Monday, October 29, 2007
No More Wagonmaster
When I was growing up in Mississippi, we had several country music-themed TV shows that we watched every week: Hee Haw (did you miss the part where I said I was growing up in Mississippi?), Live from the Grand Ole Opry, and the Porter Wagoner Show. Porter's passing was announced today, and almost all of the obituaries mentioned him as being the man who "discovered" Dolly Parton. I certainly remember watching Dolly on the show each week--she was a marvel to behold even then--but Porter deserves some attention in his own right. He was a masterful songwriter and a gifted singer. I had the privilege of seeing him perform live at the Grand Ole Opry several times, and I can also say that he was a remarkable showman. Those suits certainly drew a lot of attention his way, but he had the musical talent to back it up. I can still remember the first time I realized that "The Carroll County Accident" was about adultery; it was quite a shock to the young boy that I was then. And no one ever sang "The Green Green Grass of Home" as well as Porter did, in my opinion. So many of the people I grew up listening to are gone now. Porter's death is just another reminder of the tremendous gift we lose when someone devoted to the craft of music passes away. I'm going to listen to the songs of his that I have downloaded on my iPod and remember fondly those Saturday afternoons in Mississippi when we would all be sitting in the living room of my Grandmother's house watching him sing and talking about what stunning outfit (always with matching sequined boots) he had on that week.
Friday, October 26, 2007
What We Learned During the Fire
I returned yesterday from four days in San Diego County. While I wasn't directly endangered by the fires throughout the county, I was close to several of them at various points during the week. The hotel (a resort, they called it, complete with golf course) was about 7 miles from one fire, and the college I was visiting as part of an accreditation team was about 5-6 miles from another one. Each day the members of the team I was on would awaken to a sky filled with smoke and ash, and each night we would return to the resort and see the mountains backlit by the flames of infernos. To describe it as surreal would perhaps not do it justice.
I drove down to San Diego on Monday. The news was already reporting that fires had broken out near Malibu and in Orange County. I hadn't heard yet about the ones in San Diego County, but when the Accrediting Commission asks you to visit a college, you show up and do your job. I drove on even when confronted by a thick wave of smoke in the northern part of San Diego. When we held our first team meeting that afternoon, we found out that the college had actually be closed at 1 p.m. due to the poor air quality from the heavy smoke in the area. We went about preparing ourselves for a visit, not knowing if we would actually be able to go onto the campus the next day.
On Tuesday we got up and drove toward one of the fires because that was the direction of the campus. Imagine choosing to head in the direction of a blaze. When we got to campus, we were met by about twenty-five employees: faculty, staff, and administrators. The college was still closed due to the air quality although the wind had shifted and was blowing the smoke in the opposite direction, away from the campus. We met with and interviewed as many people as we could, and we toured a campus that has two new buildings open and one more soon to open (with a gorgeous theater and an entire half of a large, beautiful building devoted to the English Department--sigh). Yet we visited a campus without students. It was eerily deserted. We could only imagine what the cafeteria looks like when it's filled with people. The new lab space must be packed with students at all hours of the day, but we will never know because they were told to stay home. Even the bookstore looks great, but we couldn't go inside because those employees were probably either evacuated from or worried about their own homes. At about 3 p.m., one of the campus police officers arrived with the college president to tell us that we had to evacuate. The college had gotten what is known as a Reverse 911 call (where the system calls you to warn you of an emergency rather than the other way around). The wind had changed again, and the smoke was once again threatening the air quality. Within 10 minutes, we had packed everything up and were on our way back to the hotel. We spent the rest of the day talking with each other, eating dinner with each other, and writing some notes for what promised to be a most unusual team report to the commission.
Wednesday promised to be another strange day. By this point, college officials decided that the campus would remain closed the rest of the week. We, however, needed to review documents that the college had gathered if we were going to attempt to finish our evaluation. Some of us, myself included, got to take a trip to the other college in the district to meet with the chancellor and his staff and to attend a special meeting of the Board of Trustees. By this point in the week, you could feel the heat from the fires no matter where you went. The sun was shining, of course, but the heat was not the kind you feel from sunshine. And ash was everywhere. I was wearing a black shirt that day, and it looked like I was having the worst ever case of dandruff, a case so bad that it had spread to everyone else's clothes too. We finished at the district offices, returned to the campus, and proceeded to review documents and write drafts of our individual sections of the report that we would submit to the Accrediting Commission. Again, we spent much of the rest of the day in each other's company. We certainly bonded as a team during those four days of the fires.
