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Flying off to Capistrano
Columnists,
Article Launched: 12/13/2007 03:19:33 AM EST
Thursday, December 13
Telly Halkias
Every year on Oct. 23, the cliff swallows at the mission of San Juan Capistrano head to Argentina for the winter, 6000 miles away. Like faithful
servants they make their way home the next year on March 19 to throngs of tourists and a grand fiesta.
Not unlike these California birds, I recently encountered the return of a different feather. On the night of Dec. 5, I stood at the foot of the Capitol in
Washington, D.C., attending the annual tree lighting gala. Snow fell in Vermont fashion, and I clicked away with my camera, jotted down notes for a
few articles, and waited for House Speaker Nancy Pelosi to arrive. Then I heard my name called out from the crowd.
Turning to my left I saw Jory, one of my past bookstore charges, approaching with a big smile and arms outstretched. A graduate of Mount
Anthony and the University of Michigan, she moved to Washington and now lives just a few blocks from the Capitol. We chatted non-stop, as if
back in South Street Café having a latte.
Jory was amazed to see so many people from back home in the crowd. After taking a few pictures of her with the tree and the Capitol in the
background,
I asked how it was that she came to stop by. Her response warmed me in the snow: "I knew that Bennington brought the tree this year, so I had to
come."
The pull that Jory felt was not surprising; neither was her original urge to fly away. I recall a conversation of ours early in her college career when
Jory mentioned that she was interested in coming back to Bennington as a middle school teacher. My advice at the time was to go after whatever
she wanted in life, but also to try out working away from home before returning.
Much has been made here in Vermont, as well as nationwide, of the so-called brain drain, the departure of our youth for greener pastures following
their higher education. Understandably, the dearth of well-paying jobs in rural states gives this exodus a higher sense of urgency. It also preoccupies
business and government with recruiting replacements from someone else's brain-drain.
This raises the question of a cycle that we continue to overanalyze in terms of policy, and don't recognize it for what it really is. Jory's departure,
and thousands of others, is part of a natural process brought about by a season of life. Many young people seek independence and development.
Some find it at home, but others must leave to get a firm grip on it.
It's true that there's a benefit to incentives that will keep our young folks from flying the coop. The question we must all answer is: for whom?
Clearly, not everyone is cut from the cloth of relocation, adventure, and even uncertainty. Personalities being what they are, many are quite happy
to stay close to home all of their lives, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Yet the instinct of flight is something that has far less to do with the availability of an immediate great job and strong salary. Many need to scratch
an itch that only departure can relieve. Jory, for example, who has a head for politics and international relations, is working is a bookstore
specializing in those subjects, and enjoys the dynamics of being in the nation's capital. She can consider other opportunities as they occur. The key,
at least to me, is that she seemed very happy.
And just as quickly as we stood together in the falling snow, Jory flew off into the night, cell phone to her ear, a young woman seeking to meet a
friend after work. Our whirlwind encounter was over — for the time being. I had some great pictures in my camera to remember her smile on that
cold December night, so I didn't worry about the lack of good-byes. I knew I'd see Jory again, just as I knew that next spring the Capistrano
swallows will stand watch from their beloved cliffs.
Picking Knits
By Robin Givhan
Thursday, December 13, 2007; A14
John McCain dresses like Mr. Rogers. As the senator himself might ask: My friends, do you really need a position paper to understand
why this is an unfortunate situation?
McCain wears crew-neck sweaters with his shirt, tie and suit jacket. This style flatters some people, namely those who are relatively
lanky through the torso, because it keeps them from looking like the proverbial stuffed shirt. It works on those who tend toward a
professorial style and in whose wardrobe suede elbow patches would not be out of place. The style also is appropriate for those whose
voices have yet to change and who count Thomas the Tank Engine as their favorite diversion. The senator is not among those people.
He seems to wear these sweaters because they are warm. And indeed, the historical record has captured him campaigning in Vermont,
in the snow, in a suit jacket and sweater. But he would cut a more sophisticated image if he took off the sweater and wore an overcoat.
