Lena Kantor's Day

I'm going to follow the tradition of posting my final paper on my blog. This one is the longest yet! While the language is somewhat didactic and the dialogue is trite, I'm still pretty proud of my product. Though it seems that every short story I write ends up being about an existential crisis:

The image of Lena Kantor this Friday morning would make one think she was the epitome of studiousness. However, that wouldn’t be accurate. As she woke she pushed the copy of Babbitt off of her face and gently rubbed her eyes. The book fell to the floor and joined the clattering of Mohn Hall’s kitchen below (Hilleboe 57). Lena propped herself up to glance at the clock. “Fantastic,” she murmured to herself, “awake an hour before I have to be.” Dejectedly, she collapsed back onto her pillow. Instead of falling back to sleep, she found herself drawn into the deep blue of Babbitt’s cover (Babbitt First Edition). Before she knew it she was thumbing through the pages again.  Lena’s literary society, Delta Iota, had taken up Sinclair Lewis’ most recent novel so that they may be representative “Torchbearers of Inquiry" (Lavinia 237). Though the conversation had happened weeks before, Lena had never gathered the energy to finish the novel. Mere moments after immersing herself in Babbitt’s affair Lena heard the feet of the freshmen she counseled scampering down the hallway (Hilleboe 58-59) (Lewis). Lena hopped out of bed, got dressed, gathered her things, and trotted down the steps to the basement where three quarters of the school were gathering for breakfast (Hilleboe 56).

            Even within the chaos Lena could clearly see the divide between her class and the second and fourth years. As she stood at the large sliding doors that divided the dining room from the rest of the hall, she spotted her roommate, Sigrid Kolstad. After getting her food Lena begrudgingly walked over to eat with her (Hilleboe 56).

            “Great morning!” Sigrid shouted far too loudly to be acceptable at this hour.

            “You weren't in the room and woken up by the kitchen.” Lena grouchily replied.

            “Oh come now,” Sigrid crooned, “Without that cacophony you wouldn’t have farm fresh milk to drink with your eggs this morning (Hilleboe 57)” She grinned and downed her glass of milk in one gulp. She had plenty of practice drinking.

            “Good time with Knute last night?” Lena snarked back.

            “Oh hush!” Sigrid hissed, slamming her glass back onto the table “It was nothing! We were studying for embryology.”

            “Of course..."

            Suddenly Sigrid’s hands became a whirlwind as she shoved a piece of toast in her mouth and grabbed the books from below her chair. "The assignment I worked so hard on all of last night will be late if I don’t hurry up. God, I hate walking all the way across campus for my first class...” Before Lena knew it, with a grin full of breadcrumbs, Sigrid waved goodbye and exited.  

            Lena took her time with her eggs, since class was just down the hall and down the stairs (Hilleboe 56). Most of the time Lena couldn’t stand Sigrid. Sigrid mirrored the constant airiness typical of this time. Her intolerable attitude and questionable activities constantly made Lena wonder how Sigrid passed her classes. Lena’s mind stomped out her loathing as her body meandered out of the cafeteria.  She was among the last to leave and went straight to the home economics labs. There, she slid into the last chair as Professor Drotning began her lecture for the day (Catalog 50).

            It was hard to pay attention to this professor. To Lena, a lecture on pairing root vegetables with a roast hardly felt necessary or relevant. Outside, America was going through an artistic and economic renaissance; yet Drotning only spoke of carrots and potatoes. Lectures anywhere outside the home ec labs were more engaging. St. Olaf was growing increasingly more aware of the world it existed in. None of the students could stop talking about the rising German national debt, or the mounting tension in Europe (“German National Debt” 28). Last year, William Jennings Bryan came to speak in chapel. The governor of Minnesota had made an appearance on campus too (Shaw, History 308)! With all of this, the small dealings of smoking and dancing just seemed so insignificant, but President Boe would have none it on campus. Dean Hilleboe frequently warned her women of these sins and the threat of expulsion should they partake (Hanson np). It seemed too absurd to Lena. By the end of class her carrots were hardly tender enough, but her mind was too occupied with these other issues to notice. She placed her product on Drotning’s table and ignored Drotning’s disappointed glare as she walked out.

            Lena’s grades were good for not trying. After all, home economics was only questionably challenging… or interesting. But she didn’t have too much of a choice. Her father forbade all other majors for her; she was at St. Olaf to increase her marriageability. When the Kantors found out that Lena had spent a night at a dance club in Omaha, her father was incensed. He was convinced that her small German community had heard of her escapades and thought she had lost all hope to marry ("Omaha" np). So she used this to her advantage and convinced her father to send her to St. Olaf (Konig 107).

            Sure, she spent time dancing. Like many Oles she would dance for fun, mostly clandestinely on campus, sometimes at Carleton (Shaw, History 315). But Sigrid, however, flirted, gallivanted, and drank more than she should. She was one of the few on campus who got swept up by the music in all the wrong respects (Hanson np). Only her astounding luck kept Hilleboe from catching her. It was a miracle Sigrid was allowed to be a junior counselor with Lena. Even more surprising were her and Knute’s escapades --

            “Uff da!” Wyman Olson blurted out. Lena, engulfed in irritation, didn’t notice that her walk south across old campus ended by colliding directly into Wyman’s chest.

            “Oh Gosh, I’m sorry Wyman. I get lost in my….” Lena apologized as she picked up her education psychology book that had fallen in the crash.

            “That’s alright Lena, I’ll admit I quite frequently get lost in my own.” He straightened out his collar, leading to an awkward silent moment. “Anyway, if it’s chapel you’re heading for we should hurry, it’s starting soon. Though you don’t have to go if you don’t want to (Bensen 240). I just thought you might want to hear Boe talk about dancing… apparently that’s what his talk is on today.…"

            Lena failed to see the issue in being late or the issue in dancing, but she hurried up the steps with Wyman anyway. The upper balcony was almost full, but Wyman and Lena managed to secure seats in the back of the main floor. The organ was still opening, so they were able to secure seats without drawing too much attention (Shaw, Dear Old 77).

            Boe promptly started his speech after the organ. However, there were many more fascinating aspects of today’s chapel service than his words- the pleats in Lena’s skirt, for example.