I should mention that all of the San Diego television stations were broadcasting the news of the fires around the clock. We never went into the restaurant or bar or hotel office, anywhere with a television set, without the latest news reports. Each day we would wake up not knowing if we might even be able to return home. One morning the I-5 was closed because of a fire near Camp Pendleton. The next day it was open again, but the I-15 (the only other major route north) was closed. The news would be contradictory at times too, just as you might expect when so much is happening at the same time all over a county as large as San Diego. Some stations would say a freeway was closed while others were saying that it was open. Not knowing the region well myself, I could only watch and wonder if any of the blazes they were discussing were anywhere near me. I only knew the one way home to Los Angeles, and that's the I-5. I had to know what was going on for my own safety, of course, but at some point, you become so immersed in the stories of the lives of the many, many people who were evacuated to the stadium or whose homes were lost, in the stories about the attempts to evacuate the animals, ranging from house pets to horses and livestock to even the ones at the Wild Animal Park north of San Diego, and in the stories of the little ways we care for each other. One of the more memorable images for me was the stack of water bottles that had been donated for the people who had been relocated to Qualcomm Stadium. You wouldn't think such a little thing as that would be moving to someone as cynical as I am, but at the bottom of the screen, the news read that so many people had donated fresh water that no more was needed at the stadium. That's a generosity of spirit we don't see too often.
There are other images that I won't soon forget. On our way to campus one morning we were stopped at an intersection so that the next shift of law enforcement agencies could leave. After about twenty police vehicles passed in front of us, we were able to continue on. One night, about the time we decided to go to the drive-thru for Taco Bell, we had to stop for about half a dozen fire engines racing at full speed. On our final day, before we could leave the campus for the last time, we had to stop for about twenty evacuees who had been relocated to one of the parking lots at the school and were crossing the street to get some of the food that had been donated for them. Sometimes it's just the sheer number that overwhelms you.
Of course, not everyone was focused on the fires during that time. My stepfather is a golfer, so I know a bit about how much golfers love the game. I was not prepared, however, to wake up one morning and see several dozen people waiting for the official course start time of 7 a.m. It's as if nothing could stop them from playing a round of golf, not even the threat of a wildfire or the possibility of inhaling too much smoke. When they were asked to leave the course in the middle of the afternoon one day because of the poor air quality, they actually grumbled. We learned later that the resort was hosting some sort of college tournament with players from all over the United States, but it did seem strange to me that they were apparently more interested in getting in a game rather than trying to get home from a region engulfed in a series of deadly fires.
Our final day was Thursday. We had done much of the writing the night before and just had some final revisions to make. It's kind of like writing a 10-page research paper in two days, using mostly written evidence and interviews. At least, the section I took responsibility for was about 10 pages. We knew we were leaving, but we were still unsure how. At around noon, we presented our brief "exit report" to a dozen brave people who had come to campus to hear what we had learned about their beloved school. We said our goodbyes (hugs all around from this team who had shared so much) and got into our vehicles and headed north (most of us, anyway) on the I-5. We passed the charred roadsides near Camp Pendleton. We drove through thick smoke still billowing across the freeway in Orange County. I actually stopped in Mission Viejo for gas and couldn't believe how many people were out and about, mostly young people whose schools had been shut down. They seemed to be completely oblivious to the layer of smoke that surrounded them. I did stop on my own campus for about an hour, but even there the smoke still hung too thickly. When I finally got home last night, I dumped the luggage in the living room and fell asleep on the bed.
