Monday, January 30, 2006

Weary? Jaded? Read Goodbye, Mr. Chips. This short novel (just over 100 pages), written by James Hilton in 1934, is a wonderful work of literature–wonderful because in the hands of a lesser writer it would have been mawkish. But Hilton’s portrayal of a beloved English schoolmaster is genuinely touching.

The story begins in 1870, with note taken that it was the year that the Franco-Prussian War began. A young Mr. Chipping (he is never given a first name) applies for a teaching position at Brookfield, an English public school for boys (actually private, as the British have a thing about labeling private schools public ones). He is a young man of 22 with only one year of teaching experience at another school; he is accepted for the position and thereafter is only known as Mr. Chips, or more often just plain Chips by everyone, schoolboys and fellow masters alike.

Chips was a shy type who remained a bachelor for 48 years, but in 1896 on a holiday trip to England’s Lake District he met and immediately fell in love with a young woman, Katherine Bridges, age 25. Shortly thereafter they were married and she returned with him to Brookfield.

He had never met anyone like her. He had always thought that the modern type, this "new woman" business would repel him; and here she was...And she, too, had never met anyone like him. She had always thought that middle-aged men who read the Times and disapproved of modernity were terrible bores; yet here he was, claiming her interest and attention far more than youths of her own age.

Chips’s new wife was an instant hit at Brookfield, she was genuinely admired by everyone. Her entry into his life profoundly affected his whole being.

She made him, to all appearances, a new man...His eyes gained sparkle...He began to feel a greater sureness...When he had first come to Brookfield he had aimed to be loved, honored, and obeyed–but obeyed, at any rate. Obedience he had secured, and honor had been granted him; but only now came love, the sudden love of boys for a man who was kind without being soft...

Tragically, only two years after their marriage Katherine died during childbirth, along with their child.

During the following 35 years the story is filled with Chips’s good-natured day-to-day life with his boys–he taught the sons of many of his earlier boys. In the style at English public schools of the era, he addressed his boys by their last name. Most of the time he was a mild-mannered man, but on occasion he could get his back up: when a new headmaster by the name of Ralston tried to sack him for being too old-fashioned and out of touch with modern methods of pedagogy, he stood his ground.

"I don’t–umph--intend to resign–and you can–umph–do what you like about it."

(The "umph", a sort of throat clearing, was always part of his speech.) When some of his boys got wind of the situation, they wrote about it to their fathers, some of whom had been his earlier boys. These fathers, and some other influential men, saw to it that Chips would not be made to resign. In fact, Ralston himself left because of the incident.

Chips’s remembrances of his former boys who died in battle during the Boer War and, later, the first World War are beautiful.

Finally, in 1933, at age 85, his life comes to an end. For twenty years he had been living in quarters very near Brookfield and cared for by his landlady, Mrs. Wickett. In his last moments he reflects on his too brief life with Katherine and on his many experiences at Brookfleld, mostly with the generations of his boys.

And, for that matter, (he thought of) the things he had not done, and would never do now that he had left them too late–he had never traveled by air, for instance, and he had never been to a talkie-show.

Then he falls off into an eternal sleep. The previous night a boy named Linford had called on Chips at his rooms (Chips encouraged his boys to drop by to chat).

"Brookfield will never forget his lovableness," said Cartwright (the current headmaster) in a speech to the School. Which was absurd, because all things are forgotten in the end. But Linford, at any rate, will remember and tell the tale: "I said good-bye to Chips the night before he died..."

It is said that Hilton wrote the story in four days, basing it on his father, who had been a headmaster at an English school such as Brookfield. It was made into a movie in 1938 starring Robert Donat as Mr. Chips and again (I believe) some time in the 1970's for television by a British producer.

To return to what Chips realized that he had not done, it should be remembered that most people in 1933 hadn't flown in a plane, and probably there were also a fair number who hadn't been to a "talkie." It so happens that I had done both by 1933: my mother took me to an "Amos and Andy" movie around 1930, and in 1933 my father took me on a plane ride over our little town in North Carolina. The plane took off from and landed in a cow pasture; it cost $1 and lasted about 15 minutes. My father and I sat in the front cockpit of the open-cockpit biplane, buckled in with a seatbelt and with the pilot in the rear cockpit. I wore a Lindbergh cap, which was the thing for young boys then, with goggles and flaps that snapped together under the chin.