“I will remind you that the principal task of this school is to educate, yes, but to educate students who will be good, Christian characters. We are a college, but more specifically, a college of the church (Bensen 228)…” Or the number of pipes the organ had... “I am not afraid to say that we who are responsible for St. Olaf many a time have wondered just what is right and square. More and more students are approaching me with issues of justice that they believe have been mishandled, or are not addressed enough on our campus on a hill (Boe 127)…” Or finding the complimentary colors in the stained glass window… “You are coming from hundreds of communities and have picked your ideas from all over. Everything is being batted around. I think it’s remarkable that we have been able to keep our faith at St. Olaf as much as we have (Boe 134)…” Or the evening she would be spending at the chemistry shack. However, his next words quickly drew her back in. “Supposing I said, ‘After this we will open up on dancing and smoking.’ Is that the St. Olaf you want? I don’t think so. Sometimes they come and ask me, ‘Is it a sin to do this?’ I am not bothered by whether anything is a sin except the things that Jesus Christ said were sin (Boe 134)”

Well, there was the climax Wyman was looking for. Lena’s frustration simmered within her, but only for long enough for her to hear “If we can send out men and women with the philosophy and honest and upright desire to be a child of God, I haven’t much worry about what you are going to do (Boe 135). Please Stand.” And with this, Boe indecisively concluded his talk for the day.

For the remainder of chapel Lena wondered whether Wyman would be happy with this conclusion. To her it seemed that Boe didn’t care about dancing nearly as much as he portrayed, but more about forming diligent students. She glanced at Wyman to see if she could read his face at all, but all she gathered was the furrow of concentration in his brow as he tried to sight-read the hymns. Wyman frequently wore this look outside of sight reading. He was known to be one of the standard pensive students on campus.

“Of course Wyman just scowled!” Sigrid blasted, with a mouth full of greens.

“No, you’re twisting-“

“Did you read that editorial he put in the Messenger the Tuesday before Easter (Catalog 1)? Sure, the editorial talked about ‘gaining satisfaction for ourselves.’, but it was totally a blast at having a good time (Hendrickson 2). Studying more literature my-“

“Okay, okay Sigrid, we get it. Finish chewing your salad.” Knute said.

Wyman’s most recent “anonymous” entry was supposedly about keeping St. Olaf literature study up to do date so that students may keep up with the times, but the more belligerent of students took it as a covert blast at their favorite pastimes of drinking, dancing, and smoking (Hendrickson 2). Lena read the article over again, thinking she would be enlightened to this hidden meaning. While Wyman was known for being vocal about modern hedonism, Lena couldn’t see it here. Rather, he was just being expressive about engaging discovering modern literary truths such as Lewis’. His, like many other editorials, encouraged students to remain engaged in the spirit of progress Boe had set forth for their college at the beginning of his term (Hendrickson np).

            “It doesn’t matter anyway, it just means one less person at the chem shack tonight!” Sigrid sung as she walked with Lena and Knute out of the dining hall.

            Once again Lena walked over to the home economics labs, this time for principles of color and design. Unsurprisingly, Drotning failed to make varieties of gingham any more interesting than tender vegetables (Terteling np). The rest of Lena’s day passed rather lethargically as well, as Lena passively wallowed in her education psychology class and study hall.

            After dinner- which was punctuated by Sigrid’s loud shrieks about the chem shack- Lena debated doing homework. Part of Boe’s new era was an emphasis on “self-discipline”, meaning teachers expected increasingly diligent students . Most good Oles rose to the challenge and then some, becoming active in academics, oratory, literary societies, music groups and current events (Shaw, History 308). However, Lena found it difficult enough to stay awake in colors, let alone do the necessary reading. After dinner, she headed back to her room, not allowing Sigrid up because Lena's outfit “was to be a surprise”. In theory, she was forcing herself to do work.

In actuality, there was little productivity. Lena decided it would be more fruitful to finish Babbitt than to pretend to be interested in color theory. As the novel drew to the close, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for Babbitt. All he attempted to make an individual of himself failed; in the end his only action to free himself was let his son elope (Lewis np). At Delta Iota, they mentioned that the novel made a satire of their society. Nowadays, Americans were superficial and lacked originality and sought only that which benefitted themselves. But did this apply to St. Olaf? And of course it didn’t to Lena…

“Lena, what are you doing, get up!” Sigrid shouted. Lena awoke with a start, clutching the open novel to her chest. “Getting dressed, huh? Well put down that trash and let's go have fun!"

Lena reluctantly succumbed to Sigrid’s nagging and put on her dancing outfit. She wore a black top that cut somewhat low in the back, with a skirt that came slightly below her knees in a large black and white plaid. Her tights matched her shoes, which had enough of a heel to make her a bit taller without making it difficult to walk. She put her hair back in a pin, and with a fluff of her locks she was ready to go (Steele 348).

Together Knute, Sigrid and Lena made the stealthy trek across campus to the chemistry shack. Lena was surprised the intoxicated Knute and Lena could find their way without the moon (“Moon Phase Images” np).  Just west of Steensland Library, this glorified hut was built in three weeks, which showed in its plain grey exterior and lack of ornament (Shaw, Dear Old 98). It may not have been as glamorous as a club in Omaha, but tonight Lena found it more than tolerable (Tvedten np).

A song from "Runnin' Wild" played as the group cracked open the door and snuck in ("Charleston" np). The scene possessed some energy. Oles deftly weaved between lab benches in a slightly awkward dance. Lena couldn’t help but notice the contrast between Knute and Sigrid’s inebriated stomps and the smooth steps of the student dancers across the floor. As the couple stumbled into the blur, Lena found herself starring at the whir of dresses and slacks, lost in a room full of motion and noise.

At the next break, Lena pulled herself to the center of the room. The music began, and once she had the beat she began a solo Charleston. Her rock step, kick step soon pulled in everyone’s attention. One man in particular grabbed her eyes, and as soon as she saw that, Lena snatched his arms. Commandingly she lead him around the dance floor, knees flying in and out. His embarrassment was obvious in his tense arms and small kicks, but she didn't care. Judging from their perplexed looks, Lena guessed that most Oles hadn’t seen this dance before since tt was actually fairly new. When the music stopped, she thanked her partner, and stepped out of the limelight ("Charleston" np).

Lena spent the rest of the evening as follow. It was not nearly as enjoyable, though Lena would admit it was a tad more entertaining root vegetables and Sigrid’s yelling. Her mood soured whenever she noticed Lena and Knute, but her discontent drowned with her complete immersion in the motion and noise.

Lena slipped out the door after an hour. She was careful as the approached Mohn's doors; while it wasn't too late, she would rather not have Hilleboe question her location this evening. The doors creaked quietly open as Lena slipped in. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a few figures sitting in the parlor. She turned toward the stairs but stopped when she heard a "Psst!" from the room behind her.

"Lena, Lena hold on!" a man whispered from the parlor. Lena paused and turned around. Once again, the furrow in Wyman's brow suggested concentration beyond this moment. Suddenly his look turned sour. "You were at that dance, weren't you?"

"What?" Lena questioned. "Since when did you care?”

"I... I was just wondering..." Wyman's brow creased further. "I don't get it... I just don't see what's so appealing. Not to mention what Boe thinks.."

Lena was confused. "What? Wyman, I just like to go out! What’s with you all of a sudden?" Her step back was matched by his step forward.

