for different labels.

Armstrong continued an intense international touring schedule, but in 1959 he suffered a heart attack in Italy and had to rest for a time.

In 1964, after over two years without setting foot in a studio, he recorded his biggest-selling record, "Hello, Dolly!", a song by Jerry Herman, originally sung by Carol Channing. Armstrong's version remained on the Hot 100 for 22 weeks, longer than any other record produced that year, and went to No. 1 making him, at 62 years, 9 months and 5 days, the oldest person ever to accomplish that feat. In the process, he dislodged the Beatles from the No. 1 position they had occupied for 14 consecutive weeks with three different songs. Armstrong made his last recorded trumpet performances on his 1968 album Disney Songs the Satchmo Way.

Armstrong kept touring well into his 60s, even visiting part of the communist bloc in 1965. He also toured Africa, Europe, and Asia under the sponsorship of the US State Department with great success, earning the nickname "Ambassador Satch" and inspiring Dave Brubeck to compose his jazz musical The Real Ambassadors. By 1968, he was approaching 70 and his health finally began to give out. He suffered heart and kidney ailments that forced him to stop touring. Armstrong did not perform publicly at all in 1969 and spent most of the year recuperating at home. Meanwhile, his longtime manager Joe Glaser died. By the summer of 1970, Armstrong's doctors pronounced him fit enough to resume live performances. He embarked on another world tour, but a heart attack forced him to take a break for two months.

Personal life

Pronunciation of name

The Louis Armstrong House Museum website states:

Judging from home recorded tapes now in our Museum Collections, Louis pronounced his own name as "Lewis." On his 1964 record "Hello, Dolly," he sings, "This is Lewis, Dolly" but in 1933 he made a record called "Laughin' Louie." Many broadcast announcers, fans, and acquaintances called him "Louie" and in a videotaped interview from 1983 Lucille Armstrong calls her late husband "Louie" as well. Musicians and close friends usually called him "Pops."

In a memoir written for Robert Goffin between 1943 and 1944, Armstrong states, "All white folks call me Louie," suggesting that he himself did not. That said, Armstrong was registered as "Lewie" for the 1920 U.S. Census. On various live records he's called "Louie" on stage, such as on the 1952 "Can Anyone Explain?" from the live album In Scandinavia vol.1. "Lewie" is the French pronunciation of "Louis" and is commonly used in Louisiana.

Family

On March 19, 1918, at the age of 16, Louis married Daisy Parker, a prostitute from Gretna, Louisiana. They adopted a 3-year-old boy, Clarence Armstrong, whose mother, Louis' cousin Flora, died soon after giving birth. Clarence Armstrong was mentally disabled (the result of a head injury at an early age) and Louis would spend the rest of his life taking care of him. Louis' marriage to Parker failed quickly and they separated in 1923.

On February 4, 1924, Louis married Lil Hardin Armstrong, who was Oliver's pianist and had also divorced her first spouse only a few years earlier. His second wife was instrumental in developing his career, but in the late 1920s Hardin and Louis grew apart. They separated in 1931 and divorced in 1938, after which Louis married longtime girlfriend Alpha Smith. His marriage to his third wife lasted four years, and they divorced in 1942. Louis then married Lucille Wilson in October 1942, a singer at the Cotton Club, to whom he was married until his death in 1971.

Armstrong's marriages never produced any offspring, though he loved children. However, in December 2012, 57-year-old Sharon Preston-Folta claimed to be his daughter from a 1950s affair between Armstrong and Lucille "Sweets" Preston, a dancer at the Cotton Club. In a 1955 letter to his manager, Joe Glaser, Armstrong affirmed his belief that Preston's newborn baby was his daughter, and ordered Glaser to pay a monthly allowance of $400 to mother and child.

Personality

Armstrong was noted for his colorful and charismatic personality. His autobiography vexed some biographers and historians, as he had a habit of telling tales, particularly of his early childhood when he was less scrutinized, and his embellishments of his history often lack consistency.

In addition to an entertainer, Armstrong was a leading personality of the day. He was beloved by an American public that gave even the greatest African American performers little access beyond their public celebrity, and he was able to live a private life of access and privilege afforded to few other African Americans during that era.

He generally remained politically neutral, which at times alienated him from members of the black community who looked to him to use his prominence with white America to become more of an outspoken figure during the Civil Rights Movement of U.S. history. However, he did criticize President Eisenhower for not acting forcefully enough on civil rights.

Lip problems

The trumpet is a notoriously hard instrument on the lips, and Armstrong suffered from lip damage over much of his life due to his aggressive style of playing and preference for narrow mouthpieces that would stay in place easier, but which tended to dig into the soft flesh of his inner lip. During his 1930s European tour, he suffered an ulceration so severe that he had to stop playing entirely for a year. Eventually he took to using salves and creams on his lips and also cutting off scar tissue with a razor blade. By the 1950s, he was an official spokesman for Ansatz-Creme Lip Salve.

During a backstage meeting with trombonist Marshall Brown in 1959, Armstrong received the suggestion that he should go to a doctor and receive proper treatment for his lips instead of relying on home remedies, but he didn't get around to doing it until the final years of his life, by which point his health was failing and doctors considered surgery too risky.

Nicknames

The nicknames Satchmo and Satch are short for Satchelmouth. Like many things in Armstrong's life, which was filled with colorful stories both real and imagined, many of his own telling, the nickname has many possible origins.

The most common tale that biographers tell is the story of Armstrong as a young boy dancing for pennies in the streets of New Orleans, who would scoop up the coins off of the streets and stick them into his mouth to avoid having the bigger children steal them from him. Someone dubbed him "satchel mouth" for his mouth acting as a satchel. Another tale is that because of his large mouth, he was nicknamed "satchel mouth" which became shortened to Satchmo.

Early on he was also known as Dipper, short for Dippermouth, a reference to the piece Dippermouth Blues. and something of a riff on his unusual embouchure.

The nickname Pops came from Armstrong's own tendency to forget people's names and simply call them "pops" instead. The nickname was soon turned on Armstrong himself. It was used as the title of a 2010 biography of Armstrong by Terry Teachout.

Race

Armstrong was largely accepted into white society, both on stage and off, a privilege reserved for very few African-American public figures, and usually those of either exceptional talent or fair skin tone. As his fame grew, so did his access to the finer things in life usually denied to African-Americans, even famous ones. His renown was such that he dined in reputable restaurants and stayed in hotels usually exclusively for whites. It was a power and privilege that he enjoyed, although he was very careful not to flaunt it with fellow performers of color, and privately, he shared what access that he could with friends and fellow musicians.

That still did not prevent members of the African-American community, particularly in the late 1950s to the early 1970s, from calling him an Uncle Tom, a black-on-black racial epithet for someone who kowtowed to white society at the expense of their own racial identity. Billie Holiday countered, however, "Of course Pops toms, but he toms from the heart." He was criticized for accepting the title of "King of The Zulus" for Mardi Gras in 1949. In the New Orleans African-American community it is an honored role as the head of leading black Carnival Krewe, but bewildering or offensive to outsiders with their traditional costume of grass-skirts and blackface makeup satirizing southern white attitudes.

Some musicians criticized Armstrong for playing in front of segregated audiences, and for not taking a strong enough stand in the American Civil Rights Movement. The few exceptions made it more effective when he did speak out. Armstrong's criticism of President Eisenhower, calling him "two-faced" and "gutless" because of his inaction during the conflict over school desegregation in Little Rock, Arkansas in 1957 made national news. As a protest, Armstrong canceled a planned tour of the Soviet Union on behalf of the State Department saying: "The way they're treating my people in the South, the government can go to hell" and that he could not represent his government abroad when it was in conflict with its own people.

The FBI kept a file on Armstrong for his outspokenness about integration.

Religion

When asked about his religion, Armstrong would answer that he was raised a Baptist, always wore a Star of David, and was friends with the Pope. Armstrong wore the Star of David in honor of the Karnofsky family, who took him in as a child and lent him the money to buy his first cornet. Louis Armstrong was, in fact, baptized as a Catholic at the Sacred Heart of Jesus Church in New Orleans, and he met popes Pius XII and Paul VI, though there is no evidence that he considered himself Catholic. Armstrong seems to have been tolerant towards various religions, but also found humor in them.

Personal habits

Armstrong was concerned with his health. He used laxatives to control his weight, a practice he advocated both to acquaintances and in the diet plans he published under the title Lose Weight the Satchmo Way. Armstrong's laxative of preference in his younger days was Pluto Water, but he then became an enthusiastic convert when he discovered the herbal remedy Swiss Kriss. He would extol its virtues to anyone who would listen and pass out packets to everyone he encountered, including members of the British Royal Family. (Armstrong also appeared in humorous, albeit risqué, cards that he had printed to send out to friends; the cards bore a picture of him sitting on a toilet—as viewed through a keyhole—with the slogan "Satch says, 'Leave it all behind ya!'") The cards have sometimes been incorrectly described as ads for Swiss Kriss. In a live recording of "Baby, It's Cold Outside" with Velma Middleton, he changes the lyric from "Put another record on while I pour" to "Take some Swiss Kriss while I pour."

Armstrong was a heavy marijuana smoker for much of his life, and spent nine days in jail in 1930 after being arrested for drug possession outside a club. He described marijuana as "a thousand times better than whiskey".

The concern with his health and weight was balanced by his love of food, reflected in such songs as "Cheesecake", "Cornet Chop Suey," though "Struttin' with Some Barbecue" was written about a fine-looking companion, not about food. He kept a strong connection throughout his life to the cooking of New Orleans, always signing his letters, "Red beans and ricely yours..."

Armstrong was also a heavy advocate of major league baseball and founded a team in his hometown of New Orleans, that was formally known as the "Raggedy Nine" and transformed the team into his Armstrong's "Secret Nine Baseball."

Writings

Armstrong's gregariousness extended to writing. On the road, he wrote constantly, sharing favorite themes of his life with correspondents around the world. He avidly typed or wrote on whatever stationery was at hand, recording instant takes on music, sex, food, childhood memories, his heavy "medicinal" marijuana use—and even his bowel movements, which he gleefully described. He had a fondness for lewd jokes and dirty limericks as well.

