#cincinnati slang

[handeaux]

18 Modern Words That Had Very Different And Curious Meanings In Old Cincinnati

Some words we use daily today meant something totally different more than a century past. Here are a few normal, everyday terms that once had surprisingly altered definitions long ago in Cincinnati.

Affinity In the early 1900s, “affinity” meant something very much like “soulmate” does today. In Cincinnati newspapers, “affinity” usually shows up in articles about divorce. Many a husband sought a divorce because he had found his “affinity”, and it wasn’t the woman he was married to. Jacob Pels told the Cincinnati Post [31 October 1907] on the occasion of his second divorce: “Twice I thought I found my affinity, and twice I made a bad mistake.”

Blue Today, if you’re blue, you are mildly depressed. Back in Old Cincinnati, “blue” meant risqué, or even obscene. Cincinnati ministers erupted in indignation when Millie DeLeon, the “Girl In Blue” (wink, wink!) performed at Heuk’s People’s Theater on Vine Street in 1901. And, when Cincinnati Redlegs Manager Clark Griffith excoriated the team after a dismal spring training game in Georgia, the telegraph company refused to carry the Enquirer’s dispatch [14 March 1909]: “Wishing to be perfectly accurate, we wrote out the rest that Griff said, but the telegraph man would not send it. He said his wire was a family wire of good and regular habits, and he would not insult it by asking it to carry a lot of blue language.”

Boom This old term had nothing to do with firecrackers or other explosions. It meant to promote, or to hype, or to publicize. When Judge Andrew J. Pruden wrote to the editor praising a Cincinnati Post editorial, the Post headlined his letter [6 January 1893]: “Judge Pruden Indorses The Post In Its Efforts to Boom The City.” An editorial an 1888 edition the old McMicken Review at the University of Cincinnati encouraged students to “Boom the ‘Varsity!” Cynical Thomas Emery, a pioneer real estate developer, told the Post [1 July 1886] he was concerned about future investments: “Boom Cincinnati? Can you boom a dead dog? I don’t mean that Cincinnati is dead exactly, but she’s overbuilt.”

Brace To brace somebody meant to cheat them, and Cincinnati was swarming with galoots just salivating at the opportunity to brace someone. The bracers needed to watch out who they braced, though. Frank Y. Grayson in his classic “Pioneers of Night Life” tells the tale of Frank James, Jesse’s brother, getting fleeced at a Cincinnati card game: “James dropped $800 on the night. He knew that he had been braced. Before he left he said genially, ‘Well, boys, I’ll say one thing for you, you get it easier than I do.’”

Cake We’re not talking pastry here. This word figures into one of the most obscure lines in Ernest Lawrence Thayer’s classic “Casey at the Bat” from 1888:

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake, And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;

A “hoodoo” we still recognize as a jinx, but a “cake”? In 1888, everyone knew that a cake was a fool. Within the context of baseball, a cake was a loser.

Candlelight Many a romantic evening has been conducted by candlelight. In the days before electricity, “candlelight” was a time of day, specifically that time of evening when you lit your candles. The Cincinnati Gazette [11 June 1857] presented this line: “The preacher gave notice that, if the weather was fair, he would preach at candlelight, but, as it sprinkled a little, there was no congregation.”

Card There is not much call for classified advertisements these days, when everything is advertised online. Ads used to be the main source of income for newspapers, who called small advertisements “cards,” as in this example from the Enquirer [22 November 1890]: “Mrs. Pollock did not stop at advertising her business in circulars. She inserted a card in the Sunday Newsdealer.”

Cockpit Did you ever wonder why the place an airplane pilot sits is called a cockpit? It’s named for an actual pit in which roosters (or cocks) fought to the death. Cock-fighting was popular in Cincinnati, though intermittently illegal. The Cincinnati Commercial [11 January 1847] advertised a new venue: “A regular Cock Pit having been established in the rear of the “Lunch House,” fights will take place three times a week.” If cock-fighting was too high-class, Cincinnati also hosted rat-pits from time to time in which small dogs battled rodents.

Combination Strictly speaking, in the 1800s, a “circus” was that entertainment taking place withing a sawdust “ring” which in Latin was “circus.” The other aspects of the modern circus – the traveling zoo known as the “menagerie” and the “side-show” or “exposition” – were considered separate enterprises. The first impresarios to “combine” all of these shows called them “combinations.” So, we have the Cincinnati Gazette [8 June 1872] reporting: “Warner’s big combination show attracted an immense crowd of spectators yesterday afternoon and evening.” And old John Robinson advertised his traveling spectacular as “Robinson’s Great Combination.”

Dashboard We use “dashboard” today to talk about status displays on our computer screens, which derived from the instrument panel in our automobiles, which referred to the array of gauges and dials in an aeroplane. But there was a much earlier and practical use of this word as the actual wooden board at the front of a carriage that kept stones and mud from being kicked into the driver’s face. From the Cincinnati Dollar Weekly Times [1 November 1855]: “The mare was put between the thills of a nice light buggy, her harness thoroughly adjusted by the owner, the reins carefully laid over the dashboard, and the usual chapter of advice opened concerning her management.”

Drummer An old definition of this word, metaphoric in origin, has nothing to do with music. A drummer was a salesperson, usually a traveling salesman, and usually a man on commission. The Enquirer [22 December 1871] reported: “The State of Maryland has in force a statute similar to that of Tennessee and several other States, which classes ‘drummers’ selling goods by sample for houses out of the State with peddlers, and exacts a license from them so heavy as to prohibit effectually sales in those States.”

Embarrassed If you realize, after ordering at an expensive restaurant, that you left your wallet at home, you might be embarrassed. That is close to the old-time definition of this word. It meant bankrupt. The Cincinnati Gazette [27 April 1837] related the story of a scoundrel named John Law: “With him perished all Law’s hopes for regaining his personal fortune. He became embarrassed; suits were commenced against him.”

Grocery So many old-time groceries offered liquor by the glass that “grocery” came to mean almost any saloon that emphasized the hard stuff over beer. Here’s the Western Christian Advocate [20 May 1836]: “When I hear a man say ‘my cigars cost me two dollars a week’ – I should not be surprised if I see him drinking in a grocery or tavern.”

Hilarious The history of comedy reminds us that we find drunks to be humorous. Back in the day, “hilarious” did not mean funny; it meant extremely inebriated. The Enquirer [14 January 1870] recounted one such case: “Night before last, this identical phonographer, who now calls himself Henry Henderson, was found in a highly hilarious condition, enjoying the society of ugly females in a bad house on Eighth street.”

Map There are abundant synonyms for physiognomy, but Cincinnati in the 1890s had a good one – “map.” In regaling his readers with memories of post-midnight culinary delights, Frank Grayson recalled Simon the Hot-Corn Man, who slathered his steaming ears of corn with “a substance that passed as butter.” Grayson recollected how ��There were a lot of greasy maps decorating Vine Street in the wake of Simon.”

Queer In recent times, “queer” has settled into a linguistic niche as a sobriquet for what used to be called “alternative lifestyles.” Around 1880, however, the primary connotation of “queer” was financial. It referred to counterfeit money. The Cincinnati Gazette [28 October 1873] reported on the trial of M.Y. Morton: “He is an old gray haired man, and told the detective that he had been ‘pushing the queer’ for thirty-five years, making a good business in buying and selling counterfeit.”

Slut Ever since it became a term of sexist opprobrium, “bitch” has been ruined as the technical name for a female canine. Few today remember that “slut” was synonymous with “bitch” and also referred to distaff dogs. An advertisement in the Cincinnati Commercial Tribune [21 June 1870] sought: “Dogs – Two full blood Scotch rat terriers dog and slut. Must be a year old or older.”

Snide You rarely hear this word today outside the phrase “snide remark.” When you do, it often has the tint of sarcasm. In old Cincinnati, however, “snide” meant fake, cheap or counterfeit. The Cincinnati Daily Star [23 January 1880] recorded that “Ed. Kline was pulled in yesterday for selling ‘snide’ jewelry.” The term applied to people, too. The Enquirer [5 April 1880] noted: “A snide party styling themselves Tennessee Minstrels were rotten-egged and mobbed in Easton, Maryland, on Friday night.”

[x-manson-annotated]

X-Manson Annotated Chapter Three - Part 4 - LOGAN

It's here where we take a dive into the world of realistic espionage with our dear boy, Sabertooh as the documentary tries to uncover parts of Logan's background.

This opening description reminds me of how Bob Archer's office is described in World War Z by Max Brooks:

The office of the director of the Central Intelligence Agency could belong to a business executive or doctor or an everyday, small-town high school principal. There are the usual collection of reference books on the shelf, degrees and photos on the wall, and, on his desk, an autographed baseball from Cincinnati Reds catcher Johnny Bench. Bob Archer, my host, can see by my face that I was expecting something different. I suspect that is why he chose to conduct our interview here.

CSIS: Canadian Security Intelligence Service.

RCMP: Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

This is interesting to me. Logan in this universe maintains the mysterious past of his comic book self from this period of time. However at this time in the comics, when this was written, people knew about Logan's past as an experiment of Weapon X. In this he has his metal claws.

So...Is Victor Creed telling the truth? Or is he as in the dark about Logan's past as the general public?

Later in the story, the final raid on the mansion has psychic cages with little Canadian flags on them. So, is it possible that they come from Weapon X?

Maybe Logan is this way because his mind was rattled by Weapon X?

Good question.

I always love when someone shit talks James Bond. The real spywork is closer to those of the George Smiley novels than they are Bond. I think that this bottom section that I've highlighted is in reference to SHIELD and Nick Fury in a roundabout way.

Not to bring it back to World War Z, but this reminds me of a quote by Bob Archer:

When you think about the CIA, you probably imagine two of our most popular and enduring myths. The first is that our mission is to search the globe for any conceivable threat to the United States, and the second is that we have the power to perform the first. This myth is the by-product of an organization, which, by its very nature, must exist and operate in secrecy. Secrecy is a vacuum and nothing fills a vacuum like paranoid speculation.

VC: I also used to beat Iron Fist's ass, but that's another story.

Neat to know that even in the cult au, logan's a goddamned Weeb.

I think this is another reference to Logan's associations with SHIELD.

The first time I read this, I thought "Underwear Factory" was slang for Alpha Flight as superheroes. But it was very literal. In their fight, Logan and Alpha Flight destroyed an Underwear Factory.