"Oh, it's nothing. Wait, please don't get nervous." Wyman must have noticed the look of confusion on her face. "I just worry about you sometimes, Lena. When I see you, you always look so dreary. It's obvious you're not happy about much. And you spend so much time with Sigrid, I worry she’ll pull you into all sorts of activities." His voice trailed off at her look of displeasure. "What? She’s not the epitome of a good student!”

"Wyman, I don't need your lecture. I'm going to bed." Yet her feet stayed planted, ears full of listening, mind echoing with his words and Boe’s words earlier today.

"Fine, I'm done. But all I ask is you take a look at what you're doing. Just make sure you're doing what you're doing because you want to. Not because of anyone else, just because you want to. Sigrid may give me grief for being so intellectual all the time, but that's because I enjoy thinking. I've taken responsibility for what I love and I hope you may do the same. I hope you realize that doing anything else would be a waste of your time here (Bensen 241). Good night Lena."

With those final words, he left.

Lena stood, shocked and perplexed. Without the story of Wyman’s home life this conversation lacked coherence. As she soaked in his words she climbed the stairs once more to her room. She undressed before Sigrid came home and slid into bed. Her own unhappiness hadn't struck her until now. "This is the time, " she thought to herself, "to choose to be inert or dynamic. Wyman is pushing me to make that choice." Was the path of St. Olaf-- one of engagement and world vision with a vocational place-- worth the strife? All against her roommate, her family, society’s values, and.. herself? Her weary eyes wandered over to the copy of Babbitt on the floor.

"Perhaps this is the unease Babbitt had felt moments before allowing his son to pursue love and elope (Lewis)." She wondered. She no longer wanted to be the typical of her age. With this, she drifted off to sleep...

Standing in Her Shoes

Today I made the walk from The Math Building to the path down the hill next to Steensland, and I realized that's the exact path Lena would have taken to get to her dance at the Chem Shack from Mohn Hall. Granted, the landscape has bee sculpted and shaved, and buildings have been built and destroyed, but she would have walked along the same road. Though she's fictional, it's strange to think of those Oles who have come before us, and how much they have shaped our school. Perhaps years from now people will think the same of us.

My List

While I do like the list we came up with in class today, there are a few things I would like to change or add. Here's my personal list.

1. Bill Gates

2. Hollywood (Celebrities, etc)

3. McDonalds

4. Walmart

5. Route 66

6. The iPad

7. Constitution/Declaration of Independence

8. Subdivisions

9. The Packers

10.Roller coasters

11. Blue Jeans

12. Reality TV

Some themes I see running through it are entrepreneurship, consumerism and the glorification of the middle class.  All of these are involved in the idea that in America, we are free to create success for ourselves in order to participate in the culture of consumption we have built. All of these objects evolve around and stem from this idea.

Eating and Breathing St. Olaf

Within the past week I have found myself completely immersed in St. Olaf history. After reading just about every book's opinion on Olaf in the 1920's and flipping through pages of letters and emails in the archives I've reached the point where I think it's safe to say I understand St. Olaf during the 1920's. Now that means I"m ready to write my paper!

Unfortunately, it's an hour and a half before class and I still want to look through Manitou Mess articles before I get too involved with a paper. Well, at least I have this paragraph:

From the image you find of Lena Kantor this Friday morning you would think she was the epitome of studiousness. However, that wouldn’t be accurate. As she wakes up she pushes the copy of Babitt  off of her face and gently rubs her eyes. The book falls to the floor as she hears the clattering of Mohn Hall’s kitchen below (SOURCE). She props herself to glance at the clock. “Fantastic,” she murmured to herself, “awake an hour before I have to be again.” Dejectedly, she collapses back onto her pillow. With the clamoring continuing Lena cannot loose to focus to fall back to sleep. Instead she finds herself drawn into the deep blue of Babitt’s cover, and soon she finds herself thumbing through the pages again.  Lena’s literary society, Delta Iota, had taken up Sinclair Lewis’ most recent novel to be representative “Torchbearers of Inquiry”- the motto of their own society (SOURCE). It seems as if it was mere moments of being immersed in Babbitt’s affair that Lena heard the scampering of her freshmen’s feet down the hallway. Lena hopped out of bed, put on her skirt and hat and whatever else she would wear and trotted down the steps to the basement where three quarters of the school was gathering for breakfast (SOURCE) (SOURCE). 

I still need to clean it up a bit. I also have an outline for the rest of her day, but considering that took me to almost a page I might have to cut some information out. 

Exerpts...

" So I’ve learned that a Liberal Arts education is meant to promote a well-rounded student. It’s a student who has a global worldview and responsibility. There is coherence across all disciplines because… it’s necessary to understand context. It’s as if Liberal arts is dedicated to creating a contextual education. And this is why I feel I have loved this so much. To me there are connections across all subjects. It’s how I can justify being a member of a choir, working in the theater and being a pre-med student. I try to integrate my longing to build community into all that I do. That is my justification..."

" I think being a good citizen comes hand in hand with being a good person. They are analogous terms in my mind; those who choose to create the best image of themselves will also create links with other people around them. It’s conversations in this class introducing the best of American citizens that inspire us to strive towards qualities of greatness. I’m especially drawn to figures like Jane Addams, or Hutchinson, or even Jefferson, who have these ideal societies and try to build communities through not only thoughts but by addressing small problems as well. Through discussing their mindsets we have seen the shifting framework of Americanism. I identify with these mindsets because they are fluid and quixotic to some degrees. But it’s fundamentally American approach that is exemplified in the liberal arts; it’s this approach that I cling to. An American has the freedom to create the best image of themselves, throughout the centuries has been given the communities to do so, and in the modern age has evolved with societal standards. Then we look forward to how our past has contributed to our happiness, and how our future may draw us into bliss."

F. Melius Christiansen

The man to my right here is F. Melius Christiansen,  A man revered as a sort of God on this campus. As I was sitting in the Christmasfest bleachers I had a chance to read through the 100th anniversary program fairly thoroughly. I read about Christiansen founding the St. Olaf music department, building up the esteem of the St. Olaf choir and creating the tradition of Christmasfest. He originally just had a small program with the St. Olaf choir in Hoyme chapel. Over the years it evolved to include a theme, dancers, lights, and general spectacle, but by our time the decision was made to make it a singing performance. The set was created to supplement the music and the readings were included to further the theme of each year.  While I've heard people say Christiansen's actual abilities to arrange and compose were lacking, there's no doubt that he has had an inescapable impact on this campus. As we look into our history it's these important figures, like Christiansen, Boe, Hilboe or Kildahl who represent the everlasting ideals of our institution. These men had visions to last beyond their years; it's like our own set of founding fathers. We still strive to embody the ideals they instilled in the institution in its nascence, except slightly more modern in form. Perhaps that is what tradition is: continuing to perpetuate our old ideals. We say St. Olaf is an institution of traditions- whether those traditions are Norwegian, Lutheran, Musical or foundational- I find that this may just mean we have respect for the visions of those behind us.

