Another very warm, practically hot day. Sure, you can use the air conditioner in your car on days like today, but when I was driving along around 1 p.m., I kept the windows down and blasted myself with warm air. Pretty soon driving will be complicated by snow and ice, so I want to feel the warmth, even the sweaty heat, right now.
Ah, these warm days of September. Makes you think about the Sitzkrieg, doesn’t it? No? I might not have either, but not long ago I happened across the bilingual “On ira pendre notre linge sur le ligne Siegfried” (“I’m Going to Hang Out the Washing on the Siegfried Line”), a song I wasn’t familiar with. I like finding moment-specific songs — in this case, the Sitzkrieg — that have been lost to time. (Like this one and this one.)
This version was by French band leader Ray Ventura. Irish songwriter Jimmy Kennedy wrote it. His 1984 NYT obituary noted that “Mr. Kennedy’s songwriting career spanned 50 years. His familiar songs included ‘The Hokey-Cokey’ (which was popular as the Hokey-Pokey dance in the United States) ‘Teddy Bear’s Picnic’ and ‘I’m Going to Hang Out the Washing on the Siegfried Line.’ ”
Odd to think that someone actually wrote “The Hokey-Pokey” and “Teddy Bear’s Picnic,” (Bears’?) though of course someone did. Someone named Jimmy. Songs like that just seem to emerge from the woodwork.
This fine building stands at 7 S. Stolp Ave. on Stolp Island in Aurora. The 1920s was clearly an age of fine buildings, and we’re fortunate to still have so many in Chicago and environs.
Built as the Leland Hotel in 1928, it’s now Fox Island Place Apartments. A helpful plaque on the exterior wall told me that the structure is on the National Register of Historic Places. “Designed by Anker Sveere Graven and Arthur Guy Mayger… it was the tallest building in Illinois outside of Chicago.”
That seems like reaching to find a distinction, but never mind. “In addition to being a first-class hotel, it became an important entertainment center,” the plaque continued. “In the 1930s it was the recording studio for some of the most influential blues musicians of the golden age of blues recording. This plaque honors this historic building, and these artists.”
And it lists some of them. I will too, just as the plaque does. With some links. As the plaque cannot. Not yet, anyway.
Across the street from the former Leland is the former Aurora Hotel, now the North Island Apartments. It dates from 1917 and is also a nice bit of work.
Not, as far as I can tell, where bluesmen hung out. A simpler plaque on the building says that one H. Ziegler Dietz was the original architect; hope his commissions didn’t dry up because of the war. The redevelopment architect in 1998 was Carl R. Klimek & Associates.
So few are the images I have of high school friends that this might be the only one I haven’t posted at some point. It’s provided to me courtesy of Catherine, who’s in the picture.
From left: me, Ellen, Donna, Tom T., Melanie, Kirk, Nancy, Tom J. and Catherine.
It might have been taken by Catherine and Melanie’s father (R.I.P., Mr. F.). I can’t pinpoint the day, but it was in August before senior year started (senior year for all but two in the shot). Mid-August, because I’d been in Austin early in the month and then on a bus epic of a trip to Stevens Point, Wisconsin, and back from the 5th to the 10th.
It might have been August 14, 1978. I marked on the calendar I kept at the time that I’d gone to Ellen’s – with a fair number of other people – to listen to The War of the Worlds concept album, which was brand new. In full, it was called Jeff Wayne’s Musical Version of The War of the Worlds. I remember all of us sitting in her living room, listening to the whole thing as if it were a live performance. I doubt that very many people even remember that record any more, though I’ve read it was more popular in the UK than the US. Who owned it among my friends, and who suggested we listen to it, I couldn’t say.
This picture was taken at Catherine’s home, not Ellen’s, so either it was another day, or we migrated from one place to the other – entirely possible. I’m glad to report that, as far as I know, everyone in the picture is still alive, except almost assuredly the cat. Among us, we have 15 children, though I might be miscounting that.
Speaking of items from the past, but not quite so long ago, it’s been 10 years to the day since we moved into our house.
Today I know more about “Up in the Air, Junior Birdmen,” than I ever have before. I read the Wiki page, of course, but that isn’t very meaty. A page on a site devoted to aviator Walter Lees is better, including bits of primary source material, or at least reprinting some.
Yesterday I wrote a short item about a trio of volunteers who helped build bicycle-powered pedal planes for an aviation museum. Non-flying planes, that is, the kind that kids tool around in for amusement and edification. I needed a headline. That request went to my synaptic warehouse, that sprawling place with an idiosyncratic and often infuriating filing system, overflowing with jumbles of memories, images, and logical reconstructions — or is it big ideas, images, and distorted facts? — and out popped “Up in the Air, Junior Birdmen.”
Perfect. I’m rarely so good at headline writing. But where did that come from? I wasn’t in the Junior Birdmen demographic, considering it was aimed at boys of the 1930s.