Logan - Arrived at the School in 1978. We'll create a timeline soon.

[carmenvicinanza]

Sonia Sanchez

https://www.unadonnalgiorno.it/sonia-sanchez/

Sonia Sanchez poeta, scrittrice e accademica femminista pluripremiata, è un’importante protagonista del Black Arts Movement, nato per il rinnovamento della volontà, dell’intuizione, dell’energia e della consapevolezza delle persone nere.

Ha scritto molti libri di poesie, testi teatrali e libri per l’infanzia e pubblicato saggi in storiche riviste come The Liberator, Negro Digest e Black Dialogue.

È conosciuta per la sua innovativa fusione di generi musicali, come il blues e il jazz, con forme poetiche tradizionali come haiku e tanka che utilizzano lo slang della comunità nera e una punteggiatura e ortografia sperimentale.

Attivista militante sin dagli anni sessanta, ha scritto di identità, razza, femminismo, amore, degrado, AIDS, dolore, emancipazione, orgoglio, cambiamento e senso comunitario.

Nata a Birmingham, Alabama, il 9 settembre 1934 col nome di Wilsonia Benita Driver, perse sua quando aveva solo un anno. Era stata, per questo, mandata a vivere con la nonna paterna, morta, anch’ella, quando aveva sei anni. Il trauma le fece sviluppare una balbuzie che la rendeva molto introversa, portandola a leggere molto e prestare molta attenzione al linguaggio e ai suoi suoni.

Nel 1943 si è trasferita ad Harlem per vivere con il padre, la sorella e la terza moglie del padre.

Col tempo ha imparato a gestire la balbuzie e trovare la sua voce poetica, nei corsi di scrittura creativa mentre frequentava l’Hunter College, dove si è laureata, nel 1955, in Scienze Politiche.  

Ha completato il percorso post-laurea alla New York University e studiato poesia con Louise Bogan. In quel periodo ha formato un laboratorio di scrittori e scrittrici nel Greenwich Village chiamato Broadside Quartet.

Quando faceva parte del CORE (Congress of Racial Equality), ha incontrato Malcolm X.

Tra le pioniere del femminismo nero, ha iniziato a scrivere drammaturgie teatrali negli anni ’60. Le forti protagoniste delle sue opere sfidavano lo spirito patriarcale del movimento.

Per un periodo, all’inizio degli anni settanta, ha fatto parte della Nation of Islam, che ha poi lasciato per la conflittuale visione sui diritti delle donne.

Ha tenuto il cognome Sanchez dal suo primo matrimonio, anche se poi ha sposato il poeta Etheridge Knight. L’esperienza della maternità, ha una figlia e due figli, ha influenzato la sua poesia negli anni settanta.

Ha scritto molte opere teatrali e libri che raccontano le lotte e le vite dell’America nera e curato le due antologie We Be Word Sorcerers: 25 Stories by Black Americans e 360° of Blackness Coming at You.

Sonia Sanchez ha insegnato in otto università e tenuto lezioni in oltre 500 campus in tutti gli Stati Uniti, tra cui la Howard University. Ha sostenuto l’introduzione di un corso di studi sulla comunità e sull’arte nera in California.

È stata la prima, in tutti gli Stati Uniti, a tenere un corso universitario di letteratura femminile afroamericana e a ricoprire la carica di Presidential Fellow alla Temple University, dove ha iniziato a lavorare nel 1977 e terminato nel 1999, quando è andata in pensione. Attualmente è poeta residente dell’ateneo.

Ha utilizzato i Black Studies come una nuova piattaforma per lo studio della razza e una sfida ai pregiudizi istituzionali delle università americane, prevalentemente frequentate da persone bianche.

Ha fatto parte di importanti organizzazioni femministe per i diritti umani.

Nel 2012 è stata la prima poeta laureata di Filadelfia.

Nel 2015 è uscito, BaddDDD Sonia Sanchez, documentario sul suo lavoro e sull’influenza che ha avuto nella storia della cultura, che è stato proiettato in molti festival internazionali.

È tra le venti donne afroamericane che fanno parte di Freedom’s Sisters, mostra itinerante voluta dal Cincinnati Museum Center e dalla Smithsonian Institution.

[enberryapp]

What is a "can of corn" in baseball? ️An easy catch by a fielder In baseball, a can of corn is an easy catch by a fielder, such as a highly hit ball (pop fly) that gives the infield or outfield defender a lot of time to settle under it to make the catch. While uncommon, you may still see or hear baseball commentators or fans use the term during a game, in person, or online. For example, during an MLB game, a play-by-play commentator may say, "Lewis grabs the can of corn to end the inning." Or, a fan may complain about a hitter's poor hitting streak and say, "Kepler is in such a slump right now. Every AB is a K or can of corn." You may also hear people refer to a can of corn as a "pop fly," "weak flyball," or "routine fly." Origin of can of corn in baseball The slang term "can of corn" originates from the placement of cans of corn on the top shelves in grocery stores in the early 20th century. To get them down, a worker would use a pole with a hook to move it off the shelf while another worker would be in a position under the can to easily catch it with their apron. Baseball historians credit MLB play-by-play broadcaster Red Barber for popularizing the saying in baseball during his tenure from the 1930s to the 60s. He called games for the Cincinnati Reds, Brooklyn Dodgers, and New York Yankees. Example And with that can of corn by Johnson, the Panthers win it 5 to 1. What a great way to start the season. Simplify your English learning with these strategies! 🗣️ https://enberry.app/blog/en/blog/posts/en/english-made-simple-24/

[cincinnatiredshawaiianshirt]

What is it like to study in a language you are not very fluent in?

Oh god it’s awful. I wouldn’t want to start over again. Per my school’s requirement I studied Chinese for almost a year. This was during the COVID-19 pandemic; the classes were online so I missed out on the in-person practice that would greatly benefit someone learning a new language.

I passed HSK level 4, which is pretty much in the intermediate range of Common Chinese. This achievement feels like Cincinnati Reds MLB Hawaiian Shirt Baseball Unisex Style; there is a world of difference between being good on paper and being good in real life at understanding a language.

I take classes with Chinese students. A teacher knows he is talking to a room full of people who understand him perfectly; he speaks in the way one native speaks to another; he speaks fast, he uses slangs, he uses words and expressions that are far out of my vocabulary.

[the-firebird69]

Cincinnati Union Terminal - Wikipedia

I'm from the show WKRP in Cincinnati and I work with a couple characters and we had a lot of fun this is not fun you can look at the clock and he's just looking at it to see if anything looks odd and it looks like the circle with the 12 roads going to it in France and I have to tell you it does mean something and it's combining

Is he blind man from WKRP in Cincinnati sitcom from the 70s and early 80s and I did enjoy the show and it was nice it was heartfelt it wasn't very vulgar it was a little bit nowadays it wouldn't be looked at it as well over at all and it was a comedy and it was fun and they played music it was a good time

And that was him he's typing this and really we did have a good time and it was not very rude back in the day there were a few things but now nobody would blink at all and we should it's really out of control

Blonde actor

Olympus

I think I like that show too and I do remember it and the black guy of course is Garth no

Hera

JC man

Garth

Haha lol that's my character it's someone coded and I speak like a street person no but I'm speaking some slang and it was a real fun show but this is terrible

Black guy WKRP and yeah we're going to liven up the radio station I get that

[ceramicsandtheory]

Hard to pick what to bring to the CXC pop-up at NCECA… I lol for slang on mugs, bet. (at Cincinnati, Ohio) https://www.instagram.com/p/Co7rMmtLMxL/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[popatochisssp]

I need memes for the new boys. Meme me, Poppy. Meme me.

As always, I am ashamed at how well-equipped I am to answer this question...

Meme Fluent: Ash (Undergloom Sans), Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus), Sunny (Gastertale Sans)

Can At Least Ask Where The Bathroom Is In Meme: Brick (Horrorfell Sans), Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus), Aster (Gastertale Papyrus)

Meme-blivious: Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus), King (Horrorfell Papyrus), Merc (Horrorswap Sans), Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans)

Ash (Undergloom Sans): Very savvy and up on all the most popular memes, scrolling through memes is an activity very low on the ‘activity’ part and great for when he’s feeling a little too tired to do anything else. He’s very into tiktoks, which help him keep up to date on the latest meme songs-- some of which he might try to learn to play on his own. In general, he’s also into memes with funny or weird-looking animals (frogs, possums, axolotls, etc), no specific kind of meme, the presence of a goofy-looking creature in it is usually good enough to get a smile or a chuckle out of him.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): Not all that up to date on the meme scene, he’s usually busy with other things... but! He really loves relatable memes, especially ones about procrastination or not being able to focus on work or having to do chores, everyday mundane irritations that everybody can relate to! He also thinks reading comprehension errors are great harmless fun (i.e., “my bad i thought u said moths”), just silly misunderstandings that make for confusing interactions until someone realizes.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): Doesn’t always remember every meme, but he gets the gist of most of them. His favorites are the MS Paint memes, usually the more poorly drawn, the better (but a fan of pretty much every catcrumb image he sees, those chaotic little cats are great). He can also be caught laughing himself to wheezing and banging on the table over completely bizarre and out of context interactions--for some reason, they just hit right on the funny bone and he has no defense against them. (The ‘Nyquil Detroit Become Liquid’ post nearly killed him, but he would’ve thanked it.)

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Not too interested in memes. He’s peripherally aware of them but rarely knows the latest trends or cares to know them. He does have a slight fondness for evil memes--ones about being evil or having an evil lair or just have the word ‘evil’ as an adjective in front of something else seemingly incongruous--he finds them silly and they can usually win at least a smirk out of him when he happens to come across one. If you want a laugh, though, find him some of those screenshots of old newspapers from the 30s-50s, formally written humor that still holds up even now (like The Windsor Star, Ontario, November 1, 1958, The Cincinnati Enquirer, Ohio, February 21, 1947, or Barnard Bulletin, New York, December 20, 1935). Sensible chuckles abound from those!

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): Not too into memery, he’s definitely got a lot of other things going on and isn’t always online. Still, he is a fan of stuff like one-time-i-dreamt and other accounts of peoples’ dreams or thought processes. He thinks it’s interesting, the little peek into the wandering, strange, and sometimes funny subconscious, or how people think about love and tenderness and nostalgia and remind others to appreciate those things, too. It’s a very niche, wholesome sort of enjoyment for sure... but not to worry! If you’re looking for something more mainstream and ‘haha funny,’ he also got very into the whole ‘Surprise! It’s cake!’ meme trend that was going on for awhile and is still delighted to find a video where a realistic object is cut into and turns out to be cake. He’s definitely going to make one himself, maybe as a social media marketing thing for his home business...

