Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Sketch Standing at the Great Democrat’s Funeral Motorcade
The first time I found Mission Hill it was because I got lost. The portal my car flew by was the bodega ‘Casa Cris’ - owner Cris was later killed by robbers - that day I skedaddled. Why are the signs in Spanish? But I returned. First to Eldora, later Calumet. And it’s been home. And church bells are always ringing.
Quite a day for Mission Hill – ‘the biggest day ever.’ Rain picking up Hurricane Dan’s edge. Bomb sniffing German Sheperds. Security high. As Sen. Ted Kennedy makes his last motorcade ride. Four presidents come to Mission Hill to see the end of the great Kennedy. Pres. Obama at Mission Church will be front and center. Said Ted: He didn’t mind not being president; it just bothered him that someone else was. He followed the summon of service. And we are on the map.
Corner of Tremont and Parker. Saturday morning rain. The neighborhood that devil may care forgot. Black SUV after black SUV roll in sad parade. Sen. Dodd rolls down his window, the pol inside him alive alive. The little Kennedy girls in black dresses in big front bus windows too waving. The police snipers remarkable for their pupils piercing. In neighborhood that came to me my home. The guest were full-form famous and powerful – but little Rosie from the hill in knock-out dress of black got in I think.
Less centered around the Mission Church of Irish immigrants is the neighborhood now than 30 years ago. Now it is Ted Kennedy’s entrance to the portal of the veil of the vale. The rich man who’s been going through the eye of the needle – trying to get to heaven in time. Mission Church I know your Italian marble, electric red votives, tall bouquets of crutches. Greatest sermonist Father Manion on the radio. Cecelia will watch on TV til sun is going down and Ted is buried at Arlington with only the light of the flame on his brother’s grave.
We line up finally across from the Tobin Gym – Tobin being greatest son of Mission Hill, a mayor in his 20s in the 40s; bridge namee – gym where Cousy and Celts would practice in the days before Gatorade. In front of resurrected Boston Clutch home of wire driers and drive wheels, where you still get hand written receipts.
Saw many of the mighty: Sen Dodd, Doris Kearn Goodwin and Richard Goodwin [he of the crazy hair].Short Emily Rooney. Barney Frank out of Duncan Donuts [‘I love you Barney. You speak the truth,’ says I. Serious Bob Woodward got his companion to hold the umbrella as they walked and he thunk.
The patter builds. The chatter subdues. Here they come. The ruddy cyclist police micks lights strobe metal and blue.
Here’s the picture, picture in my mind:
Futura the lettering ‘Maurice J. Tobin Building’ signed in aluminum.
Built with yellow bricks. Stubborn maples sprout in front.
US, Mass.flags draped windless at half mast.
The asphalt black and shiny wet with rain with two fresh yellow stripes up the median. Cast metal barricades gray.
Black ponchoed, black hatted Swat team members – many of them black men – in sidewalk line array back turned to Ted.
Eyes darting, darting. My view slightly occluded by woman’s umbrella.
Then a shadow of a casket in a long Black Cadillac driving slow.
Then it’s over the hill and down to Flan OBriens. For the TV mass. The priest drank the wine at 11.59. The Mission church altar was crying. Angels with horns blowing away. Placido Domingo did Panis Angelicus. The flaming golden tears wobbled in the ceiling. All this on TV. In the bar a few wept.
Pres. Obama called Ted: “The Soul of the Democratic Party.” “We must live out our lives the best we can with purpose.” I am interviewed by a writer for the Washington Times for an article entitled ‘Thousands Bid Kennedy Farewell.’ After the mass a few black-sports-coated Cape tanned captains of America and their better halves came in - in Irish spirit and tipped a few.
This story is told over and over here these days. Here by my friend Chris H. Years ago when his wife was diagnosed with MS just before Clinton came in and there was a health care initiative going on, he and mate wrote their senators. Kennedy’s letter came back quickly. He responded in a week.
The letter itself as it was phrased in a way indicative that the senator understood this effected somebody’s life. (The junior senator’s response came two weeks later, and was long and not very readable.) Ted’s letter was bing-boom-direct. We are fighting for this, for you.
“Ted’s letter was relevant. It was full of ‘goddam it, yes we can!’ Direct and to the point. It was hand signed.” This story is told often: “What he said meant the word to me.” As the stories pile high, they seem like acts of charity.
Quite a day for Mission Hill – ‘the biggest day ever.’ Rain picking up Hurricane Dan’s edge. Bomb sniffing German Sheperds. Security high. As Sen. Ted Kennedy makes his last motorcade ride. Four presidents come to Mission Hill to see the end of the great Kennedy. Pres. Obama at Mission Church will be front and center. Said Ted: He didn’t mind not being president; it just bothered him that someone else was. He followed the summon of service. And we are on the map.