However, as with Chips, there are some things I have never done: play a video game (although I spend much time at my computer), watch an in-flight movie (although I am a frequent flier), and wear a t-shirt with any thing imprinted on it (with the exception of one during my freshman year in college that had a small patch with the football mascot on it).

I am aware of three other of Hilton’s works: Lost Horizon, Random Harvest, and Was It Murder? I didn’t care for Lost Horizon–I found the Shangri-La plot too fanciful; Random Harvest, which was made into a movie starring Ronald Coleman and Greer Garson, I enjoyed very much; Was It Murder?, set in–what else?–an English boys’ school, I found entertaining, although it suffered from a shortcoming of quite a few murder mysteries: too much yacking by the guilty party in the last chapter as to how and why the murder was committed. This usually results from the need of the author to tie up loose ends.

Thinking of Mr. Chips reminds me of a professor I had in college; just like Mr. Chips, he addressed students by their surname (without Mr. or Ms.). Upon learning of his retirement some years later, I sent him a note for the occasion, to which he replied:

Dear (surname):

I want to thank you most deeply for your kind letter in regard to my retirement. It makes me happy to know that you think kindly of me and of our days together...I can sincerely reciprocate and assure you of the memory of your being in my classes. It is the appreciation of boys like you that make a teacher’s life seem worthwhile...

Most affectionately yours,



Friday, January 20, 2006

Why fear surveillance cameras on streets and other public places? These cameras have been used at selected locations in large cities for some time. (In the tiny principality of Monaco they cover almost every square foot of space.) Now, on a TV newscast today, I see that they are being installed in the small town of Bellows Falls, Vermont. There, as in other places, some people are complaining that they invade their privacy.

I can’t understand the thinking of such people. How can a camera, which will see what any person standing at the location (a cop or anyone else) will see, invade any law-abiding person’s privacy? By what reasoning do these complainers think they have the right to go to a public place and not be seen, as though they were invisible? Don’t they realize that when they check out at a supermarket cash register or withdraw cash from an ATM they are being seen by a surveillance camera?

Why do the complainers refuse to acknowledge the benefit of these surveillance cameras:
–deter some criminals from committing their crimes where they know they are being watched;
–record crimes by those who do commit them, to aid the police in tracking them down and provide evidence at a court trial;
–enhance police patrols by covering areas where there is no police presence at the moment, but which can be reached quickly by patrol cars;
–spot emergency situations–auto accidents, fires, people injured, etc.–and respond quickly?

Because of these benefits, ordinary citizens can more greatly enjoy their surroundings from a reduced fear of becoming a crime victim, while, at the same time, being better protected by a quicker response time in the event of an accident, sudden illness or injury, fire, etc.

In Baltimore, some people complain that the cameras just drive the drug dealers and other miscreants to other parts of the city that don’t yet have the cameras. Great! They are doing their job. So, just keep adding them to cover more and more areas.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

The right to choose the end of one’s life: The upholding by the U.S. Supreme Court of the Oregon law permitting individuals to decide to end their lives on their own terms was wonderful. It is a horrendous idea that anyone suffering intense pain, and is mentally competent and incurable, should not be allowed by law to end his life by his own choice.

What right does anyone else –a clergyman, a legislator, and most especially George Bush and John Ashcroft–have to deny a sufferer such relief? The disgusting grandstanding by Bush and some members of Congress in the Terri Schiavo case makes the Supreme Court decision all the more welcome.

I hope that the rest of the country will soon, out of compassion for unfortunate sufferers, enact legislation similar to that of Oregon.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Our English language. How difficult is English, compared to other languages, for a foreign speaker to learn? In some ways, very easy. English is a highly-uninflected language, meaning that we don’t have varying endings of verbs to denote person, except for the "s" at the end of the third person singular (I walk, you walk, he walks...); nor do we have adjective endings to denote the singular/plural nouns, or the gender of nouns, that they go with; nor do our nouns have genders (like the masculine/feminine of the romance languages and the masculine/feminine/neuter of German).

