Everything Old Is New Again

In March of 1970, about two-hundred armed white people In Lamar, South Carolina, attacked a phalanx of school buses carrying black children. Fifty years later, one of those children described the violence this way:

Photo by Maximilian Simson on Unsplash

“Once the bus stopped, they took those ax handles and knocked out every window in the bus—there were bricks and everything flying. We had to hit the floor. I kept calling everybody’s name to see if everybody was alive. Ever since that day, it has been recovery for me.”

 Lamar was under a federal court order to integrate their schools, almost twenty years after the Supreme Court desegregation decision, Brown vs. the Board of Education.

Another attack survivor recalled, “The hood of the bus flew up and the engine died. Rocks and bricks started coming through the windows. I got on the floor and started crawling. I heard two gunshots. I think it was tear gas. It smelled, and my eyes teared. Then the back door of the bus came open. A highway patrolman with a gas mask said, ‘Come on, get off.’ I ran to the school. I looked back, and the bus we were on was turned over. For too many years, it was hard even to move on with my life. . . The reason I don’t talk about it is that I get angry when I talk, and I don’t want [my family] to see that.”

Before the attack, politicians had fomented white people’s rage about the desegregation order. A Republican candidate for governor, Albert Watson, told a campaign rally, “Every section of this state is in for it unless you stand up and use every means at your disposal to defend against what I consider an illegal order of the Circuit Court of the United States.”

After the assault, Watson defended the rioters, “(Y)ou can expect that to happen when you have frustrated people … People get restless and then things occur.”

I have researched this history because, rifling through some of my dad’s old writing, I ran across a mock letter that my dad, Martin Miller, a writer and newspaperman, wrote to his “Fellow Americans” in 1970 in reaction to the Lamar riot. It was never published, as far as I know. See if the content doesn’t ring some bells.

It begins, “You have been chosen for the unique opportunity of charter membership in our new exclusive organization dedicated to maintenance of Constitutional principles handed down to us by our forebears.”

Dad’s alter ego goes on to praise Lamar’s white citizens. “Throughout history, those who have hesitated have been lost . . . That is why we hail . . . the good people of Lamar for grasping the nettle as precursors of the victorious defenders in the coming revolution.” Backhandedly, he acknowledges the other side. “Many bleeding hearts will attempt to excite your sympathies on behalf of the little black children in the bus who were showered by broken glass. Their experience is one of the facts of life, and the sooner they get used to it the better.”

He alludes to the “warnings” of a coming revolution by Vice President Spiro Agnew, Attorney General John Mitchell, and his wife Martha Mitchell*. The federal government, they all would agree, is “the greatest threat to our freedoms,” having “grown to such proportions in recent decades that it is completely unresponsive to the grass roots.”

He then gets to the point of the letter, an invitation to join a new organization, a “group of white nationalists devoted to fostering a respect and knowledge of the contribution of whites to the history of the United States.” Without the example of the Mitchells, he says, “We would not have had the courage to organize, and the good citizens of Lamar would not have had the courage to strike the first defensive blow in the coming revolution.”

At the letter’s close, he slyly copies Mrs. John Mitchell.

Violent political rhetoric. Revolution. Abuses of the federal government. White nationalism. My dad would be sad to be complimented for his prescience.

*This piece was written before Watergate and the eventual rehabilitation of Martha Mitchell, a Watergate whistle blower, a view promoted by the recent Julia Roberts movie Gaslit. This was back when she was appearing on talk shows to call anti-war demonstrators Communists and parrot her husband’s right-wing ideas.

Posted in Weekend Editions | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Movies, Cinema, and Film

I had a good word etymology to write about today but neglected to write it down and forgot what it was. I asked my husband if there are any words whose history he wondered about. “Movies,” he said. He added drily, “But I’ve heard it’s short for moving pictures.

Photo by Denise Jans on Unsplash

That’s his idea of a joke, but of course he’s right. The word’s history goes back to the Romans, even though they knew nothing of the silver screen or Dolby sound. The root is movere, which means “to move.” Pictures comes from Latin as well. Pictura means “picture,” which derives from the Latin verb pingere, which means “to paint.” A picture is something that has been painted.