Corner of Tremont and Parker. Saturday morning rain. The neighborhood that devil may care forgot. Black SUV after black SUV roll in sad parade. Sen. Dodd rolls down his window, the pol inside him alive alive. The little Kennedy girls in black dresses in big front bus windows too waving. The police snipers remarkable for their pupils piercing. In neighborhood that came to me my home. The guest were full-form famous and powerful – but little Rosie from the hill in knock-out dress of black got in I think.
Less centered around the Mission Church of Irish immigrants is the neighborhood now than 30 years ago. Now it is Ted Kennedy’s entrance to the portal of the veil of the vale. The rich man who’s been going through the eye of the needle – trying to get to heaven in time. Mission Church I know your Italian marble, electric red votives, tall bouquets of crutches. Greatest sermonist Father Manion on the radio. Cecelia will watch on TV til sun is going down and Ted is buried at Arlington with only the light of the flame on his brother’s grave.
We line up finally across from the Tobin Gym – Tobin being greatest son of Mission Hill, a mayor in his 20s in the 40s; bridge namee – gym where Cousy and Celts would practice in the days before Gatorade. In front of resurrected Boston Clutch home of wire driers and drive wheels, where you still get hand written receipts.
Saw many of the mighty: Sen Dodd, Doris Kearn Goodwin and Richard Goodwin [he of the crazy hair].Short Emily Rooney. Barney Frank out of Duncan Donuts [‘I love you Barney. You speak the truth,’ says I. Serious Bob Woodward got his companion to hold the umbrella as they walked and he thunk.
The patter builds. The chatter subdues. Here they come. The ruddy cyclist police micks lights strobe metal and blue.
Here’s the picture, picture in my mind:
Futura the lettering ‘Maurice J. Tobin Building’ signed in aluminum.
Built with yellow bricks. Stubborn maples sprout in front.
US, Mass.flags draped windless at half mast.
The asphalt black and shiny wet with rain with two fresh yellow stripes up the median. Cast metal barricades gray.
Black ponchoed, black hatted Swat team members – many of them black men – in sidewalk line array back turned to Ted.
Eyes darting, darting. My view slightly occluded by woman’s umbrella.
Then a shadow of a casket in a long Black Cadillac driving slow.
Then it’s over the hill and down to Flan OBriens. For the TV mass. The priest drank the wine at 11.59. The Mission church altar was crying. Angels with horns blowing away. Placido Domingo did Panis Angelicus. The flaming golden tears wobbled in the ceiling. All this on TV. In the bar a few wept.
Pres. Obama called Ted: “The Soul of the Democratic Party.” “We must live out our lives the best we can with purpose.” I am interviewed by a writer for the Washington Times for an article entitled ‘Thousands Bid Kennedy Farewell.’ After the mass a few black-sports-coated Cape tanned captains of America and their better halves came in - in Irish spirit and tipped a few.
This story is told over and over here these days. Here by my friend Chris H. Years ago when his wife was diagnosed with MS just before Clinton came in and there was a health care initiative going on, he and mate wrote their senators. Kennedy’s letter came back quickly. He responded in a week.
The letter itself as it was phrased in a way indicative that the senator understood this effected somebody’s life. (The junior senator’s response came two weeks later, and was long and not very readable.) Ted’s letter was bing-boom-direct. We are fighting for this, for you.
“Ted’s letter was relevant. It was full of ‘goddam it, yes we can!’ Direct and to the point. It was hand signed.” This story is told often: “What he said meant the word to me.” As the stories pile high, they seem like acts of charity.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Monday, December 22, 2008
Post it and they will come
Just as Publishers Clearing House looks for contestants on Twitter we hear from David Carr of a Newspaper that Shuns Web, and Thrives.
From the story: “Why would I put anything on the Web?” asked Dan Jacobson, the publisher and owner of the newspaper. “I don’t understand how putting content on the Web would do anything but help destroy our paper. Why should we give our readers any incentive whatsoever to not look at our content along with our advertisements, a large number of which are beautiful and cheap full-page ads?”
Stop reading if you heard me say this before, but when I did the business plan for a trade press publisher's web site in 1996 I looked at any online revenue as:
1. A bet on a new future medium,
2. A counter to our competitors, and
3. Gravy beyond what we already were making.
I did not forsee the Web killing print. It was exciting just to be a part of it, of course. I remember the trepedation when I had to make the business case...to suggest to the publisher to put his product on the web for free.
Met a reporter a few weeks ago at a conference and he says, as we discuss this type of stuff: What do you expect? If they give it away? What will happen?
What did happen? What is happening?
Hmmm.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/22/business/media/22carr.html
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Bill Drake dead, bogus creator of winning radio style
I wouldn’t say I remember a time when radio was 'great'. Fact is living in Boston provides a lot of great radio now - with more than a half-dozen college radio stations in the non commercial category.
But for all intents and purposes radio is narrow, lifeless, boring. Radio is terrible, and there is every reason to think something similar could happen to the Web.
This is said while noting the passing of Bill Drake who transformed regional and local radio that had a bit of salsa into national radio peplum.
