The last post

On the way home we went to Kauai'i.

Wow.

What a beautiful place.

This is my last post on the Fulbright Blog. What a fantastic experience.

La La Land

Its true what they sat about Los Angeles, there is a sense of unreality here, that really doesn't exist elsewhere. The emphasis is entirely on entertainment, and the "stars"; who you know and what you know about US centered contemporary culture, with the occasional mention of an obscure foreign cultural star, film or act, just to show that you are "in" and not totally La La. We arrived in LA at midday. Dave picked us up, and drove us back to their house in Santa Monica.

At 2.50 pm Teresa's boss rang to tell her that Michael Jackson had died. In typical Hollywood style news of his death got round quickly - he died at 2.26. Most TV channels (CNN included) didn't report it 'til gone 3.

He was staying in a house a couple of miles from where we are, and her boss had rung because she knew that Laird (Teresa's son) was to appear in a video along with Michael Jackson (and 300 other kids) on Sunday, in preparation for his big comeback in London later this year.

I sat and watched the live transmission later of the removal by helicopter from the hospital to the Coroners office. His body, wrapped in a white cloth, was transferred from the Helicopter to the Coroner's van, and it looked very lonely, no family, just a few officials.

Farah Fawcett also died, and also pretty young at 62.

But its ok, there's arugla in the supermarkets. The Michael Jackson jokes had started within 3 hours.....

Bohemian Caverns, Bohemian music, Bohemian times

“YEA!”

“THADDEUS”

“WO!”

He was louder than his canary yellow shorts, elasticated band slightly higher than is really necessary or respectable, dress shoes and long socks, lilly white legs between.

He asked me the name of the trumpet player - Thad Wilson, I told him.

I wish I had told him the wrong name, just for fun...

“YO!”

“THADDEUS WILSON”

“THE FIVE OF YA!’

He shouted at the jazz players. Others looked around nervously, in the dim candlelight of the basement club, tables seating 2-4; the perfect jazz club, in fact. The Bohemian Cavern, where Thad Wilson and friends were playing is on U Street, where Duke Ellington came from, and had played in this very same club, in this now up and coming area, but former deprived black neighbourhood of Washington. A lot of Barack Obama’s young guns allegedly hang out around here. The jazz was, well, exactly how jazz should be. The African American group were superb, playing in a way that captures everything that jazz is. They even played Louis Armstrong’s “When the Saints”. And the Margarita cocktail was just perfect. All that was missing was the smoky atmosphere.

We were there until gone midnight, and returned by metro.

On the way there earlier we walked from the apartment. Outside on our street the cars and floats for the Capital Pride parade were getting ready. Two red volkswagens had harnesses attached to the front, and 6 guys had straps around them, ready to haul the cars. 15 men walked by in leather thongs and boots, and not much else, Cross dressed Dames (Not the pantomine type, I think) in Elton John frills and wigs, high heels, and barrel like shapes that gave their true sex away. They seemed to be mostly middled aged men, but not all, some were stunning, and you had to look carefully, but didn't really want to stare, 'cause you weren't sure.

We walked out of the apartment and I tried to act normally, but I think our clothes were too normal to be normal in the weirdness and bohemian nature of our surroundings, so I hung on to Anji for safety.

We walked up to Du Pont Circle along New Hampshire Avenue and watched part of the parade pass us, the crowds around us screamed loudly as free gifts were thrown out, such as bright beaded necklaces grabbed by the men mostly.

(Girls, and those boys so inclined, click on the picture if you can't see enough...)

Yamomanem

1, 2, and 1, 2, 3, 4 ....

The guitarist's finger's stumbled over the fret board.

The Trombone player wiggled through his part.

The Sousaphone ( a large tuba) marched up and down, tapping the tambourine, leaning back with the weight of the instrument.

The saxophonist sashayed in her mini-skirt, as she played her solo,

and the drummer rolled through his part, with a sailors hat on his head at a jaunty angle.

The clarinet player was the best, slightly portly, shirt tight round his middle, grey beard and sailor hat, held sway over the band, called Yamomanem, part of the Duke Ellington Jazz Festival’s New Orleans on the Potomac

Outside the JFK Center for Performing Arts, a storm played, thunder rolled and lightening struck, and the rain poured down.

Click on Yamomanem, and then on "past performance", to see them play.

D Days

6th June 2009

“I am from Hamburg, where are you from? Did you see the commemorations of the D Day landing in Normandy? Didn’t Prince Charles look small!”

The shop owner was friendly, as she served us in her small fashion shop in Fredericksburg, Virgnia, 146 years after the US Civil War. She seemed really pleased to see some fellow Europeans.

We were in Fredericksburg, about 1 hour south of Washington DC, and we had just finished a short tour of the Fredericksburg Civil War battlefield.