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Very meme savvy and tends toward some of the maybe darker types of humor--stress and anxiety memes, introvert memes, et cetera. Animated text is a big one he likes, with enough of a mix of pessimist and optimist memes that he doesn’t come away from checking it actually bummed out or feeling bad, a fine line to walk to be sure. He also likes coding and programming humor! He’s still kinda teaching himself, so he definitely doesn’t get them all, but it gives him a little sense of accomplishment and community when he does, which he really likes.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): Not interested in memes, and a lot of them are heavily based on visuals which, unfortunately, he’s going to miss the context. Still, he does get a hell of a kick out of brazen and blatant misinformation--the smooth sharks post, facts-i-just-made-up, and the like--and finds it hilarious when someone insists something that is obviously untrue, especially if a lot of people aren’t getting the joke and are trying fervently to convince them of their wrongness. He’s also a little bit evil, so whenever he learns a new piece of whatever slang is popular and in at the moment, he’s going to use it incorrectly, or use outdated slang to induce cringe in those around him. ‘Totes yeet yo’? Yes. ‘That is so pog, as the kids say’? Of course. ‘It’s lit, fam’? Definitely, who do you take him for? The cringier, the better, he revels in the discomfort of others when he throws one of those babies out.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): Definitely knows a little bit about memes, not always the latest trends but his base knowledge is pretty good, and of course has his favorites. He loves John Mulaney references and reaction images, they just Speak to him, y’know? Outside of that, he’s very fond of day-of-the-week memes, Tuesday Again?, Out of Touch Thursday, Fat Fuck Friday and so on. Aside from being a useful reminder of what the hell day of the week it is, he likes the consistency and recurrence of it, just a silly little moment to look forward to at some point like, “oh yeah, it’s el muchacho monday, nice!”

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): Pretty wise to the meme scene overall, loves the fun and creativity of it all. If you want him to absolutely lose his shit, though, show him a terrible picture of an animal--by which I mean, poorly photoshopped, blurred, in mid-panoramic, as long as the end result is an absurd or very screwed up image. Why are things like ‘buff half cat’ and ‘dog but very, very long’ his sense of humor? He has no idea, but the worse it looks, the harder he laughs. He has a bit of a fondness for ‘gotcha’s too, like a Rickroll but really anything where you go into it expecting one thing, and get trolled by receiving something else. (If Megalovania memes were a thing in his universe, he would be all over them, if that gives you an idea of the kind of gag he thinks is funny!)

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Aware of memes, but not all that invested in them. He likes corporate and office/business memes a lot-- the kind that roast bosses and unnecessary meetings, translate ‘polite’ corporate phrases, anything to do with emails--because they can be very relatable. He also likes seeing screencaps of people on Facebook or Twitter getting dragged for misinformation, or trying to act like a pompous jerk and getting shredded (for legitimate reasons of course, not just random unprovoked cyberbullying). He...may be involved in a bit of that sometimes himself: he may not be working in a scientific field, but he is half of a scientist, and just petty enough to spend a few hours of his free time looking up and reading through a few credible sources to cite in a strong and well-crafted rebuttal argument if someone is being especially, dangerously wrong about something. Not everyone has the time and resources to do it, so why shouldn’t he? 😇

[drawlfoy]

The Wonders of Ohio P.5

masterlist (check here for parts 1-4!) request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: from 14 year old me babey

warnings: cringe, mentions of drug use, mentions of sex, language, and just bad writing

summary: y/n is in her senior year of high school when she is asked to take on an exchange student from britain that’s a little...different. this is NOT a nonmagic AU. draco is still a wizard and this will become and integral part of the story shortly.

a/n: heyyyy everyone. i graduated from high school this week and i’m posting this as my happy-one-year-to-me. as some of you may know, i posted my very first fic on this day a year ago. i’m really happy to see how i’ve grown since and i’m so lucky to have shared this with all of you. anyways, nittygritty--

this part is really the last slow exposition chapter. chapters 6 on will be a whole whirlwind beginning with homecoming and i hope that you guys are willing to stick around. i promise itll be worth the wait. y/n is going to get the story arc of a lifetime and also please do not hate heather she is just going through it ok 

anywayssssssss

tags tags tags  @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @erisdogwood @loveissupernatural

word count: 4.6k (;))

song recs: 

strawberry blonde -- mitski 

in your neighbors garden -- mimi bay

wishes -- beach house

ode to artifice -- samia 

pink in the night -- mitski

enjoy <3

The seatbelt buckle scorched the side of Y/N’s exposed neck as she turned to face the disheveled blonde in the passenger seat.

“Do I need to teach you to set an alarm?” 

Draco let out a huff. “Stop. Do you have a….a comb, or a brush, or something here?” His hands looked abnormally fidgety. Their actions were shaky, varying from patting his pockets to running through his hair. He seemed more and more frustrated each time his hands left his pockets empty. 

How curious Y/N thought as she racked her brain for any remembrance of putting a brush in her car. It was always a mess, and she honestly couldn’t blame Draco for assuming that anything could be in there.

“I don’t think there’s one here,” said Y/N, trying to sound at least a little sympathetic despite the fact that his tardiness had them 10 minutes late. “You can look around if you want, king.”

“What’d you call me?” His voice was suddenly sharp and awake.

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard that she thought they’d get stuck in the back of her head. “You don’t--ok. It’s a joke. You can call guys here that.”

“And it means that I’m…?”

“It means I’m acknowledging that you exist, I guess. It’s not like it has a strict negative or positive connotation. Like, I can say ‘Ok king’ to any man telling me something and it can either be sarcastic, or it can be because I don’t know what else to say and just want to let him know I heard him.”

Draco’s eyes looked a tad glazed over when Y/N dared a glance in his direction.

“I know it’s confusing. I’m sorry. I’ll try and ease you into the world of American slang.” 

He granted her a little “uh-huh” before opening up the glovebox with great difficulty and rummaging through the mess. Y/N would’ve felt more embarrassed about the tampon that fell on the ground in the process if he seemed like he actually knew what it was. 

Her attention turned back to the road as Draco continued to sift through things. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything embarrassing hidden away in the corners of her car--after all, it hadn’t been organized since the beginning of summer--and decided that it was better to pretend it wasn’t happening.

It wasn’t the eerie silence that eventually prompted her to turn to look his direction--no, it was the weird energy in the car, like the feeling right before a thunderstorm. All the hair raised on her arms, and she shivered...but it was stifling hot in the car.

“Oh, did you find a brush?” she asked. His hair laid as perfectly as always, but his hands were lying shaking in his lap, palms to the sky. No hairbrush was in sight.

“Er... “ He was paler than usual, which was quite the feat for someone who looked like a ream of paper. “No. Just remembered a trick my father taught me.”

She tensed at the mention of his father--the very first time Draco had done so. “Oh. Okay. Glad you got it figured out, king.”

Her voice lightened on the last word, hoping she could coax a little smile out of him. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“Ok.”

oOo

 There were many things Y/N thought she understood, but Draco Malfoy being in her Physics C class was not one of them. She took pity and sat next to him as he fumbled his way through the first lecture. His notes, while neat, were littered with crossed out portions and question marks. 

You do know there’s an eraser on your pencil, right? she jotted on a note that she sent his way. His brow furrowed and he seemed to tap at the end of the eraser for just a few moments before deciding otherwise and xing out another practice problem he’d done incorrectly. Symbols that she’d never seen before were scattered all throughout his notes. 

Maybe the UK kids just learn stuff differently.

By the time that Physics came to an end, Y/N was eager to get away from the storm cloud that was brewing over Draco’s perfectly smoothed and infuriatingly pretty moonbeam colored hair. The amount of attention he was getting from all the other girls made Y/N want to jump off a cliff--suddenly everyone was her “best friend” “just wanting to check up on what happened over summer”. She was grateful to see the face of Lizzy, grinning and looking mischievous during their break period.

“You must be Draco,” said the redhead, a glint in her eyes. He looked a little scared.

“Er...yeah.”

“Mind giving us some privacy? Y/N and I have some urgent matters to discuss,” she continued, looking him up and down. Y/N attempted to ignore the twist in her gut as she watched him swallow and nod, turning away to go brood elsewhere. Once he was out of sight, Lizzy grabbed her arm and yanked her into the girl’s bathroom.

“It’s so funny how he’s following you around like a lost puppy,” Lizzy said. “Also, he’s gorgeous. If you don’t at least try to get some of that, then I’m never trusting your judgement again.”

“But, Li-”

“The boy’s a fucking walking Wattpad story cover. Dark, tragic past, unbelievably sharp jawline, rich parents, exotic accent....honestly, Y/N, I don’t know what else you could want.” 

“Mom literally called him my host brother,” said Y/N. The bathroom was starting to smell suspiciously like cotton candy. “That’s wrong. On so many levels.” 

“But you’re not related!”

“But it’s gross! And predatory! The kid doesn’t even know how to do basic algebra! I’m all he has!” 

Lizzy’s eyebrow found its new home in the middle of her forehead. “You’ve gone absolutely batty if you think that every girl cursed with attraction to men in Cincinnati wouldn’t jump his skin at the chance. Use your head, queenie. He’s not alone. Shoot your shot.”

Y/N opened her mouth to serve back a retort--that was definitely there, thank you very much--but decided against it once she realized that the bathroom had become dead silent. “Um...maybe we can go over this later.” She flickered her eyes over to the line behind them that was now intently hanging on their every word. “I forgot I had to talk to the counselor.”

Lizzy was smirking as they exited the bathroom and began the search for Draco. It didn’t take long--the circle comprised of Heather and her friends was more than enough of a giveaway that he was about. 

“Draco, sorry to make you wait,” Y/N called out. It took all her effort to abstain from cringing as her voice rang out across the group. Heather turned to send her a big smile.

“Hey Y/N! You didn’t tell me that Draco was from London!” 

“He’s not,” she responded. “He’s from Wiltshire.” 

“Wiltshire. Of course. That’s what I meant.”

Draco’s smile was tense as he looked down at Heather--who stood roughly 4 inches below him--but he was smiling, and that wasn’t something that Y/N was on the receiving end of frequently. She didn’t know whether to be offended or relieved.

