Posts
Monday, July 9, 2012
UFO's and Impact on Religion
Jason McClellan
Jun 25, 2012
What will the impact be on religion when extraterrestrial life is discovered? It is a common assumption that such a discovery will be detrimental to core beliefs of religions around the world. You might be surprised to hear, however, that some experts believe the religious impact will be minor.
(Credit: SETI Institute)
A panel discussion on this topic took place on Sunday, June 24 at the SETI (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence) Institute’s SETIcon II conference in Santa Clara, California. This panel, titled “Would Discovering ET Destroy Earth’s Religions?,” concluded that the resulting impact on religion from an alien discovery is “probably not going to be as severe as we might initially think.” That is according to panelist Doug Vakoch, the director of Interstellar Message Composition at the SETI Institute.
Mike Wall of Space.com points out that “the Bible, Koran and other sacred texts of the world’s major religions stress God’s special concern for humanity and for Earth,” so discovering ET “might seem threatening, by implying that we and our planet aren’t all that special.” But as SETI Institute senior astronomer Seth Shostak mentioned during the panel, “We haven’t been the center of the universe for a while now — four centuries.”
Ancient astronomers Nicolaus Copernicus and Galileo Galilei countered the established belief that the sun and everything else in the universe revolved around Earth. Such crazy talk was viewed as blasphemy by the world’s largest Christian church–the Catholic Church. The present-day Vatican, however, is much more open to science and the possibilities of life elsewhere in the universe. In a 2009 interview with Vatican newspaper L’Osservatore Romano, Father José Gabriel Funes, the director of the Vatican observatory, stated, “As a multiplicity of creature exist on Earth, so there could be other beings, also intelligent, created by God. This does not contrast with our faith because we cannot put limits on the creative freedom of God.”
In addition to this latest panel discussion on the topic of the extraterrestrial impact on religion, an “ETI Crisis Survey” was conducted in 2008 by Dr. Ted Peters, professor of systematic theology at both Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary and the Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences at the Graduate Theological Union, Berkeley California, to test the belief that, “upon confirmation of contact between Earth and an extraterrestrial civilization of intelligent beings, the long established religious traditions of Earth would confront a crisis of belief and perhaps even collapse.” More than one-thousand people from varying religions participated in the study, and results showed that only a small percentage of the participants felt their personal beliefs would be affected by the confirmation of extraterrestrial life.
What are your thoughts? Would the discovery of intelligent extraterrestrials have any affect on your religious beliefs? Share your opinion with us on the Open Minds Facebook page
UFO documented articles
http://wwwmacsufonews.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/spacing-out-ep10-computer-hackers.html
http://www.openminds.tv/category/articles/
http://www.openminds.tv/extraterrestrial-life-could-be-on-the-moons-of-mars-972/
Extraterrestrial life could be on the moons of Mars
Jason McClellan
Jul 03, 2012
The moons of Mars could provide evidence of life on the red planet. That’s according to Purdue University professor Dr. Jay Melosh.
The orbits of Martian moons and the spread of potential particle trajectories from an asteroid impact on Mars. (Credit: Purdue University/Loic Chappaz)
A press release published on June 28 details Melosh’s theory that “a mission to a Martian moon could return with alien life.” He explains that, if life ever existed on Mars, or even if it exists today, the moons of Mars would almost certainly contain Martian material delivered by debris from large asteroid impacts. And as io9.com explains, of the two Martian moons, Phobos is especially likely to contain these Martian particles.
Melosh led a team chosen by NASA’s Planetary Protection Office to determine if samples from Phobos contain enough recent material from Mars to include “viable Martian organisms.” Team member Loic Chappaz expounded, “It is estimated that during the past 10 million years there have been at least four large impact events powerful enough to launch material into space, and we focused on several large craters as possible points of origin. It turns out that no matter where Phobos is in its orbit, it would have captured material from these powerful impact events.”
The researchers concluded that:
A 200-gram sample scooped from the surface of Phobos could contain, on average, about one-tenth of a milligram of Mars surface material launched in the past 10 million years and 50 billion individual particles from Mars. The same sample could contain as much as 50 milligrams of Mars surface material from the past 3.5 billion years.
Special attention is paid to time frames, because, as team member Professor Kathleen Howell explains, “It is thought that after 10 million years of exposure to the high levels of radiation on Phobos, any biologically active material would be destroyed.” Howell added, “Even if we found no evidence of life in a sample from Phobos, it would not be a definitive answer to the question of whether or not there was life on Mars. There still may have been life that existed too long ago for us to detect it.”
As NASA reformulates its Mars Exploration Program, a future mission to Phobos is a possibility.
The team’s findings were presented at a joint NASA-European Space Agency meeting in Austria.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_d4uFAQ-wCI
Ryan Sprague is a UFO journalist and a contributing writer for Open Minds magazine. We talk with Ryan Sprague about computer hacking cases where hackers specifically sought information related to UFOs. We also talk about a study looking for signs of extraterrestrial life on Martian moons, a curious alleged alien skeleton, and other UFO and space news on this episode of Spacing Out!
http://www.openminds.tv/former-cia-agent-acknowledges-roswells-extraterrestrial-connection-975/
Former CIA agent acknowledges Roswell’s extraterrestrial connection
Jason McClellan
Jul 09, 2012
Roswell Daily Record - July 8th, 1947
The mysterious object that crashed near Roswell, New Mexico in July 1947 was extraterrestrial in origin. That is the claim former CIA official Charles ‘Chase’ Brandon made just days prior to the sixty-fifth anniversary of the Roswell UFO incident.
During a June 23 interview on the radio program Coast to Coast AM, Brandon asserted that “there was a craft from beyond this world that crashed at Roswell.” Although the military’s official explanation has transformed multiple times since the incident, top-secret listening devices attached to a high-altitude weather balloon is the basic explanation for what crashed near Roswell in 1947. But as Brandon told the Huffington Post, “It was not a damn weather balloon.”
Chase Brandon (credit: ChaseBrandon.com)
The military claims that crash test dummies explain reports of bodies recovered at the crash site in 1947. But during his Coast to Coast AM interview, Brandon also attested that “cadavers” were recovered.
How does this 35-year CIA veteran know what happened at Roswell? Lee Speigel of the Huffington Post explains that, during Brandon’s final ten years with the CIA, he served as the first official liaison to the entertainment and publication industries. During this time, he claims he entered a vaulted room with restricted access at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia called the Historical Intelligence Collection. While looking around in this vault, Brandon saw a box with the word “Roswell” on it. He described to the Huffington Post, “I took the box down, lifted the lid up, rummaged around inside it, put the box back on the shelf and said, ‘My god, it really happened!’”
Although Brandon has no problem announcing that his extraterrestrial suspicions regarding the Roswell incident were validated by the contents of this mysterious vaulted CIA box, he says he will never divulge the identity of those contents because he is bound by the CIA’s secrecy agreement.
James Fox hints at new evidence related to the Roswell UFO crash
Jason McClellan
Jun 22, 2012
A team of investigators recently made some “interesting discoveries” at the alleged crash site of a UFO in 1947 near Roswell, New Mexico. During an interview on the web series Spacing Out!, filmmaker James Fox, who stars in the NatGeo television series Chasing UFOs, hinted that the Chasing UFOs team discovered a piece of metal while searching with metal detectors in the alleged debris field, where in 1947 rancher Mac Brazel told the Air Force he found pieces of a crashed object.
New Mexico Military Institute teacher Frank Kimbler also discovered metal fragments in this area in 2011. Initial tests on those fragments concluded that “either the lab made an analytical error or the material is not from Earth.”
Fox was not able to confirm whether or not the Chasing UFOs team did any lab tests on the metal sample they discovered. But the team did work with Kimbler during their investigation.
Chasing UFOs premieres on NatGeo on Friday, June 29. The Roswell episode airs Friday, July 13.
Watch the interview with James Fox below:
http://www.openminds.tv/category/articles/
http://www.openminds.tv/extraterrestrial-life-could-be-on-the-moons-of-mars-972/
Extraterrestrial life could be on the moons of Mars
Jason McClellan
Jul 03, 2012
The moons of Mars could provide evidence of life on the red planet. That’s according to Purdue University professor Dr. Jay Melosh.
The orbits of Martian moons and the spread of potential particle trajectories from an asteroid impact on Mars. (Credit: Purdue University/Loic Chappaz)
A press release published on June 28 details Melosh’s theory that “a mission to a Martian moon could return with alien life.” He explains that, if life ever existed on Mars, or even if it exists today, the moons of Mars would almost certainly contain Martian material delivered by debris from large asteroid impacts. And as io9.com explains, of the two Martian moons, Phobos is especially likely to contain these Martian particles.
Melosh led a team chosen by NASA’s Planetary Protection Office to determine if samples from Phobos contain enough recent material from Mars to include “viable Martian organisms.” Team member Loic Chappaz expounded, “It is estimated that during the past 10 million years there have been at least four large impact events powerful enough to launch material into space, and we focused on several large craters as possible points of origin. It turns out that no matter where Phobos is in its orbit, it would have captured material from these powerful impact events.”
The researchers concluded that:
A 200-gram sample scooped from the surface of Phobos could contain, on average, about one-tenth of a milligram of Mars surface material launched in the past 10 million years and 50 billion individual particles from Mars. The same sample could contain as much as 50 milligrams of Mars surface material from the past 3.5 billion years.
Special attention is paid to time frames, because, as team member Professor Kathleen Howell explains, “It is thought that after 10 million years of exposure to the high levels of radiation on Phobos, any biologically active material would be destroyed.” Howell added, “Even if we found no evidence of life in a sample from Phobos, it would not be a definitive answer to the question of whether or not there was life on Mars. There still may have been life that existed too long ago for us to detect it.”
As NASA reformulates its Mars Exploration Program, a future mission to Phobos is a possibility.
The team’s findings were presented at a joint NASA-European Space Agency meeting in Austria.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_d4uFAQ-wCI
Ryan Sprague is a UFO journalist and a contributing writer for Open Minds magazine. We talk with Ryan Sprague about computer hacking cases where hackers specifically sought information related to UFOs. We also talk about a study looking for signs of extraterrestrial life on Martian moons, a curious alleged alien skeleton, and other UFO and space news on this episode of Spacing Out!
http://www.openminds.tv/former-cia-agent-acknowledges-roswells-extraterrestrial-connection-975/
Former CIA agent acknowledges Roswell’s extraterrestrial connection
Jason McClellan
Jul 09, 2012
Roswell Daily Record - July 8th, 1947
The mysterious object that crashed near Roswell, New Mexico in July 1947 was extraterrestrial in origin. That is the claim former CIA official Charles ‘Chase’ Brandon made just days prior to the sixty-fifth anniversary of the Roswell UFO incident.
During a June 23 interview on the radio program Coast to Coast AM, Brandon asserted that “there was a craft from beyond this world that crashed at Roswell.” Although the military’s official explanation has transformed multiple times since the incident, top-secret listening devices attached to a high-altitude weather balloon is the basic explanation for what crashed near Roswell in 1947. But as Brandon told the Huffington Post, “It was not a damn weather balloon.”
Chase Brandon (credit: ChaseBrandon.com)
The military claims that crash test dummies explain reports of bodies recovered at the crash site in 1947. But during his Coast to Coast AM interview, Brandon also attested that “cadavers” were recovered.
How does this 35-year CIA veteran know what happened at Roswell? Lee Speigel of the Huffington Post explains that, during Brandon’s final ten years with the CIA, he served as the first official liaison to the entertainment and publication industries. During this time, he claims he entered a vaulted room with restricted access at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia called the Historical Intelligence Collection. While looking around in this vault, Brandon saw a box with the word “Roswell” on it. He described to the Huffington Post, “I took the box down, lifted the lid up, rummaged around inside it, put the box back on the shelf and said, ‘My god, it really happened!’”
Although Brandon has no problem announcing that his extraterrestrial suspicions regarding the Roswell incident were validated by the contents of this mysterious vaulted CIA box, he says he will never divulge the identity of those contents because he is bound by the CIA’s secrecy agreement.