On the road between Washington DC and the Confederate capital, Richmond, it was at a strategic crossing point of the Rappahannock River. One of four bloody, and mostly indecisive battles at the end of 1863 and into 1864 in this area, Abraham Lincoln and the Union army was loosing, and desperately needed victory. He hadn’t yet found a General to bring him the victory needed to turn the war (Ulysses S Grant), and this was not going to give him one either. The Union General in charge hadn’t realized the importance of Geography yet; the key commanders had used 2 different, out of date maps, and the lay of the land was against them as well. The Union army came out of the town, and up the slopes, crossing 200 yards of open ground, with only a small dip for cover - the dip can still be seen if the cars are parked along the residential street that crosses the same ground - the tyres of the cars are hidden below the dip. Confederates lined up behind the wall, and shot the Union soldiers dead, one after the other. The small, quaint wooden house still had the bullet holes. Over 100,000 people died in the four battles.

65 years since D Day. Fighting for freedom.


We walked around the town, and admired the classic cars lined along the street for a local competition, and finished off at the local Irish pub “The Blarney Stone”, before being driven back by our friends Larry and Christine, to DC, past the Marine’s Museum, the memorial to the Air Force, Arlington Cemetery (with its tomb of the unknown soldier), and the Statue that commemorates the raising of the US flag at Iwo Jima.

Blue Crabs and Presidents

Went down to the Potomac River today, had a beer in a bar on a pier with a plastic coconut palm in the corner - the sort of place that would look cool after a few more, and you could dream you were in the Carribbean. The breeze was nice, and the sailing boats slid past quietly, but the aeroplanes taking off from Reagan Airport were not so quiet, nor was the fly past by Marine One (The Presidents Helicopter). Nice beer though.

Then we walked up to the Fish Market, tucked in by the freeway bridges, diverted momentarily by the $24.99 Philips Restaurant all-you-can-eat-seafood-buffet. Tempting .... but thought we should look further along.

The Fish market loomed, like fairground stalls, seling seafood not candy floss. Never seen so much fish and shellfish. The Chesapeake Bay Blue crabs were piled one on top of another, waving at us as we walked past. Waiting to be freshly boiled to order. $14 for a dozen small, lobster also $14, shrimp the size of sausages. A free sample show us how to eat freshly boiled crab, but I eat half a pound of shrimp by the river with my fingers dripping,

Just the other side of the freeway bridges is the Jefferson Memorial, commemorating a great man, his statue stands looking across to the White House, in a Pantheon like colonnaded building - like a lot of buildings in Washington, in the Imperial style of the Romans. He wrote the Declaration of Independence "We hold these truths to be self evident...", and opened up the West commissioning the Lewis & Clarke Expedition. 

Our own expedition returns to the Fish Market, and we buy a dozen crab for this evening, with Sauvignon Blanc and Ceasar Salad. A meal fit for a President.

Day at the Museum: The Smithsonian

At school the Physics teacher Mr Mathews had the boys come up one at a time, and put our head next to the big metallic dome, and everyone laughed when the spark jumped from the dome to the head of the boy, making him jump back.  The original Van de Graaf generator, made by Mr Van de Graaf himself is on display in the Smithsonian Museum of American History; so is the robot suit worn by the actor who played C3PO in Star Wars, Dorothy's red shoes, Lincoln's top hat, and the original Star Spangled Banner.  It is a huge flag, 34 foot by 40 foot.

All American!

Then there is the exhibition "Communities in a Changing Nation", telling the story of America's communities, the promise of freedom, the expansion west, immigration, and slavery.  The war about free trade against the British in 1812 (when the president's house was burnt by the British - actually someone from Rostrevor in NI did it - and it had to be repainted white to cover the burn marks!).

The whole exhibition culminates in a photographic exhibition on the Inauguration Day - smiley happy faces all round.  Norman told us that African American's were crying in the streets on that day.  Is it that,  as Martin Luther King said we " .... will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! Free at Last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"?

A replica 19th Century poster catches my eye - 

"Natives of the soil! 

Arise!  

The watchword of Native Americans! 

Repel the influx of Foreign influence".  

But it is not about the American Native (Indians), but about those already arrived but who were against further immigration.

In fact only one Native American features in this exhibition - a Shawnee Chief who fought for the British in the war of 1812. 

May 21, 2009

Ok, so I haven't really been doing the Blog.  I have been too busy working to a deadline,writing something about the Ordnance Survey.  

Government are about to split it into two, and are redefining what its public task should be.

My work has also begun on the Smithsonian.  They have had similar problems as OS.   They began to operate too commercially, and this raised a howl of protests.  Their recent deal with Hollywood in the new movie: "Night at the Museum - Smithsonian" has been welcomed, but some thought it has damaged the national asset.

Sun has been out these last few days, and it is warming up! 