Nor do we have to bother much about indicative/subjunctive cases of verbs. "If I were rich, I would buy..." The "were" here is subjunctive because it denotes a condition contrary to fact. But it is the very same word as in "We were at home yesterday"–which is the preterite (past tense) of the verb "to be" and is thus indicative (a forthright statement).

Indicative/subjunctive cases are not so simple in other languages. For example, in Spanish the subjunctive must be used when speaking about anything that is to happen in the future: to say "I go" (or "I am going") in Spanish one says "Yo voy" but to say "When I go tomorrow" one says "Cuando yo vaya mañana". ("Voy" is indicative, "vaya" subjunctive.) French (and also Spanish) uses the subjunctive to denote "so that" (or "in order that") in reference to a verb: one ordinarily says "il peut" for "he can" (the indicative), but when speaking of taking some action "so that he can", the French say "pourqu’il puisse" (the subjunctive).

Nor do we in English have to differentiate personal pronouns depending on whether a verb associated with them in a statement is transitive or intransitive. We always use "him" for a male person or animal: I saw him, I gave him, I spoke to him, I helped him, etc, etc. Similarly, we always use "her" for a female person or animal.

Not so in Spanish. In that language "lo" is used for the male individual if the verb is transitive–example: "Yo lo ayudé a llevar una maleta" (I helped him carry a suitcase); "lo" is used here because the verb "ayudar" (to help), as used here, is transitive. However, I would say "Yo le dije.." (I told him...) because the verb "decir" (for which "dije" is the conjugation for the first person singular) is intransitive.

The French have a similar situation as to personal pronouns. If I want to say "I know him" it is "Je le connais." But if I say "I gave him the book" it is "Je lui ai donné le livre" (literally, "I to him have given the book"). Again two forms for "him" where English only has one.

In English, as in most languages, there is only one verb "to be" (I am, you are, he is, etc.). Again, not so in Spanish–there are two such verbs: ser and estar. The first denotes a permanent condition–example, "Yo soy el padre de..." (I am the father of...), "soy" is the first person singular of "ser." The second, a temporary situation–example, "Yo estoy cansado." (I am tired), "estoy" is the first person singular of "estar." Seems simple, and usually is. But in some everyday situations the correct form is uncertain (at least for a non-native speaker).

So all of the above makes English easy for a foreigner to learn–right? Wrong, very wrong. For one thing, as we all know, our orthography is chaotic–the spelling of a word is frequently no guide at all to its pronunciation. (There’s the old saw that "fish" could be spelled "ghyti"--the "gh" from enough, the "y" from daily, and the "ti" from nation.)

Then there is the almost limitless number of idiomatic expressions that combine a preposition with a verb to come up with something that is much more than the combined sense of the two words. Think about the word "look" that can be joined with different prepositions: look into, look out for, look down on, look up; If I say "I am looking into buying a car", a foreigner who is fairly well acquainted with English but not with all of our idiomatic usages, might ask "Where is the car? I don’t see you looking into anything." Then, of course, there are get up, run down, run into, up to you, foul up, screw up, made up, turn up, turn down, turn into, etc., etc.

Yes, other languages do have idiomatic phrases, but I don’t know of, nor have heard of, any that have anything like the number of this type that we have in English.

And we also have our idiosyncracies. Some years ago when I was visiting a family in their home in Ecuador, although we had been speaking in Spanish, the husband turned to English to tell me something that he didn’t want the maid who was present in the room to understand. So he said "I don’t want to let her to understand." Perfectly logical–we say "permit her to understand" and "allow her to understand", so why not to with "let’? No reason–just how it is. Similarly, I heard a French woman in Africa say that, because of oppressive heat, "I could not to sleep last night." Same thing as in the Ecuadorian man's case: one would say, "I was unable to sleep.." or "I wanted to sleep...", so why not to with could not"?

American vs British English. George Bernard Shaw was onto something when he said that Britain and the United States were two nations separated by a common language. In addition to the different accents of British and American speakers, there are in quite a few cases different spellings, different pronunciations, and entirely different words.