I know it's a cliche to think about how good it feels to return home. But I was exhausted and very grateful to be able to sleep in my own bed and use my own shower. We don't realize how much energy we expend when our stress levels are elevated. I guess spending four days with that heightened sense of awareness, always wondering if we would need to be evacuated from the college again or perhaps even from our hotel, takes a great deal of energy. At this point, I have no idea how I'd feel if asked to serve on another accreditation visiting team. This one was so unlike the others I've been on. All I can say for certain is that last night was the first time I've had a good night's sleep since Sunday.
I drove down to San Diego on Monday. The news was already reporting that fires had broken out near Malibu and in Orange County. I hadn't heard yet about the ones in San Diego County, but when the Accrediting Commission asks you to visit a college, you show up and do your job. I drove on even when confronted by a thick wave of smoke in the northern part of San Diego. When we held our first team meeting that afternoon, we found out that the college had actually be closed at 1 p.m. due to the poor air quality from the heavy smoke in the area. We went about preparing ourselves for a visit, not knowing if we would actually be able to go onto the campus the next day.
On Tuesday we got up and drove toward one of the fires because that was the direction of the campus. Imagine choosing to head in the direction of a blaze. When we got to campus, we were met by about twenty-five employees: faculty, staff, and administrators. The college was still closed due to the air quality although the wind had shifted and was blowing the smoke in the opposite direction, away from the campus. We met with and interviewed as many people as we could, and we toured a campus that has two new buildings open and one more soon to open (with a gorgeous theater and an entire half of a large, beautiful building devoted to the English Department--sigh). Yet we visited a campus without students. It was eerily deserted. We could only imagine what the cafeteria looks like when it's filled with people. The new lab space must be packed with students at all hours of the day, but we will never know because they were told to stay home. Even the bookstore looks great, but we couldn't go inside because those employees were probably either evacuated from or worried about their own homes. At about 3 p.m., one of the campus police officers arrived with the college president to tell us that we had to evacuate. The college had gotten what is known as a Reverse 911 call (where the system calls you to warn you of an emergency rather than the other way around). The wind had changed again, and the smoke was once again threatening the air quality. Within 10 minutes, we had packed everything up and were on our way back to the hotel. We spent the rest of the day talking with each other, eating dinner with each other, and writing some notes for what promised to be a most unusual team report to the commission.
Wednesday promised to be another strange day. By this point, college officials decided that the campus would remain closed the rest of the week. We, however, needed to review documents that the college had gathered if we were going to attempt to finish our evaluation. Some of us, myself included, got to take a trip to the other college in the district to meet with the chancellor and his staff and to attend a special meeting of the Board of Trustees. By this point in the week, you could feel the heat from the fires no matter where you went. The sun was shining, of course, but the heat was not the kind you feel from sunshine. And ash was everywhere. I was wearing a black shirt that day, and it looked like I was having the worst ever case of dandruff, a case so bad that it had spread to everyone else's clothes too. We finished at the district offices, returned to the campus, and proceeded to review documents and write drafts of our individual sections of the report that we would submit to the Accrediting Commission. Again, we spent much of the rest of the day in each other's company. We certainly bonded as a team during those four days of the fires.
I should mention that all of the San Diego television stations were broadcasting the news of the fires around the clock. We never went into the restaurant or bar or hotel office, anywhere with a television set, without the latest news reports. Each day we would wake up not knowing if we might even be able to return home. One morning the I-5 was closed because of a fire near Camp Pendleton. The next day it was open again, but the I-15 (the only other major route north) was closed. The news would be contradictory at times too, just as you might expect when so much is happening at the same time all over a county as large as San Diego. Some stations would say a freeway was closed while others were saying that it was open. Not knowing the region well myself, I could only watch and wonder if any of the blazes they were discussing were anywhere near me. I only knew the one way home to Los Angeles, and that's the I-5. I had to know what was going on for my own safety, of course, but at some point, you become so immersed in the stories of the lives of the many, many people who were evacuated to the stadium or whose homes were lost, in the stories about the attempts to evacuate the animals, ranging from house pets to horses and livestock to even the ones at the Wild Animal Park north of San Diego, and in the stories of the little ways we care for each other. One of the more memorable images for me was the stack of water bottles that had been donated for the people who had been relocated to Qualcomm Stadium. You wouldn't think such a little thing as that would be moving to someone as cynical as I am, but at the bottom of the screen, the news read that so many people had donated fresh water that no more was needed at the stadium. That's a generosity of spirit we don't see too often.