His and Her Ántonia

For my paper I explored the relationship between Cather and Jim's  Ántonia, and how Cather's goal was to recreate the classic woman (i.e. Helen of Troy) except American in style.

My Ántonia by Willa Cather portrays the beauties of farm life in rural Nebraska through the eyes of the narrator, Jim Burden, who must carry his love for a woman named Ántonia from his young years through the different paths their lives take. Throughout the novel, the two physically drift slowly apart; Jim’s education pulls him out of Ántonia’s rural life. She, on the other hand, left her education early on to support her family. She is condemned to the life of a serving girl. Though we see them separate, the novel ends with their reunion. Here we see that Jim’s love lasted the ages; to him, Ántonia can do no wrong. His image of her is perfect in every respect; this novel really does portray his Ántonia, the Ántonia he adores despite all faults.

            Ántonia’s picturesque portrayal reflects themes carried in classic literature. She is raised on a similar pedestal to Helen of Troy. Of course, this classical allusion is no mistake by the author. Willa Cather’s intention is to create the great American novel. This love within the devotion to the land she writes about reflects her earthly connection growing up. In these respects, Ántonia belongs to Cather. Her Ántonia is the woman of the ages, fit within the American love of the land. The voice of Cather in Jim musing over Ántonia, ignoring all wrongs reflects Cather’s desire to create a novella ripe with classical themes but unique to America and the American rural experience.

            Cather lived rurally. Her affluent beginnings on the frontier polished her unique lens on American life. To her, the classic American experience came from the plough and its relation to the ground. Her nostalgia for the golden age of farming, where a man tilling the land was valued above all else runs through most of her novels.  Specifically, My Ántonia takes place in and around tiny Black Hawk, Nebraska. We see the characters picking potatoes, fighting snakes and marveling in the glory of the larger towns. This all, no doubt, stems from Cather’s personal history.

            However, Cather does not make her career as a farmer. She becomes a writer. Still, her connection to the earth lives on in her literature. She longs to iconicize this nostalgic, classic, American experience. Her yearning becomes readily apparent in Jim’s studies. To work he “… propped open [his] book and stared listlessly at the page of the Georgics…” (126). Here, Cather- using Jim’s voice narrating Virgil- announces “… I will be the first, if I live, to bring the muses to my country.” (126). “My country” no longer meaning Virgil’s Rome, but Jim and Cather’s America. Virgil’s words are ultimately severed from their context through discussion of the plough- the powerful tool which is part and parcel to working the land. This tool of man represents the work of Americans; for the Romans, “… the pen was fitted to the matter as the plough is to the furrow.” for Americans (126). Together, Jim and Cather have subtly introduced us to the novel’s motive. Cather has taken Virgil’s timeless themes and tethered them to the plow, as apposed to solely the pen. Together, plow and literature till the fertile land. The fruit of her labor is a novel ripe with classicism.

            Cather’s intentions are personified in Jim as narrator. He is the voice through which her nuances are introduced. Cather’s classical allusions are personified in Jim’s love of Ántonia. He reminisces fondly of her.  Ántonia’s family immigrated to Black Hawk around the same time as Jim’s family. Both being newcomers, the children grew close. Jim enjoyed her company, boasted of killing a snake in front of her, and dedicated his high school commencement oration to her memory of her father. Their young years together create an inseparable bond that ends up lasting the ages.

However, circumstances growing old physically separated the two of them. Jim’s education drew him away from Black Hawk, and Ántonia had to accept a job as a serving girl. When they are reunited later in life, it is obvious that his love has never faulted. On touring Ántonia and her husband’s farm, he admires her children and how well she has done for herself. As he falls asleep in her barn, he muses over her once more:

She lent herself to immemorial human attitudes which we recognize by instinct as universal and true. I had not been mistaken. She was a battered woman now, not a lovely girl; but she still had that something which fires the imagination, could still stop one’s breath for a moment by a look or gesture that somehow revealed the meaning in common things (167).

It has been years. He is older, as is she. He is married, as is she. Yet still, he is hopelessly in love with her. To him, she represents universal, imaginative pulchritude that is boundless and timeless- no marriage or age can fence it in.

            This is not to say that Ántonia is without faults. In her younger years while working for the Harlings she takes up the pastime of dancing. Jim and the other working girls become preoccupied with this risqué activity. Ántonia becomes so swept up in it that when the Harlings give her an ultimatum of a job or dancing, she chooses dance. She ends up working for Wick Cutter, an unctuous moneylender disliked throughout the town. She also starts dancing with Larry Donovan, known to be “…a kind of professional ladies man…” (108). Despite her newly found bad habits, her image is unmarred- at least, according to Jim. Directly after introducing her questionable choice in partner, Jim says Ántonia “… was lovely to see, with her eyes shining, and her lips always a little parted when she danced. That constant, dark color in her cheeks never changed.” (108). She has left a lovely family, chosen a questionable new boss, with risqué activities with a promiscuous man as a date. Any normal man would begin to find faults in their image; Yet, Jim remains infatuated.  

            Jim and Ántonia’s relationship exists within the greater context of a farming community. He idealizes her, but on American terms. There are no wars fought over her name; instead, Jim kills a snake and takes pride in her admiration. They do not rest in the Grecian cities but instead on hay bales on the American prairie. Cather’s reference to classic infatuation, epitomized by Helen of Troy is meant create the American image of love.  Men swoon over Helen in Greece; In America, men swoon over Ántonia. Cather’s Ántonia draws Jim in, and he never quite lets go. The rural life has drawn the two of them together, and thus Cather and Jim paint an untouchable portrait of Ántonia. His and her Ántonia will last the ages.

Sheepish

In my relaxed state at home I pulled out a book my friend lent me, called Sheepish, by Catherine Friend. It's about a woman and her partner, trying to make their sheep farm (as well as their relationship) work. Throughout the novel we learn of the wisdom in shepherding, the struggles of menopause and the beauty of relationships.
Now, this is a perfect opportunity to mention my love of sheep. Like Steph has a love of bears, I have a love of these wooly animals. I had to stop myself multiple times from dropping the book, leaving Minneapolis-St. Paul's airport, and running into the fields to start my own sheep farm, despite the struggles they kept mentioning. The funniest part is that her farm is only 45 minutes away from St. Olaf! Don't worry, a field trip is already in the works. I'm more excited than any normal person should be.

