A summerish weekend to kick off October, and we were out and about in the warmth. Soon temps will be more in line with the usual Octobers of northern Illinois.
Some trees are changing, but most still are holding their green. That too is bound to change soon.
Five years ago in October, I spent some time in San Antonio after the passing of my mother. That included a walk around downtown. I was persuaded that my mother wouldn’t have wanted me to mope around the house, but rather do what I would have done anyway. That is, go out and see things.
Even in very familiar places.
San Antonio tends toward pleasant weather that time of the year, and so it was that day. A lot of people were visiting the Alamo, taking in some of the demonstrations on the grounds. Such as the firing of period firearms.
Not, I think, using actual ammunition. But everything else seemed authentic, especially the loud bang!
The Plymouth Church wasn’t actually the last place I visited for Doors Open, it was the last place I planned to visit. But the event still had an hour to run when I walked out of that church on Saturday, so I checked the map and discovered I was within walking distance of the American Geographic Society Library on the UW-Milwaukee campus, which is usually open only Monday to Friday.
Home to 2 million or so items: maps, atlases, photographs, monographs, serials, digital geospatial data and of course globes. Many, many globes.
A divers collection.
Maps on display.
This wasn’t my first visit, though it had been about five years, and I hope not my last. Maps are useful, but also their own reward.
Tucked away on a side street northeast of downtown Milwaukee, and not far from Lake Michigan to the east and the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee to the west, is Plymouth Church. I arrived there on Saturday afternoon as the last place on my Doors Open visit.
It is United Church of Christ, one of whose confessional predecessors were New England Congregationalists. Puritans and Separatists, if you go back far enough.
“Alexander Eschweiler, who designed many prominent houses and buildings throughout Milwaukee, served as the architect of the original building,” notes Historic Milwaukee. “His design harkened back to an older pastoral age, replicating the image of an old English church. The beautiful sanctuary is notable for its nine Tiffany windows.”
Maybe eight. A volunteer at the church entrance – a little old church lady (really) – told me that one of the windows was unsigned. It sure enough looks like a Tiffany, but without the lettering, you can only be 99.44% or some other high percentage sure of its pedigree.
I spent a good while looking at the windows, dedicated more than a century ago to a number of early congregants.
Long looks are highly recommended.
Toward the front entrance. At that moment, the afternoon sun obscured the church’s rose window, which rises over the choir balcony.
Obscured unless you got up close. Then it is a thing of wonder.
The window was installed in 1917. Let Bobby Tanzilo, writing in OnMilwaukee, take it from here: “ ‘The window, a large Tiffany art glass, was presented to the church by Mrs. C. W. Noyes in honor of her mother, Marcia Wells, wife of Daniel Wells, who built the Wells Building and for whom Wells Street was named,’ wrote the Sentinel in June 1917.
“The window represents an angel figure bestowing the benediction of peace. This is the seventh memorial window in Plymouth Church.”
1917. How many of the congregation prayed ardently for Peace that upheaval year? For the American men headed for war? For Victory? All in a single breath?
Tanzilo also discusses the artist who did the rose window, and quite possibly the other windows, while working for Tiffany: Clara Burd (d. 1933). That despite the fact that Tiffany didn’t name the artists that worked on its projects.
“Clara Burd was – along with others including Agnes Northrop who designed the 1917 Hartwell Memorial Window that’s at Art Institute of Chicago, Clara Driscoll and others – one of the so-called ‘Tiffany Girls,’ talented women responsible for designing stunning works of art in glass (not only windows, but also lamps and other objects),” Tanzilo wrote.
She did a lot else besides. Such as book illustrations. “The Returning Prodigal” (1911).
Head west on Bluemound Road in Milwaukee – once an Indian trace, later an early paved road – and before long you arrive at Calvary Cemetery. The entrance is easy to spot, though my shot is from inside.
It’s Milwaukee’s oldest Catholic cemetery, counting as a rural cemetery, as it was outside the young city in the 1850s. About 80,000 people repose there these days, including the first mayor of Milwaukee, Solomon Juneau.
I didn’t see his grave. But there were a lot of others, varying in style, age, condition and carved sentiment. The ground has contour and the trees are mature. Everything you need for a picturesque cemetery.
Including some sizable art and a handful of mausoleums.
That’s the stone of the Jung family, early Milwaukee brewers. What was it Jung said about beer being the royal road to the unconscious? No, that was that other Milwaukee brewer, Ziggy Freud. I believe they were rivals.
A good number of priests are buried at Calvary, including some fairly recent internments, such as this long row of Jesuits.
More Jesuits. A wall of Jesuits, with room for a few more.
The cemetery was unusually busy for a cemetery, because it was on the Doors Open Milwaukee list. Not for the grounds or stones, but for the chapel atop the fittingly named Chapel Hill.
“This cream brick Romanesque style chapel was designed by architect Erhard Brielmaier and built in 1899,” says Historic Milwaukee. “A noted designer of Catholic churches around the country, Brielmaier also designed the famous St. Josaphat on the city’s south side, under construction at the same time. The chapel is located on one of the highest elevations in the city with impressive views of Story Hill, Miller Park and the downtown skyline.”