Gloves wouldn't hurt, either.
Sweaters -- crew-necks and cardigans -- have warm and kindly connotations. Public figures, male ones at any rate, use them to soften
their public image or to appear more lovable or paternal. Dan Rather wore sweaters on the air during his anchorman days when he was
trying to be cuddly. Jimmy Carter was a sweater man. Occasionally, Captain Kangaroo wore a cardigan.
Privately, McCain very well may be sweet and fuzzy. But that is not the impression he gives in public. During a recent debate, his head
looked as though it just might explode in anger during a brawl with Mitt Romney over waterboarding. Cranial eruptions and crew-neck
sweaters don't go together.
McCain has a dress-shirt problem compounding the sweater conundrum. His collars always appear a smidge too small. They fit so
snugly that they give the impression that his head is caught in a vise. Add the layer of a sweater and McCain looks as if he is engaged
in a wrestling match with his attire.
All too often the concept of dressing one's age is applied to women. There are certainly enough teeny-bopper frocks hanging in the
adult clothing department waiting to trip up women. But men can fall into that trap. A man dressed as if he is heading off to have his
fifth-grade class picture taken is no more appealing than a woman dressed as though she's going to the prom.
There is an uncomfortable Peter Pan quality to McCain's clothing, a sense that he hasn't quite moved beyond the affectations -- as well
as the collar size -- of his youth. Is there Winnie the Pooh embroidered on those sweaters? Is his name scribbled on the label in Magic
Marker?
A man doesn't have to embrace fashion's avant-garde to prove that he's forward-thinking. And he doesn't need to dress like a child to
proclaim his vitality. But a man must always know how to dress his age.
100-year-old stage curtain proves puzzling
By MECHELE COOPER
Staff Writer
12/17/2007
GARDINER -- Nobody seems to know much about the hand-painted stage curtain workers found tucked above a false ceiling in the
children's room at the library.
The children's room used to be a museum with a stage for plays and lectures.
Anne Davis, director of the Gardiner Public Library, said the swath of cotton muslin, which shows a romanticized version of a Grecian
woman with a book in her lap gazing off in the distance, was rolled up after the last production and never seen again.
She believes it to be close to 100 years old.
The curtain has been removed from its berth above the stage and stored in the foyer until the Gardiner Library Association decides how
to proceed with its restoration.
Davis said she has hit a dead end and needs help learning more about the theater drape.
The library's archive revealed nothing and Kirk Mohney, assistant director of the Maine Historic Preservation Commission, said he
had no reference source for the makers of stage curtains.
Glenna Nowell, former library director, said she had no idea who painted the curtain or its age.
"I don't know whether anyone does," Nowell said. "I suggested to Ann that she read back through the minutes of the Gardiner Library
Association because it's the association who owned the curtain. It's very likely that it would be in there."
Because of where the curtain has been kept all these years -- in a dry, dark location -- it is in fairly good condition, though fragile.
The colors are still vibrant, but fibers on the backing have begun to break down into a powder. The curtain also is torn at the corner
where it is attached to the wooden roller.
Dan Bates, chairman of the Gardiner Library Association's Building Committee, said the curtain needs to be preserved at an affordable
cost. He already had the curtain appraised and insured.
"The consensus is that we want to display it somewhere in the library, but we cannot do that without strengthening it in some fashion,"
Bates said. "I think it would be perfect for the library. It's quite a find and we're excited about it."
Library officials may want to talk to Christine Hadsel, project director of an 11-year-old Vermont effort to save hundreds of theater
curtains that once hung on small stages.
As of November 2006, Hadsel's team had cleaned and mended 110 curtains. About 80 have been used on their home stages in town halls,
grange halls, community theaters and opera houses.
But Hadsel wanted to expand the program and help communities in neighboring states preserve their curtains.
Her group came up with the Vermont Painted Theater Company's Curtains Without Boarders program.