Social organizations

Louis Armstrong was not, as is often claimed, a Freemason. Although he is usually listed as being a member of Montgomery Lodge No. 18 (Prince Hall) in New York, no such lodge has ever existed. However, Armstrong stated in his autobiography that he was a member of the Knights of Pythias which is not a Masonic group.

Music

Horn playing and early jazz

In his early years, Armstrong was best known for his virtuosity with the cornet and trumpet. Along with his captivating songs with the clarinet, he also captivated audiences with his iconic rhythmic "swing", which was a complex concept involving upbeats, upbeat to down beat slurring, and complementary relations through many rhythmic patterns. The most lauded recordings on which Armstrong plays trumpet include the Hot Five and Hot Seven sessions, as well as those of the Red Onion Jazz Babies. Armstrong's improvisations, while unconventionally sophisticated for that era, were also subtle and highly melodic. The solo that Armstrong plays during the song Potato Head Blues has long been considered his best solo of that series.

Prior to Armstrong, most collective ensemble playing in jazz, along with its occasional solos, simply varied the melodies of the songs. Armstrong was virtually the first to create significant variations based on the chord harmonies of the songs instead of merely on the melodies. This opened a rich field for creation and improvisation, and significantly changed the music into a soloist's art form.

Often, Armstrong re-composed pop-tunes he played, simply with variations that made them more compelling to jazz listeners of the era. At the same time, however, his oeuvre includes many original melodies, creative leaps, and relaxed or driving rhythms. Armstrong's playing technique, honed by constant practice, extended the range, tone and capabilities of the trumpet. In his records, Armstrong almost single-handedly created the role of the jazz soloist, taking what had been essentially a collective folk music and turning it into an art form with tremendous possibilities for individual expression.

Armstrong was one of the first artists to use recordings of his performances to improve himself. Armstrong was an avid audiophile. He had a large collection of recordings, including reel-to-reel tapes, which he took on the road with him in a trunk during his later career. He enjoyed listening to his own recordings, and comparing his performances musically. In the den of his home, he had the latest audio equipment and would sometimes rehearse and record along with his older recordings or the radio.

Vocal popularity

As his music progressed and popularity grew, his singing also became very important. Armstrong was not the first to record scat singing, but he was masterful at it and helped popularize it with the first recording on which he scatted, "Heebie Jeebies". At a recording session for Okeh Records, when the sheet music supposedly fell on the floor and the music began before he could pick up the pages, Armstrong simply started singing nonsense syllables while Okeh president E.A. Fearn, who was at the session, kept telling him to continue. Armstrong did, thinking the track would be discarded, but that was the version that was pressed to disc, sold, and became an unexpected hit. Although the story was thought to be apocryphal, Armstrong himself confirmed it in at least one interview as well as in his memoirs. On a later recording, Armstrong also sang out "I done forgot the words" in the middle of recording "I'm A Ding Dong Daddy From Dumas."

Such records were hits and scat singing became a major part of his performances. Long before this, however, Armstrong was playing around with his vocals, shortening and lengthening phrases, interjecting improvisations, using his voice as creatively as his trumpet.

Composing

Armstrong was a gifted composer who wrote more than fifty songs, which in a number of cases have become jazz standards (e.g., "Gully Low Blues," "Potato Head Blues," and "Swing That Music").

Colleagues and followers

During his long career he played and sang with some of the most important instrumentalists and vocalists of the time; among them were Bing Crosby, Duke Ellington, Fletcher Henderson, Earl Hines, Jimmie Rodgers, Bessie Smith and perhaps most famously Ella Fitzgerald. His influence upon Crosby is particularly important with regard to the subsequent development of popular music: Crosby admired and copied Armstrong, as is evident on many of his early recordings, notably "Just One More Chance" (1931). The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz describes Crosby's debt to Armstrong in precise detail, although it does not acknowledge Armstrong by name:

Crosby... was important in introducing into the mainstream of popular singing an Afro-American concept of song as a lyrical extension of speech... His techniques—easing the weight of the breath on the vocal cords, passing into a head voice at a low register, using forward production to aid distinct enunciation, singing on consonants (a practice of black singers), and making discreet use of appoggiaturas, mordents, and slurs to emphasize the text—were emulated by nearly all later popular singers.

Armstrong recorded two albums with Ella Fitzgerald: Ella and Louis, and Ella and Louis Again for Verve Records, with the sessions featuring the backing musicianship of the Oscar Peterson Trio and drummers Buddy Rich (on the first album), and Louie Bellson (on the second). Norman Granz then had the vision for Ella and Louis to record Porgy and Bess which is the most famous and critically acclaimed version of the Gershwin brothers' work.

His recordings for Columbia Records, Louis Armstrong Plays W.C. Handy (1954) and Satch Plays Fats (all Fats Waller tunes) (1955) were both being considered masterpieces, as well as moderately well selling. In 1961 the All Stars participated in two albums - "The Great Summit" and "The Great Reunion" (now together as a single disc) with Duke Ellington. The albums feature many of Ellington's most famous compositions (as well as two exclusive cuts) with Duke sitting in on piano. His participation in Dave Brubeck's high-concept jazz musical The Real Ambassadors (1963) was critically acclaimed, and features "Summer Song," one of Armstrong's most popular vocal efforts.

In 1964, his recording of the song "Hello Dolly" went to number one. An album of the same title was quickly created around the song, and also shot to number one (knocking The Beatles off the top of the chart). The album sold very well for the rest of the year, quickly going "Gold" (500,000). His performance of "Hello Dolly" won for best male pop vocal performance at the 1964 Grammy Awards.

Hits and later career

Armstrong had nineteen "Top Ten" records including "Stardust", "What a Wonderful World", "When The Saints Go Marching In", "Dream a Little Dream of Me", "Ain't Misbehavin'", "You Rascal You", and "Stompin' at the Savoy". "We Have All the Time in the World" was featured on the soundtrack of the James Bond film On Her Majesty's Secret Service, and enjoyed renewed popularity in the UK in 1994 when it featured on a Guinness advert. It reached number 3 in the charts on being re-released.

In 1964, Armstrong knocked The Beatles off the top of the Billboard Hot 100 chart with "Hello, Dolly!", which gave the 63-year-old performer a U.S. record as the oldest artist to have a number one song. His 1964 song "Bout Time" was later featured in the film Bewitched.

Armstrong performed in Italy at the 1968 Sanremo Music Festival where he sang "Mi Va di Cantare" alongside his friend, the Eritrean-born Italian singer Lara Saint Paul. In February 1968, he also appeared with Lara Saint Paul on the Italian RAI television channel where he performed "Grassa e Bella," a track he sang in Italian for the Italian market and C.D.I. label.

In 1968, Armstrong scored one last popular hit in the United Kingdom with "What a Wonderful World", which topped the British charts for a month. The single did not chart at all in America until twenty years later, when it was used in the 1987 film Good Morning Vietnam (Ruhlman). Armstrong appeared on the October 28, 1970, Johnny Cash Show, where he sang Nat King Cole's hit "Ramblin' Rose" and joined Cash to re-create his performance backing Jimmie Rodgers on "Blue Yodel No. 9".

Stylistic range

Armstrong enjoyed many types of music, from blues to the arrangements of Guy Lombardo, to Latin American folksongs, to classical symphonies and opera. He incorporated influences from all these sources into his performances, sometimes to the bewilderment of fans who wanted him to stay in convenient narrow categories. Armstrong was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as an early influence. Some of his solos from the 1950s, such as the hard rocking version of "St. Louis Blues" from the WC Handy album, show that the influence went in both directions.

Literature, radio, films and TV

Armstrong appeared in more than a dozen Hollywood films, usually playing a bandleader or musician. His most familiar role was as the bandleader cum narrator in the 1956 musical, High Society, in which he sang the title song and performed a duet with Bing Crosby on "Now You Has Jazz". In 1947, he played himself in the movie New Orleans opposite Billie Holiday, which chronicled the demise of the Storyville district and the ensuing exodus of musicians from New Orleans to Chicago. In the 1959 film, The Five Pennies (the story of the cornetist Red Nichols), Armstrong played himself as well as singing and playing several classic numbers. With Danny Kaye Armstrong performed a duet of "When the Saints Go Marching In" during which Kaye impersonated Armstrong. Armstrong also had a part in the film alongside James Stewart in The Glenn Miller Story in which Glenn (played by Stewart) jammed with Armstrong and a few other noted musicians of the time.

He was the first African American to host a nationally broadcast radio show in the 1930s. In 1969, Armstrong had a cameo role in the film version of Hello, Dolly! as the bandleader, Louis, to which he sang the title song with actress Barbra Streisand. His solo recording of "Hello, Dolly!" is one of his most recognizable performances.

He was heard on such radio programs as The Story of Swing (1937) and This Is Jazz (1947), and he also made countless television appearances, especially in the 1950s and 1960s, including appearances on The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson.

Argentine writer Julio Cortázar, a self-described Armstrong admirer, asserted that a 1952 Louis Armstrong concert at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in Paris played a significant role in inspiring him to create the fictional creatures called Cronopios that are the subject of a number of Cortázar's short stories. Cortázar once called Armstrong himself "Grandísimo Cronopio" (The Great Cronopio).

Armstrong appears as a minor fictionalized character in Harry Turtledove's Southern Victory Series. When he and his band escape from a Nazi-like Confederacy, they enhance the insipid mainstream music of the North. A young Armstrong also appears as a minor fictionalized character in Patrick Neate's 2001 novel Twelve Bar Blues, part of which is set in New Orleans, and which was a winner at that year's Whitbread Book Awards.

There is a pivotal scene in Stardust Memories (1980) in which Woody Allen is overwhelmed by a recording of Armstrong's "Stardust" and experiences a nostalgic epiphany. The combination of the music and the perfect moment is the catalyst for much of the film's action, prompting the protagonist to fall in love with an ill-advised woman.

Terry Teachout wrote a one-man play about Armstrong called Satchmo at the Waldorf that was premiered in 2011 in Orlando, Fla., and has since been produced by Shakespeare & Company, Long Wharf Theater, and the Wilma Theater. The production ran off Broadway in 2014.