A good place to start with different words is the automobile:

American, British

hood, bonnet
spark plug, sparking plug
fender, wing
windshield, windscreen
trunk , boot

Then there are the things associated with an automobile. An American wrench is a British spanner, a shoulder (of a road) a verge. A curb in America is a kerb in Britain, a tire a tyre (all pronounced the same).

There are the many different words in other areas, just a few of which are: lift/elevator, intermission/ interval, gasoline/petrol, carry out/take away, apartment/flat, transom/fanlight.

Among same spellings but different pronunciations are: schedule in America, shedule in Britain, controVERsy vs conTROversy. An American might ask a Briton why, since he pronounces schedule as "shedule", doesn’t he pronounce school as "shool" or scheme as "sheme"? But then the Briton could turn the tables and ask an American why, since we pronounce seen and keen as we do, why do we say "bin" for been (why not pronounce it as we do "bean")?

Monday, January 16, 2006

Encounter of Pope John Paul with St. Peter: When John Paul got to the Pearly Gates, the following dialogue took place.

St. P: What is your name?

JP: (somewhat taken aback): Why, John Paul, of course. Pope John Paul the second.

St. P: I don’t have a reservation for you. You can’t get in without one.

JP: This is incredible. How can you possibly not recognize me?

St. P: Look, you’re wasting time--there’s a long line behind you waiting to get in. Do you know anybody up here who will vouch for you?

JP: Of course I do. The Father knows me.

St. P (picking up a phone and pushing a button): Hello, Pop, it’s Pete at the Gates. There’s a guy here by the name of John Paul the second who says you know him. (Slight pause) Oh, OK, you don’t. Thanks. (Turning to John Paul) He’s never heard of you. Do you know anybody else?

JP (shaking with outrage): This is unbelievable. Of course, the Son will vouch for me.

St. P (again picking up the phone and again pushing a button): Hello, JC, it’s Pete at the Gates. (He asks the same question as before, with the same slight pause) Oh, OK, Pop didn’t know him either. Thanks, have a good day. (Turning to John Paul) He doesn’t know you either. Look at that line that’s building up behind us. Now, this is your last chance. Is there anybody else up here who will put in a good word for you?

JP (so shaken that he can barely speak): I’m sure the Holy Ghost will tell you who I am. Get him on the line.

St. P (picking up the phone for the third time and pushing a button): Hello, Spook, it’s Pete at the Gates. There’s this guy John Paul the second who wants to get in. Neither Pop nor JC ever heard of him. Do you know him? (A little longer pause this time) OK, OK, I get it. Thanks a lot. (Turning to John Paul) Sure, he knows you. But, do you think he’s going to put in a good word for you after all the gossip about him and the Virgin Mary that you were spreading around down on Earth? Try your luck at some other place.
How to tell you’ve grown old: When women, some middle-aged, offer a man, like me, a seat on a crowded subway train. It seems to be an Hispanic custom–it has recently happened to me in subways in Madrid, Buenos Aires, and Santiago, Chile. (It also happened about 5 years ago in (wonder of wonders!) New York City; that time it was a young man who offered me his seat.)

How have I responded to these offers? At first, I gratefully declined. However, after a woman told me that she was getting off at the next station, I accepted. After that, when offered a seat I would inquire if the offeror was getting off soon; if I didn’t get a definite response, I would assume that I was getting an answer in the affirmative, and take the seat.

Getting back to Hispanic custom, a year ago in Madrid’s Barajas airport, which was very crowded at the moment, I was slightly limping on my way to a check-in counter, the limping due to having worn some new shoes that didn’t rub me the right way the day before. Upon seeing me, a middle-aged man offered me his seat. I thanked him, saying that I was not stopping at his location.

So, advanced age does get some respect in certain parts of the world.

The matter of offering seats to others in public places makes me remember that, during my college days in North Carolina, it was the custom for men to offer their seats to women who were standing in public busses. Any man, especially a young one, could expect disapproving stares from other passengers if he failed to abide by this custom. It was quite the contrary in New York City, where I went to live and work at my first job out of college: no one got up and offered a seat on the subway to anyone else; anyone doing so would probably have felt a bit sheepish, feeling that the surrounding passengers would be thinking, "Oh, a newcomer who doesn’t know any better."