There are other images that I won't soon forget. On our way to campus one morning we were stopped at an intersection so that the next shift of law enforcement agencies could leave. After about twenty police vehicles passed in front of us, we were able to continue on. One night, about the time we decided to go to the drive-thru for Taco Bell, we had to stop for about half a dozen fire engines racing at full speed. On our final day, before we could leave the campus for the last time, we had to stop for about twenty evacuees who had been relocated to one of the parking lots at the school and were crossing the street to get some of the food that had been donated for them. Sometimes it's just the sheer number that overwhelms you.
Of course, not everyone was focused on the fires during that time. My stepfather is a golfer, so I know a bit about how much golfers love the game. I was not prepared, however, to wake up one morning and see several dozen people waiting for the official course start time of 7 a.m. It's as if nothing could stop them from playing a round of golf, not even the threat of a wildfire or the possibility of inhaling too much smoke. When they were asked to leave the course in the middle of the afternoon one day because of the poor air quality, they actually grumbled. We learned later that the resort was hosting some sort of college tournament with players from all over the United States, but it did seem strange to me that they were apparently more interested in getting in a game rather than trying to get home from a region engulfed in a series of deadly fires.
Our final day was Thursday. We had done much of the writing the night before and just had some final revisions to make. It's kind of like writing a 10-page research paper in two days, using mostly written evidence and interviews. At least, the section I took responsibility for was about 10 pages. We knew we were leaving, but we were still unsure how. At around noon, we presented our brief "exit report" to a dozen brave people who had come to campus to hear what we had learned about their beloved school. We said our goodbyes (hugs all around from this team who had shared so much) and got into our vehicles and headed north (most of us, anyway) on the I-5. We passed the charred roadsides near Camp Pendleton. We drove through thick smoke still billowing across the freeway in Orange County. I actually stopped in Mission Viejo for gas and couldn't believe how many people were out and about, mostly young people whose schools had been shut down. They seemed to be completely oblivious to the layer of smoke that surrounded them. I did stop on my own campus for about an hour, but even there the smoke still hung too thickly. When I finally got home last night, I dumped the luggage in the living room and fell asleep on the bed.
I know it's a cliche to think about how good it feels to return home. But I was exhausted and very grateful to be able to sleep in my own bed and use my own shower. We don't realize how much energy we expend when our stress levels are elevated. I guess spending four days with that heightened sense of awareness, always wondering if we would need to be evacuated from the college again or perhaps even from our hotel, takes a great deal of energy. At this point, I have no idea how I'd feel if asked to serve on another accreditation visiting team. This one was so unlike the others I've been on. All I can say for certain is that last night was the first time I've had a good night's sleep since Sunday.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Hollywood Bowling
It's been more than a week since I saw Rufus Wainwright's alleged last performance of Judy Garland's music. The details of that night are just as fresh and magical as ever, though. I think it's going to be one of those nights that people discuss years from now: "Oh, you were there that night too? Wasn't it a wonderful evening?" I've had the privilege of attending a couple of nights like that now, and Sunday's performance belongs up there with Streisand's last night at the Arrowhead Pond during her first "farewell" tour.
I saw Rufus once before when he played at the El Rey Theatre in May. He has, as one reviewer of the Hollywood Bowl concert commented, almost an excess of charm. I luckily heard about him at the time of his first major CD; I have all of the ones he's released, and I'm looking forward to the December release of the Carnegie Hall show that began all of his Garland concerts. He has such a different sound; his vocal quality is just spellbinding. I'd never had a chance to see him before the May concert, and I wasn't disappointed with his singing of all the music from Release the Stars.
Nothing prepared me for Sunday night, though. It was my first time back to the Bowl since my friend M took me many years ago to an Evening of Jazz. It was the year after Ella Fitzgerald had passed away, and M only went to this concert halfheartedly. I enjoyed it, but he never returned after that. He'd rather remember summers at the Bowl when Ella was still there. Since that night, the Bowl's shell (that looks strange--"the Bowl's shell") has been renovated and large video screens have been installed. I could see Rufus as clearly on Sunday as I did back in May, thanks to the great seats strategically located near one of those large screens.