A fledgling musician named "Louis," who is obsessed with Buddy Bolden, appears in two of David Fulmer's Storyville novels: Chasing the Devil's Tail and Jass.

Death

Against his doctor's advice, Armstrong played a two-week engagement in March 1971 at the Waldorf-Astoria's Empire Room. At the end of it he was hospitalized for a heart attack. He was released from the hospital in May, and quickly resumed practicing his trumpet playing. Still hoping to get back on the road, Armstrong died of a heart attack in his sleep on July 6, 1971, a month before his 70th birthday. He was residing in Corona, Queens, New York City, at the time of his death. He was interred in Flushing Cemetery, Flushing, in Queens, New York City. His honorary pallbearers included Bing Crosby, Ella Fitzgerald, Dizzy Gillespie, Pearl Bailey, Count Basie, Harry James, Frank Sinatra, Ed Sullivan, Earl Wilson, Alan King, Johnny Carson and David Frost. Peggy Lee sang The Lord's Prayer at the services while Al Hibbler sang "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen" and Fred Robbins, a long-time friend, gave the eulogy.

Awards and honors

Grammy Awards

Armstrong was posthumously awarded the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award in 1972 by the Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences. This Special Merit Award is presented by vote of the Recording Academy's National Trustees to performers who, during their lifetimes, have made creative contributions of outstanding artistic significance to the field of recording.

Grammy Hall of Fame

Recordings of Armstrong were inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame, which is a special Grammy award established in 1973 to honor recordings that are at least 25 years old, and that have "qualitative or historical significance."

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame listed Armstrong's West End Blues on the list of 500 songs that shaped Rock and Roll.

Inductions and honors

In 1995, the U.S. Post Office issued a Louis Armstrong 32 cents commemorative postage stamp.

Film honors

In 1999 Armstrong was nominated for inclusion in the American Film Institute's 100 Years...100 Stars.

Legacy

The influence of Armstrong on the development of jazz is virtually immeasurable. Yet, his irrepressible personality both as a performer, and as a public figure later in his career, was so strong that to some it sometimes overshadowed his contributions as a musician and singer.

As a virtuoso trumpet player, Armstrong had a unique tone and an extraordinary talent for melodic improvisation. Through his playing, the trumpet emerged as a solo instrument in jazz and is used widely today. Additionally, jazz itself was transformed from a collectively improvised folk music to a soloist's serious art form largely through his influence. He was a masterful accompanist and ensemble player in addition to his extraordinary skills as a soloist. With his innovations, he raised the bar musically for all who came after him.

Though Armstrong is widely recognized as a pioneer of scat singing, Ethel Waters precedes his scatting on record in the 1930s according to Gary Giddins and others. Billie Holiday and Frank Sinatra are just two singers who were greatly indebted to him. Holiday said that she always wanted Bessie Smith's 'big' sound and Armstrong's feeling in her singing. Even special musicians like Duke Ellington have praised Armstrong through strong testimonials. Duke Ellington said, "If anybody was a master, it was Louis Armstrong." In 1950, Bing Crosby, the most successful vocalist of the first half of the 20th century, said, "He is the beginning and the end of music in America."

In the summer of 2001, in commemoration of the centennial of Armstrong's birth, New Orleans's main airport was renamed Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport.

In 2002, the Louis Armstrong's Hot Five and Hot Seven recordings (1925–1928) were preserved in the United States National Recording Registry, a registry of recordings selected yearly by the National Recording Preservation Board for preservation in the National Recording Registry of the Library of Congress.

The US Open tennis tournament's former main stadium was named Louis Armstrong Stadium in honor of Armstrong who had lived a few blocks from the site.

Today, there are many bands worldwide dedicated to preserving and honoring the music and style of Satchmo, including the Louis Armstrong Society located in New Orleans, Louisiana. In the 2009 movie The Princess and the Frog, he is referenced by Louis along with Sidney Bechet, in the song "When We're Human".

Home turned into National Historic Landmark

The house where Armstrong lived for almost 28 years was declared a National Historic Landmark in 1977 and is now a museum. The Louis Armstrong House Museum, at 34-56 107th Street (between 34th and 37th Avenues) in Corona, Queens, presents concerts and educational programs, operates as a historic house museum and makes materials in its archives of writings, books, recordings and memorabilia available to the public for research. The museum is operated by the City University of New York's Queens College, following the dictates of Lucille Armstrong's will. The museum opened to the public on October 15, 2003. A new visitors center is planned.

Wikipedia

[ejbarnes]

Book review: _The Forge and the Crucible: The Origins and Structures of Alchemy_ by Mircea Eliade, translated from the French by Stephen Corrin, Harper Torchbooks 1971

Prolific Romanian-born writer Mircea Eliade (1907-1986) wrote Forgerons et Alchimistes (Smiths and Alchemists) in the 1950s, and Flammarion published it in 1956. It’s a good thing that, by the time I read the 1962 translation by Stephen Corrin, I’d done a great deal of reading on the theory and history of Western alchemy and the occult, not to mention both popular and scholarly history in general – or I’d have been much more easily impressed by Eliade’s ostentatious displays of erudition.

These displays consist of piling on examples meant to demonstrate his theses, all too rarely bothering to step through the logic (even the emotional logic). This pattern is especially marked in the early chapters, where he illustrates various cultural concepts associated with metallurgy by listing various peoples who hold them; but it crops up in other chapters as well, most stultifyingly in the chapter on Chinese alchemy, in which he quotes a range of Chinese sources vouching for the exact same idea or practice. This is a very old-fashioned – as in pre-Enlightenment – way of framing an argument (as noted by Wayne Shumaker in his book The Occult Sciences in the Renaissance). Many peoples are mentioned without mentioning where they are, what their general technological state is (other than the implication that they are “primitive”), or how much contact they have with neighboring cultures; many ancient, mediaeval, and early-modern writers on alchemy are cited without noting the threads of influence between them. In an ostensibly historical cultural study such as this, it is not enough to note that a person or culture embraces an idea; the why is a critical part.

In a few places, Eliade complains that he doesn’t have the space to go into depth on certain matters that would help him construct his argument more clearly and logically. This beggars belief, coming from someone who had previously written a 500-page book on shamanism – and cites himself in the current work (Le Chamanisme et les techniques archaïques de l’extase, 1951). Who set the terms under which the new book was to be written?

Where metallurgy fits into the history of material culture in general is only waved at; Eliade declares at the outset that there is less known about the spiritual significance of other crafts. Considering that material culture, as a subject of historical study, was in its infancy at the time he was writing, it’s hard to tell whether the blind spot here was his, or that of the entire field. Eventually, Eliade admits there’s not much known about the cultural history of metallurgy, either.

As he was writing in the 1950s, Eliade can be somewhat forgiven for using the word “primitive” (only sometimes in quotes) to describe cultures and communities that have not (yet) been overtaken by industrial methods of production. However, after chapter upon chapter of describing the metallurgy-related cultural practices of pre-industrial peoples – within historical times – belatedly, he admits that looking at modern “primitives” is not necessarily a reliable way to determine the by-definition-unwritten prehistory of cultural practices surrounding ancient technologies. Unfortunately, even if this is the best we can do, it really isn’t good enough for the purposes he wishes to serve.

It is easier to forgive Eliade for using ethnic terminology that has fallen out of fashion since the book was written, such as applying the term “Hamitic” to the Ma[a]sai. Alas, the translator, Stephen Corrin, stumbles in rendering the French versions of various ethnonyms into English, such as not realizing that the Achanti are the Ashanti, or that “Tziganes” are the French exonym for what English speakers would have called Gypsies (who call themselves, as Eliade points out, “Rom” or variations of the same).

Eliade makes interesting points about mythological significance of smelting and smithing, including the smith as both a heroic and a threatening figure. However, he implies that these themes are universal, when almost all of his examples are positive rather than negative; no effort seems to be made to explain why some metal-using cultures might not share in these themes. Critics over the years have accused Eliade of cherry-picking his data when writing cultural history, and Forgerons et Alchimistes may have been one example. In addition, almost all of the cultures he cites are Old World. “Metallurgy as such,” he writes, “in Central and South America, is probably Asiatic in origin.” The evidence he gives for this is grossly anachronistic, at least by modern research – although the source he cites, a German article from 1954, is the likely source of the problem. Other than this, he has little to say about indigenous/traditional New World cultures except in reference to their shamanic, rather than metallurgic, practices.

More importantly, the only universal that could apply to his argument about the history of metallurgy is the pre-industrial enchantment of the world, and with it both nature and all of material culture. The best parts, early in the book, address how ideas of organic growth, as well as sex and sexual reproduction, are applied to what we moderns would consider non-living matter, either natural or human-made. The disenchantment of the modern world encourages drawing a sharp line between living and non-living matter, whereas in the pre-modern view that line is often either nonexistent or highly permeable.

Smiths (and alchemists) are “Masters of Fire”, as one chapter puts it; but there are other members of any human culture who are. At the very least, they stand at the hearth instead of the forge – but who cared, in the 1950s, about how women use fire in traditional cultures?

The significance of gold in early Chinese culture, where it was too rare to use for coinage, is fluffed off in one of the appendices. (Interestingly, China is ranked, as of 2016, as the world’s top producer of gold.) Eliade never mentions that the Chinese knew, even in ancient times, that cinnabar was toxic, so the significance of tales of adepts ingesting it for “immortality” is not put in proper socio-mythic context. Is this a result of his stated decision to completely avoid discussing practical aspects of chemistry/alchemy because his focus is on the mystical aspects? The physical properties of materials drive their spiritual significance, not the other way around. For example, gold would not be “noble” if it corroded as easily as iron.

Illustrations from Michael Maier’s Atalanta Fugiens (reprinted under the title Scrutinium chymicum, the version Eliade references) are strewn through the book, but the only reference to Maier in the text quotes an entirely different work, Symbola aureae mensae duodecim nationem. In addition, none of the illustrations (including from another work, Rosarium philosophorum) have captions giving anything more than author, title of work, date and place of publication, and a brief translation of the text from the source. Thus, while many of the illustrations definitely reference ideas described in the book, there is no direct connection, and thus the reader is left to wonder why this illustration was selected until the text mentions the  idea -- without referencing the illustration – a circle that badly needed to be completed.