James Fox hints at new evidence related to the Roswell UFO crash
Jason McClellan
Jun 22, 2012
A team of investigators recently made some “interesting discoveries” at the alleged crash site of a UFO in 1947 near Roswell, New Mexico. During an interview on the web series Spacing Out!, filmmaker James Fox, who stars in the NatGeo television series Chasing UFOs, hinted that the Chasing UFOs team discovered a piece of metal while searching with metal detectors in the alleged debris field, where in 1947 rancher Mac Brazel told the Air Force he found pieces of a crashed object.
New Mexico Military Institute teacher Frank Kimbler also discovered metal fragments in this area in 2011. Initial tests on those fragments concluded that “either the lab made an analytical error or the material is not from Earth.”
Fox was not able to confirm whether or not the Chasing UFOs team did any lab tests on the metal sample they discovered. But the team did work with Kimbler during their investigation.
Chasing UFOs premieres on NatGeo on Friday, June 29. The Roswell episode airs Friday, July 13.
Watch the interview with James Fox below:
Jack London The Road continued
Directed to another rail car to keep hiom warm
At Ames' Monument, at the summit of the Rockies, -- I forget the altitude, -- the shack came forward for the last time. "Say, Bo," he said, "you see that freight side-tracked over there to let us go by?" I saw. It was on the next track, six feet away. A few feet more in that storm and I could not have seen it. "Well, the 'after-push' of Kelly's Army is in one of them cars. They've got two feet of straw under them, and there's so many of them that they keep the car warm." His advice was good, and I followed it, prepared, however, if it was a "con game" the shack had given me, to take the blind as the overland pulled out. But it was straight goods. I found the car -- a big refrigerator car with the leeward door wide open for ventilation. Up I climbed and in. I stepped on a man's leg, next on some other man's arm. The light was dim, and all I could make out was arms and legs and bodies inextricably confused. Never was there such a tangle of humanity. They were all lying in the straw, and over, and under, and around one another. Eighty-four husky hoboes take up a lot of room when they are stretched out.
story telling debauch of 85 men
men I stepped on were resentful. Their bodies heaved under me like the waves of the sea, and imparted an involuntary forward movement to me. I could not find any straw to step upon, so I stepped upon more men. The resentment increased, so did my forward movement. I lost my footing and sat down with sharp abruptness. Unfortunately, it was on a man's head. The next moment he had risen on his hands and knees in wrath, and I was flying through the air. What goes up must come down, and I came down on another man's head. What happened after that is very vague in my memory. It was like going through a threshing-machine. I was bandied about from one end of the car to the other. Those eighty-four hoboes winnowed me out till what little was left of me, by some miracle, found a bit of straw to rest upon. I was initiated, and into a jolly crowd. All the rest of that day we rode through the blizzard, and to while the time away it was decided that each man was to tell a story. It was stipulated that each story must be a good one, and, furthermore, that it must be a story no one had ever heard before. The penalty for failure was the threshing-machine. Nobody failed. And I want to say right here that never in my life have I sat at-so marvellous a story-telling debauch. Here were eighty-four men from all the world -- I made eighty-five; and each man told a masterpiece. It had to be, for it was either masterpiece or threshing-machine.
Grand Island food and "we captured the train"
The blessed sun was shining over a smiling land, and we had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours. We found out that the freight would arrive about noon at a town, if I remember right, that was called Grand Island. We took up a collection and sent a telegram to the authorities of that town. The text of the message was that eighty-five healthy, hungry hoboes would arrive about noon and that it would be a good idea to have dinner ready for them. The authorities of Grand Island had two courses open to them. They could feed us, or they could throw us in jail. In the latter event they'd have to feed us anyway, and they decided wisely that one meal would be the cheaper way. When the freight rolled into Grand Island at noon, we were sitting on the tops of the cars and dangling our legs in the sunshine. All the police in the burg were on the reception committee. They marched us in squads to the various hotels and restaurants, where dinners were spread for us. We had been thirty-six hours without food, and we didn't have to be taught what to do. After that we were marched back to the railroad station. The police had thoughtfully compelled the freight to wait for us. She pulled out slowly, and the eighty-five of us, strung out along the track, swarmed up the side-ladders. We "captured" the train.
Omaha the Swede, "General Kelly" and the army of 2000 hoboes
As the freight pulled into Omaha, we made ready to do so. But the people of Omaha were also ready. The Swede and I hung upon the side-ladders, ready to drop off. But the freight did not stop. Furthermore, long rows of policemen, their brass buttons and stars glittering in the electric lights, were lined up on each side of the track. The Swede and I knew what would happen to us if we ever dropped off into their arms. We stuck by the side-ladders, and the train rolled on across the Missouri River to Council Bluffs. "General" Kelly, with an army of two thousand hoboes, lay in camp at Chautauqua Park, several miles away. The after-push we were with was General Kelly's rearguard, and, detraining at Council Bluffs, it started to march to camp. The night had turned cold, and heavy wind-squalls, accompanied by rain, were chilling
The itinerant saloon at Council Bluffs the roughest of nights
and wetting us. Many police were guarding us and herding us to the camp. The Swede and I watched our chance and made a successful get-away. The rain began coming down in torrents, and in the darkness, unable to see our hands in front of our faces, like a pair of blind men we fumbled about for shelter. Our instinct served us, for in no time we stumbled upon a saloon -- not a saloon that was open and doing business, not merely a saloon that was closed for the night, and not even a saloon with a permanent address, but a saloon propped up on big timbers, with rollers underneath, that was being moved from somewhere to somewhere. The doors were locked. A squall of wind and rain drove down upon us. We did not hesitate. Smash went the door, and in we went. I have made some tough camps in my time, "carried the banner" in infernal metropolises, bedded in pools of water, slept in the snow under two blankets when the spirit thermometer registered seventy-four degrees below zero (which is a mere trifle of one hundred and six degrees of frost); but I want to say right here that never did I make a tougher camp, pass a more miserable night, than that night I passed with the Swede in the itinerant saloon at Council Bluffs. In the first place, the building, perched up as it was in the air, had exposed a multitude of openings in the floor through which the wind whistled. In the second place, the bar was empty; there was no bottled fire-water with which we could warm ourselves and forget our misery. We had no blankets, and in our wet clothes, wet to the skin, we tried to sleep. I rolled under the bar, and the Swede rolled under the table.
Parting fronm the Swede
And there we shivered and prayed for daylight. I know, for one, that I shivered until I could shiver no more, till the shivering muscles exhausted themselves and merely ached horribly. The Swede moaned and groaned, and every little while, through chattering teeth, he muttered, "Never again; never again." He muttered this phrase repeatedly, ceaselessly, a thousand times; and when he dozed, he went on muttering it in his sleep. At the first gray of dawn we left our house of pain, and outside, found ourselves in a mist, dense and chill. We stumbled on till we came to the railroad track. I was going back to Omaha to throw my feet for breakfast; my companion was going on to Chicago. The moment for parting had come. Our palsied hands went out to each other. We were both shivering. When we tried to speak, our teeth chattered us back into silence. We stood alone, shut off from the world; all that we could see was a short length of railroad track, both ends of which were lost in the driving mist. We stared dumbly at each other, our clasped hands shaking sympathetically. The Swede's face was blue with the cold, and I know mine must have been. "Never again what?" I managed to articulate. Speech strove for utterance in the Swede's throat; then, faint and distant, in a thin whisper from the very bottom of his frozen soul, came the words:"Never again a hobo." He paused, and, as he went on again, his voice gathered strength and huskiness as it affirmed his will. "Never again a hobo. I'm going to get a job. You'd better do the same. Nights like this make rheumatism." He wrung my hand. "Good-by, Bo," said he. "Good-by, Bo," said I. The next we were swallowed up from each other by the mist. It was our final passing. But here's to you, Mr. Swede, wherever you are. I hope you got that job.
WANDERLUST
Every once in a while, in newspapers, magazines, and biographical dictionaries, I run upon sketches of my life, wherein, delicately phrased, I learn that it was in order to study sociology that I became a tramp. This is very nice and thoughtful of the biographers, but it is inaccurate. I became a tramp -- well, because of the life that was in me, of the wanderlust in my blood that would not let me rest. Sociology was merely incidental; it came afterward, in the same manner that a wet skin follows a ducking. I went on "The Road" because I couldn't keep away from it; because I hadn't the price of the railroad fare in my jeans; because I was so made that I couldn't work all my life on "one same shift"; because -- well, just because it was easier to than not to.
Wanderlust and reading Milton
It happened in my own town, in Oakland, when I was sixteen. At that time I had attained a dizzy reputation in my chosen circle of adventurers, by whom I was known as the Prince of the Oyster Pirates. It is true, those immediately outside my circle, such as honest bay-sailors, longshoremen, yachtsmen, and the legal owners of the oysters, called me "tough," "hoodlum," "smoudge," "thief," "robber," and various other not nice things -- all of which was complimentary and but served to increase the dizziness of the high place in which I sat. At that time I had not read " Paradise Lost, and later, when I read Milton's "Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven," I was fully convinced that great minds run in the same channels.
We sat up and looked at each other. The glorious west wind was pouring over us like wine. We both spat over the side and gauged the current. Now I contend that it was all the fault of that flood-tide and fair wind. They appealed to our sailor instinct. If it had not been for them, the whole chain of events that was to put me upon The Road would have broken down. We said no word, but cast off our moorings and hoisted sail. Our adventures up the Sacramento River are no part of this narrative. We subsequently made the city of Sacramento and tied up at a 'wharf. he water was fine, and we spent most of our time n swimming. On the sand-bar above the railroad bridge we fell in with a bunch of boys likewise in swimming.
New vernacular of the road kids
Between swims we lay on the bank and talked. hey talked differently from the fellows I had been used to herding with. It was a new vernacular. They were road-kids, and with every word they uttered the lure of The Road laid hold of me more imperiously. "When I was down in Alabama," one kid would begin; or, another, "Coming up on the C. & A. from K.C."; whereat, a third kid, "On the C. & A. there ain't no steps to the 'blinds."' And I would lie silently in the sand and listen. " It was at a little town in Ohio on the Lake Shore and Michigan Southern," a kid would start; and another, "Ever ride the Cannonball on the Wabash?"; and yet another, "Nope, but I've been on the White Mail out of Chicago." "Talk about railroadin' -- wait till you hit the Pennsylvania, four tracks, no water tanks, take water on the fly, that's goin' some." "The Northern Pacific's a bad road now." "Salinas is on the 'hog,' the 'bulls" is 'horstile.'" "I got 'pinched' at El Paso, along with Moke Kid." "Talkin' of 'poke- outs,' wait till you hit the French country out of Montreal -- not a word of English -- you say, 'Mongee,
New world of adventure to tackel
Madame, mongee, no spika da French,' an' rub your stomach an' look hungry, an' she gives you a slice of sow-belly an' a chunk of dry 'punk."' And I continued to lie in the sand and listen. These wanderers made my oyster-piracy look like thirty cents. A new world was calling to me in every word that was spoken -- a world of rods and gunnels, blind baggages and " side-door Pullmans ... .. bulls" and "shacks," "floppings" and "chewin's," "pinches" and "get-aways," "strong arms" and "bindle-stiffs," " punks" and "profesh." And it all spelled Adventure. Very well; I would tackle this new world. I "lined" myself up alongside those road-kids. I was just as strong as any of them, just as quick, just as nervy, and my brain was just as good.
begging the receiver as bad as the thief,worse.over the hill the Sierra Nevadas
After the swim, as evening came on, they dressed and went up town. I went along. The kids began "battering" the "main-stem" for "light pieces," or, in other words, begging for money on the main street. I had never begged in my life, and this was the hardest thing for me to stomach when I first went on The Road. I had absurd notions about begging. My philosophy, up to that time, was that it was finer to steal than to beg; and that robbery was finer still because the risk and the penalty were proportionately greater. As an oyster pirate I had already earned convictions at the hands of justice, which, if I had tried to serve them, would have required a thousand years in state's prison. To rob was manly; to beg was sordid and despicable. But I developed in the days to come all right, all right, till I came to look upon begging as a joyous prank, a game of wits, a nerve-exerciser. That first night, however, I couldn't rise to it; and the result was that when the kids were ready to go to a restaurant and eat, I wasn't. I was broke. Meeny Kid, I think it was, gave me the price, and we all ate together. But while I ate, I meditated. The receiver, it was said, was as bad as the thief; Meeny Kid had done the begging, and I was profiting by it. I decided that the receiver was a whole lot worse than the thief, and that it shouldn't happen again. And it didn't. I turned out next day and threw my feet as well as the next one. Nickey the Greek's ambition didn't run to The Road. He was not a success at throwing his feet, and he stowed away one night on a barge and went down river to San Francisco. I met him, only a week ago, at a pugilistic carnival. He has progressed. He sat in a place of honor at the ring-side. He is now a manager of prize-fighters and proud of it. In fact, in a small way, in local sportdom, he is quite a shining light. "No kid is a road-kid until he has gone over 'the hill'" -- such was the law of The Road I heard expounded in Sacramento. All right, I'd go over the hill and matriculate. "The hill," by the way, was the Sierra Nevadas. The whole gang was going over the hill on a jaunt, and of course I'd go along. It was French Kid's first adventure on The Road. He had just run away from his people in San Francisco. It was up to him and me to deliver the goods. In passing, I may remark that my old title of "Prince" had vanished. I had received my "monica."