Now, relevance! Friend made some references to the modern farm. I couldn't help but think about our discussions of My Antonia, and even my thoughts on Ethan Frome. Friend never was a huge fan of farming- she mentions how she was more of a backup farmer than an actual participant on the land. That's more of her partner's job, Melissa. Friend writes, and eventually starts spinning the wool her sheep produce. While Friend frequently dreams of abandoning her farm during times of trouble, she realizes towards the end of the novel that she can't leave it. There's too much power in the oxytocin loop (oxytocin is a pleasurable hormone released in animals and humans when they interact- it facilitated the original domestication process), and too much value in owning land. She references the 5 eras of farming; it has evolved from sustenance farming to mass producing animals, but now there's a fifth movement, back towards small farms (yeoman farmers, hm?) and caring for our land and animals. It's as if we've made a loop, rotating away from My Antonia, where land is valued for the wealth it can bring, to now, where we value the land for its inherent worth.

Ethan Frome and My Ántonia

As I was working through My Ántonia, I couldn't help but think of Ethan Frome, the depressing novel we read in American Literature my sophomore year of high school. That word really exaggerates the differences between the novel; Antonia's story is not nearly as laden with sadness as Frome's is. While they do have similar styles of narratives (flashback from the perspective of an uninvolved third character), their plot lines take stunningly different directions. Wow, fancy that, two novels with different plot lines? Who'd a thunk it. What I'm getting at is that maybe the location of the agricultural  community might have a drastic effect on the perspectives of the characters. The East coast, where Ethan Frome takes place, has been a developing community for a long time. Having a large plot of land to call your own becomes increasingly difficult. Perhaps this contributes to the isolation and lack of funds that Frome feels. In the great state of Nebraska, large land prospects and a hopeful attitude created a much more merry environment. The community there just seems brighter and more hopeful than the town of Starkfield, whose name in and of itself suggests desolation.

I suppose a real English person could go into this a lot further than I just did....

From Vaudeville to Camping: The Evolution of the Cell Block Tango

I talked a lot about how general Vaudeville ideals influence the smaller, more specific choices we made as artists for our skit. It's an interesting evolution as we get more specific:

            Vaudeville packs a punch. The multitude of mediums and plethora of performers provided early 20^th century audiences with a new form of entertainment that appealed to the masses. We, as Amconners, can only mimic the variety and talent of these performers. Our group’s tribute to this golden age of theater was the Cell Block Tango from the musical Chicago. Ultimately there are three major layers of this skit: historical vaudeville, Chicago’s pastiche, as well as our groups’ personal creative choices. These three aspects combine to create a specific act, personal to our section that still exists within the greater context of Variety Theater.

            If we work inwards from the very outer layer, we start with the context of Vaudeville. Gary’s lecture introduced us to the cultural standard and its place in American history.  All people appreciated this cheap, inviting, and entertaining grab bag of acts. Singing, dancing, animals and slapstick had no cultural boundaries- no matter what gender, ethnicity, social class or native tongue, a hoot and holler came out of a trip to the theater. This illimitability was quintessential to vaudeville’s success! It reflected the boundlessness of the American dream, accessible to any who would jump on the bandwagon (Gisselman np). The theater welcomed everyone, and together they could experience the same entertainment.

            Chicago’s setting, in particular, comes at a newer age in Vaudeville. Jazz and liquor rouged-up our friendly medium and excited it into a burlesque frenzy. It is still equally entertaining, but now on a guiltier, adult level. Now, instead of innocent puppies leaping through hoops, risqué dancers take the forefront in a jaw-dropping, eye-popping display of skin and high-kicks hardly befit for family audiences. But no one’s complaining; they couldn’t in the whir of trumpet and the din of new American success that begins in the roarin’ twenties. The American attitude during prohibition is carefree; riding off the financial and moral victories of World War I, Americans celebrated for a decade before the Great Depression significantly dampened the mood.

            Our musical is plucked right out of this whirlwind. Its original title, “Chicago: A Musical Vaudeville” says it all. The dances could have been taken from right out of a performance in the city, and the announcer for each piece easily could have been a Bronzeville native. Its original setting was a simple arrangement of songs and dances, with little set or transitions between. This reflects the broader vaudevillian style within the specific context of Chicago in the 1920’s. The wheeler-dealer mentality of all the characters playing their lives as a constant act draws us even further into the era by demonstrating the values these people held (Chicago np). Because it is actually a play-as apposed to independent numbers- we can see behind the acts into these performers’ lives. It provides another layer life in the 1920’s.

This choice in medium leads to a dynamic hybridization of classic vaudeville and social commentary. The exaggeration of these characters suggests a grandiose, bourgeoisie mentality. The alcoholic frenzy has caused these representative Americans to stumble away from wholesome entertainment towards a new identity of unnecessary luxury with plenty of skin. The shocking is fashionable and the raunchy has replaced the witty. All together America has become showier than ever before.

Now of course, for our rendition we had to change some aspects of the original Cell Block Tango. In its whole form, the Tango is six murderesses explaining (in song) why they aren’t to blame for the murder of their husbands. “They had it coming,” the woman shout, “They had it coming all along. Cause if they used us, and they abused us, how can you tell us that we were wrong!”. One’s interests are conflicted as the wives express their grievances; at least, I feel bad because these women are stuck with deadbeat husbands; but we can’t forget that these women overreacted and murdered their spouses. In the musical climax, the women argue for their case for freedom, dancing in not much more than their underwear. Whether this use of sexual promiscuity is empowering or degrading is arguable, but these women are trying to use it as a tool for self-expression.

Now, I think it goes without saying that we couldn’t tackle this vignette in its whole. From the very beginning, there were five people in our group, four of which weren’t tone deaf. So, we cut two of the solo acts and focused on four of our own. In coming up with our own scenes for the murder of our husbands we created a vaudeville act within our vaudeville act: the varying combinations of dancing, singing and acting between punctuated by group numbers lent themselves to four very different vignettes. Hopefully, in the real world the audience would have loved us. Our goal was to entertain, and we pulled out all the stops.

Now, I’ve referenced the use of the female sexual promiscuity as a persuasive tool, but there was a slight problem with that for our rendition … I’m  a male. While our decision to have me play Velma stemmed from a logistical issue, our group used it in the creative process later on. During one rehearsal I jokingly asked (in my pretentious actor voice) “Am I a male playing a female, or a male playing the archetypal role of a person trapped in a situation of guilt?”. Of course, some sassy banter followed. Unwittingly it veered towards our conversation of Gay New York.  In an executive decision Mike and I became an effeminate males instead of either the options I mentioned before.