I do not know enough about the history of history of science to say whether it was known, at the time Eliade wrote, that all attributions of alchemical texts to Arnaud de Villeneuve and Ramon Llull were spurious. Certainly the “Geber problem” was well known by then, but he manages to skirt around it by only specifically referencing works definitely known to be by Geber (Jābir ibn Hayyān).

Once he gets to Western alchemy, Eliade in several places cites Baron Julius Evola, who wrote the influential but historically questionable The Hermetic Tradition. I’ve read too little anthropology from the 1950s to know if Evola was generally radioactive in European scholarship during this period, but his political leanings would not have been much of a secret. Unlike Eliade, Evola never distanced himself from his fascist past; he criticized the Fascist party from the right, and, after the war, continued to produce polemics for the Italian radical right, including calls for political violence. Evola’s scholarly interest in Hindusim was to no small degree colored by its karmic justification of caste society, a stratification he hoped would be re-embraced by the decadent, democratic West; there’s no reason for me to believe that Evola’s study of hermeticism was untainted by his personal politics, prescriptive for all civilization as they were. Can we trust what a misogynist such as Evola, who openly advocated the forcible subjection of women, would have made of the alchemical Hermaphrodite, or the female alchemical assistant depicted in Mutus Liber?

Ultimately, I came away from The Forge and the Crucible feeling snookered by false advertising. The book groups together smiths and alchemists as major topics in one ~200-page volume – and the English subtitle implies that the origins of alchemy are the main topic of the book. I was thus led to believe that a case would be made that the cultural practices surrounding early metallurgy evolved directly into alchemy as both a technical and mystical practice. Yet, when the time came, the process of tracing from one to the other was fudged with “probablys” and “must-have-beens.” This is the book’s single greatest weakness.

Toward the end of the book, Eliade can’t resist lamenting the sorry state of modernity and what was lost with the disenchantment of the world. Treating this topic with anything more rigorous than sentimentality would require acknowledging that our experience of the numinous is necessarily filtered through our subjective mindset, whether our cultural background or our personal psychology. Such a treatment would require a book of its own, one which would be incomplete without positing a non-sectarian methodology by which the external reality of our spiritual experiences could be judged. As I’m not a professional theologian, I am unaware of whether any such methodology is possible, let alone whether anyone has proposed one.

The standard format of historical or anthropological bibliographies may have changed since this book was published, or it may be (or have been) different in the Francophone circles for which it was originally written. As it stands, the bibliographical information is concentrated in several appendices rather than a single bibliography arranged in a format familiar to me – i.e. a list or group of topic-based lists alphabetized by surname of author or editor. In these appendices, works on related topics are clustered in paragraphs, making scanning for authors or titles a huge pain. The best appendix of the lot is the last, his essay on Jung.

An online blurb for the 1978 edition claims an updated appendix including more recent works on Chinese alchemy, as well as “the importance of alchemy in Newton’s scientific revolution.” I should probably have a look at this, as Newton’s alchemical work was little acknowledged until the 1970s.

The index is sparse, to the point of being nearly useless. Despite Eliade’s name-dropping numerous ethnic groups, only some ethnonyms make it into the index. Geber/Jābir (written by Eliade as Jâbîr) appears at least twice (at least once in the main text as well as in one of the appendices), yet, despite being a major figure in the history of alchemy, he does not appear in the index at all under either G or J. Other alchemists, such as Zosimos and Michael Maier, though mentioned in the text, are similarly omitted from the index. Whether the shameful carelessness of composing the index is a function of the original Francophone publisher or the Anglophone publisher is not something I am in a position to pinpoint.

Overall, I would not recommend this ~60-year-old book for anyone who is just starting out in the study of alchemy, as understanding it correctly requires a background in history of science, and perhaps more background than I have in the history of material culture. I would prefer to direct such readers to Lawrence M. Principe’s 2013 book The Secrets of Alchemy, in which he demonstrates that first and foremost, alchemy was (and, according to its modern adherents, apparently still is) a physical discipline which was capable of yielding observable results, regardless of whether the “gold” produced was real.

[papermoonloveslucy]

SAFE DRIVING WEEK

October 21, 1950

“Safe Driving Week” (aka “Safety Drive”) is episode #102 [some sources say #101] of the radio series MY FAVORITE HUSBAND broadcast on October 21, 1950.

This was the sixth episode of the third season of MY FAVORITE HUSBAND. There were 31 new episodes, with the season ending on March 31, 1951.  

Synopsis ~  When Liz gets a traffic ticket on the day George is Safety Week chairman, George decides to lock the car in the garage and hide the key.

“My Favorite Husband” was based on the novels Mr. and Mrs. Cugat, the Record of a Happy Marriage (1940) and Outside Eden (1945) by Isabel Scott Rorick, which had previously been adapted into the film Are Husbands Necessary? (1942). “My Favorite Husband” was first broadcast as a one-time special on July 5, 1948. Lucille Ball and Lee Bowman played the characters of Liz and George Cugat, and a positive response to this broadcast convinced CBS to launch “My Favorite Husband” as a series. Bowman was not available Richard Denning was cast as George. On January 7, 1949, confusion with bandleader Xavier Cugat prompted a name change to Cooper. On this same episode Jell-O became its sponsor. A total of 124 episodes of the program aired from July 23, 1948 through March 31, 1951. After about ten episodes had been written, writers Fox and Davenport departed and three new writers took over – Bob Carroll, Jr., Madelyn Pugh, and head writer/producer Jess Oppenheimer. In March 1949 Gale Gordon took over the existing role of George’s boss, Rudolph Atterbury, and Bea Benaderet was added as his wife, Iris. CBS brought “My Favorite Husband” to television in 1953, starring Joan Caulfield and Barry Nelson as Liz and George Cooper. The television version ran two-and-a-half seasons, from September 1953 through December 1955, running concurrently with “I Love Lucy.” It was produced live at CBS Television City for most of its run, until switching to film for a truncated third season filmed (ironically) at Desilu and recasting Liz Cooper with Vanessa Brown.

MAIN CAST

Lucille Ball (Liz Cooper) was born on August 6, 1911 in Jamestown, New York. She began her screen career in 1933 and was known in Hollywood as ‘Queen of the B’s’ due to her many appearances in ‘B’ movies. With Richard Denning, she starred in a radio program titled “My Favorite Husband” which eventually led to the creation of “I Love Lucy,” a television situation comedy in which she co-starred with her real-life husband, Latin bandleader Desi Arnaz. The program was phenomenally successful, allowing the couple to purchase what was once RKO Studios, re-naming it Desilu. When the show ended in 1960 (in an hour-long format known as “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour”) so did Lucy and Desi’s marriage. In 1962, hoping to keep Desilu financially solvent, Lucy returned to the sitcom format with “The Lucy Show,” which lasted six seasons. She followed that with a similar sitcom “Here’s Lucy” co-starring with her real-life children, Lucie and Desi Jr., as well as Gale Gordon, who had joined the cast of “The Lucy Show” during season two. Before her death in 1989, Lucy made one more attempt at a sitcom with “Life With Lucy,” also with Gordon.

Richard Denning (George Cooper) was born Louis Albert Heindrich Denninger Jr., in Poughkeepsie, New York. When he was 18 months old, his family moved to Los Angeles. Plans called for him to take over his father’s garment manufacturing business, but he developed an interest in acting. Denning enlisted in the US Navy during World War II. He is best known for his  roles in various science fiction and horror films of the 1950s. Although he teamed with Lucille Ball on radio in “My Favorite Husband,” the two never acted together on screen. While “I Love Lucy” was on the air, he was seen on another CBS TV series, “Mr. & Mrs. North.” From 1968 to 1980 he played the Governor on “Hawaii 5-0″, his final role. He died in 1998 at age 84.

Ruth Perrott (Katie, the Maid) was also later seen on “I Love Lucy.” She first played Mrs. Pomerantz, a member of the surprise investigating committee for the Society Matrons League in “Pioneer Women” (ILL S1;E25), as one of the member of the Wednesday Afternoon Fine Arts League in “Lucy and Ethel Buy the Same Dress” (ILL S3;E3), and also played a nurse when “Lucy Goes to the Hospital” (ILL S2;E16). She died in 1996 at the age of 96.

Bob LeMond (Announcer) also served as the announcer for the pilot episode of “I Love Lucy”. When the long-lost pilot was finally discovered in 1990, a few moments of the opening narration were damaged and lost, so LeMond – fifty years later – recreated the narration for the CBS special and subsequent DVD release.

Gale Gordon and Bea Benadaret (Rudolph and Iris Atterbury) do not appear in this episode. 

GUEST CAST

Elvia Allman (Marge Van Tassle) was born on September 19, 1904 in Enochville, North Carolina. She started her performing career on radio in the 1920s, as both a storyteller and singer. Allman’s first episode of “I Love Lucy” is also one of the most memorable in TV history: “Job Switching” (ILL S2;E1) in September 1952.  She played the strident foreman of Kramer’s Candy Kitchen. Allman returned to the show as one of Minnie Finch’s neighbors in “Fan Magazine Interview” (ILL S3;E17) in 1954. Changing gears once again she played prim magazine reporter Nancy Graham in “The Homecoming” (ILL S5;E6) in 1955. She made two appearances on “The Lucy–Desi Comedy Hour“ - first as Ida Thompson, Westfield’s PTA director in “The Celebrity Next Door” (LDCH S1;E2) and as Milton Berle’s secretary when “Milton Berle Hides Out at the Ricardos” (LDCH S3;E1) in 1959. On “The Lucy Show” she was seen in “Lucy Bags a Bargain” (TLS S4;E17) and in “Lucy The Babysitter” (TLS S5;E16).  Allman died on March 6, 1992, aged 87.

Lucy characters have always had a peripheral character named Marge. In this case, the character largely takes on the action that might normally be taken by Iris Atterbury. It is likely that Bea Benadaret was not available that week, so the character was rewritten for Elvia Allman as Marge Van Tassle. 