The law of the road a way of life another world created by wanderlust"No kid is a road-kid until he has gone over 'the hill'" -- such was the law of The Road I heard expounded in Sacramento. All right, I'd go over the hill and matriculate. "The hill," by the way, was the Sierra Nevadas. The whole gang was going over the hill on a jaunt, and of course I'd go along. It was French Kid's first adventure on The Road. He had just run away from his people in San Francisco. It was up to him and me to deliver the goods. In passing, I may remark that my old title of "Prince" had vanished. I had received my "monica." I was now"Sailor Kid," later to be known as "'Frisco Kid," when I had put the Rockies between me and my native state. At 10.20 P.M. the Central Pacific overland pulled out of the depot at Sacramento for the East -- that particular item of time-table is indelibly engraved on my memory. There were about a dozen in our gang, and we strung out in the darkness ahead of the train ready to take her out. All the local road-kids that we knew came down to see us off -- also, to "ditch" us if they could. That was their idea of a joke, and there were only about forty of them to carry it out. Their ring-leader was a crackerjack road-kid named Bob. Sacramento was his home town, but he'd hit The Road pretty well everywhere over the whole country. He took French Kid and me aside and gave us advice something like this: "We're goin' to try an' ditch your bunch, see? Youse two are weak. The rest of the push can take care of itself. So, as soon as youse two nail a blind, deck her. An' stay on the decks till youse pass- Roseville junction, at which burg the constables are horstile, sloughin' in everybody on sight."
Stealing the hat of a Chinaman -initiation?
At last came the hat, the one hat in Sacramento for me. I knew it was a winner as soon as I looked at it. I glanced at Bob. He sent a sweeping look-about for police, then nodded his head. I lifted the hat from the Chinaman's head and pulled it down on my own. It was a perfect fit. Then I started. I heard Bob crying out, and I caught a glimpse of him blocking the irate Mongolian and tripping him up. I ran on. I turned up the next corner, and around the next. This street was not so crowded as K, and I walked along in quietude, catching my breath and congratulating myself upon my hat and my get-away. And then, suddenly, around the corner at my back, came the bare-headed Chinaman. With him were a couple more Chinamen, and at their heels were half a dozen men and boys. I sprinted to the next corner, crossed the street, and rounded the
following corner. I decided that I had surely played him out, and I dropped into a walk again. But around the corner at my heels came that persistent Mongolian. It was the old story of the hare and the tortoise. He could not run so fast as I, but he stayed with it, plodding along at a shambling and deceptive trot, and wasting much good breath in noisy imprecations. He called all Sacramento to witness the dishonor that had been done him, and a goodly portion of Sacramento heard and flocked at his heels. And I ran on like the hare, and ever that persistent Mongolian, with the increasing rabble, overhauled me. But finally, when a policeman had joined his following, I let out all my links. I twisted and turned, and I swear I ran at least twenty blocks on the straight away. And I never saw that Chinaman again. The hat was a dandy, a brand-new Stetson, just out of the shop, and it was the envy of the whole push. Furthermore, it was the symbol that I had delivered the goods. I wore it for over a year.
Vision of the Willows teh strong arm
I have strong upon me now a vision of what I once saw in "The Willows." The Willows was a clump of trees in a waste piece of land near the railway depot and not more than five minutes walk from the heart of Sacramento. It is night-time, and the scene is illumined by the thin light of stars. I see a husky laborer in the midst of a pack of road-kids. He is infuriated and cursing them, not a bit afraid,confident of his own strength. He weighs about one hundred and eighty pounds, and his muscles are hard; but he doesn't know what he is up against. The kids are snarling. It is not pretty. They make a rush from all sides, and he lashes out and whirls. Barber Kid is standing beside me. As the man whirls, Barber Kid leaps forward and does the trick. Into the man's back goes his knee; around the man's neck, from behind, passes his right hand, the bone of the wrist pressing against the jugular vein. Barber Kid throws his whole weight backward. It is a powerful leverage. Besides, the man's wind has been shut off. It is the strong arm.
so that he cannot kick and thresh about. They improve the opportunity by taking off the man's shoes. As for him, he has given in. He is beaten. Also, what of the strong arm at his throat, he is short of wind. He is making ugly choking noises, and the kids hurry. They really don't want to kill him. All is done. At a word all holds are released at once, and the kids scatter, one of them lugging the shoes -- he knows where he can get half a dollar for them. The man sits up and looks about him, dazed and helpless. Even if he wanted to, bare- footed pursuit in the darkness would be hopeless. I linger a moment and watch him. He is feeling at his throat, making dry, hawking noises, and jerking his head in a quaint way as though to assure himself that the neck is not dislocated. Then I slip away to join the push, and see that man no more -- though I shall always see him, sitting there in the starlight, somewhat dazed, a bit frightened, greatly dishevelled, and making quaint jerking movements of head and neck.
rolling a stiffDrunken men are the especial prey of the road-kids. Robbing a drunken man they call "rolling a stiff"; and wherever they are, they are on the constant lookout for drunks. The drunk is their particular meat, as the fly is the particular meat of the spider. The rolling of a stiff is oft-times an amusing sight, especially when the stiff is helpless and when interference is unlikely. At the first swoop the stiff's money and jewellery go. Then the kids sit around their victim in a sort of pow-wow. A kid generates a fancy for the stiff's necktie. Off it comes. Another kid is after underclothes. Off they come, and a knife quickly abbreviates arms and legs. Friendly hoboes may be called in to take the coat and trousers, which are too large for the kids. And in the end they depart, leaving beside the stiff the heap of their discarded rags.
THE WORLD PRIMEVAL
The man is drunk. He blunders across the opposite sidewalk and is lost in the darkness as he takes a short-cut through a vacant lot. No hunting cry is raised, but the pack flings itself forward in quick pursuit. In the middle of the vacant lot it comes upon him. But what is this? -- snarling and strange forms, small and dim and menacing, are between the pack and its prey. It is another pack of road-kids, and in the hostile pause we learn that it is their meat, that they have been trailing it a dozen blocks and more and that we are butting in. But it is the world primeval. These wolves are baby wolves. (As a matter of fact, I don't think one of them was over twelve or thirteen years of age. I met some of them afterward, and learned that they had just arrived that day over the hill, and that they hailed from Denver and Salt Lake City.) Our pack flings forward. The baby wolves squeal and screech and fight like little demons. All about the drunken man rages the struggle for the possession of him. Down he goes in the thick of it, and the combat rages over his body after the fashion of the Greeks and Trojans over the body and armor of a fallen hero. Amid cries and tears and wailings the baby wolves are dispossessed, and my pack rolls the stiff. But always I remember the poor stiff and his befuddled amazement at the abrupt eruption of battle in the vacant lot. I see him now, dim in the darkness, titubating in stupid wonder, good-naturedly essaying the role of peacemaker in that multitudinous scrap the significance of which he did not understand, and the really hurt expression on his face when he, unoffending he, was clutched at by many hands and dragged down in the thick of the press. "Bindle-stiffs" are favorite prey of the road-kids. A bindle-stiff is a working tramp. He takes his name from the roll of blankets he carries, which is known as a "bindle." Because he does work, a bindle-stiff is expected usually to have some small change about him, and it is after that small change that the road-kids go. The best hunting-ground for bindle-stiffs is in the sheds, barns, lumber-yards, railroad-yards, etc., on the edges of a city, and the time for hunting is the night, when the bindle-stiff seeks these places to roll up in his blankets and sleep.
"Gay-cats" also come to grief at the hands of the road-kids. In more familiar parlance, gay-cats are short-horns, chechaquos, new chums, or tenderfeet. A gay-cat is a newcomer on The Road who is man-grown, or, at least, youth-grown. A boy on The Road, on the other hand, no matter how green he is, is never a gay-cat; he is a road-kid or a "punk," and if he travels with a " profesh, " he is known possessively as a "prushun." I was never a prushun, for I did not take kindly to possession. I was first a road-kid and then a profesh. Because I started in young, I practically skipped my gay-cat apprenticeship. For a short period, during the time I was exchanging my 'Frisco Kid monica for that of Sailor Jack, I labored under the suspicion of being a gay-cat. But closer acquaintance on the part of those that suspected me quickly disabused their minds, and in -a short time I acquired the unmistakable airs and ear-marks of the blowed-in- the-glass profesh. And be it known, here and now, that the profesh are the aristocracy of The Road. They are the lords and masters, the aggressive men, the primordial noblemen, the blond beasts so beloved of Nietzsche. When I came back over the hill from Nevada, I found that some river pirate had stolen Dinny McCrea's boat. (A funny thing at this day is that I cannot remember what became of the skiff in which Nickey the Greek and I sailed from Oakland to Port Costa. I know that the constable didn't get it, and I know that it didn't go with us up the Sacramento River, and that is all I do know.) With the loss of Dinny McCrea's boat, I was pledged to The Road; and when I grew tired of Sacramento, I said good-by to the push (which, in its friendly way, tried to ditch me from a freight as I left town) and started on a passear down the valley of the San Joaquin. The Road had gripped me and would not let me go; and later, when I had voyaged to sea and done one thing and another, I returned to The Road to make longer flights, to be a "comet" and a profesh, and to plump into the bath of sociology that wet me to the skin.
Kelly's army
A "stiff" is a tramp. It was once my fortune to travel a few weeks with a "push" that numbered two thousand. This was known as "Kelly's Army." Across the wild and woolly West, clear from California, General Kelly and his heroes had captured trains; but they fell down when they crossed the Missouri and went up against the effete East. The East hadn't the slightest intention of giving free transportation to two thousand hoboes. Kelly's Army lay helplessly for some time at Council Bluffs. The day I joined it, made desperate by delay, it marched out to capture a train.
The Road (Kindle Locations 1422-1426).