He sang beautifully, even if he doesn't have Judy's range. Of course, he can't hit a high note the way she could. Few can. He apologized for that several times, but he and we were having far too much fun to care. He sang uptempo numbers like "San Francisco" and "Chicago" with such energy that many in the crowd felt compelled to sing along. He devoted songs to various people, including the gay men in the audience at Judy's Carnegie Hall concert all those years ago. His dedications seemed sincere, and he sang those songs tenderly.
A few highlights: His mother, Kate McGarrigle, joined him onstage for "Over the Rainbow." After some very funny mother-son banter, she played the piano while he sang sitting cross-legged on the ramp (just the way Judy did). Rufus did only one "drag" number: "Get Happy." He was wearing Judy's outfit from Summer Stock, the black jacket and tights--you know the one I mean--and he looked great (amazing legs, by the way). The crowd, predictably, went wild. He brought Lorna Luft on stage to sing with him, and later she sang one of her mother's favorite songs. Lorna's appearance prompted a very young guy a couple of seats away from me to ask, "Who's Lorna Luft?" I'm shocked he made it out of the Bowl alive. Rufus, ever the generous performer, also gave his sister Martha one of the best songs of the night. She sang a blistering rendition of "Stormy Weather." (You can see for yourself on YouTube.) It's hard to believe that she's not a bigger star, but then again, I still find it hard to believe that Rufus isn't either. She got some of the loudest applause of the evening--several times--even while she was still in the middle of the song. If you could have a continuous standing ovation throughout a song, Martha would deserve it.
But the best moment of the night was when he sang what he called his favorite song in the show: "If Love Were All." He sang it back in May too, but something about his performance of this number on Sunday brought tears to my eyes. Maybe it was the knowledge that this was probably his last time to sing it on stage. Maybe it was the fact that J, my date for the evening, held my hand while Rufus sang it. Perhaps it's just the beauty of those lyrics, the sad, knowing detail of them. Whatever the reason, I will never forget it.
I liked how Rufus kept positioning his arms the way that Judy did. It was a nice homage, and I hope some others recognized it as well. I also liked how he told stories about her performance years ago, such as the appearance in her audience of Rock Hudson. (Rufus had star power in the audience too. Am I one of the few who still gets star struck when someone like Debbie Reynolds stands up and waves?) He also mentioned how it had rained during her performance back in 1961. It had rained on Saturday, and Rufus kept noting a drip from the roof of the Bowl, as if to suggest that Judy's spirit was reminding him of her presence. But most of all, I liked his singing. He should do an album of standards at some point. Unlike everyone else who's done a Great American Songbook (and you know who I'm talking about), he would bring that unique voice and a fresh approach to some amazing songs.
I left the Hollywood Bowl with J, talking about all of the great moments of what we had just seen. I must admit that I hate stacked parking. The last time I had gone to a stacked parking lot was at the John Anson Ford Amphitheater years ago for an Outfest screening, and after being stuck there almost an hour after the performance had ended, I vowed never to do that again. Yet here we were in the stacked lot. It didn't matter. Rufus had put me into such a good mood, and I'd had such a marvelous night, that I was ready to wait if necessary. Instead, the magic of the evening continued. J and I were able to back up my car just a few feet and drive around all of the other cars still parked in the lot. We were on the way out of the Bowl and driving back to West Hollywood in mere minutes. Thank you, Rufus. Not only did you keep the rain away, but you also made stacked parking a delight. I can't wait until you come back to Los Angeles to perform again.
I saw Rufus once before when he played at the El Rey Theatre in May. He has, as one reviewer of the Hollywood Bowl concert commented, almost an excess of charm. I luckily heard about him at the time of his first major CD; I have all of the ones he's released, and I'm looking forward to the December release of the Carnegie Hall show that began all of his Garland concerts. He has such a different sound; his vocal quality is just spellbinding. I'd never had a chance to see him before the May concert, and I wasn't disappointed with his singing of all the music from Release the Stars.
