Who's Afraid Of Uta Hagen?

I almost put the magazine down and shouted out: "Yes, Marlo, I was there!  I saw the same show you did!!"

Marlo was Marlo Thomas, the actress. The magazine had a "Best And Worst" feature (Worst Date, Best Friend For Life, etc.) and they had asked Marlo Thomas about the Best Stage Performance Ever.

Marlo's response: "I got to witness Uta Hagen play Martha in Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?  What she brought to the character was amazing - anger, competitiveness, sensuality, vulnerability.  That show taught me more about acting than any class ever could." 

I, too, saw Uta Hagen play Martha.

Martha and her husband George invite two guests to their home for cocktails, and proceed to put each other down in front of their guests.  Actually, they try to destroy each other.  A virtual marital demolition derby.

This was not at all like the plays I was used to seeing.  

I grew up in the innocent, in the Fifties.  I was used to heart-warming plays like The Fantasticks.  I was used to light-hearted plays like Fiorello!  Instead, Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf? was brutal and raw.  I heard George and Martha say things like "screw you" and "hump the hostess" - words no actor had ever spoken on an American stage in the Fifties.

I was 19 years old when I saw Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf for the first time.  The script was published as a book, and I asked for a copy at Christmas.  I went back to see the play when I was 20.  Maybe, down in my subconscious, I was a fan of this play because it was a signal --- a signal that the world was about to change, a signal that The Sixties had begun in America.

Hollywood made a movie of Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?, with Mike Nichols directing Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor as George and Martha.  I thought it couldn't be too hard for these two people to portray a couple that was out to destroy each other.  

However, I did not see the Burton-Taylor movie until the end of The Sixties.  

I was in El Paso, Texas, and talked a friend into going to see the movie at a drive-in theater in the foothills of the city.  The movie was fine, but I became aware, with a jolt, that most of the people in the drive-in were not there to watch Burton and Taylor.  They had brought blankets and were hunkering down to spend the night in their cars at the drive-in.

Driving back toward El Paso that night, I thought about how we had just watched a movie amidst homeless people.  I thought about how the innocence of the Fifties was gone.  

In the Fifties, I knew only the part of the world that was within a 25 mile radius of my parents’ home.  In the Fifties, I was deeply concerned about what other people thought of me.  In the Fifties, I saw a narrow path ahead of me: if I do the right things, I will succeed.  

In the Sixties, I had served my country both in the Peace Corps and in the United States Army, and had seen a lot of new places.  I had become at peace with myself, no longer worrying about others’ opinions.  I saw a flexible path ahead of me: waiting for me to figure out how to navigate life.

For me, the Sixties started with Uta Hagen on stage, and ended with Elizabeth Taylor on screen.

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Here is a 5-and-a-half minute excerpt from opening scene in the original Broadway play.  Listen to Uta Hagen work her magic.

Give Me A Big Sloppy Kiss

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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

Find A Good Mother And Take Good Care Of It

When I moved to Sokoto, Nigeria in 1975, I had to choose between Mrs. Datta and Mrs. Kohli.  People told me that Mrs. Kohli was sweeter than Mrs. Datta.  However, I chose Mrs. Datta.

These two women were from India and they had yogurt mothers that they were willing to share.  I needed a yogurt mother to make my own yogurt, which turned out to be pretty easy in Sokoto.

Dairy products were hard to come by in the tropics.  There was one herd of dairy cows in all of Nigeria, and they lived on the central plateau under the careful eye of an Agricultural university.   They did not ship their cow's milk because milk spoils quickly in the tropics.

There were herds of camels all around Sokoto.  Camels were milked and the milk was turned into a form of cheese: solid white disks that were for sale in the market, but did not look at all hygienic to me.

So, almost all dairy products had to be imported.  Nigerians were fond of small cans of evaporated milk and condensed milk from Holland, which they used in their tea.  Another popular imported item was powdered milk, which Nigerians turned into baby formula.  

I needed powdered milk to make yogurt, and my favorite brand was KLIM. 

KLIM was produced in America; it was originally used by explorers; it was a staple in the rations of US soldiers fighting in the Pacific during World War II. But it was not my favorite brand because of its pedigree --- it was my favorite because KLIM is MILK spelled backwards, and I like things that spell backwards.  

(No wonder that my favorite Nigerian detergent is OMO, which spells its own name backwards.)

Once I got my yogurt mother from Mrs. Datta, I began to make yogurt on a regular basis.  I would add water to KLIM in an enamel bowl.  Sokoto had wonderful colored enamel bowls imported from Czechoslovakia.