“I’m sure. Break’s almost over, Draco. I can show you where the English department is before the time is up.” 

 He paused, looking down at the blonde grinning up at him. “Er, actually, Heather already offered to show me around for the rest of the day.”

“Yeah, for sure. I’ll see you in French.”

Y/N was shocked at the sheer amount of jealousy that rose up in her throat as she turned away and made her way to Art History---the only class Y/N and Draco didn’t share. The walk was strange. Being in solitude after having a gloomy British boy attached to her hip was understandably eerie. Because that’s all it was. Adjustment. Nothing else.

She settled in at a table full of her friends, namely Sylvia. The tall girl was always a bit whimsical, but Y/N found that she was a breath of fresh air compared to everyone else. It made sense that Sylvia would take Art History--her dark academic inspired aura and the perpetually hot mug of black coffee just screamed history nut. 

“How’s your new brother?” she asked after the teacher had taken attendance. “I say that because I haven’t heard his name yet.”

“Ick, it’s gross to think of him as my brother,” Y/N responded. “And I know! We need to catch up. I’m sorry about not talking to you for a bit. The time difference was a bit weird during your trip.”

“It’s ok, I get it. I was away on family business, anyways. I didn’t expect you to spend your days staying up until the wee hours of the night to tell me all about your exchange student. Anyways. His name?”

“You’re gonna scream when you hear it, Vie,” she said. “Draco Malfoy. It’s so posh. You have no idea. It definitely suits him, though. He’s very...You good?” 

Sylvia’s olive toned face looked a bit paler than usual. “Yeah. Yeah, I just remembered that I forgot to take the trash out this morning. I’ll have to text my mom about it.” She adjusted the wool cardigan that hung around her shoulders and came up looking composed. “Draco, huh? His parents must hate him.”

“At the very least! He’s so rude. And uptight. I can’t tell if it’s just a Brit thing or if it’s because he’s an asshole.” 

Sylvia laughed. “I mean, when I was there over the summer, it was a different culture for sure. We’re by far louder. But I didn’t meet many mean ones. You must’ve just got a bad apple, then.”

“I guess so. He is pret--”

“Ladies, is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”

“No, Mrs. Jensen,” Sylvia and Y/N said in unison. 

oOo

“Thoughts, king?” 

“I told you not to call me that.” Draco glared at her as he tried to open the passenger side door to find that it was locked tight. “Unlock? Please?”

“And I told you not to get cozy with ASB kids, yet here we are,” said Y/N as she slotted the key into the lock and turned. 

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing. I’m just looking out for you.” She slammed the door shut and threw her bag in the bag. The line of traffic to get out of the school was long and stuffy, and she was eager to just get it over with.

The wait was so hot that Draco peeled off his stupid formalish jacket that was on thin ice of being called a blazer and probably worth more than her car. Y/N tried to look away as his hair became slightly ruffled, but she couldn’t pry her eyes away. It was endearing, almost, how someone who could look so posh and serious could have ruffly hair--and hair that naturally light, too. She had asked him one night if it was dyed, and he scowled at her and told her the grammatically correct term was dead, and that his hair was alive, just like the rest of him, thank you very much. She dropped it. 

Y/N finally rolled down her window after the AC simply refused to satisfy her, and the wind was a nice reminder to keep in her own lane. Draco was beautiful. There was no other way to put it. He had a feel of power to him, like he was capable of anything but just held it back. But he was just as inaccessible as he was pretty, and there was nothing she could do about that.

“Y/N?” He asked after a few moments of sitting in silence. “What’s Homecoming?” 

“Who told you about that?” 

“Heather. She asked if I had a date. Is that like a ball here?”

“She asked you if you had a date on the first day?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck. ASB kids never do sleep, huh.” 

“What?”

“Homecoming isn’t a ball. It’s like a...an…” Y/N paused as she saw Draco raise his eyebrows. “It’s, like, uh….Well I guess it is like a ball. An American one, though. Way less extravagant. It’s an excuse to get dressed up and run around the city. There technically is a dance, and all the ASB kids have to go, but literally no one else does but the underclassmen. Normally I go out with my friends and a date to somewhere fun and take pictures. And then get trashed afterwards.”

“Classy,” said Draco. “I think you can go now.”

A honk behind her emphasized his point as the space in between her and the car in front widened substantially. 

“Thanks. Anyways, it’s not really a big deal. I’d suggest not going with Heather so you can skip out on the dance portion. Or if you want to go with her, get her to come with us into Cincinnati because I am not going to spend my last homecoming watching a grind circle.” 

“A...what circle? And I don’t want to go with her.”

The relief Y/N felt was embarrassing. “Um...better if you don’t worry about it. You have a long time to figure it out anyways.”

He seemed satisfied with that answer, propping his elbow up on the center console. The pristine button up he was wearing had ridden up, exposing the pale skin and the bottom of the tattoo she had seen a hint of earlier. “Do you have a date?”

“Um. No, not yet. I don’t think anyone except for couples do yet. We have until the end of this month to figure it out, so I’m not too worried about it.”

He nodded as Y/N’s car finally left the school parking lot and began picking up speed. 

“I’m assuming you had balls? At your posh boarding school?” 

“Er…” Draco ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it further. “We only had one. It was when I was 14. We called it the Yule Ball.”

“Why only one?”

“It was for a special occasion. We had two other schools join us as well. It was quite a good time.”

“So every student only has one ball in their lifetime?”

“Of course not. Some of us--the ones from old families--have events like that regularly.”

“I’m sorry if this is overstepping my bounds,” began Y/N, noticing how he tensed up, “So you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But, I’m just wondering, what is your family like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like are they nice?”

“Oh.” The line in his forehead relaxed. “No. They wouldn’t like you.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said. “Do you like them?”

She heard the breath hitch in his throat. “I don’t know anymore.”

“I’m sure it’s hard to think about it when you feel like they’ve just shipped you off without anyone,” she added. “I’m really sorry, Draco. I know I’ve been a bit mean to you. I know that I’ll never be able to understand what you’re going through right now.”

The slight smile that spread across his face would’ve knocked her to her knees if she wasn’t already sitting down. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

The silence that awaited them for the rest of the journey was comfortable.

oOo

School began to pick up the pace after the first few days. Y/N got into the swing of homework and her extracurricular workload. Draco was having a bit more difficulty, she presumed, but he’d never admit to it. She took pity one evening and gave him her laptop opened to a Khan Academy tab for Physics and was pleased to see that he showed up to class the next day with completed homework. He asked to borrow her laptop on a much more frequent basis after that. 

The routine they settled into had her heart leaping into her chest almost constantly--they’d eat breakfast together at the table, Y/N would try to ignore how pretty he looked across the table as they shared a pot of black tea (earl grey, which Y/N was thrilled to learn was his favorite as well), they’d get in the car, she’d write him notes in physics to help him (even though he never asked, he always smile and give a little shake of his head before unfolding them and intently staring at her writing), they’d drive home together and bitch about their French teacher, he’d retire to his room and do whatever pretty blonde Brits do in the afternoon, they’d meet unexpectedly at the same time in the late evening to have a final cup of tea, and then they’d go to bed and do it all over again. 

It was difficult for her to admit, but Y/N was falling very quickly for Draco. It was gross, and wrong, and manipulative, and completely against the code of conduct for exchange families, but she couldn’t help but spend her days fantasizing about how his gold-spun hair would feel as she ran her fingers through it or how gently she’d trace her fingers around the tattoo on the soft flesh of his forearm…

But Y/N knew those thoughts weren’t right. And they would go away. Eventually. 

“How’s it going?” Sylvia asked, effectively snapping her out of her thoughts. The Art History sub told them to go into independent study, whatever that meant. Y/N was not very good at either of those words.

“Pretty good. I can’t believe it’s been 3 weeks already,” she said. “It’s gonna be Halloween before we know it.”

“I can’t fucking waitttt,” said Sylvia. “I’m gonna be Wednesday Addams.”

“Again?”

“What else would I be? I get a new high collared black dress every year. It’d be a shame if it were going to go to waste. What are you gonna be?”

“One of the thousands of students finishing their UChicago ED app hours before the deadline.”

“You’re kidding. Can’t you just finish it the day before?”

“Where’s the fun in that? And, plus, I don’t have an idea as cool as Wednesday.”

Sylvia smirked as she opened up her planner and began to jot down something. “How’s Draco doing? I haven’t seen much of him lately. It seems like he never hangs out with us at break anymore.”

“Yeah, I ended up getting him connected with the Physics teacher. He’s getting tutored now. He thinks it’s all bullshit, but I don’t want to be the reason he doesn’t get into a good school.”

“Is that all you care about?” She smiled at Y/N. “Lizzy was telling me that you’re interested in him.”

“First of all, keep your voice down. Second of all, I’m not supposed to be, so I’m not.” Y/N hoped that the edge in her voice was convincing enough.

Her friend raised her eyebrows so dramatically that her glasses nearly slipped off her nose. “Y/N, who’s gonna hear about it. You guys are both going away at the end of the year anyways, and I’m sure he’s not going to be writing to his dear mum about his love life. If it’s consensual, there’s nothing wrong with it. I think it’d be good for both of you.”

“I see that, but let’s put me in his shoes right now.” Y/N shuffled in her seat and clasped her hands. “I’m rich. I’m British. I’m very hot. My parents throw extravagant balls for me and I kiss pretty girls that say water like ‘wota’. I’ve spent my life in silk and I only drink the finest teas. My family is so important that I had to be shipped off halfway across the world just to be safe. And now my incredibly expensive life has reached a peak because I’m sleeping with a random girl in Ohio that has run approximately 4 stop signs since I’ve met her.”

“You’re sleeping with Draco?” 

Y/N turned to see Lauren, a wide-eyed, obnoxious, but well meaning girl staring at her. She heard Sylvia stifle a laugh behind her. “No. I was kidding.” The smile that she followed with was awkward and showed way too many teeth. 

“Oh, okay,” said Lauren. “Do you know if he likes anyone?”

Sylvia’s smirk widened.

“No, actually, he’s a pretty private guy.” Y/N sent her another tense smile, and Lauren finally turned away.

“Jealous, huh?”

“Shut up, Vie. You know I wouldn’t go for him. Even if I had the chance.”

She just raised an eyebrow and smiled. 