Now, if this were a professional performance setting, my display would have hardly been considered campy or satirical in any way. But subtly, for our audience, I was able to portray an effeminate gay male. Suddenly our burlesque wouldn’t be for heterosexuals anymore. Our pastiche truly crossed all the lines of audience. My performance wasn’t too embellished and would have fit in fine for a typical Broadway setting; it would just be another example of entertainment. However, Gary subtly hinted at the Gay vaudeville in his lecture. This means that somewhere there could have been an all male production of the same skit, which would drastically shift the style of the entire piece as well as provide insight to a completely different subculture of the Prohibition era. But because our act was primarily heterosexual our camping would be more of a display of mockery as apposed to a move of solidarity amongst men of the same sexual orientation.

Hopefully, one can see how the original context of Vaudeville has lead to Chicago’s interpretation, and then how our group’s interpretation draws from and comments on the greater theater tradition as a whole. It is important to remember and reflect on how artistic and historical traditions influence even the most minute of decisions in modern art and expression. This exercise reminds us of that.

Social Class, Value Systems and Space

I was thinking a lot since Friday about value systems and what input they have on mobility in various societies. We mentioned how in an agricultural society it is very easy to judge someone's social class. Of course, there's the fact that you can see how much land a person owns. There is this physical manifestation of wealth. Beyond that, there are farmers asking to borrow equipment they don't own, and of course certain degrees of performance of social class roles. This got me thinking...

In my Gender in Cross Cultural Perspective class we talked a little about various societal "set ups" and their influence on gender roles. One thing I pulled from that was the influence of a pastoral nomadic societies. In these groups wealth is even more fundamentally visible, and easily quantifiable in the number of heads there are in your herd. More goats means more wealth, and more respect within your small community.

Then I jumped far forward to our modern era. Now, wealth can be measured in anything from amount of collectible cars, number of bonds owned or size of your business. Without truly investigating a person in your community they could exist within any large range of economic stratae. Here's where I think we can pull in another correlation be mentioned earlier, and that is the separation of the public and private sphere. Private space has become increasingly valuable in society. The nomadic herder has little space to "own", so it's hard to consider anything private really. They live an exclusively public life. Agrarians have space to call their own, but it's a wide open space, easily visible and quantifiable with a glance. In the most modern of ages, a large house can hide an overdrawn mortgage, and a small apartment could be home to a quiet entrepreneur. Of course this is a sweeping generalization; home locations can speak a lot to the inhabitant's wealth, and those with greater salaries will find more reason to spend their money. But it is still a flexible system, and the rod is bending more and more as we continue on through time.

Praise!

Martin Espada's Alabanza really struck a chord with me. I don't know if it's my lack of sleep, but something about this poem made me really emotional. It probably has to do with the oral interpretation of the poem coupled with the public response, but the emotions flowing his performance really struck at some of the fundamental issues of people, and in particular, immigrants.

Petra's last blog talked about service, and how the help that we're doing may not seem like it makes a difference. I am guilty of inflating my own ego in a position of service. There was a project aptly titled "The Compassion Project" which sought to actively develop the compassionate response to the needs and pains of others. Similarly to Brooks' poem that Petra mentioned, this poem humanizes the "aliens" we frequently push off to the side. "Alabanza" means praise in Spanish, and this poem is praising the 43 employees of the Workers of the World restaurant who were killed on 9/11. They are amongst the casualties, and are a foundation through which our society is built (though delving into that is for another day...). I'm interested in the evolution that occurred in this poem though, like I was interested in a song in the front yard. It starts with the plight of the Latino, always as a worker and a fighter. Its this proud spirit that is being praised, from the beginning to the end.

"a song in the front yard'

I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life.

I want a peek at the back

Where it’s rough and untended and hungry weed grows.   

A girl gets sick of a rose.

I want to go in the back yard now   

And maybe down the alley,

To where the charity children play.   

I want a good time today.

They do some wonderful things.

They have some wonderful fun.

My mother sneers, but I say it’s fine

How they don’t have to go in at quarter to nine.   

My mother, she tells me that Johnnie Mae   

Will grow up to be a bad woman.

That George’ll be taken to Jail soon or late

(On account of last winter he sold our back gate).

But I say it’s fine. Honest, I do.

And I’d like to be a bad woman, too,

And wear the brave stockings of night-black lace   

And strut down the streets with paint on my face.

 

There are a few things that interest me about this poem. Like first off, why a "song" in the front yard. I'm especially intrigued because of the innocence that I connote with "song", while she says that it's the backyard where the children play. This is connected to the evolution of imagery in the poem as well. At first we just get the feeling of a child playing, literally. This girl wants to go explore the backyard, where it's a little more exciting and unkempt. Typically our neighbors won't see the backyard, so that's were we may let it slip a little bit. But suddenly there's this change where the backyard no longer represents an area  a child would play in, but instead represents a shift in attitude as one grows older. It becomes the gossip, the hush-hush and raunchiness of our time. She goes from wanting to play amongst the weeds to putting on the makeup and going out for the night to do... who knows what. She comments on the development of play throughout our lives; it's always there, but apparently just changes in its purity.

Healing after 9/11

I don't think I brought this up in this forum already, but I apologize if I did:

I stumbled upon this video this summer when I was lazily watching TED talks (How I wish I had that leisure time now...). But anyway, I decided to put it aside and save it for a rainy [blog] day, keeping in mind the conversations we had last year about 9/11, and the impact it had on us as a country and as a people. We mentioned that it's hard to imagine a world before 9/11, simply because of our age and the way it changed our perspective on our world. In the midst of all the chaos and hatred that ensued, it's important to see, understand, and perpetuate this fundamental healing.

Authenticity and the Immersive Experience

This is "The Artist Looks at Nature", by Charles Sheeler. As soon as I saw that he took the picture on page 395 I knew I needed to incorporate this image somehow. It is my favorite painting. It's displayed in Chicago's Art Institute, in the early-20th century-American-painters section, amongst paintings like "American Gothic" and "Nighthawks." Scheeler was an artist at the forefront of the modernist movement, categorized by its precision in form- specifically, depicting the rigid lines of the newly forming industrialized landscape. There are other paintings that showcase this better. What I find truly interesting in this picture is Scheeler's interpretation of interpretation. Look closely at the picture the artist is drawing; it doesn't resemble the landscape it comes from. The contrast in color and shape suggest that either the man in question is not even considering the space he is in, or is simply moved by it in a way that is independent of its actual form. Perhaps the lines of the man-made plateaus he is perched on suggest the sturdiness of a brick house. Regardless of this particular character's drawing, Scheeler is suggesting that an artist interpreting his or her surroundings can ever actually duplicate the space. Whether that be intentional or unintentional, it has an effect on what the audience views. Suddenly that work only becomes truly and utterly authentic to the artist himself.
Now, when we look at The Ford Museum we see this interesting play between authenticity and a desire to educate. The museum's mission describes their goal, it

‘provides unique educational experiences based on authentic objects, stories and lives from America’s traditions of ingenuity, resourcefulness and innovation. Our purpose is to inspire people to learn from these traditions to help shape a better future’