Cinema, the fancy rich uncle to movies, comes from the Greek, but it means about the same thing as movie’s Latin root. Kinema means “movement.” In the 1890s, the aptly named Lumiere brothers, French pioneers of filmmaking, coined the term cinematographie, or, “recording movement.” The word’s ending was lopped off, except to describe the camera handler (cinematographer) or actual filming (cinematography).

Which brings us to the simple Germanic word film, another synonym, which has nothing to do with moving. It means “membrane” or “thin covering,” as in “a film of dust.” As you may know, back in the olden days, people recorded pictures on a thin material covered with light-sensitive chemicals. In the case of movies, that film, or thin strip of photographic material, was run through a projector, whose bright light threw the images onto a screen.

Nowadays that process happens incomprehensibly, or digitally. A digit is a finger, from Latin digitus. How does modern movie projection relate to fingers? Want to guess? Our answer will have to wait until next week.

Posted in Uncategorized, Wednesday Word | 4 Comments

The Well-Intentioned Cook

On Friday, I wrote about Vivian Howard’s new cookbook, This Will Make It Taste Good, and resolved to try at least one of the recipes over the weekend. The weekend spilled over into today. I spent much of my Monday afternoon grocery shopping, cleaning up the kitchen, and preparing not one but two of Vivian’s recipes. The jury’s still out on the results, but I’m feeling hopeful.

The quickest and easiest of her ten “flavor heroes”–meal helpers or condiments or whatever you want to call them–is Vivian’s Nuts. Four cups of pecans are sloshed around in a mixture of whipped egg white, paprika, Worcestershire sauce, sugar, and other spices. I would describe the result, in French culinary language, as gloppy. The nuts and their coating move to a cookie sheet in the oven, where they toast at 350 degrees for about twenty minutes. After about thirty minutes, my pecans seemed mushy and the coating gummy. Because they were turning brown, however, I removed them from the oven to cool, my expectations low. Now that they’ve been cooling for a while, they are in fact crispy and quite tasty. Vivian suggests eating them as a snack, adding them to pumpkin bread, sprinkling them on sauteed vegetables or baked potatoes, tossing in a salad, and chopping and adding to cookie dough. She also provides a few recipes that include them.

Vivian’s Nuts

Vivian calls my second flavor hero Community Organizer. It involves chopping a ton (approximate measurement) of bell peppers, onions, and garlic and cooking for a long time. About twenty seeded, peeled tomatoes join the party (I used canned), along with red wine vinegar and brown sugar. Then you continue cooking until the mixture is reduced by half.

I know that according to the laws of physics a liquid mixture on the boil will eventually “reduce by half.” My heart sinks at that instruction, however, because I have never experienced this phenomenon. If a dish on my stove is soupy, it remains soupy, and even becomes soupier, as in this case, because the tomatoes are continuing to cook and soften.

I should mention here that I am an impatient cook. Sometimes I even suspect that this impatience contributes to my problem with sauce reduction. But I really think it’s some reduction-inhibiting vortex in my particular kitchen.

My Community Organizer is still simmering. I’m trying to ignore it, because it might not want to reduce while I’m watching it. It smells good and tastes good but doesn’t look right. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

How it’s supposed to look.

How it looks.

Today, as it happens, Facebook reminded me that my husband once commented that if I ever wrote a cookbook, I should title it The Well-Intentioned Cook. It’s true. I have excellent intentions.

Tell us about your recent culinary triumphs.

Posted in Monday Meals, Uncategorized | Tagged , , | 4 Comments

Making It Read Well

I frequently watched “A Chef’s Life,” a PBS reality show/documentary series about Southern chef Vivian Howard that aired from 2013 to 2018, even though a lot of her cooking didn’t appeal to me. A bland Midwestern vegetarian, I’m not into pork bellies and hot spices. I neither cook nor eat okra. (“If the South had a mascot,” Howard says, “it would be okra.”) But a slaw of charred cabbage, crisp apples, and red onions was a salad I could get excited about, and Howard’s blueberry cobbler could satisfy my sweet tooth just by watching her prepare it.

More interesting than the cooking, to me, was Vivian herself. Sometimes she seemed whiny, complaining about things over which it seemed she actually had some control. Always stressed, guilty, and exhausted, she was running two restaurants, raising twins, building a new house, writing a cookbook, and putting on cooking events in far-flung places. “Gosh, Vivian,” I would think. “Say no to something.” But then I’m not an entrepreneur, not the mother of twins, not the star of a tv show. If her neurotic drive occasionally made her less appealing as a person, they made her a more interesting protagonist of a tv show.