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At Ames' Monument, at the summit of the Rockies, -- I forget the altitude, -- the shack came forward for the last time. "Say, Bo," he said, "you see that freight side-tracked over there to let us go by?" I saw. It was on the next track, six feet away. A few feet more in that storm and I could not have seen it. "Well, the 'after-push' of Kelly's Army is in one of them cars. They've got two feet of straw under them, and there's so many of them that they keep the car warm." His advice was good, and I followed it, prepared, however, if it was a "con game" the shack had given me, to take the blind as the overland pulled out. But it was straight goods. I found the car -- a big refrigerator car with the leeward door wide open for ventilation. Up I climbed and in. I stepped on a man's leg, next on some other man's arm. The light was dim, and all I could make out was arms and legs and bodies inextricably confused. Never was there such a tangle of humanity. They were all lying in the straw, and over, and under, and around one another. Eighty-four husky hoboes take up a lot of room when they are stretched out.
story telling debauch of 85 men
men I stepped on were resentful. Their bodies heaved under me like the waves of the sea, and imparted an involuntary forward movement to me. I could not find any straw to step upon, so I stepped upon more men. The resentment increased, so did my forward movement. I lost my footing and sat down with sharp abruptness. Unfortunately, it was on a man's head. The next moment he had risen on his hands and knees in wrath, and I was flying through the air. What goes up must come down, and I came down on another man's head. What happened after that is very vague in my memory. It was like going through a threshing-machine. I was bandied about from one end of the car to the other. Those eighty-four hoboes winnowed me out till what little was left of me, by some miracle, found a bit of straw to rest upon. I was initiated, and into a jolly crowd. All the rest of that day we rode through the blizzard, and to while the time away it was decided that each man was to tell a story. It was stipulated that each story must be a good one, and, furthermore, that it must be a story no one had ever heard before. The penalty for failure was the threshing-machine. Nobody failed. And I want to say right here that never in my life have I sat at-so marvellous a story-telling debauch. Here were eighty-four men from all the world -- I made eighty-five; and each man told a masterpiece. It had to be, for it was either masterpiece or threshing-machine.
Grand Island food and "we captured the train"
The blessed sun was shining over a smiling land, and we had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours. We found out that the freight would arrive about noon at a town, if I remember right, that was called Grand Island. We took up a collection and sent a telegram to the authorities of that town. The text of the message was that eighty-five healthy, hungry hoboes would arrive about noon and that it would be a good idea to have dinner ready for them. The authorities of Grand Island had two courses open to them. They could feed us, or they could throw us in jail. In the latter event they'd have to feed us anyway, and they decided wisely that one meal would be the cheaper way. When the freight rolled into Grand Island at noon, we were sitting on the tops of the cars and dangling our legs in the sunshine. All the police in the burg were on the reception committee. They marched us in squads to the various hotels and restaurants, where dinners were spread for us. We had been thirty-six hours without food, and we didn't have to be taught what to do. After that we were marched back to the railroad station. The police had thoughtfully compelled the freight to wait for us. She pulled out slowly, and the eighty-five of us, strung out along the track, swarmed up the side-ladders. We "captured" the train.
Omaha the Swede, "General Kelly" and the army of 2000 hoboes
As the freight pulled into Omaha, we made ready to do so. But the people of Omaha were also ready. The Swede and I hung upon the side-ladders, ready to drop off. But the freight did not stop. Furthermore, long rows of policemen, their brass buttons and stars glittering in the electric lights, were lined up on each side of the track. The Swede and I knew what would happen to us if we ever dropped off into their arms. We stuck by the side-ladders, and the train rolled on across the Missouri River to Council Bluffs. "General" Kelly, with an army of two thousand hoboes, lay in camp at Chautauqua Park, several miles away. The after-push we were with was General Kelly's rearguard, and, detraining at Council Bluffs, it started to march to camp. The night had turned cold, and heavy wind-squalls, accompanied by rain, were chilling
The itinerant saloon at Council Bluffs the roughest of nights
and wetting us. Many police were guarding us and herding us to the camp. The Swede and I watched our chance and made a successful get-away. The rain began coming down in torrents, and in the darkness, unable to see our hands in front of our faces, like a pair of blind men we fumbled about for shelter. Our instinct served us, for in no time we stumbled upon a saloon -- not a saloon that was open and doing business, not merely a saloon that was closed for the night, and not even a saloon with a permanent address, but a saloon propped up on big timbers, with rollers underneath, that was being moved from somewhere to somewhere. The doors were locked. A squall of wind and rain drove down upon us. We did not hesitate. Smash went the door, and in we went. I have made some tough camps in my time, "carried the banner" in infernal metropolises, bedded in pools of water, slept in the snow under two blankets when the spirit thermometer registered seventy-four degrees below zero (which is a mere trifle of one hundred and six degrees of frost); but I want to say right here that never did I make a tougher camp, pass a more miserable night, than that night I passed with the Swede in the itinerant saloon at Council Bluffs. In the first place, the building, perched up as it was in the air, had exposed a multitude of openings in the floor through which the wind whistled. In the second place, the bar was empty; there was no bottled fire-water with which we could warm ourselves and forget our misery. We had no blankets, and in our wet clothes, wet to the skin, we tried to sleep. I rolled under the bar, and the Swede rolled under the table.
Parting fronm the Swede
And there we shivered and prayed for daylight. I know, for one, that I shivered until I could shiver no more, till the shivering muscles exhausted themselves and merely ached horribly. The Swede moaned and groaned, and every little while, through chattering teeth, he muttered, "Never again; never again." He muttered this phrase repeatedly, ceaselessly, a thousand times; and when he dozed, he went on muttering it in his sleep. At the first gray of dawn we left our house of pain, and outside, found ourselves in a mist, dense and chill. We stumbled on till we came to the railroad track. I was going back to Omaha to throw my feet for breakfast; my companion was going on to Chicago. The moment for parting had come. Our palsied hands went out to each other. We were both shivering. When we tried to speak, our teeth chattered us back into silence. We stood alone, shut off from the world; all that we could see was a short length of railroad track, both ends of which were lost in the driving mist. We stared dumbly at each other, our clasped hands shaking sympathetically. The Swede's face was blue with the cold, and I know mine must have been. "Never again what?" I managed to articulate. Speech strove for utterance in the Swede's throat; then, faint and distant, in a thin whisper from the very bottom of his frozen soul, came the words:"Never again a hobo." He paused, and, as he went on again, his voice gathered strength and huskiness as it affirmed his will. "Never again a hobo. I'm going to get a job. You'd better do the same. Nights like this make rheumatism." He wrung my hand. "Good-by, Bo," said he. "Good-by, Bo," said I. The next we were swallowed up from each other by the mist. It was our final passing. But here's to you, Mr. Swede, wherever you are. I hope you got that job.
WANDERLUST
Every once in a while, in newspapers, magazines, and biographical dictionaries, I run upon sketches of my life, wherein, delicately phrased, I learn that it was in order to study sociology that I became a tramp. This is very nice and thoughtful of the biographers, but it is inaccurate. I became a tramp -- well, because of the life that was in me, of the wanderlust in my blood that would not let me rest. Sociology was merely incidental; it came afterward, in the same manner that a wet skin follows a ducking. I went on "The Road" because I couldn't keep away from it; because I hadn't the price of the railroad fare in my jeans; because I was so made that I couldn't work all my life on "one same shift"; because -- well, just because it was easier to than not to.
Wanderlust and reading Milton
It happened in my own town, in Oakland, when I was sixteen. At that time I had attained a dizzy reputation in my chosen circle of adventurers, by whom I was known as the Prince of the Oyster Pirates. It is true, those immediately outside my circle, such as honest bay-sailors, longshoremen, yachtsmen, and the legal owners of the oysters, called me "tough," "hoodlum," "smoudge," "thief," "robber," and various other not nice things -- all of which was complimentary and but served to increase the dizziness of the high place in which I sat. At that time I had not read " Paradise Lost, and later, when I read Milton's "Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven," I was fully convinced that great minds run in the same channels.
We sat up and looked at each other. The glorious west wind was pouring over us like wine. We both spat over the side and gauged the current. Now I contend that it was all the fault of that flood-tide and fair wind. They appealed to our sailor instinct. If it had not been for them, the whole chain of events that was to put me upon The Road would have broken down. We said no word, but cast off our moorings and hoisted sail. Our adventures up the Sacramento River are no part of this narrative. We subsequently made the city of Sacramento and tied up at a 'wharf. he water was fine, and we spent most of our time n swimming. On the sand-bar above the railroad bridge we fell in with a bunch of boys likewise in swimming.
New vernacular of the road kids
Between swims we lay on the bank and talked. hey talked differently from the fellows I had been used to herding with. It was a new vernacular. They were road-kids, and with every word they uttered the lure of The Road laid hold of me more imperiously. "When I was down in Alabama," one kid would begin; or, another, "Coming up on the C. & A. from K.C."; whereat, a third kid, "On the C. & A. there ain't no steps to the 'blinds."' And I would lie silently in the sand and listen. " It was at a little town in Ohio on the Lake Shore and Michigan Southern," a kid would start; and another, "Ever ride the Cannonball on the Wabash?"; and yet another, "Nope, but I've been on the White Mail out of Chicago." "Talk about railroadin' -- wait till you hit the Pennsylvania, four tracks, no water tanks, take water on the fly, that's goin' some." "The Northern Pacific's a bad road now." "Salinas is on the 'hog,' the 'bulls" is 'horstile.'" "I got 'pinched' at El Paso, along with Moke Kid." "Talkin' of 'poke- outs,' wait till you hit the French country out of Montreal -- not a word of English -- you say, 'Mongee,
New world of adventure to tackel
Madame, mongee, no spika da French,' an' rub your stomach an' look hungry, an' she gives you a slice of sow-belly an' a chunk of dry 'punk."' And I continued to lie in the sand and listen. These wanderers made my oyster-piracy look like thirty cents. A new world was calling to me in every word that was spoken -- a world of rods and gunnels, blind baggages and " side-door Pullmans ... .. bulls" and "shacks," "floppings" and "chewin's," "pinches" and "get-aways," "strong arms" and "bindle-stiffs," " punks" and "profesh." And it all spelled Adventure. Very well; I would tackle this new world. I "lined" myself up alongside those road-kids. I was just as strong as any of them, just as quick, just as nervy, and my brain was just as good.
begging the receiver as bad as the thief,worse.over the hill the Sierra Nevadas
After the swim, as evening came on, they dressed and went up town. I went along. The kids began "battering" the "main-stem" for "light pieces," or, in other words, begging for money on the main street. I had never begged in my life, and this was the hardest thing for me to stomach when I first went on The Road. I had absurd notions about begging. My philosophy, up to that time, was that it was finer to steal than to beg; and that robbery was finer still because the risk and the penalty were proportionately greater. As an oyster pirate I had already earned convictions at the hands of justice, which, if I had tried to serve them, would have required a thousand years in state's prison. To rob was manly; to beg was sordid and despicable. But I developed in the days to come all right, all right, till I came to look upon begging as a joyous prank, a game of wits, a nerve-exerciser. That first night, however, I couldn't rise to it; and the result was that when the kids were ready to go to a restaurant and eat, I wasn't. I was broke. Meeny Kid, I think it was, gave me the price, and we all ate together. But while I ate, I meditated. The receiver, it was said, was as bad as the thief; Meeny Kid had done the begging, and I was profiting by it. I decided that the receiver was a whole lot worse than the thief, and that it shouldn't happen again. And it didn't. I turned out next day and threw my feet as well as the next one. Nickey the Greek's ambition didn't run to The Road. He was not a success at throwing his feet, and he stowed away one night on a barge and went down river to San Francisco. I met him, only a week ago, at a pugilistic carnival. He has progressed. He sat in a place of honor at the ring-side. He is now a manager of prize-fighters and proud of it. In fact, in a small way, in local sportdom, he is quite a shining light. "No kid is a road-kid until he has gone over 'the hill'" -- such was the law of The Road I heard expounded in Sacramento. All right, I'd go over the hill and matriculate. "The hill," by the way, was the Sierra Nevadas. The whole gang was going over the hill on a jaunt, and of course I'd go along. It was French Kid's first adventure on The Road. He had just run away from his people in San Francisco. It was up to him and me to deliver the goods. In passing, I may remark that my old title of "Prince" had vanished. I had received my "monica."