And it's true, the reenactments sought to be authentic. They wore the dress, and accurately the roles that are prescribed to them. But it's hard to ignore these modern people wandering about between you. The actor must make a choice, a very conscious choice to ignore the modern era. They interpret their current situation to not be a village plopped in modern Michigan, but a thriving community of the late 19th century. Is this truly authentic though? Right now, I wouldn't say "My facebook addiction is fueled by a 20th century adherence to technology and intercommunication." to anyone standing near by. So authentic may not be the right word. I've been quite the nitpicker this semester on words on their definitions, and I realize authentic doesn't necessarily mean adhering to every detail. Though Pullman might not have been an authentically ideal town because of its constructed values, one can't deny its role as a pseudo-utopian community. I just think it's important to recognize that any reenactments, whether they be in historical villages or on stage come with ideals and experiences true to the age in which it is being interpreted. This is where the actor plays the role of Sheeler's artist; this actor can choose to be as true to the original image as they choose. In the case of a museum like The Ford Museum though, the actor must strive to ignore all other biases.

The utopia

Pullman's vaguely utopian city brings to question the feasibility of all social projects aimed at improving and equalizing social standards. His city was an experiment in social organization; his perfectly crafted town reflected his ideals, as well as the dream of all Americans to achieve the middle class. His financially crafty idea of a type of rail car gave him the opportunity to arbitrate his own town. Because it was his town eh was free to organize it as he pleased. If you think about it, that concept is scary in and of itself. He had enough money, therefore he could build his own society, where workers were essentially required to adhere to the values he instilled in his community. So much power in one man... And of course, there is a degree of participation on the part of the citizens. They chose to be a part of this community, much like we choose the be a part of the communities we are involved in. But there's something creepy about utopian communities to me. Pieces of life can just be cut out at the overseer's will, like bars and casino's in Pullman's case. While extreme stratification is unfortunate, it in and of itself isn't bad. What's unfortunate is when the system in which there is great socioeconomic diversity isn't set up to support those with the greatest need. So this lack of diversity in Pullman's solely middle class community provides a unification that makes me slightly uncomfortable. I don't know where that comes from; perhaps it's remnants of the red scare, and the fear that purely socialistic tendencies trend towards community's downfall. Again, here we can see Pullman as an example. His own egoism and lack of introspection prevented him from assessing the need of his community as it began to slow down economically. Eventually, this lead to the breaking of the company, and the town as well.

Pumpkins, Pipes, and Pferg

This Saturday I went to "Pumpkins, Pipes, and Pferg", a Halloween organ performance starring the one and only John Ferguson. Let me tell you, it was the best pink card I've ever earned at St. Olaf. Fergs hilarious antics, the ghost of F. Melius Christiansen, a silent movie, and the David Anderson Quartet all made it the best Halloween event on campus this weekend. Handsdown.

While I was watching this performance, I couldn't help but think of Vaudeville. Honest! The second Christiansen made an appearance, I thought of the wacky antics of the Vaudevillian performers. Nonsensical situations full of silly accents and over-exaggerated motions: F. Melius' questonable Scandanavian accent and Ferg's kowtowing in response, for example. The bizarre musical antics of the 3 David Andersons who were able to make it, including a vacuum powered siren and some bizarre PVC contraption I didn't know the function of could have easily been replaced by a slide whistle and a duck that that quacked on cue. Finally, the silent film. I wish I had kept my program so I could remember the name, but in this film we saw the classic humor involving non-sensical situations like a rotating, non-squared house with reversible walls. Ferg's improvisation behind the film was marvelous, and his use of themes helped tie the noiseless movie together. My favorite moment might have been when the DVD player rejected the DVD because it was scratched. Ferg managed to avoid "getting the hook" however, by continuing his improvisations. Somehow, he managed to make the organ sound sassy, using slow tempos while we were waiting and faster ones when it looked like the DVD was going again.

I'm sort of sad this is my first year in Cantorei (the choir Ferg conducts), and his last. Though I'm really hoping this isn't the last year he does this performance. I'm guessing he'll still be around.

Give 'em the old razzle dazzle...

I know this isn't quite Vaudeville times, but during all this conversation I couldn't help but think about Chicago. You know, in discussing the show business of Vaudeville acts and talking about the city itself, I can't help but bring it up. Not to mention it runs with the theme of showtunes that Beth and I have been discussing.

In case you don't know Chicago , it's about a woman named Roxie Hart. She murders her lover when she finds him in bed with another woman. The story is about her attempts to espcape the death penalty while becoming a minor starlett in the hubub of her trial. Her lawyer pulls out all the stops to make her look like the most innocent woman alive when we al know the truth. Through the play we see her bamboozle her husband, push another woman, Velma Kelly, out of the jailbird spotlight, and rise to the top of the Chicago scene. The song below is "All that Jazz" is the show's oppening number, combining dancing, adultery, and death, which all combine to create quite a spicy exposition.

 

While this is all towards the downfall of the vaudevillian stage, we see its remnants. Ragtime music has morphed into Jazz music, and that emphasis on the off beat has become a lack of emphasis at all, and a free flowing sort of music that changes every night. As far as performances go, there's still singing and dancing. It's appealing to mass audiences, but in a much different manner now. These dancers are hot, steamy, and sultry. No animal acts here; when Velma's describing her choreography there aren't any double joints, but "splits" and "spread eagles". The stereotypical and dry humor has morphed into raunchiness that everyone guiltilly sniggers at. The dirtiness that came along with the tenements, and the dichotomy in Chicago between the immigrant population and the heightiness of the world fair created the perfect storm for a time full of "jazz and liquor". We've reached the jazz age, where vaudevillian, golden chaos has morphed into dirty dancing and sauntry music.

I'm in love with the music in this show, but really just the music standing on its own. The movie didn't really move me plot wise. Quite frankly I would be happy seeing the show simply as a cabaret series. I saw a high school production at an Illinois Theater Exposition, but that was... lacking. In all departments. Perhaps a Broadway production would be better. In the end, the show does a really good job of catching the inauthenticity of the time; songs like "Razzle Dazzle" emphasize the expectation for flair and shallowness, and "Cell Block Tango" reaches for the depths of the darkness looming in the background of the age. Youtube a few of the songs, you won't be dissapointed.

Hauntings of Hull House

When I was younger, another small obsession of mine (besides the Titanic) was ghosts. I had a book on Chicago ghosts that I was so enamored with that it ended up in tatters, I read through it so many times. While I was learning about Hull House I read a story in my book about "Satan's Baby". One resident of the settlement home refused to have a picture of the Virgin Mary hanging in his room, saying something along the lines of "I would rather face Satan himself that have that picture hanging in here." I don't know why, but apparently the picture really upset him. And just was his luck, within a few weeks, his wife gave birth to a boy with hooves and horns. Addams would have none of it, so took the baby up to the attic, away from the public. After a baptism didn't work to remove the child's affliction, she locked him away in there. She never looked back. Rumor is, some nights you can see a light coming from the attic, with the glowering face of the satan baby looking down on you from the top windows in his eternal prison.