More thoughts about riding public conveyances: It has become a hobby of mine to ride subways in cities that I visit (or other public conveyances, if a city has no subway). I have done so in the following cites:

Subways USA:
New York
Chicago
Washington
Baltimore
Philadelphia
Atlanta
Boston
Subways other countries:
Montreal
Mexico City
Paris
London
Madrid
Barcelona
Rome
Budapest
Vienna
Prague
Helsinki
Buenos Aires
Santiago, Chile

Subways in most cities have several different lines: Paris, as far as I am aware, has the most (13); London, Madrid, and New York each has 10. In all but New York the different lines intermingle like spaghetti, so that by paying one fare a rider can easily reach his destination by transferring from one line to another (sometimes by transferring more than once). Not so in New York: there are just a few transfer points between certain lines, so that, unless the transfer points just happen to be along the route that the traveler would take anyway, he would have to travel in a roundabout, time-consuming way to avail himself of them.

I believe that, of the foreign cities, Madrid’s subway is the best that I have ridden. Trains come frequently, are clean, and stations are well-laid out. Paris’s would probably come next; like London’s, a passenger can buy a pass to use the subway as often as he wants during certain time periods, one day, a week, a month, etc. Madrid’s doesn’t offer this arrangement(or didn’t the last time I was there in September 2004), but one can buy a ticket for a specified number of rides (e.g, 10). London’s, like New York’s, is old and many of the stations are grimy.

Washington’s, being modern and clean, is very nice. I also liked Mexico City’s and Montreal’s.

The subways in Vienna, Prague, and Budapest are interesting. You walk in and buy a ticket (from a ticket vending machine or at a ticket window) for a specified time period, like 24 hours; you then walk right to your platform without putting your ticket into a turnstile. It’s the honor system, but, according to all the literature about those cities, plain-clothes inspectors patrol the platforms and trains and may ask for tickets to be shown–a passenger who can’t produce an unexpired ticket will face a heavy fine.

Because Latin American countries’ currencies are currently weak against the U.S. dollar, subway fares in Buenos Aires and Santiago, Chile are amazingly inexpensive for travelers from the USA. The fare in Buenos Aires in April 2005 was equivalent to about 23 cents, the fare that I paid to ride busses in Baltimore 50 years ago.
The biggest "Why"? The largest question for anyone is “Why was I born when I was, where I was, who I was? For me, that is: Why was I born in 19__, in a small tobacco town in North Carolina, a white male?

Why not a black female in Senegal in the 1600's? Or a male in China in the fifth century BC?

It seems likely to me that I was born in the past as someone else, somewhere else–perhaps many times. And that it will happen again when I leave this life. Why? It’s difficult to explain a feeling, but I’ll try by saying that it doesn’t seem that the “I” that I know existed only one time in the infinite sweep of history.

“Reincarnation” and “transmigration” are the terms for such a phenomenon. An interesting book* includes excerpts from a vast number of sources-- worldwide and spanning many centuries on the subject; numerous individuals known to present-day Americans (Thomas Edison, Mark Twain, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Salvador Dali, and Charles Eastman are just a few) express beliefs consonant with reincarnation.

* Reincarnation:an East-West Anthology (compiled and edited by Joseph Head), published by The Theosophical Publishing House, Wheaton, IL 1985

If karma is indeed true, then I must have done some wonderful things in my prior life(lives) because I have been extremely fortunate in this one. Had a few incidents at critical junctures of my life only occurred very slightly differently, I would have been far less lucky.
Name:
Location: United States

Mycroft Watson is the nom de plume of a man who has seen many winters. He is moderate to an extreme. When he comes to a fork in the road, he always takes it. His favorite philosopher is Yogi Berra. He has come out of the closet and identified himself. Anyone interested can get his real name, biography, and e-mail address by going to "Google Search" and keying in "User:Marshall H. Pinnix" (case sensitive).

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