"It's a spin-off so we can work out of state," Hadsel said. "We take all the Vermont materials and expertise and go to New Hampshire
and Maine. We restored a wonderful little advertising curtain in Windsor and have looked at some in Gray and Searsport. There's a big
one in a town hall up there that we did a couple of summers ago. And we're looking at one on Crandberry Island."
Hadsel said there are two approaches to preserving a stage curtain. One would be to pay $30,000 and send it to a conservation
laboratory, which would treat it like an enormous painting.
The other approach would be more low tech and less expensive, somewhere in the range of $5,000.
Her Curtains team, led by a conservator, will go to a community and stabilize the curtain.
"We work with local people on site," Hadsel said. "It not only keeps the cost down, (but) after we go away, there will be people in town
who know about the curtain. They learn what the challenges are and how to clean it and make patches. We'll talk to them about the
handling right on through getting the darn thing done."
Hadsel said she is more than willing to come to Gardiner and inspect the curtain, then write a formal treatment proposal, a document
needed to apply for grants.
She said the curtains were made and used from 1880 to 1940, when there were traveling acts and local productions on stages in town
halls and granges.
Many of the curtains were painted by artists, but there also were commercially produced curtains ordered from studios in Boston, New
York and Chicago, she said.
Some are signed, but often the signature is hidden.
After looking at an e-mailed photograph of the Gardiner Library stage curtain, Hadsel said she had an idea who the maker was from the
gold trim all around the outside of the painting.
"That's the sort of thing I would know better once I see it," she said. "But there is a company out of Boston, and man, it looks like it
might be one of there's. It certainly would be a gem to put back up."
Kristy Mitchell of the Maine Historic Preservation Commission said Maine has a number of historic stage curtains in buildings on the
National Register of Historic Places.
Examples include Lakeside Grange No. 63 in Harrison, Bremen Town Hall, Anson Grange No. 88 in North Anson and the Whitefield
Union Hall in Kings Mills.
Columnists,
Article Launched: 12/13/2007 03:19:33 AM EST
Thursday, December 13
Telly Halkias
Every year on Oct. 23, the cliff swallows at the mission of San Juan Capistrano head to Argentina for the winter, 6000 miles away. Like faithful
servants they make their way home the next year on March 19 to throngs of tourists and a grand fiesta.
Not unlike these California birds, I recently encountered the return of a different feather. On the night of Dec. 5, I stood at the foot of the Capitol in
Washington, D.C., attending the annual tree lighting gala. Snow fell in Vermont fashion, and I clicked away with my camera, jotted down notes for a
few articles, and waited for House Speaker Nancy Pelosi to arrive. Then I heard my name called out from the crowd.
Turning to my left I saw Jory, one of my past bookstore charges, approaching with a big smile and arms outstretched. A graduate of Mount
Anthony and the University of Michigan, she moved to Washington and now lives just a few blocks from the Capitol. We chatted non-stop, as if
back in South Street Café having a latte.
Jory was amazed to see so many people from back home in the crowd. After taking a few pictures of her with the tree and the Capitol in the
background,
I asked how it was that she came to stop by. Her response warmed me in the snow: "I knew that Bennington brought the tree this year, so I had to
come."
The pull that Jory felt was not surprising; neither was her original urge to fly away. I recall a conversation of ours early in her college career when
Jory mentioned that she was interested in coming back to Bennington as a middle school teacher. My advice at the time was to go after whatever
she wanted in life, but also to try out working away from home before returning.
Much has been made here in Vermont, as well as nationwide, of the so-called brain drain, the departure of our youth for greener pastures following
their higher education. Understandably, the dearth of well-paying jobs in rural states gives this exodus a higher sense of urgency. It also preoccupies
business and government with recruiting replacements from someone else's brain-drain.
This raises the question of a cycle that we continue to overanalyze in terms of policy, and don't recognize it for what it really is. Jory's departure,
and thousands of others, is part of a natural process brought about by a season of life. Many young people seek independence and development.