A nonprofit, the Friends of Calvary Cemetery, is overseeing the long and expensive restoration of the chapel. Some decades ago, the Archdiocese had planned to tear it down, but fortunately preservationists prevailed. Members of the Friends showed visitors around the inside on Saturday. We had to sign a waver in case a piece of it fell on us.
The crypt was dark and crypt-like.
“Originally built intended for services, prayers, private contemplation, and as a mausoleum for clergy, only one clergy member was ever buried at the site,” Historic Milwaukee continues. “The structure has two levels: the upper level features the chapel, with its raised sanctuary and high altar, side altars recessed in twin apses, lofty vaulted ceilings, soaring arches and central dome; the lower level is the bi-level mausoleum containing 45 crypts. Reposing directly beneath the main altar is the body of Reverend Idziego Tarasiewicza, interred in 1903.”
Why just him? The authoritative answer seems to be, dunno. Go figure.
I went on Saturday to see a church, Hope Lutheran, west of downtown Milwaukee, but I also got a good look at its attached building, the Carpenter Mansion. It’s an unusual Siamese twin-like pairing of structures.
The Carpenter House came first, built in the 1890s as a home for the founder of a thriving commercial bakery and his large family. These days, it’s a little long in the tooth, though a nonprofit is overseeing its restoration, a slow process. Still, handsome cream city brick, artfully put together.
“The gorgeous cream city brick Queen Anne house is a stunner outside even now, with its broad arches squaring off the entry porch – which also has some striking, stumpy and bulbous Romanesque columns – the elegant chimney, the decorative carved panels – including one under another arch, this one a second-story window – and the remains of a turret on the southeast corner of the home, which is perched atop a small hill,” writes Bobby Tanzilo in On Milwaukee.
The newer Hope Lutheran has its charms, too, such as a well-kept exterior.
The church ceiling evokes the ribs of an upside-down boat, like an impromptu meeting place for members of the early church. In that, and its elegant and simple lines, Hope Lutheran reminded me of St. Paul’s Episcopal in San Antonio, though the structure is even more pronounced in the Texas church.
Also like St. Paul’s, a fine array of stained glass windows.
How often is the Serpent seen in this medium? Not sure how often. Note the nick in the fruit of the tree of knowledge.
The church and the house are connected via a small room. The church bought the house long ago, and most of the first floor is church offices. The upper floors are closed for the ongoing restoration.
A summerish weekend as the fall equinox came and went. That made Saturday a good day for Doors Open Milwaukee.
The main event on Sunday was planting the enormous number of tulip bulbs that Yuriko acquired at a yard sale recently for a small price. If half or a quarter or even a tenth produce blooms next spring, there will be a nice display.
How would one start, and profit from, a virtual tulip bubble? Just wondering. Sillier things have happened in our time.
This was the sixth Doors Open for me. Yuriko didn’t feel like it this year, so it was a solo shot up to Milwaukee and back for me. When I was reading about possible sights at Historic Milwaukee’s web site, I came across one for Carma Laboratories, maker of lip balm Carmex.
“The 40,000 square foot building was built by Carma Laboratories approximately thirteen years ago specifically to function as a warehouse and distribution center,” Historic Milwaukee said. “The style of the building is a generic contemporary warehouse made of concrete.”
Well, fine. Why should I go there? Next paragraph:
“Carma Laboratories, the manufacturer of Carmex Lip Balm, is home to the world’s largest theater pipe organ, [which is] housed in its distribution center. The organ contains 6,000 pipes, a concert grand Steinway Piano, numerous percussion instruments and a set of handbells all playable from the organ console.”
Really? Rarely has such a bland opening paragraph been followed by such a wowzer. I knew I had to see that. It was my first stop Saturday morning.
Ordinary exterior indeed.
It’s one building in a district of suburban offices and distribution centers in Franklin, Wisconsin, which is south of Milwaukee proper.
Inside.
The organ is the vast enthusiasm – hobby is hardly the word – of the president of the company, Paul Woelbing, who was on hand to tell visitors about the organ, which has been under construction by the Century Organ Co. for years and isn’t quite finished even now. But enough to belt out a rousing version of the main theme from Star Wars (1977), which was playing when I walked in the door.
“When Woelbing and his late father, Donald, were inspecting a vacant warehouse for the expansion of Carma Labs, the acoustics of the cavernous building gave him some inspiration,” says the American Theatre Organ Society. “Woebling, a collector of paintings, old Harleys, and self-playing musical instruments, naturally thought of a pipe organ for the space.”
Woelbing at the console, programing the instrument ready for another piece, but I forget what.
Not Toccata and Fugue in D minor, though I’m sure that played at some point during the day. Still, the piece that did play was equally rousing, seeming to fill the space from top to bottom. Theater organs aren’t an enthusiasm of mine particularly, but I know a powerful instrument when I hear one.
This recorded concert from this summer gives some idea of its power and range, but not quite like being there.
The sound is one thing, but I’d say the icing on the cake is the location. We’ve all heard organs of various sorts in various places — including a few theaters — but in an obscure warehouse in an obscure corner of the Midwest? Sweet icing indeed.