The afternoon brought its own set of struggles. Their French teacher had blown up at another student who had been caught cheating on their last test, and it was all Y/N could do but hold back her snickers until they were out in the parking lot.

“I can’t believe they still managed to conjugate their cheat sheet wrong.” Y/N was gasping for breath as she unlocked the car door and threw her stuff inside. Draco was watching from the passenger seat, his lips in a soft upturn. “Can you imagine? Oh my god.”

He just shook his head and turned to look out the window, but she could see the smile slowly stretching across his face. “Ridiculous. You could totally tell Monsieur enjoyed it, too. I bet he gets off on making kids like Joey cry.”

“I had a teacher like that,” he started. “He was a Poti-a chemistry teacher.”

“Oh? Did he ever attack you?”

“No. He liked me. Family friends and all.”

“Ah. I almost forgot that your family was rich and influential. Thanks for the reminder.” She reached across and lightly punched his shoulder. His smile, though still remaining, seemed to shrink. “Hey, what’s that in your bag?” 

Y/N motioned to the cardstock peeking out of his nondescript black backpack that always seemed to fit more than it was meant to. She could make out a few words written in what looked like a bright red sharpie--something that did not exactly scream Draco Malfoy aesthetic.

He froze up. “Er. It’s from Heather. I think she called it a Homecoming ask?”

Y/N’s throat dried up to the point that no words would willingly make the climb from her diaphragm to her tongue; instead, she settled for giving him a little nod and what she hoped was a convincing smile.

“I told her I’d think about it,” he continued. “I remember you saying that the school dances sucked. So I let her know that I wasn’t sure yet.”

She nodded again. “Super cool. You can do whatever you want, though. You can come with my group if you’d like, but you’re welcome to go with Heather’s.”

“What? So you aren’t coming with me if I go with Heather?”

“Fuck no, dude. I don’t hate her, but I would way prefer to spend a night with my friends than some girl from my French class that only talks to me because she thinks you’re hot.” 

The expression Draco made reminded Y/N that he would never get comfortable with American girls calling him hot. “Ok. Have you found a date yet?”

“Chad from Econ asked me yesterday.”

“Is that why my seat was covered in glitter?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going with him?” Draco’s hand was clenched tight in a fist in his lap.

“I think so,” said Y/N, steeling herself and deciding to just go for it. “But, of course, if you asked me I would say no to Chad. Just out of principle. I am supposed to be your tour guide, after all.”

The only parts of him moving were the few stray wisps of his hair being pushed around by the AC going. 

“But that’d be weird. I’d only expect you to take that up if you really didn’t want to go to the dance itself.” She swallowed and pulled out onto the main street, putting distance between them and the school. He was silent for a few moments. The quiet, normally comfortable between them, was stifling and strange. She pretended to ignore the way he was fiddling with his cuffs. 

“Yeah, it could be,” was all he said before slumping against the window and closing his eyes.

Mrs. Y/L/N was sitting at the head of the coffee table when the two arrived home, carding between a stack of letters in front of her. The mug of something--probably that new decaf blend she hadn’t stopped raving about--was sitting lopsided on a coaster, just barely about to topple off the edge. She looked like she hadn’t moved for hours, the novel she had been previously reading sat face down to preserve the spot next to her no doubt lukewarm drink.

“Hey Mom,” Y/N said as she set her keys down. “Anything good?”

She looked up, her expression morphing from startled to happy. “Other than the college brochures? Nothing, except...hm, what’s this?”

Her well manicured hand pulled at a crimson envelope, with sloping writing that seemed to shimmer in the light. 

To the Y/L/N Family, it read. The loopiness of the writing looked like it wiggled at the ends, but that had to be a trick of the light. It was dim in the kitchen during afternoons, after all. 

“It looks cool, open it u--”

“No!”

Draco’s voice had never sounded so loud as it did then as he lunged across the kitchen, snatching it out of her mother’s hand and clutching it to his chest. “Er, it’s for me. I recognize the handwriting.”

 “Cool, see you later,” said Y/N. She was up the stairs and slamming her door before either of her housemates could say another word. After the horrible embarrassment that was technically Draco’s rejection, she needed to be alone. 

Even burying her face into her pillow and squeezing her eyes shut didn’t keep the scenes from their car ride at bay. She had been so stupid, so stupid. Why did she even think he wanted that? He was her brother, after all. Oh god, does he think we’re all from Alabama or something?

She wallowed for a few more mournful minutes before deciding that she had to pick herself up and handle it like an adult. After all, she was going to be 18 in just a few months. There was no excuse for her to act like a child anymore. And, plus, it wasn’t like she couldn’t just play this off as a pity invite. Yes,that’s what she’d frame this as if he ever asked her about it again. She felt bad for him was all it was. 

Once satisfied with her internal dialogue, she rolled out of bed and made for the foyer where her bag was still on the table. She’d first walk on Legos barefoot before she had to let a stupid boy--especially one that didn’t know how to turn on their shower and had to ask for her help every time--come between her and her 4.0. Never.

Her thoughts were cut short, however, when she heard a new sound from his side of the hallway. She froze, listening closely. 

Draco was crying.

[papermoonloveslucy]

HOOSIER ‘DANCE’ GIRLS: MISS HARA & MISS O’BALL

September 14, 1940

On September 14, 1940, Lucille Ball and Maureen O’Hara reached the end of their whirlwind press tour to promote their new RKO film Dance, Girl, Dance.  Ball and O’Hara made four personal appearances between screenings of the film, introduced by local radio star Roy Brandt of WFBM. 

On September 1, 1940, The Indianapolis Sunday Star is already reporting the possibility of Ball and O’Hara appearing live at the Circle. 

Before arriving in Indianapolis, the final stop on their tour, the pair were in Washington DC, and posted for this photograph. Lucille and Maureen became inseparable while shooting this film, and remained lifelong friends until Ball's death in 1989. O'Hara was having lunch with Lucy during the filming (June 1940) when Ball first saw her future husband Desi Arnaz. On November 30, 1940, the couple were married in Connecticut. 

The film had premiered two weeks earlier, August 30, 1940. It was directed by one of Hollywood’s only female directors, Dorothy Arzner (above), who was also a lesbian. The film employed a young film editor named Robert Wise, who would go on to direct the iconic films West Side Story (1961) and The Sound of Music in 1965. Gowns were credited to Edward Stevenson, who would do wardrobe design on all Lucille Ball’s sitcoms. 

The film opened in Indianapolis, Indiana at the Circle Theatre. The theatre was given its name because it is on Monument Circle. It was built in 1916 as a "deluxe movie palace." In 1984, after extensive renovation, it reopened as home to the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra. In December 1996, it was renamed the Hilbert Circle Theatre after being endowed by philanthropist Stephen Hilbert. The theatre holds 1,660 seats and is home to a Wurlitzer theatre organ.

“[They] will sing, dance and do dramatic bits during their four appearances.” ~ Indianapolis News, September 14, 1940

In 1940, Lucille Ball was still claiming Butte, Montana, as her birthplace.  She felt it was more exotic than Jamestown, New York.

“Miss Ball has a joyous spirit that frequently breaks out into deep-throated, hearty laughter.” ~ Indianapolis  News, September 14, 1940

This article notes that Lucy continued on to Chicago to meet up with the cast of George Abbott’s Too Many Girls. This was undoubtedly to meet Desi Arnaz, who she met while shooting the RKO film version back in Hollywood. In 1940, the stage version was still touring and a hit Chicago’s Grand Opera House. A romantic rendezvous was doubtless planned. 

~ Louella Parson, September 25, 1940

The article also states that Lucille will do a film with Charles Laughton titled Mr. Pinky. No such film was ever made and Ball and Laughton never acted together, although she did work several times with his wife, Elsa Lanchester. In real life, Mr. Pinky was the name of Charles Laughton’s cat!  It is possible that this project refers to the film Brighton Rock (1947), which was based on a 1938 novel and a 1940 West End play about a young mobster named Pinkie Brown. The article notes that Laughton will soon be in Chicago doing his famous readings of the Gettysburg Address and the 23rd Psalm. 

O’Hara states that she “has a grudge against Hitler.”  World War II was in full force and travel restrictions prevented O’Hara from visiting her native Ireland. The darkest days of the London blitz dominated the headlines worldwide. 

~ Philadelphia Enquirer, August 19, 1940

The article also references Ball’s beginning to film the (yet untitled) Harold Lloyd film. The famous silent film comic was a great influence on Ball. He became a film producer and the movie was eventually titled A Girl, a Guy, and a Gob (1941). Lucy was the “Girl”, George O’Brien was the “Guy” and George Murphy played the “Gob” (a slang word for sailor). 

The Indianapolis papers reviewed the film, describing Lucille Ball as “pert and mercenary”. 

At the Circle, Dance, Girl, Dance was a double feature with Flowing Gold, a 1940 Warner Brothers release starring John Garfield, Frances Farmer and Pat O’Brien.  

At a previous stop on the tour in Chicago on September 8, the film was on a double feature with Men Against The Sky, a 1940 RKO action / adventure film. 

The film featured Donald Briggs, who would play the recurring character of Eddie Collins (Viv’s boyfriend) on season one of “The Lucy Show.” 

On September 5, the pair met Cincinnati, Ohio, Mayor James Garfield Stewart, in advance of their appearance at the Palace Theatre. 

[yasbxxgie]

Surviving ‘stressful process’ of being black male African-American men quietly combat negative stereotypes about them

Keith Borders tries hard not to scare people. He’s 6-foot-7, a garrulous lawyer who talks with his hands. And he’s black.

Many people find him threatening. He works hard to prove otherwise.

“I have a very keen sense of my size and how I communicate,” says Borders of Mason, Ohio. “I end up putting my hands in my pockets or behind me. I stand with my feet closer together. With my feet spread out, it looks like I’m taking a stance. And I use a softer voice.”

Every day, African-American men consciously work to offset stereotypes about them — that they are dangerous, aggressive, angry. Some smile a lot, dress conservatively and speak with deference: “Yes, sir,” or “No, ma’am.” They are mindful of their bodies, careful not to dart into closing elevators or stand too close in grocery stores.

It’s all about surviving, and trying to thrive, in a nation where biased views of black men stubbornly hang on decades after segregation and where statistics show a yawning gap between the lives of white men and black men. Black men’s median wages are barely three-fourths those of whites; nearly 1 in 3 black men will spend time behind bars during his life; and, on average, black men die six years earlier than whites.