I stirred the mother into the milk, put the lid on the bowl, and set the bowl out in my yard.  Sokoto is the hottest large city in Africa, so, the sun did the rest.  After one hour, I would bring the bowl into the house: there was a batch of yogurt inside, all properly cultured.

However, if I lost track of time, and fetched the bowl after two hours, there would be a batch of very thick yogurt inside, almost like cream cheese.

Chill the yogurt, and consume…making sure to set aside some as the mother so I could make another batch. 

But sometimes, I would lose track and eat all the yogurt in the fridge, including the mother.  So, I was back where I started from: I would have to choose between Mrs. Datta and Mrs. Kohli.

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The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is another country without dairy cows.  You can watch a one-minute video where KLIM tells Saudi women that they can realize their dreams – being a TV reporter, piloting a jet, climbing Mt. Everest – if they drink KLIM powdered milk.  (You can't realize your dreams without calcium.)  Saudi Women of Strength

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

Resolutions 1-2-3 When Leaving The Army

Whenever I go to Gold's Gym, I am reminded of the day when I left the Army in 1970, in Tacoma, Washington.  On that day, I made resolutions 1-2-3:

RESOLUTION #1: No one will ever yell at me again.

RESOLUTION #2: I will never do a push-up again.

RESOLUTION #3: I will recognize when I am surrounded by happiness.

In the Army, being yelled at meant that I was being singled out.  Singled out because of some transgression and I needed to be humiliated in front of my fellow soldiers.  Gold's Gym has a cycling class and the instructor is constantly yelling "Pedal Faster".  I have never taken a cycling class because of Resolution #1 - I do not want to re-live being yelled at.

In the Army, push-ups are not exercise, they are punishment.  "Schneider, give me 10" means that because I had annoyed the sergeant, I had to drop to the ground and do 10 push-ups to appease him.  At Gold's Gym I take a barbell class, and the instructor wants us to do push-ups.  Because of Resolution #2, I only do pseudo push-ups, bouncing my head up and down while I am on my hands and knees.

In the Army, I made a discovery: I discovered that before I was in the Army, I was surrounded by happiness and did not realize it.  Resolution #3 is subtle; it means that I should find joy in having choice and control.

Before I was in the Army, I could choose what clothes to wear.  I could choose when to turn off the light at night.  I had a wide variety of friends.  I could walk to a refrigerator and get a cool drink.  I could sleep all night long.  I could close the door when I used a bathroom.

Not so in the Army: the Department of Defense told me what to wear and even told me when to switch from winter uniform to summer uniform - an event that happened simultaneously across the country, putting me in a summer uniform well before warm weather reached Tacoma, Washington.  My commanding officer determined when the barracks lights get turned off at night.  By default, I was surrounded almost entirely by men all about the same age I was.  There was no refrigerator in the barracks, just a water fountain.  Many nights my sleep was interrupted by walking an hour of guard duty.  There was no such thing as privacy in an Army bathroom.

The Army made my choices for me; the Army controlled my life.

At Gold's Gym, in the barbell class, I have choice - I pick what weight to put on my barbell.  I have control - I can modify the exercises if I do not like what the instructor is doing.

Resolution #3 tells me to recognize that I now have choice, I now have control, and I now have the freedom to have my hair cut any way I wish.  And that is happiness.

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2-minute YouTube video on how to avoid being yelled at by a Drill Sergeant: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3QQp8rb_uHY

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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

I'm Off To See The Giant

My eyes were glued to the television set as Walter Cronkite's voice boomed out: The date is February 2, 1870. The place is Cardiff, New York, and you are there.  "You Are There" was a TV show that transported the audience back through history.  In this case, the show transported me back to the day when the oldest human fossil remains were found on a farm.

The human remains were a ten-foot tall petrified giant.  It was instantly proclaimed to be proof  of Genesis 6:4 - "there were giants in the earth in those days". 

The farmer erected a tent, and people paid 25 cents to see the giant.  The roads around the little town of Cardiff, New York, became clogged with horse-and-buggies.  The giant was named the Cardiff Giant, and was moved to Syracuse, New York, where people paid 50 cents to see the giant.

The story on television fascinated me.  But then it became more fascinating.

The Cardiff Giant was revealed as a hoax.  People still kept on coming and paying 50 cents.  P. T. Barnum got wind of the money-making hoax and offered to buy the Cardiff Giant.  His offer was rebuffed, so P. T. carved his own giant out of plaster and put it on display.  People kept on coming and kept on paying.

The details of the hoax came to light: George Hull had travelled from New York to visit his sister in Fort Dodge, Iowa, in 1869.  He spent one evening discussing the Bible with a Fort Dodge minister.  The minister believed that giants once roamed the earth, because Genesis said so.  George Hull was an atheist, and he decided to play a joke on people who take the Bible literally.  