Some find it at home, but others must leave to get a firm grip on it.
It's true that there's a benefit to incentives that will keep our young folks from flying the coop. The question we must all answer is: for whom?
Clearly, not everyone is cut from the cloth of relocation, adventure, and even uncertainty. Personalities being what they are, many are quite happy
to stay close to home all of their lives, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Yet the instinct of flight is something that has far less to do with the availability of an immediate great job and strong salary. Many need to scratch
an itch that only departure can relieve. Jory, for example, who has a head for politics and international relations, is working is a bookstore
specializing in those subjects, and enjoys the dynamics of being in the nation's capital. She can consider other opportunities as they occur. The key,
at least to me, is that she seemed very happy.
And just as quickly as we stood together in the falling snow, Jory flew off into the night, cell phone to her ear, a young woman seeking to meet a
friend after work. Our whirlwind encounter was over — for the time being. I had some great pictures in my camera to remember her smile on that
cold December night, so I didn't worry about the lack of good-byes. I knew I'd see Jory again, just as I knew that next spring the Capistrano
swallows will stand watch from their beloved cliffs.
Picking Knits
By Robin Givhan
Thursday, December 13, 2007; A14
John McCain dresses like Mr. Rogers. As the senator himself might ask: My friends, do you really need a position paper to understand
why this is an unfortunate situation?
McCain wears crew-neck sweaters with his shirt, tie and suit jacket. This style flatters some people, namely those who are relatively
lanky through the torso, because it keeps them from looking like the proverbial stuffed shirt. It works on those who tend toward a
professorial style and in whose wardrobe suede elbow patches would not be out of place. The style also is appropriate for those whose
voices have yet to change and who count Thomas the Tank Engine as their favorite diversion. The senator is not among those people.
He seems to wear these sweaters because they are warm. And indeed, the historical record has captured him campaigning in Vermont,
in the snow, in a suit jacket and sweater. But he would cut a more sophisticated image if he took off the sweater and wore an overcoat.
Gloves wouldn't hurt, either.
Sweaters -- crew-necks and cardigans -- have warm and kindly connotations. Public figures, male ones at any rate, use them to soften
their public image or to appear more lovable or paternal. Dan Rather wore sweaters on the air during his anchorman days when he was
trying to be cuddly. Jimmy Carter was a sweater man. Occasionally, Captain Kangaroo wore a cardigan.
Privately, McCain very well may be sweet and fuzzy. But that is not the impression he gives in public. During a recent debate, his head
looked as though it just might explode in anger during a brawl with Mitt Romney over waterboarding. Cranial eruptions and crew-neck
sweaters don't go together.
McCain has a dress-shirt problem compounding the sweater conundrum. His collars always appear a smidge too small. They fit so
snugly that they give the impression that his head is caught in a vise. Add the layer of a sweater and McCain looks as if he is engaged
in a wrestling match with his attire.
All too often the concept of dressing one's age is applied to women. There are certainly enough teeny-bopper frocks hanging in the
adult clothing department waiting to trip up women. But men can fall into that trap. A man dressed as if he is heading off to have his
fifth-grade class picture taken is no more appealing than a woman dressed as though she's going to the prom.
There is an uncomfortable Peter Pan quality to McCain's clothing, a sense that he hasn't quite moved beyond the affectations -- as well
as the collar size -- of his youth. Is there Winnie the Pooh embroidered on those sweaters? Is his name scribbled on the label in Magic
Marker?
A man doesn't have to embrace fashion's avant-garde to prove that he's forward-thinking. And he doesn't need to dress like a child to
proclaim his vitality. But a man must always know how to dress his age.
100-year-old stage curtain proves puzzling
By MECHELE COOPER
Staff Writer
12/17/2007
GARDINER -- Nobody seems to know much about the hand-painted stage curtain workers found tucked above a false ceiling in the
children's room at the library.