Sheldon Leonard (Motorcyle Cop) was born Leonard Sheldon Bershad in New York City in 1907. In 1953 he played fast-talking salesman Harry Martin, who sells Lucy Ricardo the Handy Dandy vacuum cleaner in “Sales Resistance” (ILL S2;E17). He played himself on a 1967 episode of “The Lucy Show.”  Leonard was an integral part of the Desilu family off-screen as well, directing “Make Room for Daddy” including an episode that featured Lucy and Ricky Ricardo in 1959. He was one of the creators of “The Andy Griffith Show,” also filmed at Desilu. Leonard may be best remembered as the Nick, the bartender in the classic film It’s a Wonderful Life (1945). He died in 1997. 

THE EPISODE

ANNOUNCER:  “As we look in on the town of Sheridan Falls, where the Coopers live, it's an average Wednesday morning. The traffic on Elm Street is fairly heavy, the cars are moving along about as usual, except - wait a minute! Pull over to the curb! Here comes a woman driver!  It's Liz Cooper driving!”

Liz is pulled over by a policeman (Sheldon Leonard), although she’s unclear why. He says that Liz made the wrong arm signal when turning left. 

Turn signal lights in cars didn’t become common until later in the 1950s. Before that, letting everyone know which way one planned to turn was by using the hand signals above, which were taught in driving classes.   

When Liz asks what he is writing, he facetiously calls it a story for Reader’s Digest about ‘The Most Unforgettable Person I’ve Ever Met’!  Naturally, it is a traffic ticket.

Reader’s Digest was known for their publication of abridged novels, short stories, and articles that could be read in one sitting. Ricky was seen reading the Digest in “Lucy Writes a Novel” in 1954. That same year, a biography of Ball by Eleanor Harris was included in the Digest - condensed, naturally. Ball appeared on the covers in 1990 and 2003. “My Most Unforgettable Character” was a regular feature, along with “Life in These United States.”

Arriving home Liz is greeted by Katie the maid, who encourages her to face George and tell him about the ticket.  After a kiss, George has big news, but so does Liz. She allows him to go first. He has been chosen as Chairman of Sheridan Falls Safe Driving week by the Chamber of Commerce. Liz now cannot possibly tell George about the ticket!  

Safe Driving campaigns were not unusual in post-war America. Roads were seeing increased traffic as automakers vied for consumer dollars. For example, Cynthia Gary was crowned Queen of Safe Driving and reigned over the 1950 Safe Driving Week campaign sponsored by the St. Paul Junior Chamber of Commerce.

The doorbell rings. Liz is saved by the bell!  While Liz is answering the door, Katie spills the beans about the citation to George!  George tells her that he knows about her ticket.  He tells her about the Safety Week celebrations. 

GEORGE: “They’re having a big ceremony at the site of the new automobile club. There’s going to be a parade of all the drivers in town who haven’t gotten a ticket in ten years.” LIZ: “Well, that’ll be a short parade.”

To keep Liz from getting any more tickets during his Safety Week, he takes her up on her off-handed suggestion to lock the car in the garage for the week. George will have the key to the garage in his pocket. Liz will have to walk! 

GEORGE: “I’ll take you to a movie after dinner. There’s a movie that reminds me of your driving: ‘Panic in the Streets’!”

Panic in the Streets is a 1950 film noir directed by Elia Kazan. It was shot exclusively on location in New Orleans, Louisiana. It starred Richard Widmark ("The Tour”), Zero Mostel (DuBarry Was A Lady and "Carol +2″), and Paul Douglas (”Lucy Wants A Career”). The film was released a month before this broadcast. 

At the end of the week, Liz is visited by Marge Van Tassel (Elvia Allman). Liz has a plan and needs her help. She has had mishap and lost the front fender to an anonymous accident. Naturally, she doesn’t want George to find out. 

LIZ: “Somewhere in this town there’s a car with five fenders.”

Note: A fender is different than a bumper because it's a metal structure that frames the wheel well of your car, instead of the front or back. The fender extends between the front door to the front bumper covering the front wheels of the vehicle. 

Without the key, Liz and Marge plot to take the drastic action of taking the garage door off! 

LIZ: “I guess it’s either take down the garage door or start hunting for a very thin, flat mechanic.” 

In the act break, there is a public service announcement to debunk the misconception that the US finances most of the cost of the mutual defense program of NATO.

ANNOUNCER: “As we look in on the Coopers once again we find Liz and Marge Van Tassel in the backyard, gently removing the garage door.” 

There is a great splintering of wood as Marge and Liz finally gain access to the car. Unfortunately, they don’t have the car key!   Looking for a way to start the car without the key, they look under the hood. 

LIZ: “Hmmmm... It’s a motor alright!” 

Liz toys with the idea of pulling out the plugs leading to the spark plugs. Marge thinks the fan belt is a little propeller. Liz insists it is an electric fan to keep the mechanic cool. Somehow, Liz connects two wires and the car starts!  Leaving the garage, she backs over the doors!  

In “The Not So Popular Mechanics” (HL S5;E22) in 1972, Lucy Carter and Mary Jane take apart Harry’s prized Rolls Royce thinking it will be easy to give it a home oil change!  They end up with a puzzle they cannot put back together!

Once pn the street, Liz realizes she can’t turn!  The steering wheel is locked!  It isn’t long before they have a hit and run accident and lose another fender!  The collision at least knocks the car at an angle.  But the wrong angle. They are facing the opposite direction of the repair shop! 

LIZ: “Well, we have a choice, Marge. We can back-up ten blocks or drive around the world!”  MARGE: “I’ve seen you back-up. It’d be quicker to drive around the world!” LIZ: “I just hope there’s a good mechanic in Hong Kong!”

When “Lucy Learns To Drive” (ILL S4;E12) in 1955, she also has a traffic accident - with herself!  

It isn’t long before Liz comes face to face with another car, who passes them on the wrong side because she’s three feet from the left curb!  A policeman pulls them over - the same officer who issued Liz the ticket. To explain her driving on the left, Liz decides to adopt a British accent. 

LIZ: “Pip-pip, cheerio, hallo there, Bobbie!”

Lucy will use her British accent when “I Love Lucy” visits London and the British countryside in early 1956. British policeman are known as Bobbies after Sir Robert Peel (1778-1850), who helped establish their modern police force. 

The Officer tests her by asking her to sing the British Anthem. Marge and Liz sing “London Bridge is Falling Down.” 

In “Lucy in London” (1966), The Dave Clark Five perform a medley of “London Bridge is Falling Down” and “Pop Goes the Weasel, instead of the real anthem, “God Save the Queen”. The London Bridge seen in the special is the old London Bridge (1831-1967).  A year after filming, this bridge was dismantled and sold while a new version (that still stands today) was built to replace it. The old London Bridge was reassembled in Lake Havasu City, Arizona, opening in 1971, where it remains the number one tourist attraction.

The policeman insists on driving the car away from the curb, but runs over his own motorcycle in the process!  

Marge and Liz drive away, leaving the motorcycle cop in tears, clutching only his handlebars. 

Fred Mertz backs wrecks his motorcycle when “Ricky Sells The Car” (ILL S5;E4) in 1955. He, too, is left clutching only the handlebars!

Marge and Liz notice that the traffic has gotten slower and heavier and that spectators are crowded on the sidewalks. They are in George’s Safety Week Parade for drivers with no tickets in the last ten years!  Rather than let George Liz stops suddenly and causes a multi-car collision. 

LIZ: “I see a wreck.” MARGE: “Just one?” LIZ: “Yep. Just one. But it’s three blocks long. There are very few drivers left in this town who haven’t had an accident in the last ten years.”

George comes down from the reviewing stand and angrily insists that he will move the car himself - despite Liz’s attempted warnings not to...

[poppun-chan]

Poppun Live Blogs Mokku: Episode 3

And we’re back with episode 3, this is the last one I have the Japanese version of until episode 10. It’s also one of those episodes that is paired off with another without being part of an actual two-part story so the next episode will be posted in a few days. On a side note I’m never quite sure which name to use (especially for the three animals introduced here since they not only have different names between the Japanese and English version, but between the dub movie as well).

Either way, episode 3:

I’d like to take a moment to mention how amazing the backgrounds in this show are; I know T.V animation budgets tend to be a bit....lackluster, especially for newer studios, but they still managed to make the artwork really detailed. If you watch this scene you can actually see some animal tracks in the snow a few seconds after this, which is really neat (especially considering the look of some of the shows airing in North America at the same time).

I think Saban used their own bird noises for this and I have to wonder why....

Wait....Are his shoes just painted on?

“It’s all your fault that I’m having these problems this morning“

....I don’t think the bird put you in overly long night clothes that drag on the floor or made your foot turn backwards, but oh well

This part is a bit unusual; the episode takes a break to have spring explained, though some of the artwork is still neat

Wow, we're only three episodes in and they're already previewing the next series (No really, this is roughly how the first episode of Kerokko Demetan opens)

Believe it or not, Demetan has a scene like this too (You know, for tadpoles!)

So this is a bit weird: in the original version he says this incident happened last year, but in the dub he just says it happened once....I'm not sure why they changed it but for a while I thought maybe this happened to one of Geppetto's classmates when he was a child

Also apparently rabbit meat can carry a foodbourne illness called "rabbit fever" and you can actually suffer malnutrition if you eat it too often because of it's chemical make up, so trying to catch rabbits for meat is a bit dicey

Here's our first new character of the episode: This is Charlie the Mouse (In the original version his name is Akahige meaning Red Whiskers), right now he’s going through a bit of a “jealous older sibling” stage with Mokku. I picked a screen shot of him looking cute for the humans

This is something that's bothered me for a while, especially since the dub is a bit unclear as to whether he needs to eat or not (I don't have enough of the Japanese version to know for that one), but he can't taste anything. And it's mentioned in episode 9 with his Father knowing, but do you think he knew at this point, or is Mokku just pretending he can taste things to make his Father happy?