He purchased a huge block of gypsum from a quarry near Fort Dodge, and transported it to Chicago.  He hired a sculptor to carve a giant man who looked dead.  The sculptor was sworn to secrecy; George Hull then moved the giant to upstate New York and buried it on his cousin's farm. 

They waited a year, and hired neighbors to dig a well in 1870 -- and you guessed it -- to dig  well right where the giant was buried.

I was 12-years-old when I watched Walter Cronkite’s show about the Cardiff Giant.  I was not surprised that people, both believers and skeptics, would pay money to see the giant even when they knew it was a hoax....or, in the case of P. T. Barnum's giant, pay money to see a hoax of a hoax.  I was not surprised because the TV show made me want to see the Cardiff Giant, and I was willing to pay money.  

I assumed that the giant had disappeared sometime in the 19th century.

However, the Internet tells me that the Cardiff Giant did not disappear.  The original hoax giant is in Cooperstown, New York.  P. T. Barnum's hoax of a hoax giant is in Michigan.

And there is now a third Cardiff Giant.  It is in Iowa.  The town of Fort Dodge decided to commemorate its role in America’s biggest hoax, and had their own giant carved forty years ago.  Since this giant is from the same quarry as the original, it is a brother of the hoax giant.

I am off to Fort Dodge, Iowa, this weekend --- where I will pay 7 dollars to see the giant.

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You can watch a 2-minute CBS Sunday Morning feature where Charles Osgood talks about the anatomically-correct giant:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bnxft3_0Btw

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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

Camel Meatloaf

The first camel I ever saw up close was in my backyard.  It was in my backyard every day around 4 PM, grazing.

The camel had an attendant, who always greeted me as if it was OK for the camel to be in my yard.  I eventually found out that it was the sultan's camel.  Yes, it was OK for the royal camel to graze in my backyard.  

The royal camel was regal: tall with fur a uniform color, a paler version of the camelhair coats I used to see for sale in department stores back in the United States.

In Kano, Nigeria, camels were a fairly frequent sight.  They were used as beasts of burden - carrying goods or carrying people.  (The sultan's camel, however, was for ceremonial purposes.)

Then I found out that camels were edible.

An American told me that camel meat was sold in the Kano market.  Being an American, of course, he had to tell me which part of a camel is best for making hamburgers: the hump.

Isn't a camel's hump full of water?  No, that idea was from some childhood fairy tale.  A camel's hump is full of fat, which makes it ideal for grinding into hamburgers - or meatloaf.  Camel meatloaf - food for a special occasion.

Betty Daniels was coming to visit.  She lived in a part of Nigeria that had no camels - and no horses - because it was in the zone where tsetse flies lived.  When tsetse flies bite an animal, they transmit trypanosomes.  Horses and camels are not resistant to trypanosomes; so, they die.

I told my cook that we were having a dinner guest, and would he please go to the Kano market, buy some meat from the hump of a camel, and make camel meatloaf.  When Betty arrived at my house, I told her, "Betty, we are having meatloaf for dinner".  I planned to wait until she had eaten half her dinner and spring the news on her: it was camel meatloaf.  I was eager to see whether Betty would be horrified or fascinated.

The moment came, Betty was halfway through dinner, and I told her she was eating meatloaf made from the hump of a camel.  Her reaction: "Oh” and she kept on eating.  No horror, no fascination, just a plain "Oh", as if there was nothing remarkable about eating camel hump.

The abattoir, where all the meat for the Kano market is slaughtered, sits on the outskirts of the city.  I went out to take a look at it, and I observed the animals tethered outside, awaiting their destiny on the inside of the abattoir.  There were cows and there were camels.  The camels looked especially scraggly and worn down; I realized that these camels were no longer able to function as beasts of burden.  The abattoir was the end of the line for them.

After seeing these decrepid animals, I never ate camel meat again.  And the camels thanked me by putting on a special show one day.

It was the day I was taking some Swedish friends to the Kano Airport, to catch a jet plane back to Sweden.  But traffic on the airport road had to stop: there was a camel caravan crossing the road.  Camel after camel trudged past us, taking their own sweet time.

I savored the irony that my Swedish friends' trip to the airport to catch a twentieth-century mode of transportation had been slowed down by an ancient form of transportation.

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If you would like to know how to train a pet camel, here is a 12-minute video from Arizona:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XvkoloNYZE4

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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

Jack The Ripper Died In St. Louis

Because I live in St. Louis, I am convinced that Jack the Ripper died in St. Louis.  He died on May 28, 1903, at St. John's Mercy Hospital.

