Dry Ice Factory

So first I was listening to Rachel Maddow's podcast on the mysterious death of Senator Ernest Lundeen in 1940 and his connection to Nazi propagandists, and then I read Wikipedia's article on the America First Committee - which wasn't founded until just after Lundeen died - and saw a photo labeled "Students at the University of California (Berkeley) participate in a one-day peace strike opposing U.S. entrance into World War II, April 19, 1940."

I attended UC Berkeley myself 35 years later, so I was curious as to exactly where that photo was taken. I couldn't enlarge it more than this, but that was almost enough to read the signs on the shops at the far side of the photo. The sign on the corner building reads "Sather Gate Inn."

Aha. Sather Gate is a symbolic gateway on the bridge over Strawberry Creek. It's now well inside campus, but I knew that it was once the entrance to campus. Before 1960, Sproul Plaza, which leads from the edge of campus at Bancroft Way up to Sather Gate, was an additional street block of Telegraph Avenue, which now terminates at Bancroft. And the west side of that block, where the Student Union and Student Center which now stand there were built in 1960, had shops. This must have been the Sather Gate end of that block.

But wait! There's a street sign reading "Allston Way." Allston? Allston is a street in downtown Berkeley off to the west. It's that far north of Bancroft, but it didn't go up to Telegraph. Or did it?

With a little searching, I found a 1942 map of campus online (click on the image to enlarge it). And sure enough, what is now a pedestrian pathway tucked between the Student Center and the creek was then a street which bore Allston's name. The low-slung building behind the cars parked on the street must be the university YWCA shown on the map.

So this photo must have been taken from a perch up on Sather Gate (on the right side of the photo above), facing southwest (the map has east at the top). Here's a current photo taken from within where the crowd was in 1940, probably from about where the flag is, facing in the same direction. That's the Student Center cafeteria, The Golden Bear, in front, where Sather Gate Inn used to be, with the Student Union looming over to the left.

I find it fascinating to compare the 1942 map with a current map of campus. Many buildings built, some demolished (including the old Chemistry Building whose cupola is the only surviving relic). The chemists who were creating plutonium at about the time of the old map were working in the then-new chemistry building, Gilman Hall, which still stands: there's a plaque by the door of their lab.

The other thing I should note about the current map is the note "Closed for Construction" just below Bowditch Street near the right-side middle of the map. That's where People's Park used to be.

FLUNKY: Mr. Secretary, there are still two survivors from the boat we attacked, clinging to the wreckage floating in the water.

PETE HEGSETH: I want you to kill everyone.

FLUNKY: Everyone?!?

PETE HEGSETH:

The topic came up in a blog comment section of California students learning in school about the state's set of Franciscan missions, one of the most prominent activities, and one which has left a few intact artifacts till today, of the Spanish who first colonized this area.

Various Catholic religious orders founded missions in various far-flung corners of the Spanish new world empire - I know of ones in Arizona and Texas in the present U.S. (the Alamo was originally one) - with the purpose of converting the natives. Anyway, the Franciscans got Alta California, and started their project in 1769, eventually building 21 of them at regular intervals along a pathway dubbed El Camino Real (now mostly congruent with US 101) between San Diego and Sonoma. The missions were secularized in the 1830s, many of the buildings decayed, some were rebuilt as parish churches, but some of the originals are intact, and some that are not still being used as churches are now state parks. The best known are San Juan Bautista, near Hollister in northern California, setting for a memorable scene in Hitchcock's Vertigo, and San Juan Capistrano, near San Clemente, Nixon's one-time retreat, known for the swallows that nest there every summer.

With the modern concentration on the fact - never hidden, but not previously emphasized - that the natives were mostly used for forced labor, and that many died, especially of diseases carried by the Spanish, the mission reputation has been blackened. Junipero Serra, the priest who began the establishment here, previously considered a hero of California history - and who still stands as one of California's representatives in the National Statuary Hall in the Capitol - is no longer viewed so favorably. A statue of him on a hill overlooking the freeway south of San Francisco (and with his hand pointing in the wrong direction) was recently removed. I'm sorry it's gone; it was a weird and grotesque little thing.

So I'm not at all sure if, or if so how, California students are still being taught about the missions. But we were in my day. In one class we were instructed to choose one of the missions and write a report on it. In the process, though not specifically instructed to do so, I found that I'd memorized the names and locations of all 21 of them, and I just checked and found I still have them memorized.

I think I've been to all of them at one time or another. And I've been to classical concerts in six of them. I've also been to a wedding in one (not one of the six).

Here's what I had to say about Leslie Fish, who also died today.

I went to the big family Thanksgiving gathering yesterday. People were glad to see me, and I was glad to see them, particularly the niece from Fresno with husband and three kids, all of them now in their teens - it'd been a while since I'd seen them.

Nonetheless I found it a difficult experience for other reasons. I was not feeling very well, and was worse after I got home - I left immediately after dinner, about 3 hours after arrival, while B. stayed on for another four hours and, by arrangement, was delivered home by nephew and niece who live vaguely in this direction. Also the heavy food was tough for me to handle. I've been living at home mostly on soup, baked fish, and other soft and gentle things. But we improvise! Now to make turkey noodle soup for dinner with some leftovers I brought home.