The organ’s many parts occupy only part of the warehouse. The rest is exactly that – warehouse space, which was roped off to us casual visitors on Saturday.
“The nucleus of the instrument is the 3/15 Wurlitzer organ that was originally installed in Chicago’s Nortown Theatre,” says ATOS. “Denver organ enthusiast Dr. Bruce Belshaw purchased the organ in the 1950s and installed it in his home, before it made the current move to the Franklin, Wisconsin warehouse.
“With many additions, the now 90-rank instrument has extensive tonal colors. The organ has been used for annual company holiday parties, and Woebling’s desire is to share the instrument and music with the community.”
I haven’t had a lot of success taking photos of coins with the otherwise terrific old iPhone camera, with the images coming out distorted in one way or another, or at least bad looking. Today I had a slap-my-forehead moment: I’ve been doing it wrong. The thing to do is take group shots.
Such as group shots from the five-pound box of foreign cheapies, that is. Many of which have long ceased to be legal tender in their countries of origin.
The shiny one with a hole in the center is a Japanese five-yen coin, my favorite among the pocket change of Japan when I lived there. Brass. Roughly the equivalent of a U.S. five-cent coin, so they didn’t have much monetary value, even in the 1990s. But they were good-looking coins when new. Even when older and dull yellow, there was a charm of that hole.
The 50-yen coin had a hole was well, but it was a wafer of cupronickle, which might be sturdy material for circulating coins and all-around useful alloy, it doesn’t have the luster of gold or silver, or the shine of copper or brass.
Unexpected rain in the night, followed by a warmish day. I didn’t have a lot of time to loaf around on the deck today, but spent a few minutes there in the afternoon. More of the same warmth for a few more days, then another taste of coolth after the equinox.
Over the years, various small objects have been accidentally washed, and sometimes dried, in our machines, usually the contents of pockets: coins, plastic bags, receipts and other bits of paper, pens and so on. A familiar thing. But this week, a first.
That’s what happens when dental floss goes through the washer.
The art of the headline isn’t one of my strengths, but I understand the tendency to fudge just a bit for the sake of grabbing those eyeballs. Take the “$100,000 space suit.” That’s what the reader will see, the thinking goes, relegating “almost” to a second-place consideration, if that. The text will clarify.
Unless it doesn’t. I don’t know whether formal studies of the matter have been done, but they don’t need to be. It’s clear that the exaggeration is more easily retained by human memory than the small-print facts of the matter. You could argue an evolutionary advantage in that kind of big-picture perception for savanna dwellers of yore, but I’m not smart enough to know whether that’s the case.
Here’s the fine print: the item I’m talking about isn’t, in fact, a real space suit, and probably not selling for $100,000. The other day I saw a snippet about an auction to be held next month by Heritage Auctions, “The World’s Largest Collectibles Auctioneer.” The item for sale: Astronaut Space Suit (6) Piece Ensemble from 2001: A Space Odyssey (MGM, 1968).
At a starting bid of $80,000, the item might indeed sell for $100,000 or more, so my headline isn’t completely off base.
More detail, according to Heritage: “Vintage original (6) piece astronaut space suit ensemble including… helmet, metal neck ring, tubing and applied ‘United States Aeronautics Agency – Clavius Base’ decal, leather lined interior retaining a label handwritten ‘Sean Sullivan’… These space suits can be seen prominently during the Moon crater and Moon Bus shuttle scenes… This epic piece of film history exhibits age, paint cracking to the entirety of the coveralls and gloves, crazing to the left side of the helmet visor, paint chipping to the backpack, and heavy production use.”
Cool. I hope the likes of the Seattle museum formerly called EMP acquires it for display; that would be a good outcome for the auction. I am, of course, a longstanding fan of that movie. I will not, however, ever find myself the proud owner of a faux space suit associated with it.
One of the benefits of the soaking rain over the weekend is that I felt I could grill this evening without much risk of an embarrassing and possibly dangerous grass fire. Brats were duly cooked for dinner about an hour ahead of sunset, which we consumed on the deck along with salad and for dessert some cannoli I bought on Sunday at a Polish grocery store, which were very close to being as good the best in my experience, those I found years ago not in Italy but in Little Italy in NYC.
There will be fewer such grilling opportunities as the movement of the Earth drags us in the Northern Hemisphere toward shorter days.
At dusk, I decided to burn some of the excess sticks always present in the back yard. The wood was a little damp still, but hot charcoal dries it out, and then ignites it.
There wasn’t much wind – another reason to grill – but enough movement give the fire occasional dramatic arcs.
The peculiarities of digital photography added to the seeming movement of that shot, I think. Soon the fire reached full blaze, best shown by zooming in a bit.
The declining phase.
Staring into a fire you’ve made is surely a pleasure we share with how many generations before us? Many.
“Clear evidence of habitual use of fire, though, comes from caves in Israel dating back between 400,000 and 300,000 years ago, and include the repeated use of a single hearth in Qesem Cave, and indications of roasting meat,” notes Time.