I liked her best when she was visiting a neighbor or relative, like Ms Lillie Hardy, to learn how to make a traditional dish. Then she was respectful, funny, and attentive, asking questions even if they seemed dumb. She credited these traditional cooks with her subsequent chef-ly creations, served to the well-heeled patrons of her restaurants. Her establishments and her show, by all accounts, have invigorated her small town in North Carolina.

Ultimately, it was Vivian Howard’s true ambition, revealed in her cookbooks, that grabbed me: what she always wanted was to be a writer. Her first cookbook Deep Run Roots: Stories and Recipes from My Corner of the South made this ambition real. I don’t generally buy cookbooks, but I enjoyed perusing this one and eventually bought it as a gift for my son-in-law, also a Southern cook. Each chapter included essays, not merely recipes, on the history of the dishes she presented, written with wit and emotion and illustrated with beautiful photographs. You can find some of her recipes linked here in the Washington Post review of the book.

Her new book This Will Make It Taste Good, which I just checked out of the library, shows off her writing flair in a different way. Here she provides ten sauces or condiments that she calls “flavor heroes.” They can be added to dozens of recipes, including dips, vegetables, chicken, and other dishes, to make them, as she says, taste good. Her trademark wit and blunt opinions make this book fun to read, even if you never attempt a recipe. Consider this paragraph on baked beans, which she recommends preparing from scratch instead of pouring from a can.

If you go to the miniscule trouble of baking beans uncovered in an actual oven, you’ll notice the step creates a variation of textures that makes them more showstopper than afterthought. The beans on top dehydrate and caramelize with the help of the sugars in the sauce. They form a crust for the creamy, porky, sweet beans underneath. They’re equally as addictive at room temperature as they are piping hot out of the oven, maybe even more so. That makes them an ideal choice for cookouts that call you to the yard, not the kitchen. Perhaps that’s why baked beans became a thing in the first place.

She ends the recipe’s introduction by slyly asking, “Dare I say we need to make baked beans great again?”

Maybe I’ll try one of her recipes over the weekend and share my experience on Monday. Or maybe I’ll just keep reading.

Posted in Books, Weekend Editions | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Valete! (Be Strong, Y’All!)

Photo by Hakan Nural on Unsplash

Dr. Anthony Fauci recently appeared on the Late Show with Stephen Colbert. To tout the new Covid booster, the two men strolled to a nearby Walgreens, where Dr. F. took one for the team. In his left arm, that is.

He referred to this new shot as bivalent. You probably know that this vaccine targets both the old Covid variant and the more recent omicron version, hence the bi-.  But did you know that -valent derives from the Latin verb valeo, which means “be well” and “be strong”? The new vaccine is being strong twice.

If you want your little girl to be powerful, you could name her Valeria, or the more common modern variant Valerie. Her brother could be Valerius. These names would make them valiant, no question. Valid, validation, and valor belong to the same word family.

In chemistry, valence refers to the power of atoms to combine. In ordinary discourse, this word means “power” or “ability,” as in, “The conclusion of Casablanca possesses an overpowering emotional valence.”

Ambivalence feels weak, not powerful, but the word denotes powerful feelings on both sides of an issue. I hate when that happens. Its cousin equivalence means equal power. There are also prevalence, polyvalence, convalescence, and more!

We might think that valedictorian must have something to do with a high grade point average, but a closer look reveals that this high-achiever’s honor is to say (dico) goodbye. Vale in Latin means, literally, “farewell.” It’s a command: Be strong. (How should I fare? Well!) The phrase ave atque vale translates “hail and goodbye” or more loosely “I salute you and goodbye.” The English poet Algernon Swinburne titled his tribute to Charles Baudelaire with this phrase. The last stanza begins, “For thee, O now a silent soul, my brother,/Take at my hands this garland, and farewell.” Vale (pronounced wall-ay) says goodbye to one person. Valete (wall-ay-tay), as in the title above, says goodbye to a bunch of people.

The moral of these etymologies is to go get your booster, before Covid makes a fall comeback. Don’t be ambivalent. The shot’s bivalence will make you stronger.

Posted in Uncategorized, Wednesday Word | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

Feed a Cold?