The law of the road a way of life another world created by wanderlust"No kid is a road-kid until he has gone over 'the hill'" -- such was the law of The Road I heard expounded in Sacramento. All right, I'd go over the hill and matriculate. "The hill," by the way, was the Sierra Nevadas. The whole gang was going over the hill on a jaunt, and of course I'd go along. It was French Kid's first adventure on The Road. He had just run away from his people in San Francisco. It was up to him and me to deliver the goods. In passing, I may remark that my old title of "Prince" had vanished. I had received my "monica." I was now"Sailor Kid," later to be known as "'Frisco Kid," when I had put the Rockies between me and my native state. At 10.20 P.M. the Central Pacific overland pulled out of the depot at Sacramento for the East -- that particular item of time-table is indelibly engraved on my memory. There were about a dozen in our gang, and we strung out in the darkness ahead of the train ready to take her out. All the local road-kids that we knew came down to see us off -- also, to "ditch" us if they could. That was their idea of a joke, and there were only about forty of them to carry it out. Their ring-leader was a crackerjack road-kid named Bob. Sacramento was his home town, but he'd hit The Road pretty well everywhere over the whole country. He took French Kid and me aside and gave us advice something like this: "We're goin' to try an' ditch your bunch, see? Youse two are weak. The rest of the push can take care of itself. So, as soon as youse two nail a blind, deck her. An' stay on the decks till youse pass- Roseville junction, at which burg the constables are horstile, sloughin' in everybody on sight."
Stealing the hat of a Chinaman -initiation?
At last came the hat, the one hat in Sacramento for me. I knew it was a winner as soon as I looked at it. I glanced at Bob. He sent a sweeping look-about for police, then nodded his head. I lifted the hat from the Chinaman's head and pulled it down on my own. It was a perfect fit. Then I started. I heard Bob crying out, and I caught a glimpse of him blocking the irate Mongolian and tripping him up. I ran on. I turned up the next corner, and around the next. This street was not so crowded as K, and I walked along in quietude, catching my breath and congratulating myself upon my hat and my get-away. And then, suddenly, around the corner at my back, came the bare-headed Chinaman. With him were a couple more Chinamen, and at their heels were half a dozen men and boys. I sprinted to the next corner, crossed the street, and rounded the
following corner. I decided that I had surely played him out, and I dropped into a walk again. But around the corner at my heels came that persistent Mongolian. It was the old story of the hare and the tortoise. He could not run so fast as I, but he stayed with it, plodding along at a shambling and deceptive trot, and wasting much good breath in noisy imprecations. He called all Sacramento to witness the dishonor that had been done him, and a goodly portion of Sacramento heard and flocked at his heels. And I ran on like the hare, and ever that persistent Mongolian, with the increasing rabble, overhauled me. But finally, when a policeman had joined his following, I let out all my links. I twisted and turned, and I swear I ran at least twenty blocks on the straight away. And I never saw that Chinaman again. The hat was a dandy, a brand-new Stetson, just out of the shop, and it was the envy of the whole push. Furthermore, it was the symbol that I had delivered the goods. I wore it for over a year.
Vision of the Willows teh strong arm
I have strong upon me now a vision of what I once saw in "The Willows." The Willows was a clump of trees in a waste piece of land near the railway depot and not more than five minutes walk from the heart of Sacramento. It is night-time, and the scene is illumined by the thin light of stars. I see a husky laborer in the midst of a pack of road-kids. He is infuriated and cursing them, not a bit afraid,confident of his own strength. He weighs about one hundred and eighty pounds, and his muscles are hard; but he doesn't know what he is up against. The kids are snarling. It is not pretty. They make a rush from all sides, and he lashes out and whirls. Barber Kid is standing beside me. As the man whirls, Barber Kid leaps forward and does the trick. Into the man's back goes his knee; around the man's neck, from behind, passes his right hand, the bone of the wrist pressing against the jugular vein. Barber Kid throws his whole weight backward. It is a powerful leverage. Besides, the man's wind has been shut off. It is the strong arm.
so that he cannot kick and thresh about. They improve the opportunity by taking off the man's shoes. As for him, he has given in. He is beaten. Also, what of the strong arm at his throat, he is short of wind. He is making ugly choking noises, and the kids hurry. They really don't want to kill him. All is done. At a word all holds are released at once, and the kids scatter, one of them lugging the shoes -- he knows where he can get half a dollar for them. The man sits up and looks about him, dazed and helpless. Even if he wanted to, bare- footed pursuit in the darkness would be hopeless. I linger a moment and watch him. He is feeling at his throat, making dry, hawking noises, and jerking his head in a quaint way as though to assure himself that the neck is not dislocated. Then I slip away to join the push, and see that man no more -- though I shall always see him, sitting there in the starlight, somewhat dazed, a bit frightened, greatly dishevelled, and making quaint jerking movements of head and neck.
rolling a stiffDrunken men are the especial prey of the road-kids. Robbing a drunken man they call "rolling a stiff"; and wherever they are, they are on the constant lookout for drunks. The drunk is their particular meat, as the fly is the particular meat of the spider. The rolling of a stiff is oft-times an amusing sight, especially when the stiff is helpless and when interference is unlikely. At the first swoop the stiff's money and jewellery go. Then the kids sit around their victim in a sort of pow-wow. A kid generates a fancy for the stiff's necktie. Off it comes. Another kid is after underclothes. Off they come, and a knife quickly abbreviates arms and legs. Friendly hoboes may be called in to take the coat and trousers, which are too large for the kids. And in the end they depart, leaving beside the stiff the heap of their discarded rags.
THE WORLD PRIMEVAL
The man is drunk. He blunders across the opposite sidewalk and is lost in the darkness as he takes a short-cut through a vacant lot. No hunting cry is raised, but the pack flings itself forward in quick pursuit. In the middle of the vacant lot it comes upon him. But what is this? -- snarling and strange forms, small and dim and menacing, are between the pack and its prey. It is another pack of road-kids, and in the hostile pause we learn that it is their meat, that they have been trailing it a dozen blocks and more and that we are butting in. But it is the world primeval. These wolves are baby wolves. (As a matter of fact, I don't think one of them was over twelve or thirteen years of age. I met some of them afterward, and learned that they had just arrived that day over the hill, and that they hailed from Denver and Salt Lake City.) Our pack flings forward. The baby wolves squeal and screech and fight like little demons. All about the drunken man rages the struggle for the possession of him. Down he goes in the thick of it, and the combat rages over his body after the fashion of the Greeks and Trojans over the body and armor of a fallen hero. Amid cries and tears and wailings the baby wolves are dispossessed, and my pack rolls the stiff. But always I remember the poor stiff and his befuddled amazement at the abrupt eruption of battle in the vacant lot. I see him now, dim in the darkness, titubating in stupid wonder, good-naturedly essaying the role of peacemaker in that multitudinous scrap the significance of which he did not understand, and the really hurt expression on his face when he, unoffending he, was clutched at by many hands and dragged down in the thick of the press. "Bindle-stiffs" are favorite prey of the road-kids. A bindle-stiff is a working tramp. He takes his name from the roll of blankets he carries, which is known as a "bindle." Because he does work, a bindle-stiff is expected usually to have some small change about him, and it is after that small change that the road-kids go. The best hunting-ground for bindle-stiffs is in the sheds, barns, lumber-yards, railroad-yards, etc., on the edges of a city, and the time for hunting is the night, when the bindle-stiff seeks these places to roll up in his blankets and sleep.
"Gay-cats" also come to grief at the hands of the road-kids. In more familiar parlance, gay-cats are short-horns, chechaquos, new chums, or tenderfeet. A gay-cat is a newcomer on The Road who is man-grown, or, at least, youth-grown. A boy on The Road, on the other hand, no matter how green he is, is never a gay-cat; he is a road-kid or a "punk," and if he travels with a " profesh, " he is known possessively as a "prushun." I was never a prushun, for I did not take kindly to possession. I was first a road-kid and then a profesh. Because I started in young, I practically skipped my gay-cat apprenticeship. For a short period, during the time I was exchanging my 'Frisco Kid monica for that of Sailor Jack, I labored under the suspicion of being a gay-cat. But closer acquaintance on the part of those that suspected me quickly disabused their minds, and in -a short time I acquired the unmistakable airs and ear-marks of the blowed-in- the-glass profesh. And be it known, here and now, that the profesh are the aristocracy of The Road. They are the lords and masters, the aggressive men, the primordial noblemen, the blond beasts so beloved of Nietzsche. When I came back over the hill from Nevada, I found that some river pirate had stolen Dinny McCrea's boat. (A funny thing at this day is that I cannot remember what became of the skiff in which Nickey the Greek and I sailed from Oakland to Port Costa. I know that the constable didn't get it, and I know that it didn't go with us up the Sacramento River, and that is all I do know.) With the loss of Dinny McCrea's boat, I was pledged to The Road; and when I grew tired of Sacramento, I said good-by to the push (which, in its friendly way, tried to ditch me from a freight as I left town) and started on a passear down the valley of the San Joaquin. The Road had gripped me and would not let me go; and later, when I had voyaged to sea and done one thing and another, I returned to The Road to make longer flights, to be a "comet" and a profesh, and to plump into the bath of sociology that wet me to the skin.
Kelly's army
A "stiff" is a tramp. It was once my fortune to travel a few weeks with a "push" that numbered two thousand. This was known as "Kelly's Army." Across the wild and woolly West, clear from California, General Kelly and his heroes had captured trains; but they fell down when they crossed the Missouri and went up against the effete East. The East hadn't the slightest intention of giving free transportation to two thousand hoboes. Kelly's Army lay helplessly for some time at Council Bluffs. The day I joined it, made desperate by delay, it marched out to capture a train.
The Road (Kindle Locations 1422-1426).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1421-1422).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1414-1421).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1407-1414).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1400-1407).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1392-1400).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1385-1390).
The Road (Kindle Location 1385).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1378-1385).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1371-1375).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1368-1371).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1357-1364).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1351-1357).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1315-1322).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1311-1315).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1308-1314).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1300-1308).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1298-1300).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1293-1298).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1286-1293).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1281-1286).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1239-1244).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1238-1239).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1234-1238).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1230-1233).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1221-1230).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1208-1220).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1203-1208).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1189-1198).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1177-1186).
The Road (Kindle Locations 1169-1177).