His name was Francis Tumblety, and he was so appreciative of the care he received that he bequeathed his jewelry to the nuns who ran St. John’s Mercy Hospital.  The jewelry consisted of:

     - One cluster ring of 17 diamond stones 

     - One 5 stone diamond ring

     - Two imitation set rings

Tumblety grew up in Rochester, New York.  As a young boy, he made money selling pornography to the people who traveled the Erie Canal.  

As an adult, he moved from city to city.  He called himself Dr. Tumblety and made his money by selling an ointment he concocted called “Dr. Tumblety’s Pimple Banisher”, which promised to make old faces look young and beautiful.  

Tumblety sported a long moustache, and dressed elegantly.  He was often seen riding a white steed accompanied by two greyhounds on a leash.  

It seems odd that such an ostentatious man would own two cheap imitation set rings.

For a few years in the early 1860's, Tumblety lived in St. Louis, in the Lindell Hotel - the largest hotel in the world at that time.  He held card playing evenings in his hotel room, inviting only men.  When one of his guests remarked about the absence of women, Tumblety would grow livid. He would speak about how he deeply detested women, especially fallen women.  Then he would show his guests his medical museum: two cabinets filled with glass jars.  In each jar: a uterus.

In 1888, Tumblety was not living in St. Louis.  He was living in England, in the Whitechapel section of London.  Whitechapel was the locale of the five Jack the Ripper slayings in 1888…slayings of five prostitutes, or in the parlance of the times: "fallen women".

Scotland Yard arrested Tumblety, not for the slayings but for “gross indecency between men” on November 7, 1888.  He posted bond and slipped out of England to catch a ship from France to New York.  Scotland Yard sent two detectives to New York on a ship from Liverpool.  The Liverpool ship arrived before the French ship, and the two detectives met Tumblety on the dock when he reached New York.  Scotland Yard sent a supervisor a few days later.  But the policemen from Scotland Yard had no authority to arrest Tumblety on U.S. soil.

After November 7, 1888, there were no more Jack the Ripper slayings.  The fact that Scotland Yard would send three personnel to North America pinpoints Tumblety as a prime suspect.

There is now an official word for the study of Jack the Ripper: ripperology.  Each ripperologist has their own favorite prime suspect.

I am not a ripperologist, but Tumblety is my own favorite prime suspect.  Not just because of the St. Louis connection.  But also because of Annie Chapman, Jack the Ripper’s victim number two. 

When police examined Annie Chapman’s body on September 8, 1888, they saw that her uterus was missing.  It had been removed intact.  Also, missing from Annie Chapman’s left hand: two imitation set rings.

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Sherlock Holmes meets Dr. Tumblety (7 minutes): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xGFqS4ulac

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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

Do Not Flash The Octopus

I had heard about the Monterey Bay Aquarium in California for years, but when I finally got there, I was not prepared for how immense it is.  The place is like a theme park for aquatic life.

Tanks with jellyfish, which some people consider edible:

Tanks with sand dollars, which seem to like to stand vertically:

Tanks with anemones, which are venomous:

And a tank with an octopus, which does not like to be flashed:

I was not prepared for how immense the Monterey Bay Aquarium is, and I was not prepared for how expensive it is: $40 for an adult, $25 for a kid. That meant a family of five spent $155 to get in. I looked around; the place was overrun with kids. 

One thing I was prepared for: I knew that when I left the aquarium, I would have no interest in eating seafood.

I blame that on my mother.

Our sixth-grade class went on a field trip to the American Museum of Natural History in New York City, one of the largest museums in the world.  Much to my disappointment, we were not going to the Hall of Dinosaurs.  Our teacher took us to the Hall of Fishes.

None of the fishes in the Hall of Fishes moved, because they were all models.  They sat in dioramas or were fastened to the wall.  I dutifully looked at all the dioramas because our teacher wanted us to, but the exhibits seemed stale.  Our hometown was surrounded by salt water on three sides, and the Hall of Fishes was noticeably lacking in the feel of walking on a sand beach, the sound of waves lapping the shore, the smell of salt air.

Having dutifully looked at dioramas, our sixth-grade class went into the American Museum of Natural History cafeteria to eat the lunches that our mothers had packed for us.  I opened up my lunch bag and found that my mother had made me a tuna fish sandwich.

Mom!!!!!  How could you do this to me?

I had just seen a life-size model of a tuna fish attached to the wall of the Hall of Fishes.  I couldn’t possibly eat tuna fish for lunch.

Nobody in my sixth grade class would trade sandwiches with me.  I went hungry that day. 

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Shirley Temple had a great time at the Codfish Ball (4-minute video).  Lobsters dancing in a row shuffle off to Buffalo…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkLjMdE9-lY

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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