Photo by Monika Grabkowska on Unsplash

It’s hard to write about food (Monday Meals!) when you’ve been sick and nothing is appealing. I’ve been suffering a nasty cold since Thursday evening. I feel a little better every day, but my appetite hasn’t yet returned.

I have wanted juice and fruit. We have some especially large, crisp grapes that I’ve been enjoying, as well as some blueberries. Ate some salad for dinner. I don’t eat meat, so chicken soup is out, but I enjoyed some sweet potato curry soup from my favorite place for lunch.

The Internet tells me I should have been consuming garlic, coconut water, and hot tea—presumably not all at once. It’s a little late now. I should have looked at the website earlier, but then I would have had to go to the store for coconut water. And I did not feel up to going to the store.

What do you recommend for sick friends? What do you find appetizing and comforting when you’re sick?

Posted in Monday Meals, Uncategorized | 4 Comments

The Great Green Room

Photo by Andrés Gómez on Unsplash

If you haven’t read Elizabeth Egan’s lovely essay about Goodnight Moon from last month in the New York Times, do that before you continue reading here. “The Enduring Wisdom of ‘Goodnight Moon’” celebrates the 75th anniversary of this classic children’s book by Margaret Wise Brown so eloquently and perfectly that I can’t do it justice by summarizing it. The essay manages to be deeply moving and funny at the same time.

My husband liked the essay, too. With no criticism of Egan implied, he commented that she didn’t mention the sound of the book, how fun it is to read aloud because of its rhythm and rhyme. His comment reminded me of what I learned back when I was reading books to our own kids—that some books are a lot more fun to read aloud than others.

(A quick shout-out here to Clement Hurd’s perfect Goodnight Moon illustrations, but I’m writing about sound here.)

I never tired of rereading The Wizard of Oz by Frank Baum to my kids, and I gained a new appreciation for my favorite book, E.B. White’s Charlotte’s Web, from our many nighttime readings of it, curled up on a warm bed. Because these books are so well written, because their authors probably read their sentences out loud to make sure they sounded right, the words flow smoothly. Reading them aloud is easy and pleasurable.

Kids should read or listen to any books they enjoy, so I’m casting no shade on my kids or the Berenstain Bears or the tattered Scrooge McDuck book I read countless times. Kids love particular books for mysterious reasons, and they often want to hear them repeatedly. I bear no grudges toward Thomas J. Dygard, whose little novel The Rookie Arrives I forced my way through because my son liked it. (In the top of the second inning, the Orioles brought down the roof on the Royals’ big right-hander, Rollie Barnes. Rollie couldn’t get the ball past the Orioles’ hitters. And so on.)

But if you must read something dozens, or perhaps hundreds of times, beautiful sounds can ease your way. You can’t really improve on “Goodnight comb and goodnight brush. Goodnight nobody. Goodnight mush. And goodnight to the old lady whispering ‘hush.’ Goodnight stars. Goodnight air. Goodnight noises everywhere.”

I spent a fair amount of time last weekend reading Goodnight Moon to my toddler grandchildren, while their parents were out of town. Before nap time and again at bedtime, they cuddled with me, one on my lap, one sitting to my side, rapt, quietly pointing out the kittens with whispered “meows” and gesturing to the cow, because they know how to say the word cow. At nineteen months they’re rarely still and rarely quiet, but they sat mesmerized by Goodnight Moon, over and over and over again.

Thanks to Jewel for drawing the Egan essay to my attention.

I’d love to hear your thoughts about this book or any other.

Posted in Books, Uncategorized, Weekend Editions | Tagged , , , , , , | 5 Comments

“Camera” Redux

You might remember our Wednesday Word camera from a few weeks ago. Reader Fran recently took an entirely unnecessary trip to England — a frivolous jaunt with “friends,” not including me — and ran across an Oxford edifice named the Radcliffe Camera.

Photo by Metin Ozer on Unsplash

As you’ll recall, the Latin root camera means “room” or “chamber.” The Radcliffe Camera is a former library, now a reading room, referred to by irreverent students as the Rad Cam. Wikipedia describes it this way: “The Radcliffe Camera’s circularity, its position in the heart of Oxford, and its separation from other buildings make it the focal point of the University of Oxford.” This camera takes no photos but is a big room, reflecting the word’s Latin root.