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Best films of 1945
http://wondersinthedark.wordpress.com/2012/07/01/1945-best-picture-best-director-best-short-best-actor-best-actress-best-supp-actor-best-supp-actress-best-score-results/
Best Picture/Director
—1945 – Best Picture, Best Director, Best Short, Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Supp Actor, Best Supp Actress, Best Score – RESULTS
July 1, 2012 by wondersinthedark
Best Picture/Director
Angel on My Shoulder (US…Archie Mayo)
Anna and the King of Siam (US…John Cromwell)
Bad Eggs (Sweden…Arne Mattson)
La Belle et la Bête (France…Jean Cocteau)
The Best Years of Our Lives (US…William Wyler)
The Big Sleep (US…Howard Hawks)
The Blue Dahlia (US…George Marshall)
Canyon Passage (US…Jacques Tourneur)
The Captive Heart (UK…Basil Dearden)
The Chase (US…Arthur Ripley)
Children of the Earth (India…Khwaja Ahmad Abbas)
A Christmas Dream (Czechoslovakia…Karel Zeman)
Cluny Brown (US…Ernst Lubitsch)
Cross of Love (Finland…Teuvo Tulio)
The Dark Corner (US…Henry Hathaway)
The Dark Mirror (US…Robert Siodmak)
Deception (US…Irving Rapper)
Decoy (US…Jack Bernhard)
The Diary of a Chambermaid (US…Jean Renoir)
Ditte Menneskebarn (Denmark…Bjarne Henning-Jansen)
Dreams That Money Can Buy (US…Hans Richter, Man Ray)
Duel in the Sun (US…King Vidor, William Dieterle)
Enamorada (Mexico…Emilio Fernandez)
Five Women Around Utamaro (Japan…Kenji Mizoguchi)
La Foire aux Chimères (France…Pierre Chenal)
From This Day Forward (US…John Berry)
Gilda (US…Charles Vidor)
Great Expectations (UK…David Lean)
Green for Danger (UK…Sidney Gilliat)
Hue and Cry (UK…Charles Crichton)
Humoresque (US…Jean Negulesco)
I See a Dark Stranger (UK…Frank Launder)
L’Idiot (France…Georges Lampin)
Iris and the Lieutenant (Sweden…Alf Sjöberg)
It’s a Wonderful Life (US…Frank Capra)
Ivan the Terrible Part Two: The Boyars Plot (USSR…Sergei M.Eisenstein)
The Jolson Story (US…Charles Vidor, Joseph H.Lewis)
The Killers (US…Robert Siodmak)
Land of Promise (UK…Paul Rotha)
Let There be Light (US…John Huston)
London Town (UK…Wesley Ruggles)
Macadam (France…Jacques Feyder, Marcel Blistène)
Margie (US…Henry King)
A Matter of Life and Death (UK…Michael Powell)
My Darling Clementine: Special Edition (US (1994)…John Ford)
A Night in Casablanca (US…Archie Mayo)
No Regrets for Our Youth (Japan…Akira Kurosawa)
Nobody Lives Forever (US…Joseph L.Mankiewicz)
Notorious (US…Alfred Hitchcock)
The Outlaw (US…Howard Hughes)
Paisà (Italy…Roberto Rossellini)
Les Portes de la Nuit (France…Marcel Carné)
The Postman Always Rings Twice (US…Tay Garnett)
Restless Blood (Finland…Teuvo Tulio)
Un Revenant (France…Christian-Jaque)
Shoeshine (Italy…Vittorio de Sica)
So Dark the Night (US…Joseph H.Lewis)
The Spiral Staircase (US…Robert Siodmak)
Strange Impersonation (US…Anthony Mann)
The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (US…Lewis Milestone)
The Stranger (US…Orson Welles)
La Symphonie Pastorale (France…Jean Delannoy)
Theirs is the Glory (UK…Brian Desmond-Hurst, Terence Young)
To Each His Own (US…Mitchell Leisen)
The Yearling (US…Clarence Brown)
Best Picture/Director
—1945 – Best Picture, Best Director, Best Short, Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Supp Actor, Best Supp Actress, Best Score – RESULTS
July 1, 2012 by wondersinthedark
Best Picture/Director
Angel on My Shoulder (US…Archie Mayo)
Anna and the King of Siam (US…John Cromwell)
Bad Eggs (Sweden…Arne Mattson)
La Belle et la Bête (France…Jean Cocteau)
The Best Years of Our Lives (US…William Wyler)
The Big Sleep (US…Howard Hawks)
The Blue Dahlia (US…George Marshall)
Canyon Passage (US…Jacques Tourneur)
The Captive Heart (UK…Basil Dearden)
The Chase (US…Arthur Ripley)
Children of the Earth (India…Khwaja Ahmad Abbas)
A Christmas Dream (Czechoslovakia…Karel Zeman)
Cluny Brown (US…Ernst Lubitsch)
Cross of Love (Finland…Teuvo Tulio)
The Dark Corner (US…Henry Hathaway)
The Dark Mirror (US…Robert Siodmak)
Deception (US…Irving Rapper)
Decoy (US…Jack Bernhard)
The Diary of a Chambermaid (US…Jean Renoir)
Ditte Menneskebarn (Denmark…Bjarne Henning-Jansen)
Dreams That Money Can Buy (US…Hans Richter, Man Ray)
Duel in the Sun (US…King Vidor, William Dieterle)
Enamorada (Mexico…Emilio Fernandez)
Five Women Around Utamaro (Japan…Kenji Mizoguchi)
La Foire aux Chimères (France…Pierre Chenal)
From This Day Forward (US…John Berry)
Gilda (US…Charles Vidor)
Great Expectations (UK…David Lean)
Green for Danger (UK…Sidney Gilliat)
Hue and Cry (UK…Charles Crichton)
Humoresque (US…Jean Negulesco)
I See a Dark Stranger (UK…Frank Launder)
L’Idiot (France…Georges Lampin)
Iris and the Lieutenant (Sweden…Alf Sjöberg)
It’s a Wonderful Life (US…Frank Capra)
Ivan the Terrible Part Two: The Boyars Plot (USSR…Sergei M.Eisenstein)
The Jolson Story (US…Charles Vidor, Joseph H.Lewis)
The Killers (US…Robert Siodmak)
Land of Promise (UK…Paul Rotha)
Let There be Light (US…John Huston)
London Town (UK…Wesley Ruggles)
Macadam (France…Jacques Feyder, Marcel Blistène)
Margie (US…Henry King)
A Matter of Life and Death (UK…Michael Powell)
My Darling Clementine: Special Edition (US (1994)…John Ford)
A Night in Casablanca (US…Archie Mayo)
No Regrets for Our Youth (Japan…Akira Kurosawa)
Nobody Lives Forever (US…Joseph L.Mankiewicz)
Notorious (US…Alfred Hitchcock)
The Outlaw (US…Howard Hughes)
Paisà (Italy…Roberto Rossellini)
Les Portes de la Nuit (France…Marcel Carné)
The Postman Always Rings Twice (US…Tay Garnett)
Restless Blood (Finland…Teuvo Tulio)
Un Revenant (France…Christian-Jaque)
Shoeshine (Italy…Vittorio de Sica)
So Dark the Night (US…Joseph H.Lewis)
The Spiral Staircase (US…Robert Siodmak)
Strange Impersonation (US…Anthony Mann)
The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (US…Lewis Milestone)
The Stranger (US…Orson Welles)
La Symphonie Pastorale (France…Jean Delannoy)
Theirs is the Glory (UK…Brian Desmond-Hurst, Terence Young)
To Each His Own (US…Mitchell Leisen)
The Yearling (US…Clarence Brown)
The Chain of Transmission
Chapter 1: Mishna 1: Part 1
Moshe received the Torah from Sinai and transmitted it to Yehoshua; Yehoshua to the Elders; the Elders to the Prophets; and the Prophets transmitted it to the Anshei Knesset HaGedolah (Members of the Great Assembly). They made three statements (taught three things): Be deliberate (patient and restrained) in judgment; establish a large cadre of disciples; and construct a boundary around the Torah.
The following problems (textual and logical) exist in this Mishnah.
What is the relevance of the chain of Torah transmission to this tractate specifically? We don't find such an introduction in any other tractate. Ironically, this tractate appears to be simply instructions of ethical discipline, rather than an integral part of the Torah which was received at Sinai. Why is the chain of tradition enumerated specifically at the beginning of the tractate?
The Tanna should have written "Moshe received the Torah from the Almighty...". What is the meaning that he received it from Sinai?
The Mishna opens with Moshe receiving the Torah, and continues with Moshe transmitting the Torah (to Yehoshua), and the Prophets transmitting the Torah. Why didn't the Mishnah continue with each subsequent link receiving it? And then from Mishnah 3, the Tanna reverts back to the language of receiving, when he lists Antignus Ish Socho, followed by the various pairs, each receiving for their predecessors.
The phrase "mesirah," transmitted, is mentioned from Moshe to Yeshoshua, but is not repeated with Yehoshua's transmission to the Elders, nor the Elders to the Prophets. It then reappears for the Prophets transmission to the Anshei Knesset Hagedolah. What is the significance of that?
It is clear that the Elders to whom Yehoshua transmitted the Torah weren't the same Elders who transmitted it to the Prophets, because the original Elders didn't live all the way to the time of Shmuel, the first Prophet. Rather the Elders who received it from Yehoshua transmitted it to other Elders who eventually transmitted it to the Prophets. So the Mishna should have more precisely written "Yehoshua (transmitted it) to the Elders, the Elders to Elders, and (those) Elders to the Prophets". Why was the transmission among the Elders not distinguished separately, yet a separate transmission to the Prophets was distinguished?
Moreover, since Torah knowledge is not a function of prophecy (but of wisdom and scholarship), there should be no distinction between Prophets and Elders. Had the Elders who received it from Yehoshua been the ones to actually transmit to the Prophets, it would be justified to list the Prophets as a link in the chain of tradition. But since there were transmissions from one group of Elders to other Elders, and there were also transmissions from one group of Prophets to other Prophets until it was transmitted to the Anshei Knesset Hagedolah, all of these transmissions should have been listed as one transmission from Yehoshua to Elders, and then Elders to the Anshei Knesset HaGedolah. What is the significance of the two groups, Elders and Prophets, in the transmission process?
Why weren't the Kings, like David and Solomon, also considered a separate group, with the Elders transmitting it to the Kings?
Why don't we find any specific teachings mentioned from the transmissions to the Elders or the Prophets? Only from the transmission to the Anshei Knesset HaGedolah do we find that they taught three things.
The opening of this tractate with the chain of Torah transmission has to do with both the tractate's name, Avoth, and its topic, "Musar" (ethical discipline).
It is written in Mishle (1:8) "Hark my son to the discipline of your father, and don't abandon the teachings of your mother." Parents, who bring life to their children, are especially suited to discipline and educate them, due to their greater maturity and experience. The father plays the major role in the discipline. Since this tractate discusses ethical disciplines, it opens with the true "fathers", those who bring real life -- Torah - - to the world: Moshe, Yehoshua, the Elders, the Prophets, the Anshei Knesset HaGedola, and the Tana'im. As they are true fathers, it behooves us to accept moral disciplines from them. In fact, this is why the Tractate itself is called "Avoth" (literally "fathers").
Moshe's receiving of the Torah from G-d had a unique quality to it, due to its happening in a designated place, Sinai. A true "receiving" requires the full intention to give on the part of the giver, demonstrated by designating a place for the receiving. Emphasizing that Moshe received the Torah "from Sinai" (not even saying that he received it "from G-d at Sinai") shows how integral the place (Sinai) was in the process of Moshe receiving the Torah, making it completely premeditated.
Another reason why the Tanna didn't write "Moshe received the Torah from G-d..." is because that would have implied that G-d's ability to transmit the Torah was related to Moshe's ability to receive it, the way a teacher's ability to transmit Torah is related to the student's readiness and ability to receive it. On a human level, a true "Rav and Talmid" relationship does not happen easily, as not every student succeeds in learning from every teacher. (This is true, despite our desire to fulfill what we will learn in Ch. 4 Mishna 1, that a true wise man is one who learns from everyone. More when we get to it.) It requires a specific teacher who has the desire and ability to teach, giving to a specific student who has the desire and ability to learn from this teacher . When this happens, a special relationship is created by this bilateral affinity, binding the two together in a unique way. This special relationship existed between Yehoshua and the Elders, where Yehoshua had the unique ability to teach Torah (specifically) to the Elders, and they had the unique ability to learn it (specifically) from Yehoshua. The additional chains of tradition had that same unique bilateral relationship. G-d, however, had no limitation in His ability to teach the Torah, and His educative powers didn't require Moshe or any specific student to enable Him to teach His Torah, as long as the student was worthy. In fact it is G-d who is enlightening all of us with Torah on an ongoing basis, as we pray every day "Vha'er eineinu b'toratecha." To have written that "Moshe received the Torah from G-d" would have implied that G-d's ability to transmit Torah was somehow limited specifically to Moshe as the receiver, something which certainly was not true.
Additionally, whenever a Rav teaches Torah to a Talmid, and a Talmid learns Torah from the Rav, this creates an ongoing bond between them. But saying that Moshe received the Torah from G-d would imply that Moshe was able to create this kind of ongoing bond with G-d, which is not respectful to the Almighty. Even though it does say in the Torah (Exodus 31) that G-d gave Moshe the Luchot HaEidut, the two "Tablets of Testimony," and in numerous places "And G-d spoke to Moshe to say...", these were specific communiques, and doesn't imply the ongoing bond of a Rav to a Talmid.
At Sinai, the process of communication was one where G-d appeared to be speaking "to Himself" and it was Moshe's responsibility to strive to receive the Torah. The perception was as if Moshe was receiving the Torah "from Sinai" since G-d was not required to interact with Moshe in the way a normal Rav must interact with his student.
