The Nice Lady On The Postage Stamps

I started a stamp collection when I was nine years old.  At that time, it was clear that most countries had men on their postage stamps. 

The French, however, had Marianne, the national symbol, dressed in classic garb.  Great Britain had the Queen.  The United States had a few historic women on stamps, dressed in unflattering historic costume.

Only one country had a contemporary woman on its postage stamps:  a woman wearing modern clothing with her hair pulled back in a bun.  She looked like a nice lady. 

The stamps were from Argentina.  The nice lady was Eva Peron. She was known as Evita and she died the year I started collecting stamps.

I got to visit Argentina exactly sixty years after Eva Peron’s death.  Except for a Broadway musical and a Madonna film, I expected to find very few traces of her.  Instead, I found that although Evita is dead, she has never left Argentina.

Evita appears on Argentine currency, the 100 peso note.  Her profile appears many stories tall on the top of a building.  The word “Peronista” appears on political campaign posters.  When you walk into the giant Plaza de la Republica, your eyes automatically seek out the balcony where Evita stood to give her speeches.  Or, in my case, the balcony where Madonna stood to sing Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina.

 When we were in Buenos Aires, we asked other tourists what the highlight of the city was.  Everyone said we must visit the Cemetery.

We went.  It was more like a city of the dead than a cemetery.  4,700 grand mausoleums lining narrow lanes, with street signs at the intersections.  Grieving statuary.  Monuments.

Evita is buried there now.  Sixty years after her death people are still putting fresh flowers on her tomb.  

This woman, who I first saw on some postage stamps, had an enormous impact on her country.

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A YouTube video, produced by Ned Nickerson, of newsreel footage while Karen Carpenter sings a stunning version of Don't Cry For Me, Argentina.  Make sure you watch from the 4 min 40 sec mark, where you can see Evita's remarkable funeral procession through Buenos Aires --- at that time the third largest city in the Western Hemisphere (6 minutes):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nnufQVpiE70

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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

Don't Weep For Me, Buenos Aires

Just like Paris in the old days.

That’s what I expected when my buddy Randy and I arrived in Buenos Aires.  And, architecturally, it was like Paris about a century ago.  Wonderful turn-of-the–century buildings, none of them overshadowed by skyscrapers.  So impressive to walk around a human-sized city, each building standing proud. 

How Buenos Aires got frozen in time, I do not know.  Somehow the Argentines didn’t tear down their early 20^th Century buildings.  The city was so old-fashioned that I was happy when I spotted a Lady Gaga poster.  The poster reassured me that I was in the 21^st Century, even if this city kept on telling me otherwise.

Yes, the city’s buildings stood old and proud, but they also stood vulnerable. 

I had to keep my eyes at second story level or higher.  Buenos Aires has not found a way to control graffiti.  The facades on the upper floors looked fine, but the street level façades were all defaced with spray paint.  Building after defaced building, especially when you got away from the Plaza de la Republica:

Whle the city could not control graffiti, some individual buildings had found ways to protect themselves.  There was a physical approach: paint the fin de siècle stonework black:

There was an aesthetic approach.  Graffitists consider themselves artists; so, the assumption is that if your street-level façade is a work of art (preferably painted by a graffiti artist), then no other graffitist will deface it:

Or you can go a step beyond paint.  An optometrist glued old eyeglass frames to his building, creating portraits that were two stories tall:

Buenos Aires was reminiscent of Paris in the 1920’s, which impressed me.  Buenos Aires was also reminiscent of New York City subway cars in the 1970’s, which almost made me weep.

I did not weep because it is hard to weep for a city that knits sweaters for its trees:

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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