"If you were any good at helping you wouldn't be a ghost in the first place" "It’s not my fault that I'm a ghost, but maybe I can help keep you from becoming one and you need all the help you can get"

Actually, the back and forth between these two is surprisingly fun, which is a bit unexpected for me since my parents lectured me rather than punished; so I would have expected to get annoyed easily by these scenes, but they managed to give these two a nice dynamic, especially later on

Cricket himself falls into a good middle ground compared to his constantly present Disney counterpart, who gets along with his charge right away, and the more stern Cricket form the book, who appears a couple of times in the middle of the book and again at the end, but (pardon the pun) buggers off for most of the story.

In both the English & Japanese versions he promised the Fairy to look out for Mokku, but even in this episode we can see he genuinely cares about him and later in the series Mokku starts to warm up to Cricket.

I’m going to sidetrack for a moment to mention how progressive this village is

Now, I’m sure some girls went to public school in 19th century Europe (as opposed to the governess and finishing school wealthy girls had), but she looks like she’s about 11 and I know my Great-Grandmother (born in 1907) went to school all the way through 4th grade and by then most of the other girls her age had dropped out. Good on you, nameless anime village and parents we don’t really get to see.

In the original this is, presumably, the first time he's written anything (It’s also the first time we actually see him make it to school) and he's proud of Mokku learning to write so well. Either way, it’s a cute moment

More new characters! The Fox is named Jack, in the original his name is Kenken which has a few possible meanings; it can mean "reverently", but there are a few phrases where it means "noisy" or "boistrous", it can also mean hopping on one foot, but it's probably the second and he sometimes says it's the first The Weasel’s name is Willie, Hanaguro (black-nosed) in the original, in most versions his counterpart is a cat (and female in the book), but that’s actually a completely separate character who we’ll meet in episode 5.

Now this is interesting; Jack & Willie initially think pushing Mokku in the river so he goes over the waterfall to get his lunch is a bit excessive when they could just take it, and Charlie convinces them to since that’s what he really wanted. But then he’s the first one of the three to warm up to Mokku and be nicer to him (or at least not try to kill him).

Sweet goodness, even without any context you can tell from this one shot that this has the potential to end really badly.

Also, I know "Spring Mole Wrestling" sounds like a bit of goofy dub dialogue, but it's actually in the original....hm. Oddly one thing that was changed for the dub was that the sandwiches were originally corned beef, not egg.

“Here let me hold your lunch box while you stand really close to the river so the moles don’t try to steal it“

“That’s really nice, thank you“

....Oh Mokku.

“Stand on the bank and lean close to the water“

Oh dear

Ok....Now believe it or not this is sort of in the source material; the cat & fox try to hang him in the book....and apparently this story originally ran in a periodical and everything after that point was added for the book....so the story originally ended with the attempted hanging....wow....

So at this point the Oak Fairy shows up and the branch he’s holding onto turns into her arm and she helps him pull himself out of the water, I’m not quite sure how this worked but it’s still a sweet moment

And good for you Oak Fairy for taking the time to explain WHY he should listen to his parents

Wait, so he's missing two, possibly three senses but he can still get sick? That's a bit unfair

This scene is why I list the episode as tying into the next one, to summarise; Mokku has a fever from falling in the river and his Father has gone to get medicinal plants. The mouse realises that he’ll get in trouble if he wakes up and tells on him, so he decides to murder him in his sleep (you know, for saplings!)

But Cricket is watching and steps in, this is actually between two other attempts, after this the mouse picks up and swings the hammer and Cricket blocks it with a ladle

To be fair, a mouse’s teeth grow throughout their lives so even if his broke a bit here they’d grow back soon

So Charlie tries to cut Mokku’s head off (apparently using a knife instead of the actual wood cutting tools that are right there) and Cricket slips in a piece of wood he cuts through instead.

It’s also worth mentioning that Charlie can’t actually see Cricket, so to him all of these things are just appearing out of nowhere

So now Charlie has decided to just bite through Mokku’s neck (By this point I think it’s safe to say he’s gone off the deep end) and Cricket gets thrown into a box trying to stop him, and then the episode ends. It’s only the 3rd episode so we all know he’ll be fine (and wait until you see how it happens)

Join us next time life returns to normal and the animals burn down a building

[peterpanquotes1]

Good Housekeeping, 1906

Page 359: A Peter Pan Party. I — Peter Pan, the New Hero of Fairyland.

Peter Pan has come to stay. He is now the favorite hero, and has superseded not only all the important fairy characters, but has taken a place beside the beloved heroes of myth and legend. Though a fairy-boy he seems most human; though a true knight he does not belong to a dim past, rather had he become a part of the child’s life today. Grown persons as well as children have given him a hearty welcome and he reigns supreme. Some years ago when grownups were first reading The Little White Bird, why did they not make known to the children the chapters (thirteen to nineteen) which contain one of the loveliest fairy stories that have ever been written? A few people, only, remembered this first story of Peter Pan when they saw Mr. Barrie’s play in which is given another and quite a different chapter in the life of this little boy who wanted never to row up.

In the book story, the baby Peter grows up only as far as very small boys do; his adventures take place in the Gardens of the Fairies. In the play he has grown up some more (oh, just a very little, dear Peter) and is no longer limited to the Gardens, for we learn that he is living with some “lost boys” in the Never-Never-Never Land, where wonderful things happen.

Previous to the publication of “The Little White Bird” was there anyone who had ever heard of Peter Pan? The author wishes us to suppose so, for he says: “If you ask your mother whether she knew about Peter Pan when she was a little girl she will say, ‘Why of course I did, child,’ and if you ask her whether he rode a goat in those days she will say, ‘What a foolish question to ask — certainly he did.’”

Page 360: Since the book reveals this wonderful thing, that all babies were once birds and are ever wanting to fly away, it is evident, if the mothers knew about Peter Pan, why they were anxious not to let the story get about. Peter’s mother did not know — or if she did, she forgot or was careless — so her little boy goes down to history (see the Fairy Records, under Birdhood) as the first baby ho, determining to try to be a bird again, flew out of his nursery window straight to the Fairy Gardens. A sad experience for his mother, but she profited by it, for when a new baby came to her she had bars placed on the windows. Poor little Peter, flying back at last to stay with her, could not get into the nursery. …… Peter is of course descended from the great god Pan, but has evolved a soul. He is a joyous wood-spirit who creates an atmosphere of elusiveness and mystery, an altogether attractive Pan. The little Peter of the book rides about gayly on a goat playing his pipes.

While in the Gardens Peter came to have a little human for a playmate, for a girl named Maimie dared to remain there after “lock-out-time,” wishing to see him. She might have stayed away from her mother forever, but Peter, like the real hero that he is, warned her that her place might be taken as his had been, so she hurried back.

Soon after, she left in the Gardens a lovely toy boat which the fairies made real, so this is how Peter Pan came to ride a goat. Often Maimie left notes and presents in the Gardens which Peter searched for at night.

Page 361: When Miss Maude Adams appeared as Peter Pan every child heart was captivated, and there was aroused an enthusiasm which increased with each month, establishing the play as a remarkable success. Instead of asking if you had seen the play, the children inquired: “How many times have you seen Peter Pan?” There was the average and that was doing fairly well, but there are many old an young who went ten times. The most fortunate young person seemed to be the on who announced having been twenty-nine times!

Now that the new season of 1906-1907 is giving the play to other cities, the spread of “Peter Panitis” will be general and it may be expected to rage again in New York when Peter returns there.

A few parents and teachers worried over the epidemic and tried to cure the children; a hopeless task, for the principal feature of an attack is that you never recover, whether you are child or grownup. These dissatisfied few were in opposition to the great number of those who were filled with thankfulness that a real children’s play of such exquisite character should have been presented at last. the influence of the play is not that of the temporary emotionalism which is meaningless, but it is productive of definite good, as may be discovered by listening to the remarks of the children, some of which are startlingly psychological. There is, to be sure, a negative element represented by the pirate captain, whose gruesomeness has frightened a few children, but his humor is so enchanting and so obvious to even the little ones, that it becomes the dominating impression as the play goes on, and makes Captain Hook a great favorite. There have been rumors of the over-imaginative child contemplating trying to fly out the window at night — every child who has seen the play has of course tried to play Peter Pan and tried to fly — but the wise mother and teacher can lead back gently and wisely these exceptional minds and guide them to a happy balance between fact and fancy.

Page 363: This Peter Pan play belongs particularly to the children, a certain group of whom know the big and little actors of the company. Some of the members of the company have attended with much interest the “performances” given by these youthful enthusiasts and have laughed heartily over the remarkably good representation they have given of the different characters. This group usually managed to attend the play the same day and meet after the performance to wait at the stage door, a temptation too great to be resisted. ……. There is a hush, a sudden expectancy — “She’s coming!” One child is at the carriage door to open it for her. Yes, there is “Peter Pan,” who becomes after the play the lady who has your heart’s devotion. You give her flowers and you hear her soft, “Oh, thank you.” Then you dare to say, “Oh, Miss Adams, please give me a thimble.” She stoops down and you take one while the others look on, envying you, yes, but also rejoicing at your good fortune.

Oh, the letters and the presents that children send this Peter, and what incidents there are to tell! What she said, what she did (it’s “frightfully” confusing to know whether to say “he” or “she”), if she smiled at you when she picked up your flowers; whether she looked at your box when she sang “Sally in our Alley,” which song no one else in all the world can sing as sweetly as “the darling of your heart.”

Page 366: Is Peter Pan indifferent to all this worship? No indeed; in a hundred ways, as her free hours will allow, she shows her appreciation of all this devotion and the pleasure which she derives from it. There are the autographed pictures, the loving notes, the never-to-be-forgotten honor of going to see her. She makes you realize that the fairies are about, for one day a package is brought to the house and inside is a silver thimble on which is inscribed, “A thimble from Maude Adams.” Other young people have received tiny gold thimbles and wear them around their necks on gold chains. Everything there is to tell would fill a book.

That this enthusiastic appreciation of the play, this devotion to her who has given such an exquisite representation of Peter Pan, may prove itself to be more than mere emotionalism, and express itself in some beneficial action, a group of new York children have formed themselves into a “Peter Pan Band of Workers for Crippled Children.” their first work will be to furnish a boys’ room in the Darrach home, and as the little band grows in members it is hoped that sufficient funds will be raised for the rental or purchase of a house which shall be known as “Wendy House.” A real home will be provided and a “mother” found for these “lost” boys and girls who will be educated to the end of their becoming self-supporting. Perhaps in time they can be taught to fly!