Arrival in Washington DC

/

After 2 days of muggy humidity, Sunday dawned in DC, weather glorious. Arrived safely by train from Boston - a totally different world! Imperial DC.

Went for a lovely walk along the canal in Georgetown. They were hauling a canal boat along the Chesapeake and Ohio canal in Georgetown and then had it pulled by Mules: the people were dressed in 19th Century clothes. It was very pretty.

We then walked over the Key Bridge where Emma and I watched the fireworks on July 4th, then down along the Potomac to Arlington Bridge, then back across the Potomac to the Lincoln Memorial, and up 23rd street past Hilary Clinton's office.

Lovely temperature. The Presidents Helicopter flies overhead regularly, very low. DC is a very subdued city, it has a quiet but but very subtle sense of power.

All Aboard!

The Fat Controller just walked past, complete with a peaked, black cap.  He is a train conductor, and its 7.45 a.m., we're waiting at Boston's South Station for the 8.20 am train to Washington DC, arriving 4.23 p.m..   

Red hats also walk past, with their trolley, looking for people who want their luggage taken to the train.  A little oddly, one has a wheelchair on his.  His hat is at a an angle, pushed back from his forehead. 

This is nearly rush hour, as commuter trains disgorge their passengers, there is a sense of order and calmness about the way they move from train to subway.  This is nothing like the rush at Victoria.

Another red hat goes by, a larger, younger man, in shorts, with his hat off to the side at a very jaunty angle - a rebel without a cause?  

The electronic arrivals / departures board makes a sound like the old mechanical boards used to (prior to LED displays), but this sound is false - it is coming from the speakers - creating a sense of the traditional american station, just as the conductor and red hats create a traditional look and feel. 

Will the conductor say "All Aboard!", as we board the Amtrak Regional 171 to Washington DC, calling at Providence Rhode Island, New York Penn Station, Newark, Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington Union Station.  The train hoots, and the level crossing clangs.  All Aboard!

The Boston Barber Bard of Beacon Hill and the Bartered Bride

The barber on Beacon Hill quoted from the poem "How shall I love Thee?" as he cut my hair.  He spoke also rather philosophically about the Azores, where his grandparents were from, about God, and life - he was a bit of a philosopher.  I got a little uncomfortable once or twice as he admired and complemented my hair.  It was slightly worrying, as he said "if you look good, I look good", speaking Portuguese, as he cut my hair, sat in his small, wood paneled barbers, with memorabilia from the Titanic hanging on the walls.  "John's Hairstyling Shop" .  It was a different experience from the usual.

That evening we get free tickets to Cutlers Majestic Theatre in Boston for the Opera, "The Bartered Bride" by the Czech composer Bedrich Smetana; a story of love, an arranged marriage, greed, contracts, the circus, and a bashful bear.  Set in Spillville, Iowa in 1934 during the depression, magically transported from Czechoslovakia in the 19th Century, and translated to English.  A happy ending, and a great circus sequence in the middle.

Ny Name is Shirley

“In America my name is Shirley, but in my tribe I am the only one with the name Green Water”, she said.   

“I use my name when I speak to the Creator, in my own language.”

Dressed in a loin cloth the young boy was chopping wood.  The man in the communal “three fire” tree bark covered hut told stories of his people's historic and contemporary way of life, sitting on animal skins with a quiver full of arrows hanging beside him.  All the sturdy huts are covered with bark.  Outside a couple of fires burn on the edge of the small clearing, in the middle the soil had been prepared and earth mounds waited for corn, pumpkin, squash and potato to be planted.

They are all playacting in this small oasis in the woods, demonstrating the american native way of life, but talking as contemporary native americans.  American Native, or Wampanoag as the leaflets, signs and orientation movie asks us to call them - not Indian; Indians are from India, and definitely do not call them Chief, Squaw and whatever you do, do not say How! There are no feathers, nor tepees.  They answer questions from the tourists almost defensively - American and European.  We are all visitors to this lost world.  You almost feel stupid for asking.  

“Where did the women have their babies?” one visitor asked.  

“Here, of course.  Where did you think?” said Shirley.

(No hospitals, stupid).  

Everyone looked at the dirt floor and animal skins.  “Grandmothers helped; they knew what to do” she added matter of factly.

Outside, the man whose home this represents, Hobbamock, was talking to more visitors.  He is a big man, in a loin cloth and moccasins, so big he gets about in an 'shop mobility' type electric wheel chair.  

We leave this small forest clearing of a lost world, and walk along a wooden board walk, up a small hill and through a wooden gate built into the wooden palisade that surrounds the Pilgrims Plantation village, a historically accurate recreation of the village built at the site of the abandoned Wampanoag village Patuxet.  It was reconstructed to look like it did 7 years after the Mayflower landed and changed everything. 