Later it occurred to me. I might have heard about it earlier, but I definitely remember Tom Lehrer mentioning it as a gag on one of his records, before he sang “It Makes a Fellow Proud to be a Soldier.” The early 1960s audience clearly understood the reference, because it got a laugh.
“Some of you may recall the publicity a few years ago about the Army’s search for an official Army song to be the counterpart of the Navy’s ‘Anchors Away’ and the Air Force’s ‘Up in the Air, Junior Birdmen’ songs. I was in basic training at the time…”
So today I did a small amount of checking on line about the Junior Birdmen phenomenon. Added a bit of information to the otherwise incredibly minor Junior Birdmen file somewhere in my synaptic warehouse. And no visit to the Internet for useless information is complete without a stop at YouTube, in this case to hear the song itself – which I don’t think I’d ever heard before.
Well, I can’t say completely useless information. I got a headline for a paid piece of writing out of it – one that the editors kept.
Today’s the first day of DST, and the nation is vexed by tired workers and dangerous motorists. To hear the opponents of the change tell it (and they’re never are quite as vocal in the fall). Maybe there’s something to their charges, but I’ve lived in a temperate-zone country where the time does not change, namely Japan. At the height of summer, the morning sun would wake me up at around 4 a.m. and my non-air conditioned apartment would be hot already by the time I had to get up for work.
It’s then, when you’re lying in bed feeling the sweat rising at 5 a.m., that you think: maybe taking this useless hour of daylight and dropping it into the evening is good idea. That is to say, I’m not persuaded that getting rid of DST would cure much of what ails us.
On the other hand, early March to early November isn’t quite right either. Better the way it was before Congress tinkered with it in 2005 – first Sunday in April to the last one in October, or even the way it was from 1967 to 1986, when it was the last Sunday in April to the last Sunday in October.
I looked at this map today because of the change, but also because it’s always a good day to look at a map. I wondered, what’s up with that corner of British Columbia that doesn’t change their clocks? Wiki says: “Part of the Peace River Regional District of BC (including the communities of Chetwynd, Dawson Creek, Hudson’s Hope, Fort St. John, Taylor and Tumbler Ridge) is on Mountain Time and does not observe DST. This means that the region would be on the same time as Mountain Standard Time (MST) in the winter, and Pacific Daylight Time (PDT) in the summer.” Hm.
One more thing: the change brings to mind this charming song, which is mostly lost to time.
I like the video that bsgs98 made. Where do you get so many pictures of people and paper moons? Google images, of course. But I also wondered, how exactly did the custom of sitting for a photo with a paper moon start, how long did it last, and why did it die out? A simple search doesn’t tell me, and I’m too lazy to dig around more (for now).
A quick check does reveal that there were many covers of the “Moonlight Saving Time,” but among those I’ve heard, I prefer Guy Lombardo’s version. The song was written by Irving Kahal and Harry Richman in the early ’30s, and it’s amazing the things you can find with a little creative Googling.
The Milwaukee Sentinel, in a squib published on June 17, 1934, said: “It was in the spring, three years ago, on the night that New York went on daylight saving time that he [Richman] thought up the title. There was a beautiful moon and the idea occurred to Harry that ‘Moonlight Saving Time’ would be a good title. Next day, he and Irving Kahal wrote the song.”
Christmas morning isn’t quite the land rush it used to be, but the girls still want to open their presents as they always have. Ann had some trouble going to sleep on Christmas Eve, but that was because she’d slept late that morning, rather than excess excitement for Christmas morning (though there was strong anticipation).
Gift cards, clothes, a little money, toys for Ann, a lot of sweets—it was all in the mix.
This year on Christmas and on the Sunday before, I managed to catch a few hours of a radio show devoted to Christmas music oddities hosted by two guys called Johnny & Andy on WDCB, the public radio station at the College of DuPage. I’d heard them years ago, maybe even these shows, since this year’s seemed to be rebroadcasts from earlier years.
So I got to hear “Solar System Simon, Santa’s Supersonic Son,” by one Francis Smith, which I haven’t heard in years. I’d forgotten how bluegrass-like it was. I’m also happy to report that when you Google that title, mid-2000s BTST entries turn up. Space Age Santa songs seemed to form a short-lived, and little remembered, subgenre of Christmas songs ca mid-1950s. Johnny & Andy even played a song of that exact name by I-forget-who-and-am-too-lazy-to-look-up (that guy records a lot of songs).
Other Christmas recordings played by Johnny & Andy included elf songs, Cajin-themed holiday tunes, Christmas polkas, and songs that tried to capitalize on the monster success of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” all in vain. One involved putting a light on Dasher’s tail, another had two reindeer named Percival and Chauncy becoming Donder and Blitzen, and one parody included the line, “Rudolph is lazy, tired, and has been fired.”
Even Gene Autry recorded other reindeer-themed songs, such as “32 Feet – 8 Little Tails,” and “Nine Little Reindeer,” which aren’t exactly forgotten, but hardly the hit Rudolph was. Then again, Autry recorded a lot of Christmas songs.