The difference between "kibeil", which is the verb used to describe the process of Moshe's receiving the Torah, and "mesirah" which is the verb used for how the Torah was transmitted from him to Yehoshua and further, is as follows. "Moshe Kibeil" implies that the quality of what was received was completely dependent on Moshe, who received it to the maximum of human ability. The transmission process was perfect, as it was done by G-d, and any deficiency in what was received was due to Moshe limitations. Moshe was then able to transmit -- mesarah -- all he had received to Yehoshua, and Yehoshua was able to completely receive this and completely transmit all that he received to the Elders, who received it as it was transmitted to them, further tramsmitting it completely to the Prohets. But from the Anshei Knesset Hagedolah, which takes us in to the Second Temple Period, the quality of transmission deteriorated.
We have left a few elements hanging, which lead us in to the second half of the Mishna, with the three statements that are taught. We will pick this up next class.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Joseph of Arimathea
http://www.britannia.com/history/biographies/joseph.html
Joseph of Arimathea
.......................................................................
Joseph of Arimathea was a wealthy disciple of Jesus, who, according to the book of Matthew 27:57-60, asked Pontius Pilate for permission to take Jesus' dead body in order to prepare it for burial. He also provided the tomb where the crucified Lord was laid until his Resurrection. Joseph is mentioned in a few times in parallel passages in Mark, Luke and John, but nothing further is heard about his later activities.
Apocryphal legend, however, supplies us with the rest of his story by claiming that Joseph accompanied the Apostle Philip, Lazarus, Mary Magdalene & others on a preaching mission to Gaul. Lazarus & Mary stayed in Marseilles, while the others travelled north. At the English Channel, St.Philip sent Joseph, with twelve disciples, to establish Christianity in the most far-flung corner of the Roman Empire: the Island of Britain. The year AD 63 is commonly given for this "event", with AD 37 sometimes being put forth as an alternative. It was said that Joseph achieved his wealth in the metals trade, and in the course of conducting his business, he probably became acquainted with Britain, at least the south-western parts of it. Cornwall was a chief mining district and well-known in the Roman empire for its tin. Somerset was reknowned for its high quality lead. Some have even said that Joseph was the uncle of the Virgin Mary and therefore of Jesus, and that he may have brought the young boy along on one of his business trips to the island. Hence the words of Blake's famous hymn, Jerusalem:
And did those feet, in ancient time,
Walk upon England's mountains green?
It was only natural, then, that Joseph should have been chosen for the first mission to Britain, and appropriate that he should come first to Glastonbury, that gravitational center for legendary activity in the West Country. Local legend has it that Joseph sailed around Land's End and headed for his old lead mining haunts. Here his boat ran ashore in the Glastonbury Marshes and, together with his followers, he climbed a nearby hill to survey the surrounding land. Having brought with him a staff grown from Christ's Holy Crown of Thorns, he thrust it into the ground and announced that he and his twelve companions were "Weary All". The thorn staff immediately took miraculous root, and it can be seen there still on Wearyall Hill. Joseph met with the local ruler, Arviragus, and soon secured himself twelve hides of land at Glastonbury on which to build the first monastery in Britain. From here he became the country's evangelist.
http://www.britannia.com/history/biographies/arvirag.html
Arviragus
..............................................................
A personage who has come to our attention in the writings of Juvenal, who mentions him in connection with resistance to Roman conquest and authority. Geoffrey of Monmouth refers to him as a British king whose brother was killed sometime during Claudius' invasion (43 AD). He has been linked with Caratacus, but more interestingly, he is said by the interpolators of William of Malmesbury's "De Antiquitate Glastoniensis Ecclesiae" to be the king who granted 12 hides of land around Glastonbury to Joseph of Arimathea and his band of followers, when they brought Christianity to Britain for the first time in 63 AD.
Some scholars think that it may have been Arviragus and his people who occupied the ancient hillfort, located in the county of Somerset, known as Cadbury Castle (which would later come to be associated with King Arthur), and used it as a base for their resistance against the Romans.
Arviragus
..............................................................
A personage who has come to our attention in the writings of Juvenal, who mentions him in connection with resistance to Roman conquest and authority. Geoffrey of Monmouth refers to him as a British king whose brother was killed sometime during Claudius' invasion (43 AD). He has been linked with Caratacus, but more interestingly, he is said by the interpolators of William of Malmesbury's "De Antiquitate Glastoniensis Ecclesiae" to be the king who granted 12 hides of land around Glastonbury to Joseph of Arimathea and his band of followers, when they brought Christianity to Britain for the first time in 63 AD.
Some scholars think that it may have been Arviragus and his people who occupied the ancient hillfort, located in the county of Somerset, known as Cadbury Castle (which would later come to be associated with King Arthur), and used it as a base for their resistance against the Romans.
Much more was added to Joseph's legend during the Middle Ages. He was gradually inflated into a major saint and cult hero, as well as the supposed ancestor of many British monarchs. He is said to have brought with him to Britain a cup, said to have been used at the Last Supper and also used to catch the blood dripping from Christ as he hung on the Cross. A variation of this story is that Joseph brought with him two cruets, one containing the blood and the other, the sweat of Christ. Either of these items are known as The Holy Grail, and were the object(s) of the quests of the Knights of King Arthur's Round Table. One legend goes on to suggest that Joseph hid the "Grail" in Chalice Well at Glastonbury for safe-keeping (Photo)
There is a wide variance of scholarly opinion on this subject, however, and a good deal of doubt exists as to whether Joseph ever came to Britain at all, for any purpose.
Joseph of Arimathea
.......................................................................
Joseph of Arimathea was a wealthy disciple of Jesus, who, according to the book of Matthew 27:57-60, asked Pontius Pilate for permission to take Jesus' dead body in order to prepare it for burial. He also provided the tomb where the crucified Lord was laid until his Resurrection. Joseph is mentioned in a few times in parallel passages in Mark, Luke and John, but nothing further is heard about his later activities.
Apocryphal legend, however, supplies us with the rest of his story by claiming that Joseph accompanied the Apostle Philip, Lazarus, Mary Magdalene & others on a preaching mission to Gaul. Lazarus & Mary stayed in Marseilles, while the others travelled north. At the English Channel, St.Philip sent Joseph, with twelve disciples, to establish Christianity in the most far-flung corner of the Roman Empire: the Island of Britain. The year AD 63 is commonly given for this "event", with AD 37 sometimes being put forth as an alternative. It was said that Joseph achieved his wealth in the metals trade, and in the course of conducting his business, he probably became acquainted with Britain, at least the south-western parts of it. Cornwall was a chief mining district and well-known in the Roman empire for its tin. Somerset was reknowned for its high quality lead. Some have even said that Joseph was the uncle of the Virgin Mary and therefore of Jesus, and that he may have brought the young boy along on one of his business trips to the island. Hence the words of Blake's famous hymn, Jerusalem:
And did those feet, in ancient time,
Walk upon England's mountains green?
It was only natural, then, that Joseph should have been chosen for the first mission to Britain, and appropriate that he should come first to Glastonbury, that gravitational center for legendary activity in the West Country. Local legend has it that Joseph sailed around Land's End and headed for his old lead mining haunts. Here his boat ran ashore in the Glastonbury Marshes and, together with his followers, he climbed a nearby hill to survey the surrounding land. Having brought with him a staff grown from Christ's Holy Crown of Thorns, he thrust it into the ground and announced that he and his twelve companions were "Weary All". The thorn staff immediately took miraculous root, and it can be seen there still on Wearyall Hill. Joseph met with the local ruler, Arviragus, and soon secured himself twelve hides of land at Glastonbury on which to build the first monastery in Britain. From here he became the country's evangelist.
http://www.britannia.com/history/biographies/arvirag.html
Arviragus
..............................................................
A personage who has come to our attention in the writings of Juvenal, who mentions him in connection with resistance to Roman conquest and authority. Geoffrey of Monmouth refers to him as a British king whose brother was killed sometime during Claudius' invasion (43 AD). He has been linked with Caratacus, but more interestingly, he is said by the interpolators of William of Malmesbury's "De Antiquitate Glastoniensis Ecclesiae" to be the king who granted 12 hides of land around Glastonbury to Joseph of Arimathea and his band of followers, when they brought Christianity to Britain for the first time in 63 AD.
Some scholars think that it may have been Arviragus and his people who occupied the ancient hillfort, located in the county of Somerset, known as Cadbury Castle (which would later come to be associated with King Arthur), and used it as a base for their resistance against the Romans.
Arviragus
..............................................................
A personage who has come to our attention in the writings of Juvenal, who mentions him in connection with resistance to Roman conquest and authority. Geoffrey of Monmouth refers to him as a British king whose brother was killed sometime during Claudius' invasion (43 AD). He has been linked with Caratacus, but more interestingly, he is said by the interpolators of William of Malmesbury's "De Antiquitate Glastoniensis Ecclesiae" to be the king who granted 12 hides of land around Glastonbury to Joseph of Arimathea and his band of followers, when they brought Christianity to Britain for the first time in 63 AD.
Some scholars think that it may have been Arviragus and his people who occupied the ancient hillfort, located in the county of Somerset, known as Cadbury Castle (which would later come to be associated with King Arthur), and used it as a base for their resistance against the Romans.
Much more was added to Joseph's legend during the Middle Ages. He was gradually inflated into a major saint and cult hero, as well as the supposed ancestor of many British monarchs. He is said to have brought with him to Britain a cup, said to have been used at the Last Supper and also used to catch the blood dripping from Christ as he hung on the Cross. A variation of this story is that Joseph brought with him two cruets, one containing the blood and the other, the sweat of Christ. Either of these items are known as The Holy Grail, and were the object(s) of the quests of the Knights of King Arthur's Round Table. One legend goes on to suggest that Joseph hid the "Grail" in Chalice Well at Glastonbury for safe-keeping (Photo)
There is a wide variance of scholarly opinion on this subject, however, and a good deal of doubt exists as to whether Joseph ever came to Britain at all, for any purpose.
Monarchy-is it desirable?
http://sn111w.snt111.mail.live.com/default.aspx#!/mail/InboxLight.aspx?n=457798581!n=537922177&fid=1&mid=84f55e58-bbab-11e1-8c7a-002264c28070&fv=1
Judaism vs. Democracy
Chapter 2, Mishna 3
"Be careful with authorities, for they do not befriend a person except for their own sake. They appear as friends when they benefit from it, but they do not stand by a person in his time of need."
This week's mishna discusses the proper attitude we should have towards government authorities. Right from the start, it's amusing to note that a number of commentators (Maimonides, Rabbeinu Yonah) were quick to point out that this mishna was written in earlier times when governments were corrupt and rulers despotic; the Sages would have never stated such in their own advanced and civilized times. There probably could not have been a better indication that these commentators did not live much better off (which historically was certainly the case).
The message this week is self-evident. You remember the king's Jewish finance minister of old? The ubiquitous Jewish money lender? All of a sudden, after x years of devoted service, the duke can no longer handle his debts and there goes the Jew's records (as well as home) up in smoke. Or the king chooses the fast track towards raising revenue by exiling all his Jewish subjects (without their life savings). (That basically sums up a thousand years of Jewish history.) If things are going well, if the populace is more or less content, the Jew might be treated respectably. He is "useful" to the authorities. (Even in more recent times, when the Nazis "Aryanized" businesses and industries in Eastern Europe, it wreaked havoc on the economy. The Nazis were so obsessed they didn't care.)
The important lesson for us, which unfortunately holds equally true today: We do our duty, we serve our states honorably, but we should never assume the Gentiles will be beholden to us because of what we've done for them in the past. "And a new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph" (Exodus 1:8) -- and then the slavery began. (According to one opinion in the Talmud (Sotah 11a) it was the same old king; he just had a convenient memory lapse.) Forget about your impeccable track record. The world's memory is very short indeed. In Exile, nothing is for certain.
And of course, our mishna is not only relevant in the despotic regimes of old, in which our lives and fortunes rested on the mercy of capricious and anti-Semitic rulers. We know all too well today that even in the most free and democratic societies, where personal liberties and equal rights are sacrosanct, politicians are far from reliable. Only the rarest of politicians acts solely according to his own sense of justice, with no concern for his image and popularity ratings. We learned earlier in Pirkei Avos to "love work and despise high position" (1:10 http://www.torah.org/learning/pirkei-avos/chapter1-10.html). Once a career politician wants high position -- to wield authority over others -- he is automatically suspect. We must always maintain a healthy suspicion towards our elected officials: Will they keep their campaign promises after the election? Will they really be the friend of Israel they p romised their Jewish constituents? (Never mind moving their embassy to Jerusalem.)