The children's room used to be a museum with a stage for plays and lectures.
Anne Davis, director of the Gardiner Public Library, said the swath of cotton muslin, which shows a romanticized version of a Grecian
woman with a book in her lap gazing off in the distance, was rolled up after the last production and never seen again.
She believes it to be close to 100 years old.
The curtain has been removed from its berth above the stage and stored in the foyer until the Gardiner Library Association decides how
to proceed with its restoration.
Davis said she has hit a dead end and needs help learning more about the theater drape.
The library's archive revealed nothing and Kirk Mohney, assistant director of the Maine Historic Preservation Commission, said he
had no reference source for the makers of stage curtains.
Glenna Nowell, former library director, said she had no idea who painted the curtain or its age.
"I don't know whether anyone does," Nowell said. "I suggested to Ann that she read back through the minutes of the Gardiner Library
Association because it's the association who owned the curtain. It's very likely that it would be in there."
Because of where the curtain has been kept all these years -- in a dry, dark location -- it is in fairly good condition, though fragile.
The colors are still vibrant, but fibers on the backing have begun to break down into a powder. The curtain also is torn at the corner
where it is attached to the wooden roller.
Dan Bates, chairman of the Gardiner Library Association's Building Committee, said the curtain needs to be preserved at an affordable
cost. He already had the curtain appraised and insured.
"The consensus is that we want to display it somewhere in the library, but we cannot do that without strengthening it in some fashion,"
Bates said. "I think it would be perfect for the library. It's quite a find and we're excited about it."
Library officials may want to talk to Christine Hadsel, project director of an 11-year-old Vermont effort to save hundreds of theater
curtains that once hung on small stages.
As of November 2006, Hadsel's team had cleaned and mended 110 curtains. About 80 have been used on their home stages in town halls,
grange halls, community theaters and opera houses.
But Hadsel wanted to expand the program and help communities in neighboring states preserve their curtains.
Her group came up with the Vermont Painted Theater Company's Curtains Without Boarders program.
"It's a spin-off so we can work out of state," Hadsel said. "We take all the Vermont materials and expertise and go to New Hampshire
and Maine. We restored a wonderful little advertising curtain in Windsor and have looked at some in Gray and Searsport. There's a big
one in a town hall up there that we did a couple of summers ago. And we're looking at one on Crandberry Island."
Hadsel said there are two approaches to preserving a stage curtain. One would be to pay $30,000 and send it to a conservation
laboratory, which would treat it like an enormous painting.
The other approach would be more low tech and less expensive, somewhere in the range of $5,000.
Her Curtains team, led by a conservator, will go to a community and stabilize the curtain.
"We work with local people on site," Hadsel said. "It not only keeps the cost down, (but) after we go away, there will be people in town
who know about the curtain. They learn what the challenges are and how to clean it and make patches. We'll talk to them about the
handling right on through getting the darn thing done."
Hadsel said she is more than willing to come to Gardiner and inspect the curtain, then write a formal treatment proposal, a document
needed to apply for grants.
She said the curtains were made and used from 1880 to 1940, when there were traveling acts and local productions on stages in town
halls and granges.
Many of the curtains were painted by artists, but there also were commercially produced curtains ordered from studios in Boston, New
York and Chicago, she said.
Some are signed, but often the signature is hidden.
After looking at an e-mailed photograph of the Gardiner Library stage curtain, Hadsel said she had an idea who the maker was from the
gold trim all around the outside of the painting.
"That's the sort of thing I would know better once I see it," she said. "But there is a company out of Boston, and man, it looks like it
might be one of there's. It certainly would be a gem to put back up."
Kristy Mitchell of the Maine Historic Preservation Commission said Maine has a number of historic stage curtains in buildings on the
National Register of Historic Places.
Examples include Lakeside Grange No. 63 in Harrison, Bremen Town Hall, Anson Grange No. 88 in North Anson and the Whitefield
Union Hall in Kings Mills.
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