Already Peter Pan has inspired artists and sculptors and a Peter Pan party given in New York last spring at the Waldorf-Astoria, showed an interesting collection of novelties and many ways of carrying out Peter Pan ideas.

A statue by Mrs. Sallie James Farnham is an expression of a spirit of joy which has come to gladden the world. It suggests the pirate ship scene where Captain Hook, circumvented in all his wickedness by Peter and feeling himself to be worsted, cries out, “Who are you?” Mrs. Farnham’s statue is an interpretation of Peter’s answer, which is summed up in the words, “I am Joy!”

Peter is transfigured — the merry, mischievous boy becomes another character and we read a new and deeper meaning in the play. Not by the skill of his swordsmanship nor by the cleverness of his schemes does Peter Pan conquer the captain — it is just the old allegory of love and innocence driving out wrong.

In our second article, next month, will give given full directions for a Peter Pan party or entertainment, for the children or for grown people.

Page 514: A Peter Pan Party

A Peter Pan party provides a new and unique form of entertainment. Children and grown persons who have not heard the story nor seen the play will find the parties an interesting introduction which will inspire them to read The Little White Bird and the play story.

These parties may take the form of a home party for children, a luncheon or entertainment for grownups, or be given as a sale for some charity. The peter Pan table might be one of the features of a fair.

For the benefit of those who know the fairy chapters of Mr. Barrie’s book, and for those who do not, it adds to the interest of the party to carry out certain ideas from the book story, for not to have read these adventures of Peter Pan is to miss a great treat.

The decorations, which should be planned to represent fairy gardens, are important and are easy to arrange for out-of-door parties, but difficult and expensive for those given indoors in the city, where it will be found that evergreens give the best effect for the least expenditure. The invitations to the parties vary according to the ingenuity of the sender. At the first Peter Pan party (sale), given for the purpose of introducing the novelties and bringing a number of children together to interest them in the Peter Pan band of workers for crippled children, the invitations read: Queen Mab bids you to a Peter Pan party which is to be given in the Fairy Gardens of the Waldorf-Astoria, on Friday, April 27, 1906, from 2 until 10 o’clock. Delightful adventures await those who believe in fairies. Novelties of Peter Pan interest will be for sale. A “Wendy House” will be occupied by some Fairy Tailors, who will be pleased to measure dolls for Peter Pan suits. Admissions fifty cents. Special adventures for grownups in the evening. For tickets address, the Mistress of Ceremonies.

With the charity for which it is to be given named, this form of invitation would be appropriate for a fair. The entrance to a fair or sale would be arranged to fit this sign, which, as one of many quotations or ideas from the story, gives a real Peter Pan atmosphere: “Second turning to the right and straight on till morning.”

Page 515: An appropriate motto for the photograph table is “Tiger Lily’s” tribute to Peter: “Peter Pan is the Sun — He is the Moon — He is the Stars — Peter Pan is a Lump of Delight.” At this table the plaster casts of Peter Pan will be sold — the standing figure by Mrs. Sallie James Farnham, the attractive Peter Pan playing his pipes, by Miss Laura Gardin, and her statue bust, which is a very suggestive likeness of Miss Adams as Peter Pan. Photographs of these casts and of Mr. John Alexander’s painting, which shows Peter flying; the Sarony pictures of Miss Adams as Peter Pan; the scenes from the play by Hall; the miniature pictures by H.J. Walsh and others, which can be copied from the cabinets; the postal cares — all of these can be framed in various ways; in leather, burnt or carved, wood, brass, silver, etc., or in wood frames for the wall. The Peter Pan miniature buttons are an important novelty; each child is sure to want one.

Page 516: Postal card albums for a complete collection of Miss Adams’ pictures, bound in leather, and leather bound copies of The Little White Bird, and of the book of the play, give an opportunity for artistic work, and the worker in jewelry gives us gold and silver lockets a Peter Pan hatpin, a fairy pin, and a child’s Peter Pan silver set for the table.

……

“’Twas Peter Pan cut off my hand and flung it to a crocodile that happened to be passing by. He was so pleased with the taste of my hand that he has followed me ever since from sea to sea, licking his lips for the rest of me.”

“A pretty compliment I call that,” says the pirate Smee.

“I want no such compliments,” thunders the irate Captain, shaking threateningly at poor Smee the hooked hand which he wars in place of his own.

Peter Pan pennants are decorative, and are cut from green or autumn leaf crepe tissue paper and marked “Peter Pan” in red, with the familiar gummed letters. A miniature picture of peter Pan is posted at the end and the pennants, touched at the edges with gold paint, make very attractive gifts. Small tenants sell well. ……. The Peter pan china sets can be displayed at this table; the designs are very attractive and a set will rival the lovely Mother Goose china which has given children so much pleasure. Little boy dolls (pretty jointed ones come in china) riding on goats, are an important acquisition for suggesting the Peter of the book story.

Another table will show the night lamps for the nursery. (“They are the eyes a mother leaves behind her to guard her sleeping children.”) some attractive work in Peter Pan designs has been done in brass, by Ernest Chapman. The “Wendy House” lamp is very suggestive, even to the knocker. It is to hang on the wall and use with candle. Hanging electric light shades and candle screens and shades, which are very useful for home parties, show many interesting designs. There is also a fine pirate-lamp made to carry, and just the thing with which to hunt a “doodledoo” in the summer. ….. Page 517: For the candy table, boxes can be found in shapes that are suggestive of the story; pumpkins which are used in the play for seats; mushrooms, which are fairy seats; kennels for dear Nana; pianos, suggestive of Peter’s listening to Mrs. Darling as she plays on “the box,” making it say, “Come home, Wendy.” Sticks of twisted can cut into different lengths and tied with ribbon (they can be ordered made that way) are lovely Peter Pan pipes. Baskets for candy may be tied with ribbons, gold-lettered to say “Peter Pan is a Lump of Delight.” ……. A porch covered with these roses made a lovely “Wendy House” at a summer party. A simple arrangement of wooden clotheshorse and denim, as carried out in the play, will be satisfactory. A table outside the House can hold the dolls, dressed in the Peter Pan suit of forest green and in the Indian suit of white. The dressing of the dolls is no small task if the suits recopied in detail from the original costumes. It is difficult to obtain the shade of gray green or any material like Peter’s green suit, but a mercerized merino or watered silk is the material most like it. The bottoms of the sleeves and coat are pointed with autumn leaves. The belts are cut from ooze calf and fastened with hook and eye. The little buckles for them are taken from the kid slippers, which must be painted the proper shade of green (water color), and the stockings must be dyed to match and laced with green ribbon. The Indian suits of white cloth, with fringing and little nickel buttons, are very pretty. The belt can be of stitched cloth or leather; the moccasins and leggings are made more easily from the white material. The fur for the hat can be obtained at small cost from a furrier.

Suggestions for the ice cream and lemonade tables will be made later in the article, in connection with home parties. The music is an important feature of the Peter Pan entertainments, and can be limited to piano selections, but merits the additional enjoyment given by the violin and cello.

For the home parties, the table can be effectively decorated with the autumn-leaf paper and the room with greens, with pictures of Peter Pan about. The table is set with plates on which are painted pictures of Peter, Nana, Captain Hook, the crocodile, etc., with the silver in Peter Pan designs.

Page 518: Two of the candles have the appropriate screens and two have shades. A “Wendy House” lamp hangs from the wall, while the electric light has its shade. At each place is a Peter Pan motto, made of fringed autumn-leaf paper, with miniature procures of Peter pasted on it. A gold cord pulled brings out a nickel bell, a souvenir of “Tinker Bell,” Peter’s little fairy. Inside the motto is found a quotation form the play, a Peter Pan cap (made of green tissue paper with red tissue feature), and some miniature souvenirs, among them a workbasket marked “Wendy” (so Wendy can sew on Peter’s shadow); a black china hat marked “John” (and we remember how John’s hat is used, as a chimney for Wendy’s house); a little bird; a baby doll; a metal whistle with a rooster design. (“I can never help crowing when I do something fine,” says Peter, whose “cock-a-doodle-doo” is one of the events of the play.) A thimble is there also, one of celluloid, for we wish only the one, “whose mouth is full of thimbles,” to bestow silver and gold ones, for she first thought of this pretty idea.

Candy boxes are at each place, and Peter Pan buttons, without which no party would be complete. Each girl receives as a gift, a “Lost Boy” in a perambulator, while the boys receive crocodiles. Other novelties are used for gifts, according to the limit of expenditure.

The ice cream is in appropriate shapes — crocodiles, pirates, Indians, babies, lions, thimbles, birds, autumn leaves, roosters. The cakes are in the shape of autumn leaves and are iced with letters which read, “Believe in Fairies,” and stamped on the punch glasses which are later given to the children is the same request. On a large punch bowl painted especially for the party, you may read: “Peter Pan Pirate Poison. It will not not hurt you if you believe in Fairies.”

As a last surprise comes the “Peter Pan poisoned pirate cake.” This consists of triangular boxes (pieces cut and pasted together with passepartout paper), each box representing a slice of cake and all fitted together so as to make the poisoned cake with Captain Hook prepared for the Lost Boys; “for having no mother,” said he, “they do not know how dangerous it is to eat rich, damp, cake.” But owing to the fact that Wendy came to be mother to the boys, the Captain was again thwarted. Inside each box are small toys suggestive of the pirates: a crocodile, tomahawk, bow and arrow, clock, pistol, pirate lamp, sword, rooster and American flag.

The ice cream, cake and lemonade will be introduced in the same way at a fair, and the pirate cake at so much a slice is a novelty which sells well.

Page 519: Two games have been originated for the home parties or other entertainments. One is entitled, “Fastening the shadow on Peter Pan,” which reminds us of how the hero lost his shadow at Mrs. Darling’s, and of how Wendy assisted him to attach it to himself once more. A painted figure of Peter Pan on white paper muslin, with a small paper circle for each child, make up the game, which is played like the donkey game. Where the head of the shadow touches, the paper circle, with the child’s name written on it, is pinned, and whoever gets the shadow head nearest the head of the figure wins the first prize. The prizes can be chosen from the novelties not used at the party — a cast, a piece of brass work, silver, etc., which makes a more expensive gift. ……. The possibilities are many for giving Peter Pan entertainment; the children can use their ingenuity in thinking up new ideas and their elders will find inspiration for some beautiful work along various lines.