In 1714, a physician named John Radcliffe left 40,000 pounds for the building’s construction in his will. Radcliffe was a member of Parliament and, for a time, physician to King William III. He was also a rich guy. The library that took his name was finished in 1749.

Thanks for the heads up, Fran. Next time, take me.

Posted in Wednesday Word | Tagged , | 3 Comments

How to Spend Your Retirement

I didn’t know when I got up this morning that I would be writing about T. S. Eliot’s poem “The Wasteland” this afternoon. Who knew I would ever write anything about “The Wasteland”? Not I.

I haven’t read the entire poem since sometime in the 1970s. But there comes this week’s New Yorker in the mail with a long article by Anthony Lane about the poem’s 100th anniversary. Before you know it, I have pulled my old Norton Anthology off the shelf, complete with my 70s-era scribblings in the margins, which appear like reverberations of thunder of spring over distant mountains. (Not really.) Soon I’ve turned on YouTube and listened to Alec Guinness read the whole damn poem. Twenty-six minutes. That’s how long the reading is.

I tried T.S. Eliot’s YouTube reading first but could not handle it. The guy was born in Missouri and didn’t move to London until he was almost thirty, but still his overripe English accent makes Guinness sound almost American. I also sampled Bob Dylan’s reading, which Lane alludes to. Weirdly awkward, it’s fortunately only about fifteen lines long.

Eliot died only a few years before I graduated from high school. He was Modern Poetry. In my Norton Anthology, “The Wasteland” begins on page 1781, less than two hundred pages before the volume’s end. Eliot would be, in other words, one of the most recent writers we’d encounter in a survey course. That his most famous poem is turning 100 reminds me uncomfortably of my age.

Eliot, I was given to understand, was cryptic, complicated, abstruse. What he wasn’t was funny. It never occurred to me that he was funny, until I read Anthony Lane’s essay. In Guinness’s reading, you get that. Guinness performs all the accents and voices effortlessly, virtuosically. In my memory, Eliot was a profound puzzle to be decoded. He was a sibyl himself, like the Sibyl in his poem, revealing the desolate dryness of modern life. Who knew he was funny as well?

In all our analyses and reading of Eliot’s notes and Norton’s notes and recondite allusions to The Golden Bough, I can remember only one professor telling us to just read the poem. (Hearing it is even better.) She told us that she had once shared “The Wasteland” with her mother, who had never taken a college English course and had never heard of T.S. Eliot. Her mother said it was a poem about feelings of sadness and emptiness. Right, the professor said. My mother is right.

Posted in Books, Uncategorized, Weekend Editions | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments

Animalia: Some Words That Derive from Animal Names

Photo by Hans-Jurgen Mager on Unsplash

The Canary Islands, one would imagine, were overrun with canaries. But, no, they were overrun with wild dogs, or canes in Latin. The birds were named for the islands.

Capricious comes from the Italian word for “goat”: capro. A Roman goat was a caper. Goats are often playful and somewhat unpredictable. They can be capricious. In certain moods, they can cut capers, another derivative.

A burrito is literally a little donkey, from burricus, a small horse in Latin. I suppose because of its shape.

Vaccine comes from the Latin word for “cow,” vacca, because the vaccine for smallpox came from the pus of cowpox lesions.

The Latin word avis, which means “bird,” gave us aviator, aviation, and aviatrix, and other flying words.

A Greek bear was an arktos. The English derivative arctic refers not to the polar bear but to the Great Bear constellation, called Ursa Major in Latin, and long referred to the northern sky before it applied to the terrestrial north.

Ursa gives us ursine, meaning “bear-like,” like the creature in the photo above. A person might also be ursine — big, hairy, and lumbering. Can you think of a good example?

Many other –ine words derive from Roman animals: ovine, porcine, cervine, equine, canine, feline, leonine, asinine, aquiline, lupine, and corvine, for example. Guess what animals these words refer to, and see below* for the answers.  

Finally, animal itself derives from the Latin anima, the word for breath, life, or spirit. Animals are living beings. To animate is to bring something to life. Like Mickey Mouse. Or Goofy.

*In order, sheeplike, piglike, deerlike, horse-like, doglike, catlike, lion-like, ass-like, eagle-like, wolflike, and crow-like. 

How-dja do?

Posted in Uncategorized, Wednesday Word | 8 Comments