Sure, everyone has ways of coping with other people’s perceptions: Who acts the same at work as they do with their kids, or their high school friends?

But for black men, there’s more at stake. If they don’t carefully calculate how to handle everyday situations — in ways that usually go unnoticed — they can end up out of a job, in jail or dead.

“It’s a stressful process,” Borders says.

Melissa Harris Lacewell, a political scientist at the University of Chicago, says it's at the heart of being a black American male.

“Black mothers and fathers socialize their sons to not make waves, to not come up against the authorities, to speak even more politely not only when there are whites present but particularly if there are whites who have power,” she said.

Chess in the real world

“Most black men are able shift from a sort of relaxed, authentically black pose into a respectable black man pose. Either they develop the dexterity to move back and forth, or ultimately they flounder.”

It’s a lot like a game of chess, says 43-year-old Chester Williams, who owns Chester Electric in New Orleans. He has taught his three sons, ages 16, 14 and 11, to play.

“The rules of the game are universal: White moves first, then black moves,” he said. “Black has to respond to the moves that the whites make. You take the advantage when it’s available.”

Twenty-year-old Chauncy Medder of Brooklyn says his baggy jeans and oversized T-shirts make him seem like “another one of those thuggish black kids.” He offsets that with “Southern charm” he learned attending high school in Virginia — “a lot of ’Yes, ma’ams,’ and as little slang as possible. When I speak to them (whites), they’re like, ’Hey, you’re different.”’

Such skillful little changes in style aren’t talked about much, especially not outside of black households — there’s no reason to tip your hand. As Walter White, a black sales executive from Cincinnati puts it: “Not talking is a way to get what you want.”

Coping strategies

He recalled that, “as a child, we all sat down with my mother and father and watched the movie ’Roots,”’ the groundbreaking 1970s television miniseries tracing a black family from Africa through slavery and into modern times.

The slaves were quietly obedient around whites. “But as soon as the master was gone,” he said, “they did what they really wanted to do. That’s what we were taught.”

Historians agree that black stereotypes and coping strategies are rooted America’s history of slavery and segregation.

Jay Carrington Chunn’s mother taught him “how to read ’Whites Only’ and ’Negro Only’ before she taught me anything else,” said the 63-year-old, who grew up in Atlanta. “Black parents taught you how to react when police stopped you, how to respond to certain problems, how to act in school to get the best grade.”

School is still a challenge, even from an early age.

Last year, Yale University research on public school pre-kindergarten programs in 40 states found that blacks were expelled twice as often as whites — and nine out of 10 blacks expelled were boys. The report did not analyze the patterns, but some trace it to negative views about black boys.

Perception: Young males = public enemies

Black male children are often “labeled in public schools as being out of control,” said Lacewell, who studies black political culture and wrote “Barbershops, Bibles, and BET: Everyday Talk and Black Political Thought.”

“If you’re a black boy who is smart and energetic and always has the answer and throws his hand up in the air,” she said, “you might as a parent say, ’Even if you know the answer you might not want to make a spectacle of yourself. You don’t want to call attention to yourself.”’

Bill Fletcher still has nightmares about his third-grade teacher, a white woman who “treated me and other black students as if we were idiots,” he said. “She destroyed my confidence.”

But his parents were strong advocates, and taught him to cope by having little contact with teachers who didn’t take an interest in him, said Fletcher, former president of TransAfrica Forum, a group that builds ties between African-Americans and Africa.

As black boys become adolescents, the dangers escalate. Like most teenagers, they battle raging hormones and identity crises. Many rebel, trying to fit in by mimicking — and sometimes becoming — criminals.

“They are basically seen as public menaces,” Lacewell said.

Counting the casualties

Rasheed Smith, 22, a soft-spoken, aspiring hip-hop lyricist from the Bedford Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn, recently tapped his long fingers, morosely counting his friends killed in neighborhood violence in the last five years — 11 in all. Few spent much time beyond their blocks, let alone their neighborhood. Some sold drugs or got in other trouble and had near-constant contact with police.

Smith has survived by staying close to his family. He advised: “With police, you talk to them the way they talk to you. You get treated how you act.”

Twenty years ago, Carol Taylor’s teenage son — now a lawyer — was mugged twice near their Brooklyn home, but police officers “treated him like he had done the mugging,” she said. She wrote and self-published “The Little Black Book: Survival Commandments for Black Men” filled with tips on how to deal with police: keep your hands visible, carry a camera, don’t say much but be polite.

“Don’t take this as a time to prove your manhood,” wrote Taylor, a retired nurse and community activist who said she’s sold thousands of the pocket-sized, $2 books.

And more general advice: “Learn to read, write and type, and to speak English correctly. This is survival, not wishful thinking. If you are going to survive in America, go to college!”

One selective business program at historically black Hampton University in Virginia directs black men to wear dark, conservative suits to class. Earrings and dreadlocked hairstyles are forbidden. Their appearance is “communicating a signal that says you can go into more places,” said business school dean Sid Credle. “There’s more universal acceptance if you’re conservative in your image and dress style.”

Corporate communications

One graphic artist says he wears a suit when traveling, “even if it’s on a weekend. I think it helps. It requests respect.”

But in the corporate world, clothing can only help so much, said Janet B. Reid of Global Lead Management Consulting, who advises companies on managing ethnic diversity.

Black men, especially those who look physically imposing, often have a tough time.

“Someone who is tall and muscular will learn to come into a meeting and sit down quickly,” she said. “They’re trying to lower the big barrier of resistance, one that’s fear-based and born of stereotypes.”

Having darker brown skin can erect another barrier. Mark Ferguson has worked on Wall Street for 20 years. He has an easy smile and firm, confident handshake.

“I think I clean up pretty well — I dress well, I speak well — but all that goes out the window when I show up at a meeting full of white men,” says Ferguson of New Jersey, who is 6-foot-4 and dark-skinned. “It’s because they’re afraid of me.”

“Race always matters,” said Ferguson, whose Day in the Life Foundation connects minority teenagers with professionals. “It’s always in play.”

The smile factor

Fletcher knows his light brown skin gives him an advantage — except that he’s “unsmiling.”

“If you’re a black man who doesn’t smile a lot, they (whites) get really nervous,” he said. “There are black people I run across all the time and they’re always smiling particularly when they’re around white people. A lot of white people find that very comforting.”

All this takes a toll.

Many black men say the daily maneuvering leaves them enraged and exhausted. For decades, they continuously self-analyze and shift, subtly dampening their personalities. In the end, even the best strategies don’t always work.

“I’ve seen it play out many times” in corporations, said Reid of Global Lead. “They go from depression to corporate suicide. Marital problems can come up. He loses all self-confidence and the ability to feel manly and in control of his own fate.”

Sherman James, a social psychologist at Duke University, studies how the stress of coping for black men can damage the circulatory system and lead to chronic poor health. Black men are 20 percent more likely to die of heart disease than whites, and they have the highest rates of hypertension in the world, according to the National Medical Association.

What doesn't kill makes you stronger

The flip side, black men say, is that many learn to be resilient. Ferguson recalls when a new Wall Street colleague, minutes after meeting him and hearing he grew up in a housing project in Newark, N.J., asked if he had been involved in “any illicit activities” there. He shrugged it off.

Over the years, as he has earned promotions and built client relationships over the phone, he has learned to steel himself for face-to-face meetings — for clients’ raised eyebrows and stuttered greetings when they see he is black.

“It just rolls off our backs — we grin and bear it. You can’t quit,” he said, sighing heavily. He vents his frustrations to mentors and relaxes with his wife and young children.

“Then you go back,” he said, “and fight the good fight.”

Photographs

Rasheed Smith, 22, pauses in a talk about his life during a visit to a cafe in the Bedford Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn, N.Y. Smith, the son of immigrants from the Caribbean island of Barbados, has survived life in the tough neighborhood by staying close to his family

Karrym Ferguson, a 10th grader at Central High School in Newark, N.J., listens to Mark Ferguson during his June 13 visit to the school. Ferguson, a Wall Street financier who grew up in Newark and attended the same school, established the Day in the Life Foundation to help students succeed

[handeaux]

Before We Said ‘Please’: Early Cincinnati Slang (or, ‘Don’t Get Snake-Poled By A Beatomest Hailstorm’)

In 1912, a Philadelphia lawyer published a most amazing collection of “Americanisms,” or English words unique to the United States, titled “An American Glossary.” His name was Richard H. Thornton. He was born in England but lived in Oregon, where he was dean of the state’s law school.

This is relevant to readers in the Queen City because Thornton found many of his Americanisms in Cincinnati sources, from newspapers and books published here or in correspondence by Cincinnati residents. His book records early Cincinnati slang.

Thornton was perplexed by many words we consider obvious today like apple-butter, bouncer, egg-plant, mesquite, muss and snag – all from Cincinnati sources. Less-common terms Thornton traces to Cincinnati include “big bugs,” candle-box returns, fips, swartwouting, and wire-draw.

Thornton’s earliest citation for “apple butter” is a letter from Cincinnati to the London (England) Mirror, published on 26 May 1832. If Thornton had access to older newspapers, he might have found an even earlier citation in an advertisement by Captain John Shaw, who had just pulled ashore at Cincinnati’s Public Landing on 14 December 1813 with a boatload of “Green & Dried Fruit, Cider, Cider-Royal, Vinegar, Apple-Butter &c.”

A great number of Thornton’s Americanisms are found in a book published in Cincinnati in 1831. This is the “Personal Narrative of James O. Pattie of Kentucky,” which describes the author’s overland journey to the West Coast when it was truly the Wild West. Among the words Thornton attributes to Pattie are: bluff (as in high cliffs bordering a river), cache, cordelle (a towing line), mesquite (Pattie called them “mosquito trees”), mush, pine knots, pinion pines, and sink hole.

Other Cincinnati sources for Thornton were the Drake brothers, Daniel and Benjamin. Thornton cited many examples from Daniel Drake’s “Pioneer Life In Kentucky” (1870) and Benjamin Drake’s “Tales And Sketches Of The Queen City” (1838). Between the two Drake brothers, Thornton found backlog (as in a log placed behind the fire in a fireplace), barrens (desolate but treeless areas), bee-line, buckeye, cats-and-clay (primitive unbaked bricks),  the phrase “knocked into a cocked hat,” cruller, doughnut, fleshy, honey-locust (the tree), husking (a fall festival), Johnny-cake, maul (split rails), pone (corn bread), rising (somewhat above), roram (hatter’s cloth), snake-poled (beat up), on the stump (politicking) and swap.