Nothing prepared me for Sunday night, though. It was my first time back to the Bowl since my friend M took me many years ago to an Evening of Jazz. It was the year after Ella Fitzgerald had passed away, and M only went to this concert halfheartedly. I enjoyed it, but he never returned after that. He'd rather remember summers at the Bowl when Ella was still there. Since that night, the Bowl's shell (that looks strange--"the Bowl's shell") has been renovated and large video screens have been installed. I could see Rufus as clearly on Sunday as I did back in May, thanks to the great seats strategically located near one of those large screens.
He sang beautifully, even if he doesn't have Judy's range. Of course, he can't hit a high note the way she could. Few can. He apologized for that several times, but he and we were having far too much fun to care. He sang uptempo numbers like "San Francisco" and "Chicago" with such energy that many in the crowd felt compelled to sing along. He devoted songs to various people, including the gay men in the audience at Judy's Carnegie Hall concert all those years ago. His dedications seemed sincere, and he sang those songs tenderly.
A few highlights: His mother, Kate McGarrigle, joined him onstage for "Over the Rainbow." After some very funny mother-son banter, she played the piano while he sang sitting cross-legged on the ramp (just the way Judy did). Rufus did only one "drag" number: "Get Happy." He was wearing Judy's outfit from Summer Stock, the black jacket and tights--you know the one I mean--and he looked great (amazing legs, by the way). The crowd, predictably, went wild. He brought Lorna Luft on stage to sing with him, and later she sang one of her mother's favorite songs. Lorna's appearance prompted a very young guy a couple of seats away from me to ask, "Who's Lorna Luft?" I'm shocked he made it out of the Bowl alive. Rufus, ever the generous performer, also gave his sister Martha one of the best songs of the night. She sang a blistering rendition of "Stormy Weather." (You can see for yourself on YouTube.) It's hard to believe that she's not a bigger star, but then again, I still find it hard to believe that Rufus isn't either. She got some of the loudest applause of the evening--several times--even while she was still in the middle of the song. If you could have a continuous standing ovation throughout a song, Martha would deserve it.
But the best moment of the night was when he sang what he called his favorite song in the show: "If Love Were All." He sang it back in May too, but something about his performance of this number on Sunday brought tears to my eyes. Maybe it was the knowledge that this was probably his last time to sing it on stage. Maybe it was the fact that J, my date for the evening, held my hand while Rufus sang it. Perhaps it's just the beauty of those lyrics, the sad, knowing detail of them. Whatever the reason, I will never forget it.
I liked how Rufus kept positioning his arms the way that Judy did. It was a nice homage, and I hope some others recognized it as well. I also liked how he told stories about her performance years ago, such as the appearance in her audience of Rock Hudson. (Rufus had star power in the audience too. Am I one of the few who still gets star struck when someone like Debbie Reynolds stands up and waves?) He also mentioned how it had rained during her performance back in 1961. It had rained on Saturday, and Rufus kept noting a drip from the roof of the Bowl, as if to suggest that Judy's spirit was reminding him of her presence. But most of all, I liked his singing. He should do an album of standards at some point. Unlike everyone else who's done a Great American Songbook (and you know who I'm talking about), he would bring that unique voice and a fresh approach to some amazing songs.
I left the Hollywood Bowl with J, talking about all of the great moments of what we had just seen. I must admit that I hate stacked parking. The last time I had gone to a stacked parking lot was at the John Anson Ford Amphitheater years ago for an Outfest screening, and after being stuck there almost an hour after the performance had ended, I vowed never to do that again. Yet here we were in the stacked lot. It didn't matter. Rufus had put me into such a good mood, and I'd had such a marvelous night, that I was ready to wait if necessary. Instead, the magic of the evening continued. J and I were able to back up my car just a few feet and drive around all of the other cars still parked in the lot. We were on the way out of the Bowl and driving back to West Hollywood in mere minutes. Thank you, Rufus. Not only did you keep the rain away, but you also made stacked parking a delight. I can't wait until you come back to Los Angeles to perform again.
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