By way of contrast, Judaism itself believes in monarchy, ("You shall surely place on yourself a king..." (Deuteronomy 17:15)), and powerful kings ruled ancient Israel for centuries. There are, however, a number of curious qualifications to the Jewish concept of monarchy which are worthy of analysis.
On the one hand the king was all powerful. His rule was lifelong and irrevocable. As with most monarchies, his eldest son generally inherited his throne. The king was also above the law. He could not be made to testify nor be put on trial. (Good old presidential immunity. Well, the king was really supposed to be the sort who didn't have to be put on trial.) He could conscript citizens into the army, forcibly tax the nation -- both monetarily and corporeally, make use of private lands during times of war, and execute anyone who did not obey his commands -- or whom he felt for whatever reason deserved death. The citizens were required to honor and fear the king, and the king was not allowed to forgo the honor due to him (Talmud Kiddushin 32b).
On the other hand the king was forced to be exceedingly humble. He was required to write a special copy of a Torah scroll which he would carry with him at practically all times (Deuteronomy 17:18-20). He was forbidden to amass wealth or arms more than necessary (ibid., verses 16-17), and he was not allowed to drink wine for the sake of intoxication. When he prayed, he was obligated to bow constantly before G-d, as opposed to the layman who bows only at certain points during the services.
It seems that Judaism recognizes that a nation requires a strong central authority. Democracy and checks and balances are excellent means of minimizing the corrupting force of power, but they are not the ideal. As the well-known quote from Winston Churchill goes, "It has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all the others that have been tried.” Only an all-powerful king can unite the populace, take control of affairs, and right the wrongs of society -- if he is only so noble. Courts and judicial systems are likewise poor upholders of justice. They set standards but cannot enforce them, and they can punish wrongdoers only with sufficient grounds and through due process of law. (The American concept of a jury of peers is a good indication of the sometimes ineffectuality of a justice system in a democratic society.)
And further, as we all know too well, democratic rulers must be popular. They must cater to the will and whim of the majority -- regardless of how selfish, short-sighted, and uninformed that majority is. Thus, it's often very difficult for democratically-elected officials to make the tough, far-sighted decisions a healthy nation truly requires. Only a dictator -- a benevolent one but an all-powerful one -- can see to it that law and order reign and society develops the way it must.
(I once read a very wise editorial suggesting that what the Arab countries really need today are benevolent dictatorships. Democracy and universal suffrage are very dangerous institutions for populations which lack basic concepts of equality and personal liberty. One can easily see such nations democratically voting to power the most radical and fundamentalist of leaders (not so different from how Hitler was (somewhat) democratically elected), which will immediately proceed to initiate reigns of terror and fanaticism against their own citizens and minorities.)
(For a good treatment of these issues, see Artscroll's overview to Megillas Rus (the Book of Ruth), Section III (www.artscroll.com/Products/RUTH.html).)
At the same time, the king would not see himself as all-powerful tyrant, but as humble representative of G-d. He was invested with such power -- and honor he could not forgo -- not to consolidate his own throne, but to lead his nation to service of G-d. His mission was to impose *G-d's* will on his subjects, not his own. His monarchy was truly an extension of G-d's -- the G-d before whom he constantly bowed. Further, the king's earthly kingship was representative of G-d's heavenly one. The nation, in honoring him, was in truth honoring the True King in whose presence he stood. Thus, the king had to be powerful, but he was constantly reminded what his power was all about.
And this is a message we sometimes lose sight of in today's times of democracy and limited government. Governments do not exist only in order to protect individual liberties. Separation of powers is an excellent means of keeping human corruption in check, but it detracts from the notion of an Ultimate Authority before whom we must all prostrate. The Torah constantly reminds us to respect those superior to us -- whether parent, Torah scholar or king. And the Sages compare the respect for such to the awe of G-d. Authority figures are important for us -- for our own sakes more than for theirs. By looking up to others and treating them with respect, we are reminded of the Higher Authority above them all.
This may be foreign to many of you, but in many Orthodox circles rabbis and Torah teachers are addressed in the third person ("Could Rabbi X answer a question" etc.). To most of us this is the stuff of fairy tales -- "his highness," "his majesty." The closest we come is perhaps in addressing judges as "your honor." (Now and then I receive an e-mail addressed to "his excellency, Rabbi Rosenfeld" and the like. Now if my kids would only have that kind of respect... ) ;-) We are hardly accustomed to such formality in an egalitarian society, in which everyone feels entitled to shake hands with the President. But there is something to be said for this. Only through looking up to people greater than we, through having role models of G-dliness, are we reminded that there is a G-d above and beyond them all, and that only through humility and subservience can we begin to form a true relationship with our G-d.
Judaism vs. Democracy
Chapter 2, Mishna 3
"Be careful with authorities, for they do not befriend a person except for their own sake. They appear as friends when they benefit from it, but they do not stand by a person in his time of need."
This week's mishna discusses the proper attitude we should have towards government authorities. Right from the start, it's amusing to note that a number of commentators (Maimonides, Rabbeinu Yonah) were quick to point out that this mishna was written in earlier times when governments were corrupt and rulers despotic; the Sages would have never stated such in their own advanced and civilized times. There probably could not have been a better indication that these commentators did not live much better off (which historically was certainly the case).
The message this week is self-evident. You remember the king's Jewish finance minister of old? The ubiquitous Jewish money lender? All of a sudden, after x years of devoted service, the duke can no longer handle his debts and there goes the Jew's records (as well as home) up in smoke. Or the king chooses the fast track towards raising revenue by exiling all his Jewish subjects (without their life savings). (That basically sums up a thousand years of Jewish history.) If things are going well, if the populace is more or less content, the Jew might be treated respectably. He is "useful" to the authorities. (Even in more recent times, when the Nazis "Aryanized" businesses and industries in Eastern Europe, it wreaked havoc on the economy. The Nazis were so obsessed they didn't care.)
The important lesson for us, which unfortunately holds equally true today: We do our duty, we serve our states honorably, but we should never assume the Gentiles will be beholden to us because of what we've done for them in the past. "And a new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph" (Exodus 1:8) -- and then the slavery began. (According to one opinion in the Talmud (Sotah 11a) it was the same old king; he just had a convenient memory lapse.) Forget about your impeccable track record. The world's memory is very short indeed. In Exile, nothing is for certain.
And of course, our mishna is not only relevant in the despotic regimes of old, in which our lives and fortunes rested on the mercy of capricious and anti-Semitic rulers. We know all too well today that even in the most free and democratic societies, where personal liberties and equal rights are sacrosanct, politicians are far from reliable. Only the rarest of politicians acts solely according to his own sense of justice, with no concern for his image and popularity ratings. We learned earlier in Pirkei Avos to "love work and despise high position" (1:10 http://www.torah.org/learning/pirkei-avos/chapter1-10.html). Once a career politician wants high position -- to wield authority over others -- he is automatically suspect. We must always maintain a healthy suspicion towards our elected officials: Will they keep their campaign promises after the election? Will they really be the friend of Israel they p romised their Jewish constituents? (Never mind moving their embassy to Jerusalem.)
By way of contrast, Judaism itself believes in monarchy, ("You shall surely place on yourself a king..." (Deuteronomy 17:15)), and powerful kings ruled ancient Israel for centuries. There are, however, a number of curious qualifications to the Jewish concept of monarchy which are worthy of analysis.
On the one hand the king was all powerful. His rule was lifelong and irrevocable. As with most monarchies, his eldest son generally inherited his throne. The king was also above the law. He could not be made to testify nor be put on trial. (Good old presidential immunity. Well, the king was really supposed to be the sort who didn't have to be put on trial.) He could conscript citizens into the army, forcibly tax the nation -- both monetarily and corporeally, make use of private lands during times of war, and execute anyone who did not obey his commands -- or whom he felt for whatever reason deserved death. The citizens were required to honor and fear the king, and the king was not allowed to forgo the honor due to him (Talmud Kiddushin 32b).
On the other hand the king was forced to be exceedingly humble. He was required to write a special copy of a Torah scroll which he would carry with him at practically all times (Deuteronomy 17:18-20). He was forbidden to amass wealth or arms more than necessary (ibid., verses 16-17), and he was not allowed to drink wine for the sake of intoxication. When he prayed, he was obligated to bow constantly before G-d, as opposed to the layman who bows only at certain points during the services.
It seems that Judaism recognizes that a nation requires a strong central authority. Democracy and checks and balances are excellent means of minimizing the corrupting force of power, but they are not the ideal. As the well-known quote from Winston Churchill goes, "It has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all the others that have been tried.” Only an all-powerful king can unite the populace, take control of affairs, and right the wrongs of society -- if he is only so noble. Courts and judicial systems are likewise poor upholders of justice. They set standards but cannot enforce them, and they can punish wrongdoers only with sufficient grounds and through due process of law. (The American concept of a jury of peers is a good indication of the sometimes ineffectuality of a justice system in a democratic society.)
And further, as we all know too well, democratic rulers must be popular. They must cater to the will and whim of the majority -- regardless of how selfish, short-sighted, and uninformed that majority is. Thus, it's often very difficult for democratically-elected officials to make the tough, far-sighted decisions a healthy nation truly requires. Only a dictator -- a benevolent one but an all-powerful one -- can see to it that law and order reign and society develops the way it must.
(I once read a very wise editorial suggesting that what the Arab countries really need today are benevolent dictatorships. Democracy and universal suffrage are very dangerous institutions for populations which lack basic concepts of equality and personal liberty. One can easily see such nations democratically voting to power the most radical and fundamentalist of leaders (not so different from how Hitler was (somewhat) democratically elected), which will immediately proceed to initiate reigns of terror and fanaticism against their own citizens and minorities.)
(For a good treatment of these issues, see Artscroll's overview to Megillas Rus (the Book of Ruth), Section III (www.artscroll.com/Products/RUTH.html).)
At the same time, the king would not see himself as all-powerful tyrant, but as humble representative of G-d. He was invested with such power -- and honor he could not forgo -- not to consolidate his own throne, but to lead his nation to service of G-d. His mission was to impose *G-d's* will on his subjects, not his own. His monarchy was truly an extension of G-d's -- the G-d before whom he constantly bowed. Further, the king's earthly kingship was representative of G-d's heavenly one. The nation, in honoring him, was in truth honoring the True King in whose presence he stood. Thus, the king had to be powerful, but he was constantly reminded what his power was all about.
And this is a message we sometimes lose sight of in today's times of democracy and limited government. Governments do not exist only in order to protect individual liberties. Separation of powers is an excellent means of keeping human corruption in check, but it detracts from the notion of an Ultimate Authority before whom we must all prostrate. The Torah constantly reminds us to respect those superior to us -- whether parent, Torah scholar or king. And the Sages compare the respect for such to the awe of G-d. Authority figures are important for us -- for our own sakes more than for theirs. By looking up to others and treating them with respect, we are reminded of the Higher Authority above them all.
This may be foreign to many of you, but in many Orthodox circles rabbis and Torah teachers are addressed in the third person ("Could Rabbi X answer a question" etc.). To most of us this is the stuff of fairy tales -- "his highness," "his majesty." The closest we come is perhaps in addressing judges as "your honor." (Now and then I receive an e-mail addressed to "his excellency, Rabbi Rosenfeld" and the like. Now if my kids would only have that kind of respect... ) ;-) We are hardly accustomed to such formality in an egalitarian society, in which everyone feels entitled to shake hands with the President. But there is something to be said for this. Only through looking up to people greater than we, through having role models of G-dliness, are we reminded that there is a G-d above and beyond them all, and that only through humility and subservience can we begin to form a true relationship with our G-d.
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