A couple of the Drake brothers’ terms need a bit more explanation. “Beatomest,” for example, means “can’t be beat,” as in, “If that ain’t the beatomest thing I ever saw.” Likewise, “caution” expresses not our common meaning, but something more like “example,” as in, “Let that be a caution to you.” And “hailstorm” has nothing to do with weather, but was an alcoholic beverage “on the rocks” or with ice. Finally, Benjamin Drake bequeathed us the marvelous phrase, “rowed up Salt River,” which is very close to today’s being up a certain creek without a paddle.

Today, we’d probably call Thornton’s “Big Bugs” something like “Big Wheels” or VIPs. When he talks about bouncers, it has nothing to do with nightclubs. Bouncers were armed men who forced squatters to move off private property.

Candle-box returns are fraudulent election ballots and, although Thornton connects the term to a Cincinnati newspaper, it is based on an 1858 incident in Kansas when phony electoral documents were hidden in a candle box.

Adjacent on that page, but much more poetic is “candle light,” not in the sense of the light thrown by candles, but as the time when candles are lit. Thornton’s example comes from Cincinnati’s Liberty Hall newspaper [26 March 1824]:

“The Rev. Mr. Kidwell, a Unitarian Universalist, will preach at the court house at early candle-light on Sunday evening.”

It’s odd to find “egg-plant” as an Americanism, but Thornton was from England where they are called aubergines. His example is from an 1832 Cincinnati correspondent to the London Mirror:

“Egg-plants are here brought to market; some of them of purple colour, are as large as a child's carpet-ball; they are sliced and fried in butter, and I am told have the flavour of fried oysters.”

“Fip” looks fairly exotic until you think of today’s “fitty,” and the terms are related. “Fip” is a five-penny coin or “bit”. When you think of half-pennies being called “hapennies,” a “fipenny” is not such a stretch.

A “snag” certainly fits Cincinnati, since that was a term for a sunken tree trunk that could catch a riverboat, and there were lots of them in Cincinnati.

You might not associate cheap cigars with covered wagons, but Thornton, citing Cincinnati sources, claims “stoga” or “stogie” is an abbreviation of Connestoga. “Stoga shoes” are rough farming shoes and stogies are similarly rough cigars.

In closing, please don’t get swartwouted or wire-drawed. Both involve swindling. Thornton gives a Cincinnati example of swartwouting – a bank teller was cheated – but the word is an eponym and memorializes an embezzler from New York City. To wire-draw is to inveigle or browbeat someone into giving up something. Thornton provides a delightful courtroom quote from the Cincinnati Sun [22 May 1839]:

“Look at him, gentlemen of the jury. There he stands, walking about, with the cloak of hypocrisy in his mouth, trying to wire-draw three oak-trees from my client's pocket.”

[largejust]

Give it to me daddy

^ "Out to Get You - Deanna Bogart | Songs, Reviews, Credits".^ "Keepin' Me Up Nights - Asleep at the Wheel | Songs, Reviews, Credits".^ "Cincinnati Stomp - Big Joe Duskin | Songs, Reviews, Credits".^ "Lost in the Ozone - Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen | Songs, Reviews, Credits".^ "Get Happy! - Ella Fitzgerald | Songs, Reviews, Credits".^ "1940-1941 - Woody Herman & His Orchestra | Songs, Reviews, Credits".^ "Millenium Anthology - Glenn Miller | Songs, Reviews, Credits".^ "Beat Me Daddy, Eight to the Bar - The Andrews Sisters | Songs, Reviews, Credits".^ "Leading Music Box Records of 1941".Pop Chronicles the 40s: The Lively Story of Pop Music in the 40s (audiobook). ^ a b Simon, George T., The Big Bands, 4th Edition, Introduction by Frank Sinatra,Schirmer Books, New York, 1981 p.Deanna Bogart on her debut 1991 album Out to Get You.Asleep at the Wheel released it on their 1990 album Keepin' Me Up Nights.Big Joe Duskin on the 1979 album Cincinnati Stomp.Commander Cody and his Lost Planet Airmen on their album Lost in the Ozone (1971).Ella Fitzgerald recorded this song with arrangements by Russell Garcia on her Verve release Get Happy! (1959).Glenn Miller and His Orchestra in 1940 on RCA Victor Bluebird.Both songs were written by Don Raye and Hughie Prince. Andrews Sisters, first in 1940 their 1941 hit, " Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy", which praises a fictional trumpet player, resembles this hit.Will Bradley and His Orchestra in 1940 on Columbia Records, set C-123.The single placed in Billboard 's "Leading Music Box Records of 1941" at number ten. The song was first recorded in 1940 by the Will Bradley orchestra, featuring drummer McKinley on vocals and Freddie Slack on piano. But, you know, I didn't have anybody - Peck or anybody else - in mind, just an imaginary piano player in an imaginary town." However McKinley, talking to George Simon says, "A lot of people seem to think I was referring to Peck Kelley, and some years later Peck even thanked me for it. It is commonly accepted by jazz historians that this song is in reference and tribute to Peck Kelley, a 1920s jazz pianist. The nickname "Daddy Slack" was also used in the 1941 recording by "Pig Foot Pete" with Don Raye singing in Slack's band. The song was formally published under McKinley's wife's name, Eleanore Sheehy, because McKinley was under a songwriting contract with another publisher. That was fine with me." For that reason Raye gave a partial songwriting credit to McKinley. I told him to go ahead and they offered to cut me in on the tune. There was one part where I had a drum break, and for some reason or other that night, instead of playing the break, I sang out, "Oh, Beat Me, Daddy, Eight to the Bar." After the set, Hughie called me over to the table and asked if they could write a song using that break. McKinley, in a discussion with the jazz writer George Simon relates, "We were playing one of them (a boogie, blues) one night at the Famous Door and two songwriters, Don Raye and Hughie Prince, were there. McKinley kicked off certain uptempo songs by asking pianist Freddie Slack (nicknamed "Daddy") to give him a boogie beat, or "eight to the bar". The title adopts 1940s' hipster slang coined by Raye's friend, Ray McKinley, a drummer and lead singer in the Jimmy Dorsey band in the 1930s.

[blackkudos]

Jack L. Cooper

Jack Leroy Cooper (September 18, 1888 – January 12, 1970) was the first African-American radio disc jockey, described as "the undisputed patriarch of black radio in the United States." In 2012, he was inducted into the Radio Hall of Fame.

Biography

Cooper was born in Memphis, Tennessee, one of ten children of William and Lavina Cooper. He left home at the age of ten to work in Cincinnati, Ohio, and in his teens was a successful boxer and semi-professional baseball player. By 1905 he was working in vaudeville on the Theater Owners Booking Association (TOBA) circuit as a singer and dancer, and started writing and producing sketches and stage shows, soon running his own touring troupe with his first wife. He managed at least two theaters for TOBA, and began writing for newspapers in Memphis and Indianapolis.

After moving to Chicago around 1920 he began writing theater reviews for the Chicago Defender, while attempting to break into the new radio industry as a performer. While working for the Defender in Washington, D.C. he first appeared on radio, writing and performing comic sketches on station WCAP. He returned to Chicago in 1926 and developed a proposal for a new show, The All-Negro Hour, which premiered on WSBC on November 3, 1929. The show was initially broadcast on a weekly basis, and contained live music and comedy sketches, but Cooper gradually modified and expanded its content. It became successful with both listeners and commercial sponsors and continued until 1936. By the mid-1930s, Cooper presented 9 1⁄2 hours each week on WCAP. He was one of the first, if not the first, to broadcast gramophone records, including gospel music and jazz, using his own phonograph. In 1938, he created a new show, Search for Missing Persons, designed to reunite listeners with family members who they had lost contact with. He also pioneered a mobile news team to cover items of interest to Chicago's black community.

By 1947, his production company Jack L. Cooper Presentations controlled about 40 hours per week on four different stations in Chicago. He promoted African Americans as presenters, and was among the first to broadcast commentaries on Negro league baseball games and news targeted at the black community. He also actively supported African-American youth organizations including the South Side Boy's Club. In contrast with later DJs like Al Benson, Cooper scrupulously avoided using slang expressions or broadcasting vaudeville or urban blues recordings:

"His announcing privileged standard American English over the black vernacular, a preference he shared with the most affluent and educated African Americans. In effect, Cooper and his team became the voice of the urban black bourgeoisie and a symbol of racial uplift."

Cooper retired from broadcasting in 1959, and died in Chicago in 1970 at the age of 81. In 1975, a park in the West Pullman neighborhood was officially named Cooper Park in his honor.

Wikipedia

[musicinriellesworldofwords]

Who I Am (as an artist)

I believe a person, any person, should at least once feel as though they are the center of the Universe.

I believe people should have a moment of such special magnitude that for however short that moment might be they love themselves enough to feel a purity; as though everything and everyone is in existence simply to love us.

When creating, as an artist, I sometimes find a way to convey with precision what I mean by the above statements. Without any other narratives of my past that tried to turn me into being someone or even some thing that I am not bursting in to pollute my definition; my meaning as an artist.

Music is so very lovely and so beautifully capable of transporting me to a place where I at the very least make an effort to do something creatively great.

When I was a child, I remember recognizing in myself a need to create. I secondly recognized I had a need to teach; to share or to impart what I'd learned or what I knew to others.

Always, from then to now, always there was an approach I implemented within my life to do even the most mundane of tasks with creativity. I realized that if I weren't creative or actively creating I wasn't happy.

Being a black child birthed in 1971, my teachers and principals discouraged me from thinking creatively as though my approach to life should be within certain boundaries of logistics people like themselves took an active role in establishing; limiting the world in which I should exist and live in to make them feel more comfortable in their own lives.

However, at the time, I blamed the entire state of Ohio for my limitations and did not attribute the lack of art within the people of Ohio as part of the racism within them as well.

It wasn't until I'd been told to learn a trade in High School; to give up my traditional diploma and my esteemed graduation from the High School of my choice (they were, I noticed, sending every black student who fell for it to graduate from vocational schools as though we were somehow damaging their numbers; putting a blight on their record as a nearly private public school) that I realised the White educators in charge of cultivating and shaping my education; my views and outlook on life in general had no way of connecting with me. They were simply at a loss as to how to teach me because somewhere in their lives they learned the falsehood that black people couldn't be.