Ian Leslie, John & Paul: A Love Story in Songs (Celadon Books, 2025)

John Lennon and Paul McCartney, of course. The subtitle was almost enough to put me off this book entirely, but I'm glad I read it. It's actually really insightful, and does not gloss over their conflicts, as the subtitle might imply or some reviews have suggested. The emphasis is not on the love but the musical collaboration. (George, Ringo, and George Martin get an occasional look-in.) There's relatively little on the details of the early period when Lennon & McCartney were writing songs together "eyeball to eyeball," perhaps because little is known of exactly how they did it. But after the Beatles stopped touring constantly, so John & Paul were no longer constantly in each other's company, their partnership mutated into each writing his own songs in dialogue with the other's, and this continued even into the nastiness of their early solo years. (Paul zings "Too Many People" at John, John ripostes with the brutal "How Do You Sleep?", Paul writes "Dear Friend" to make peace.) In these sections, Leslie is at his best. I was particularly taken with his analysis of "Tomorrow Never Knows." Lennon wrote this in response to McCartney's "Yesterday" (yesterday ... tomorrow ... that's only part of it) and "Eleanor Rigby," but the most striking point for me was the mutation of an influence from somebody else. The first line of the song, "Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream," is a direct quote from Timothy Leary's The Psychedelic Experience, which John had been reading, except that he added the word "and." A trivial change? Not at all. As a cited musicologist points out, that turns the line into iambic pentameter, the standard English verse meter. John may not have realized that that's what he was doing, but he'd been reading a lot of poetry, and, Leslie says, "it was part of his verbal muscle memory." There's lots more like this.

Leslie is adamant about two things: first, that whatever the conflicts in the later years of the Beatles, John and Paul were always happy to make music together (and that they continued to collaborate in the creation of even their most distinctive individual songs for the Beatles), and that the stereotypes of John the caustic rebel and Paul the smooth charmer are quite inadequate. Paul had his harsh side. In an interview, John said, "Paul can be very cynical and much more biting than me when he's driven to it ... He can carve people up in no time at all, when he's pushed." As for John, the later part of the book has a lot of psychological analysis, including the repeated statement that what John really wanted in those years was to be loved, and he felt Paul was turning cold and distant; meanwhile Paul had no idea what John was going through emotionally.

The book dribbles to a close with McCartney's comments on Lennon since Lennon's death, and the suggestion that he's been whitewashing some of the conflict between them. It's a very long journey through this book, nearly 400 pages of text, and the opening chapters go into tremendous detail on the events of the Beatles' early, struggling years. You have to be a real fan to want this book, but you'll get a lot out of it if you are.

Nancy Shear, I Knew a Man Who Knew Brahms: A Memoir (Regalo Press, 2025)

What a strange book. At age 14 in 1960, Shear attended a Philadelphia Orchestra concert and fell in love not just with the music, but with the guest conductor, Leopold Stokowski (then 78). Despite her age, she quickly turned her passion into a job as a librarian with the orchestra: duties, mostly copying conductors' notations from the score into the individual musicians' parts. Then she parlayed that into a position doing the same thing for Stokowski personally as he undertook various gigs. How did she manage this? Sheer gumption and dedication, I suppose. This book is mostly a hero-worshipper's gushing love letter to Stokowski's talent: Shear considers him a conductor of unmatched skill and insight, an opinion that will not earn universal agreement. There is a lot about technical musical points, however. How Stokowski would modify scores to fit modern instruments' capacities (a controversial practice); does the orchestra tune up as a whole or by sections? That sort of thing.

But what about ...? Though Stokowski had a reputation for numerous affairs, Shear insists he always acted as a gentleman towards her, though she admits one might not believe this, and she does print some pretty personal letters and she says he frequently touched her in what she insists was a non-sexual way.

The book is almost entirely just about Stokowski. Though Shear says she worked with many great musicians, only two others get more than a momentary glance. The cellist Mstislav Rostropovich, much more physically handsy than Stokowski, and Shear mentions only casually and incidentally that she did have a sexual affair with him. And Eugene Ormandy, Philadelphia's music director, whom she did not like either as a musician or a man. He did try once forcibly to kiss her, which in telling it she brushes off in a manner that was typical of older accounts but seems beyond quaint when so told in a post-#MeToo world.

And the man who knew Brahms? He makes just a cameo appearance on page 62. Shear gives his name - Raoul Hellmer - but nothing else about him. He's not a famous musician, just some guy who visited backstage for some reason and who, as a boy in Vienna, once delivered a pharmacy order to Brahms. He shakes hands with Shear and that's it. "I (briefly) met a man who (briefly) met Brahms" is more like it.

Obituary for Jill Flewett Freud. As a teenager during WW2, she was evacuated to Oxford and lived at the Kilns, the home of C.S. and W.H. Lewis. She became lasting friends with the Lewis brothers, and her memories have been a contribution to Lewis biography. Supposedly she was also an inspiration for the character of Lucy in the Narnia books, though not the only one (the name came from Lewis's goddaughter). She went on to become an actor and producer. More at the link.