Peter Pan, this “most wonderfulest boy in the world,” has won for himself a unique place in the child’s life and in the story world. The story suggests the Pied Piper myth and its analogy to Nature — the sadness of the autumn and the desolation of winter, when the children are away — but has a happy ending, a spring gladness, for the children return again to their waiting mother.

Peter Pan is now a fairy boy, now a mythical hero and now a dear “human,” moving us to laughter and to tears. He calls us to the joy of life — we stop to listen — then turn to follow, led by a little child.

The novelties originated for Peter Pan parties are the result of much thought and search and are to be obtained in many different ways. Those wishing to purchase them may send in their orders to this Magazine. Catalogs showing pictures of the various novelties and giving prices will be sent on receipt of a two-cent stamp.

Anyone wishing to submit original novelties may do so through the Magazine. The present writer is the original designer of Peter pan parties and is desirous of aiding the movement in so far as her time will permit.

[lindsaynsmith]

Humor and Horror Go Hand in Hand in These Spooky Stories

Humor and Horror Go Hand in Hand in These Spooky Stories https://ift.tt/2Q6F5dx

As anyone with a cursory knowledge of Halloween knows—which is to say, anyone from age two and up—the model ghost is a haunt who is skilled at parting you from your ability to remain unafraid.

Whether emerging from beneath your bed, the recesses of your closet, or the family crypt where you drink a pony of liquor each year to toast those who’ve have gone before, the best ghosts are in the terror business.

But what of the ghosts who make us laugh? What of their rich literary history? In even the scariest ghost stories, there tends to be some humor. Something potent often sparks its opposite, so humor works well with terror for the same reason that you see death and life and love and hate riding together.

So, let us wander the Great Hall of Funny Spooks, starting with one engineered by Nathaniel Hawthorne called “The Ghost of Dr. Harris.” The work was composed in a single day, in the late summer of 1856, with Hawthorne preferring to comment that this was a true story—or a witnessed one, anyway, witnesses being fallible—that was told to him, concerning a guy who really ought not to be at the Boston Athenaeum. This is a series of reading rooms here in the Hub, about a mile from where I sit writing this, which I walk past often, in some hope—no joke—of seeing the titular doctor outside, facing the gold-domed State House, which is just up the hill.

This story isn’t a side-splitter, but there is chicanery at play. Ghosts, until this point, had been fairly serious entities. Shakespeare used a lot of them, and Dickens too, much more than A Christmas Carol, and while works like that one could be very funny, the ghosts weren’t. Remember, Marley’s marching orders were to scare unrepentant Scrooge witless, using whatever means necessary, which is why he unwraps the cloth around his head and his jaw falls to the floor.

Hawthorne wanted a different effect, though. His story is about a young man who reads at the Athenaeum, where there is also the Reverend Doctor Harris, a venerated member, whom no one really bothers, not that there’s a lot of free-flowing conversation at this place. He sits fireside, always in the same chair, reading the Boston Post, which no longer exists, but which this guy loves. He reads it like you read The Daily Beast—addicted! Through thick and thin. One time the narrator sees him, then learns after the fact that Dr. Harris died earlier. So what the hell did he see?

Well, he saw the doctor’s ghost still following the previously living doctor’s routine. The humor comes in with the narrator not saying anything, save to remark, each time this happens, that it’s weird now that he wasn’t more weirded out then. Do you think? Old guys are passing out in chairs near the doctor, and the narrator can’t tell if they see what he sees, or if they’re just old guys who fade out from the scene and into their naps. There’s no menace, no threat, just this oddity that is kind of amusing. Your ribs aren’t so much tickled as warmly rubbed, but the stir of a laugh is there, and this was a groundbreaking story in that respect.

Frank Stockton kicked the humor up a bunch of levels with his 1882 story “The Transferred Ghost.” The tale centers on a man, staying at the country residence of a friend, who loves the so-called lady of the house, who is the friend’s niece, and of whom he is fiercely protective. This friend, Mr. Hinckman, goes off on a journey for business some 200 miles away, when his ghost pops into the narrator’s room one night. The narrator, of course, is all, “Oh my, he’s dead!” but the ghost rejoins with an “erm, not quite.”

Apparently, it’s tough to get a gig as a ghost. There are a lot of would-be ghosts waiting for people to die, then they take over their forms—spectrally speaking. Mr. Hinckman had almost died before, so the ghost of this story, thinking the older man was on his way out, put in his claim for his form, only to have him return to health.

The ghost, consequently, is terrified of the man he’s supposed to represent, and doesn’t want to be seen by him. He has a plan, and he asks the narrator’s help: He wants to be transferred to a new gig, free to take up the form of some other poor departed soul. He proposes a joint arrangement: Assist him in this, and he’ll aid the narrator in landing his love.

“You have no idea what a rush and pressure there is for situations of this kind,” the ghost laments. “Whenever a vacancy occurs, if I may express myself in that way, there are crowds of applications for the ghostship.”

So much for RIP.

Now let’s get weird. And wet. In 1904 John Kendricks Bangs published a story called “The Water Ghost of Harrowby Hall.” I know a lot of ghost stories, but I know of no other ghost story that incorporates—certainly not so blatantly—the topic of female ejaculation. Sounds like a ripping yarn, no? This story is set on Christmas Eve—as is the case with so many of the ghost stories that we read starting around Halloween—and involves people who drown, basically, in their bed, or of pneumonia years later, as a result of having been drenched by the ghost of the title. She comes (call that a pun) at night, does her squirty business, and leaves behind bits of seaweed.

The house’s owner, who lets out the rooms, narrowly avoids this fate, and seeks to rectify matters by reasoning with the ghost. (Intercourse, of the verbal variety, between ghost and human, as if they’re talking like any two people might, nothing to see here, etc., is a comic staple of these stories, I’ve noticed.) “Go sit out on the lake, if you like that sort of thing; soak the water-butt, if you wish; do not, I implore you, come into a gentleman’s house and saturate him and his possessions in this way. It is damned disagreeable,” he tells the ghost. Fair enough. But, “This is a bit of specious nonsense,” she counters, and soaks him. “You are a witty man for your years,” the ghost concedes, which prompts a riposte of, “Well, my humor is drier than yours ever will be.” It looks like the recurring deluge will do him in, until he hits upon a solution involving the transitive properties of water.

In Nelson Lloyd’s 1907 story “The Last Ghost of Harmony,” a man bemoans the times he lives in because there are fewer spooks about. According to the story’s narrator, “Harmony was a highly intellectual town,” and despite their once having been ghosts moving freely, in plain view, among the living, many had set sail—floated towards—more accommodating realms, given that empiricism was eroding what had been the town’s sense of wonder.

One of the town’s last ghost-loving locals was one Robert J. Dinkle, who returns as a ghost himself, post-death. The narrator happens upon him, and is greeted with, “I must appear pretty distinct,” which is said in a proud way, ghosts having egos, too. “Can you see me very plain? Don’t I show up good?”

“Richard Middleton's 'The Ghost Ship' is a story about a pirate vessel, in ghost form, manned by ghosts, that goes off course and lodges in a turnip patch in a quaint English village.”

When the narrator becomes less scared—after all, this was his mate—the ghost becomes less visible, which requires him to unleash a bellow worthy of a creature tormented in hell. Or the best he can muster, anyway. He does all of the “regular acts,” he says. “We always were kind of limited. I float around and groan, and talk foolish, and sometimes I pull off bedclothes or reveal the hiding-place of buried treasure.” But it doesn’t do him any good, and this ghost is having a post-life mid-life crisis. Screw these non-believers. The two team up for a declension of this tired old business of attributing things that go bump in the night to natural causes, with good old terror reasserting itself.

Which brings us to my all-time favorite ghost story, and, on certain days, my all-time favorite short story, written by Richard Middleton. He was a depressive who committed suicide at 29, in 1911. I mention this because it’s rare that you encounter any prefatory remarks regarding his story, “The Ghost Ship,” in which the person introducing the story does not say that it’s remarkable that a man in so much pain could write this.

Middleton made virtually no money, if any, with his pen; we don’t even know how he managed to live at times. His suicide note read that he was “going adventuring again.” He was a great writer. Raymond Chandler met him early in his own literary travels, read some of Middleton’s stuff and concluded—rightly, I would say—that he’d never be as good, and thought of giving up the whole writing dream altogether if someone as talented as Middleton couldn’t make it.

Middleton wrote exactly one book, an eponymous collection housing “The Ghost Ship,” a story about a pirate vessel, in ghost form, manned by ghosts, that goes off course and lodges in a turnip patch in a quaint English village. The narrator and the landlord of the field walk over to the ship to see what’s going on. Out steps the ghost-captain, on his quarterdeck, remarking, “I seem to have brought her rather far up the harbor.”

They don’t know this is a pirate ship yet, but they do know that the captain has the best rum they’ve ever tasted, and again we have concert between ghosts and humans, with some of the village idiots coming to think they’re ghosts, too, and eventually setting sail with the crew. The narrator and the landlord don’t know what to do, so they repair, several times, to the local pub, the Fox and Grapes, to mull matters. Everybody drinks.

The young ladies of the town start lusting for some of the ghost crew. The innkeeper gets pissed that his rum isn’t selling as well as the ghost rum. Some of the locals want to off themselves to join the crew. Eventually, the captain finds a favorable current, borne of the air, and sets sail, but the turnip field, forever more, bears a crop that has a rum-like aftertaste.

Some of the residents who set sail with the captain eventually return to town, rejoining the ranks of the community, as if nothing had ever happened, and everything that might have ever happened had happened, too.

How could you not wish your ghost stories to go like that? How, for that matter, could you not wish all the best things in life to go like that?

via The Daily Beast Latest Articles https://ift.tt/2tq1R9h October 31, 2018 at 05:17AM