S.O.S. --- Save Our Saucer

It was the 1980s, and my niece got a gig inventorying buildings in Hartford, Connecticut.  These buildings were being nominated for the National Register of Historic Places.

I saw my niece after she finished the inventory, and I told her that I was pleased that she was helping save historic buildings.

She accepted my compliment, but went on to talk about one of her concerns.  Saving old buildings was a worthwhile effort, but she was worried about saving new buildings.  She was afraid that we would be losing some of the architectural masterpieces of the 1950s simply because they are not old.  People get enthusiastic about old buildings, but they tend to be blasé about new buildings.

My niece was the first person I ever heard express this idea.  I was amazed that she was expressing it in the 1980s when the 1950s were a recent memory.

My niece was a pioneer, and now she is no longer alone.  The number of people who appreciate mid-century modern architecture has swelled.

In St. Louis, the numbers have swelled because someone wanted to tear down our flying saucer.

It’s not a real flying saucer.  It was originally a gas station with a giant circular roof; then it became a fast food taco place with a giant circular roof.

When the fast food taco place closed, plans were announced to demolish the saucer for a strip mall.

People mobilized.  They mobilized on foot carrying signs: “This building is out of this world.”   They mobilized in wheelchairs:

The people were heard.  The loveable saucer will now be preserved, and will become the home of a Starbucks and a Chipotle Mexican Grill.

My niece, the pioneer, will be glad to know that the flying saucer retains its place among other St. Louis mid-century modern monuments, including the Gateway Arch and what has to be the nation’s largest Amoco sign.

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

Wonderful Middle European Staples

A friend gave me the name of the best bookbinder in St. Louis.  He is semi-retired, but still repairs a few books a year to keep busy, working out of a small bindery he built on the back of his house.

I made an appointment and drove to the bookbinder’s house.  “House” is a modest word for his home, situated in a gated community built shortly after the 1904 World’s Fair.  My first impression: bookbinding must have served this guy well in order to purchase a house like this.

The bookbinder greeted me at the door.  He had white hair and a white beard, and was wearing a full leather apron.  My second impression: this guy was straight out of the MGM costuming department. 

I looked around.  His little bindery had the largest paper cutter I have ever seen.  It reminded me that such devices are called guillotines in Britain, and it definitely could function as a device to remove human heads from human necks.  My third impression: do not irritate this guy.

I handed him the book I needed repaired.  It was printed in 1911.  “Ungarn, im Auftrage des Königlich Ungarischen Handelsministers”.  The spine had fallen off, and I was nervous about opening the book.

BOOKBINDER:  That is a nice art nouveau design on the cover.

ME:  My cousin was the family genealogist, and when he died his widow sent me this book.  It is a keepsake full of information about “the old country.”

BOOKBINDER:  The cover has nice beveled edges.

ME:  On this page you can see a photo of the city where my father was born.  The Schneider family was known for making ornamental iron work, and the balcony on that building may have been made by my great-grandfather.

BOOKBINDER:  Good quality paper.

ME:  Here is a photo of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, who was assassinated three years after this book was published.

BOOKBINDER:  The pages are well-sewn.

ME:  The book is in German, and I may be the last generation in the family who can read it.

BOOKBINDER:  Look at these wonderful Middle European staples.

I looked at the even rows of staples, used to hold the pages together.  I had never seen staples so delicate.

While looking at the delicate Middle European staples, I realized that I saw the book as a piece of my family, connecting me to the part of the world where my father was born over a hundred years ago. 

The bookbinder, however, saw the book as cover, paper, thread, glue, and staples.

I know the bookbinder will do a fine job.  Not only will he be repairing a book, he will be repairing  a part of Schneider family history.

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

Dying In Front Of A Cemetery

When people from out-of-state came to visit me in Belmont, Massachusetts, I would take them on a driving tour of Boston. 

On the way into Boston, I would drive by Mt. Auburn Cemetery, which dates from 1831.  It was America’s first garden cemetery.  Winslow Homer, Mary Baker Eddy, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and other Boston luminaries are buried there.

I took a friend from New York on my driving tour, and when we went past Mt. Auburn Cemetery, he said, “I am going to die!”  I took a friend from California on the tour, and driving by Mt. Auburn Cemetery, she exclaimed “Oh, my God, I am going to die!!”  Friends from Minnesota said, “Aaaugh, we are going to die in front of a cemetery!!!”

My friends thought they were going to die because back in New York and California and Minnesota all major intersections have traffic lights or stop signs. 

Here, at this intersection in front of Mt. Auburn Cemetery, Route 16 came in from the west, merging with Belmont Avenue coming from the northwest while Holworthy Avenue came straight down from the north, and Mount Auburn Street fed into the intersection from the east.  All of this, and not a single traffic light or stop sign.

I knew how to navigate.  I slowed down and checked if a car was trying to merge with me on my left while I checked to see if a car was heading directly toward me from the right. At the same time, I glanced ahead to determine if the cars coming towards me were going to pass me on my left or if they were going to cut in front of me to pass me  on my right.

Navigating became second nature to me.  If I was not in the clear, I stopped.  If I was in the clear, I continued.  My out-of-state friends considered this life-threatening.  I considered it a normal Boston traffic situation.

Then the Highway Department made changes.  They installed traffic lights; they created a little triangular traffic island, and Holworthy became a one-way street.

I was not pleased with the new arrangements.  Drivers stopped paying attention to traffic and started paying attention to traffic lights instead.  Drivers let their guard down.

Ironically, when the intersection was dangerous, people drove safer.

Back when there were no traffic lights and my out-of-state friends thought they were going to die, I would calmly drive through the intersection while telling my friends that they couldn’t pick a nicer cemetery to die in front of.

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VIDEO:  
http://boingboing.net/2008/06/10/busy-hanoi-intersect.html
Time-lapse photography shows that an intersection without traffic lights can be safe.  Here is downtown Hanoi – cars, pedestrians, taxis, rickshaws, bicycles, vans, and even a motorcyclist who sits in the middle of the intersection, waiting for his passenger to run out to him and jump on the back of his motorcycle. (2 minutes)

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com