Drake came up with the formula of homogenized Top 30, with robot DJs. In the 60s, George Carlin and others could satirized weird [think Wolfman Jack] or just mindless Fab Good Guys, [think Murray the K and Cousin Brucie] Top 40 radio chatter, but they hadn't the notion of where things were going once Drake became the God of Radio success and the Arbitron of what ran on AM. And FM too. Drake was a 'ruthless, detail-minded operator.' Drake took Top 40 down to Top 30. Worse, he ensured what was heard in Itica was the same as Atlanta. Like a Rolling Stone, or Maybelline, or even The Eggplant that Ate Chicago - these were not going were not going to happen. Nixonian to a t.
Hard to realize who alive radio and music was in America once. You don’t hear it on oldies staions, which play a Draconian formula too. [Recommened : Yesterday's Memories and other shows on weekends on WATD from Marshfield, MA http://www.959watd.com/Streaming.asp]
The formula, was no personality, no stray from playlist, tight narrow play list, everything by the numbers. Draconian syndication. Seldom do we point out such a despot at his passing. This is such a time. R.I.P. He took the DJ down a notch, which worked for the stations, but killed the art. And that death dripped out into the music itself. He is not a guy who would program Charlie Rich's Don’t Put No Headstone on My Grave.
As related by William Grimes in NYTimes we hear author Marc Fisher's take on Drake: "He took Top 40 Radio and turned into a machine."
And then Drake's own words in 1990 to LA Times: "We cleaned up AM radio. We put everything in its place."
Web beware: No personality, no stray from playlist, tight narrow play list, everything by the numbers, machine like. Forumula: Maximize mechanicals - ensure endless repeatability. - Jack Vaughan, Boston
Bill Drake, 71
But for all intents and purposes radio is narrow, lifeless, boring. Radio is terrible, and there is every reason to think something similar could happen to the Web.
This is said while noting the passing of Bill Drake who transformed regional and local radio that had a bit of salsa into national radio peplum.
Drake came up with the formula of homogenized Top 30, with robot DJs. In the 60s, George Carlin and others could satirized weird [think Wolfman Jack] or just mindless Fab Good Guys, [think Murray the K and Cousin Brucie] Top 40 radio chatter, but they hadn't the notion of where things were going once Drake became the God of Radio success and the Arbitron of what ran on AM. And FM too. Drake was a 'ruthless, detail-minded operator.' Drake took Top 40 down to Top 30. Worse, he ensured what was heard in Itica was the same as Atlanta. Like a Rolling Stone, or Maybelline, or even The Eggplant that Ate Chicago - these were not going were not going to happen. Nixonian to a t.
Hard to realize who alive radio and music was in America once. You don’t hear it on oldies staions, which play a Draconian formula too. [Recommened : Yesterday's Memories and other shows on weekends on WATD from Marshfield, MA http://www.959watd.com/Streaming.asp]
The formula, was no personality, no stray from playlist, tight narrow play list, everything by the numbers. Draconian syndication. Seldom do we point out such a despot at his passing. This is such a time. R.I.P. He took the DJ down a notch, which worked for the stations, but killed the art. And that death dripped out into the music itself. He is not a guy who would program Charlie Rich's Don’t Put No Headstone on My Grave.
As related by William Grimes in NYTimes we hear author Marc Fisher's take on Drake: "He took Top 40 Radio and turned into a machine."
And then Drake's own words in 1990 to LA Times: "We cleaned up AM radio. We put everything in its place."
Web beware: No personality, no stray from playlist, tight narrow play list, everything by the numbers, machine like. Forumula: Maximize mechanicals - ensure endless repeatability. - Jack Vaughan, Boston
Bill Drake, 71
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Skew that pimple, searcher
John Markoff wrote about Microsoft researchers that published the results of a study of health-related Web searches on popular search engines. One of the researchers, Horvitz, an artificial intelligence expert at Microsoft Research, said many people treated search engines as if they could answer questions like a human expert.
The boffins found Web searches for things like headache and chest pain were just as likely or more likely to lead people to pages describing serious conditions as benign ones, even though the serious illnesses are much more rare. Horvitz likened this to “medical schoolitis” – where a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. You’ve read so much about disease that you are sure you have it.
A wonder here: if Web searchers have a tendency to jump to awful conclusions, doesn’t that skew Google results? Is the Google brain likely to evolve and become similarly demented as the stock market in heat? "Peoples is my business" was a bit of old vaudeville.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/25/technology/internet/25symptoms.html
The boffins found Web searches for things like headache and chest pain were just as likely or more likely to lead people to pages describing serious conditions as benign ones, even though the serious illnesses are much more rare. Horvitz likened this to “medical schoolitis” – where a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. You’ve read so much about disease that you are sure you have it.
A wonder here: if Web searchers have a tendency to jump to awful conclusions, doesn’t that skew Google results? Is the Google brain likely to evolve and become similarly demented as the stock market in heat? "Peoples is my business" was a bit of old vaudeville.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/25/technology/internet/25symptoms.html
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