They taught me as though I couldn't be what I wanted to be or that I couldn't be anything other than what they had decided I would be: Just, only, simply a black woman; unable to contribute to their White communities anything of any value.

My education was all about White people. I studied White History in World History. I studied White Government in Government. I studied White Literature in English Literature. With the exception of math, every subject I took in school in all my twelve years was about White People. Even science, it was White people accredited with every discovery.

But, in art? I only studied the creating of art and was taught only by doing and observing.

My education taught me what my teacher's world was like:

Black people did not exist except as these things; these non-human beings tethered to Whites by both physical and invisible chains put there lawfully; black people were slaves, just involuntary workers on plantations for White Masters who never raped or used the black females owned and purchased as property sexually or beat and killed and separated Black children from their parents; Uncles from Aunts, Wives from their Husbands. The extent of what Black people were in History as taught to me was summed up as 1. Black people were slaves. 2. Black people were then set free. 3. Black people had to fight for equal rights.

White people were not comfortable speaking of the atrocities done to Black people nor were they comfortable speaking or teaching about our accomplishments.

Therefore, school held no interests outside of art and music.

I thought perhaps college would be different but when an English Professor told me the word "asinine" was slang, I knew I couldn't possibly learn in this costly but quite the same established as a WHITES ONLY curriculum and WHITES WELCOMED (insulating Blacks were not by any means) environment.

Without any formal education, the world considers that by educating myself, my art should be labeled as "folk art".

Isn't that just so tidy for people's minds? It's necessary to world order that everything and everyone has a category and is labeled accordingly? Isn't it so neat and orderly that human beings and what they do is labeled; put neatly inside a categorized box that's inside a larger box of categories until eventually, we reach the word "Human"? Even what we as "Humans" contribute to the world outside of ourselves is labeled according to the awards given them?

An achievement that goes unrecognized is still an achievement.

Whites Only Curriculums have tried to take the achievements away from Black people for so very long; so long in fact that still I am learning new and exciting things that Black people contributed to the world as a whole or in general.

Our art, our music, our culture thrives and in there somewhere is me. Another Black woman accomplishing creativity f outside of the small realm called Warren County, Ohio Home of the KKK closest to Cincinnati.

An afterthought: While adding tags for this post, I thought to myself why must Conservatives, or the Republican Party be linked with establishing White Dominance over Black people? Why does it mean that to be a Conservative means that it is a radical idea to teach an inclusive curriculum of all colours and races? Why are Republicans now synonomous with Racists?

I am an artist. I am me.

[newstfionline]

Banks Adopt Military-Style Tactics to Fight Cybercrime

By Stacy Cowley, NY Times, May 20, 2018

O’FALLON, Mo.--In a windowless bunker here, a wall of monitors tracked incoming attacks--267,322 in the last 24 hours, according to one hovering dial, or about three every second--as a dozen analysts stared at screens filled with snippets of computer code.

Pacing around, overseeing the stream of warnings, was a former Delta Force soldier who fought in Iraq and Afghanistan before shifting to a new enemy: cyberthieves.

“This is not that different from terrorists and drug cartels,” Matt Nyman, the command center’s creator, said as he surveyed his squadron of Mastercard employees. “Fundamentally, threat networks operate in similar ways.”

Cybercrime is one of the world’s fastest-growing and most lucrative industries. At least $445 billion was lost last year, up around 30 percent from just three years earlier, a global economic study found, and the Treasury Department recently designated cyberattacks as one of the greatest risks to the American financial sector. For banks and payment companies, the fight feels like a war--and they’re responding with an increasingly militarized approach.

Former government cyberspies, soldiers and counterintelligence officials now dominate the top ranks of banks’ security teams. They’ve brought to their new jobs the tools and techniques used for national defense: combat exercises, intelligence hubs modeled on those used in counterterrorism work and threat analysts who monitor the internet’s shadowy corners.

At Mastercard, Mr. Nyman oversees the company’s new fusion center, a term borrowed from the Department of Homeland Security. After the attacks of Sept. 11, the agency set up scores of fusion centers to coordinate federal, state and local intelligence-gathering. The approach spread throughout the government, with the centers used to fight disease outbreaks, wildfires and sex trafficking.

Then banks grabbed the playbook. At least a dozen of them, from giants like Citigroup and Wells Fargo to regional players such as Bank of the West, have opened fusion centers in recent years, and more are in the works. Fifth Third Bank is building one in its Cincinnati headquarters, and Visa, which created its first two years ago in Virginia, is developing two more, in Britain and Singapore. Having their own intelligence hives, the banks hope, will help them better detect patterns in all the data they amass.

The centers also have a symbolic purpose. Having a literal war room reinforces the new reality. Fending off thieves has always been a priority--it’s why banks build vaults--but the arms race has escalated rapidly.

Cybersecurity has, for many financial company chiefs, become their biggest fear, eclipsing issues like regulation and the economy.

Alfred F. Kelly Jr., Visa’s chief executive, is “completely paranoid” about the subject, he told investors at a conference in March. Bank of America’s Brian T. Moynihan said his cybersecurity team is “the only place in the company that doesn’t have a budget constraint.” (The bank’s chief operations and technology officer said it is spending about $600 million this year.)

The military sharpens soldiers’ skills with large-scale combat drills like Jade Helm and Foal Eagle, which send troops into the field to test their tactics and weaponry. The financial sector created its own version: Quantum Dawn, a biennial simulation of a catastrophic cyberstrike.

In the latest exercise last November, 900 participants from 50 banks, regulators and law enforcement agencies role-played their response to an industrywide infestation of malicious malware that first corrupted, and then entirely blocked, all outgoing payments from the banks. Throughout the two-day test, the organizers lobbed in new threats every few hours, like denial-of-service attacks that knocked the banks’ websites offline.

The first Quantum Dawn, back in 2011, was a lower-key gathering. Participants huddled in a conference room to talk through a mock attack that shut down stock trading. Now, it’s a live-fire drill. Each bank spends months in advance re-creating its internal technology on an isolated test network, a so-called cyber range, so that its employees can fight with their actual tools and software. The company that runs their virtual battlefield, SimSpace, is a Defense Department contractor.

Sometimes, the tests expose important gaps.

A series of smaller cyber drills coordinated by the Treasury Department, called the Hamilton Series, raised an alarm three years ago. An attack on Sony, attributed to North Korea, had recently exposed sensitive company emails and data, and, in its wake, demolished huge swaths of Sony’s internet network.

If something similar happened at a bank, especially a smaller one, regulators asked, would it be able to recover? Those in the room for the drill came away uneasy.

“There was a recognition that we needed to add an additional layer of resilience,” said John Carlson, the chief of staff for the Financial Services Information Sharing and Analysis Center, the industry’s main cybersecurity coordination group.

Soon after, the group began building a new fail-safe, called Sheltered Harbor, which went into operation last year. If one member of the network has its data compromised or destroyed, others can step in, retrieve its archived records and restore basic customer account access within a day or two. It has not yet been needed, but nearly 70 percent of America’s deposit accounts are now covered by it.

The largest banks run dozens of their own, internal attack simulations each year, to smoke out their vulnerabilities and keep their first responders sharp.

“It’s the idea of muscle memory,” said Thomas J. Harrington, Citigroup’s chief information security officer, who spent 28 years with the F.B.I.

Growing interest among its corporate customers in cybersecurity war games inspired IBM to build a digital range in Cambridge, Mass., where it stages data breaches for customers and prospects to practice on.

One recent morning, a fictional bank called Bane & Ox was under attack on IBM’s range, and two dozen real-life executives from a variety of financial companies gathered to defend it. In the training scenario, an unidentified attacker had dumped six million customer records on Pastebin, a site often used by hackers to publish stolen data caches.

As the hours ticked by, the assault grew worse. The lost data included financial records and personally identifying details. One of the customers was Colin Powell, the former secretary of state. Phones in the room kept ringing with calls from reporters, irate executives and, eventually, regulators, wanting details about what had occurred.

When the group figured out what computer system had been used in the leak, a heated argument broke out: Should they cut off its network access immediately? Or set up surveillance and monitor any further transmissions?

At the urging of a Navy veteran who runs the cyberattack response group at a large New York bank, the group left the system connected.

“Those are the decisions you don’t want to be making for the first time during a real attack,” said Bob Stasio, IBM’s cyber range operations manager and a former operations chief for the National Security Agency’s cyber center. One financial company’s executive team did such a poor job of talking to its technical team during a past IBM training drill, Mr. Stasio said, that he went home and canceled his credit card with them.

Like many cybersecurity bunkers, IBM’s foxhole has deliberately theatrical touches. Whiteboards and giant monitors fill nearly every wall, with graphics that can be manipulated by touch.

“You can’t have a fusion center unless you have really cool TVs,” quipped Lawrence Zelvin, a former Homeland Security official who is now Citigroup’s global cybersecurity head, at a recent cybercrime conference. “It’s even better if they do something when you touch them. It doesn’t matter what they do. Just something.”

Security pros mockingly refer to such eye candy as “pew pew” maps, an onomatopoeia for the noise of laser guns in 1980s movies and video arcades. They are especially useful, executives concede, to put on display when V.I.P.s or board members stop by for a tour. Two popular “pew pew” maps are from FireEye and the defunct security vendor Norse, whose video game-like maps show laser beams zapping across the globe. Norse went out of business two years ago, and no one is sure what data the map is based on, but everyone agrees that it looks cool.

What everyone in the finance industry is afraid of is a repeat--on an even larger scale--of the data breach that hit Equifax last year.

Hackers stole personal information, including Social Security numbers, of more than 146 million people. The attack cost the company’s chief executive and four other top managers their jobs. Who stole the data, and what they did with it, is still not publicly known. The credit bureau has spent $243 million so far cleaning up the mess.

It is Mr. Nyman’s job to make sure that doesn’t happen at Mastercard. Walking around the company’s fusion center, he describes the team’s work using military slang. Its focus is “left of boom,” he said--referring to the moments before a bomb explodes. By detecting vulnerabilities and attempted hacks, the analysts aim to head off an Equifax-like explosion.

But the attacks keep coming. As he spoke, the dial displayed over his shoulder registered another few assaults on Mastercard’s systems. The total so far this year exceeds 20 million.