Spooky, right?

Apparently this story is one not founded in any sort of reality, and Addams became rather upset about it. Though eventually she got over that and used it as a basis for a book, apparently. There are some other stories as well, originating from when the house was used as a Home for the Aging and patients died of natural causes. Charles Hulls' wife was also said to haunt the attic as well, back when the first residents were there. I wonder how her and the baby get along... The one story Addams corroborated was that a front bedroom was haunted. Her and a friend saw a woman in white hanging out near the window there, and later some young girls saw the same woman while they were changing for a show.

This is a nother narrative, with some creepy images as well. Now I'm going to waste the next half hour re-kindling my paranormal obsession.

Years of Hull House

 As a Chicagoan I've been somewhat exposed to Hull House my whole life. It's been a part of my little Chicago History classes from the gradeschool up, and it culminated in a settlement house project my Junior year during AP US History. We were discussing settlement houses as a solution for the immigration problem in the Turn of the Century America. Addams saw the ills which plagued her Chicago neighborhood and attempted to heal them. Our group found a plot of land in Detroit and tried to aid the struggling Teen population with classes, housing, and cultural renewal. Our settlement would also double as a community center, with facilities available for anyone within the area we covered. Excess land was going to be used as a garden to offset food costs and to make an attempt at sustainability. Residents also helped offset costs by having a set of chores to take care of as part of their reduced rent residence. To raise and continue to produce funds, we hoped that Detroit area musicians would all be part of an annual concert whose proceeds would go right to the center. While our arrangement was quite idealistic, it is a good representation of looking at the issues in a community and having a go at fixing them.

I've actually never been to Hull House, but after learning about Addams so many times I've finally realized how she represents a lot of what I want to be as a person. She humbly addressed injustices within her means, the best she could, with a bias not towards the system, but towards the people she was serving. I think I have a new person to say when someone asks who's a person you admire. I'll also definitely be stopping by the house next time I'm in Chicago.

Riis and Art as Social Change

Looking through Riis' images brought me back to a theme I've touched on a bit since the beginning of Amcon, and that is art as social change. Riis' images, while probably more photo-journalistic in intent than artistic, exposed the destitution of the tennements of New York city. His images coupled with his text introduced one half to how the other half lives. His activism brought awareness to the tennement situation and helped force a change in the lives of those people.

What I find interesting is how we can see the comparable ethnic arabesque (I like using that word as a descriptor) in Chicago as New York, and how that arabesque played out during the Colombian Exposition and the World's fair.  We may not have seen slums like from How the Other Half Lives in Perfect Cities, but we saw a similar clash of cultures.

And here comes the shameless plug! This weekend the student-run theater organization on campus is putting on Romeo and Juliet! (Performances are Friday and Sunday at 7:30 and Saturday at 3, tickets are 1 dollar and will be sold at the door.) I'm stage managing it, and Mike is actually assistant stage managing it! Why, you may ask, should I go? How does this have anything to do with art as social change? Well Amconner, this play has a twist. There are two Romeos and two Juliets, a male and a female each, and this show explores the relationship between love and gender, and how love is boundless in its expression. It doesn't matter whether it's the male Romeo and the Male Juliet crooning to one another from the balcony or garden, or if it's the male Juliet and the female Romeo getting married at the Friar's cell, in both circumstances there is love. So come see it! At the very least we hope that the production will start a conversation. Using a classic work we hope to convey a timeless message.

Perfect Cities

I spent this fall break touring the Midwest with Cantorei. We sang visited three cities (Kansas City, Topeka, and Lincoln) in three beautiful cathedrals with talented choirs from each community. Now of course, I'm struggling to fight off a cold while stage managing a show and preparing for two major tests happening in the next three days. But that's just me whining about my workload. Suffice to say, I'm overwhelmed, but alas, I'll just have to deal with it.

It was interesting reading Perfect Cities while traveling through run down farm towns, staying in villages with populations under 200, and singing in some of the other major cities of the Midwest. I'm sure I could spend a thesis discussing each of their differences. But I'll only highlight a few here:

In Kansas city we stayed in the church we sang at, so at night we were able to go out on the town! Unfortunately, in the neighborhood we were in there was nothing but bars and clubs. Since most of us were under 21, it didn't leave a lot to be done. Eventually were were let into a swanky hotel where they were playing swing music in the lobby. We danced the night away, sipping on Kidie Cocktails and avoiding the few creepers that were at the bar.

In this one portion of the city, there was a booming nightlife, some fancy hotels and the historic district. I was only exposed to this one area, so the conclusion I drew was that most of Kansas City was well off. Our bus driver said otherwise. Where he stayed and what he saw suggested that it was a fairly dirty city, run down, and lacking funds. It's almost as if we each saw the "black" or "white" part of the town, and we need to do more research to find the "grey" area in between.

Topeka and Lincoln are the capitals of Kansas and Nebraska, respectively. While these cities are supposed to be the epicenter of their states, both looked fairly run down. Their capital buildings were in need of repair and the surrounding business districts were rather lacking. This is also comparing to Springfield, IL, which is rather run down itself. It was almost as if the only capitol the capitals could pull in was in the fact they were capitals. It made me wonder about what was missing- what made these cities less prosperous than their more economically-central counterparts, like Omaha or Chicago?

I spent some time with someone aspiring to be an Urban Planner. Maybe she would know better than I would.

Dichotomies in Chicago

One thing I noticed while reading Gilbert's Perfect Cities was his references to the dichotomies in the development of Chicago. It expanded outward into the suburbs while centralizing in the city itself; tourists witnessed the spectacle of modern society while immersed in an arabesque of ethnicities; elitism pervaded in the construction of the marketplace but chaos pervaded in spectacle and awe. Chicago was a busy city, and from the sound of it the city was quite a spectacle to behold. What I took away from these differences, though, as a more enlightened view of how our society works. In reading Gay New York, I spent a lot of time analyzing these social labels and trying to pinpoint their exact accuracies or inaccuracies. But through comments from other Amconers, and through reading this novel, I'm forcing myself to realize that there really isn't ever a black or white definition of any topic we discuss in this class. We come to class to talk about the grey area, and how it effects the black and white in these novels, or in life. By understanding this, we understand perspective.

For example, by realizing Chicago wasn't the golden metropolis it hoped to be, we may understand why large portions of the city were left out of guidebooks. We can also see how the curious interpretations of certain trends within the town are justified. If it were left as black and white, we would just remain in the dark.