Beer, Bars and Burgers

Its another wet saturday afternoon on Beacon Hill, in early April.  The wall has a hand painted image of dog, lying on its back, with a drink being poured into it by what looks like a drunken colonial patriot, and alongside is written:

“Sevens: A Beacon Hill Pub.  

Here on the shores of the fetid swamps of Boston’s Back Bay , Otis Brewster Hogbottom III of the Beacon Hill irregulars the most revolting troop in the Continental Army, expired of an excess of Patriotic Spirits and he was promptly interned inan outhouse on this spot, 7/7/1777, Let him RIP.”

signed Omer ’91.

There is a couple playing chess at the table in the front bay window, the chess board is in the table, the pieces from behind the bar.  A good selection of American rock playing, and occasionally reggae, and the tv is showing baseball - the Los Angeles Angels vs the Boston Red Sox.  No american bar is without at least one tv;  even those that have restaurants, most often showing sport, usually baseball (Red Sox), if not baseball then basketball (Celtics) or ice hockey (Bruins).   They sell Bratwurst and Chowder, but this is primarily about Beer.  The Sam Adams tastes good here!

A sunny Friday evening in Harvard.  Charlies Diner, juke box rock and roll, red leatherette seat covers, stools at a bar that runs the whole length of one wall, along the other are booths and tables with formica tops, black and white tiles on the wall, and a mirror above, along the length of the wall.  Beer, burgers and budweiser neon signs in the window.  Buddy Holly look alike waiter, black glasses, black t shirt and trousers.  There’s an outside and an upstairs all crammed on this Friday night, the music and conversation loud and american, all age groups, children to people in their 90s.  In the corner another circular neon sign, off white, written across it in electric blue,  ‘blue moon’.  Ceiling fan turning slowly overhead - it feels like a movie.  There is even a burger on the menu for just $5.

Plymouth Massachusets.  The Mayflower replica is a couple of blocks away on the seafront.  Round a corner, down a quiet residential street is the British Beer Company.  Everything British (and, it appears, English) - on the wall are pictures of John Lennon and Joe Strummer, bagpipes in the corner, English Beer from the pumps;  London Pride, Fullers ESB.  it is packed, on the tv is ..... baseball, otherwise this could be a small pub in England.  The town is quaint, with clapperboard wooden houses, old, reserved - even with the Harley Davison bikers cruising Water Street along the sea front, by the the Mayflower.       The contrast with Boston is stark.  

The American story starts in Boston with the revolution -  not in Plymouth - the Pilgrims were English, after all.

"How-to" guide to Blogging

Went to a how-to guide to blogging this afternoon.

I'm doing it all wrong - my blogs are long and boring - more short stories, than attention grabbers for the ADD generation (Attention Deficit Disorder).  Blogs are meant to be short and snappy, pose questions, elicit comment, provoke controversy.  This  doesn't sound too much like me, I'll stick to the stories for now; although they might get less frequent, and after being here a while, may even get a bit controversial.

You are also meant to provide links to other websites, so for example, I should say that if you want to see photos from Boston, look here.  (click on the link).

Give it a go, and see.

Finally, for now, I am meant to get comments from people, but haven't got any yet.  Anyone feel like commenting?  I might put a link on Facebook, and see what happens.

I am here to work – Honest

I thought I should explain (briefly!) what it is I am doing here.

I was awarded the scholarship to study the challenges faced by organizations in the public sector or nonprofit sector where commercial operations have been introduced. I wanted to explore the tensions that this causes – with the commercial sector who may view this as anti-competitive activity; it can conflict with an organization’s ethos and culture, creating internal organizational tensions; and it may create problems in ensuring that organizations meet public sector governance and public accountability requirements. This work will build on my experiences at the Ordnance Surveys in Great Britain and Ireland (north and south), my policy role in the sports, museums and recreation sector in Northern Ireland, and more recently in dealing with governance and accountability issues when a government created company collapsed. 

Although I was accepted by Fulbright last year, I was asked to defer my departure for a while, due to ongoing work on the Northern Ireland Events Company, (I have been winding up the company’s somewhat complex affairs). I was also leading within DCAL on its Organizational Change Programme, or at least getting it under way. I am expected to return to DCAL at the end of my time here in the US (July) so if I am to do something else, and I would really like to try something else – I must decide soon.

I intend to use the Fulbright scholarship to explore opportunities beyond the specific area of study and research. Therefore I am developing my cultural knowledge, professional and career aspirations, whilst ensuring a balance with my personal life.

(I can hear my conscience say "Sounds like he means a holiday, but doesn't want to call it that").

This means making the most of the place – going to see as much as is possible, and experience as much as I can in the time available – but time is short! Harvard really is a magnificent place, and its libraries alone are astounding (see earlier Blog entries!) and the sense of purpose, public service and endeavor is almost tangible. I have also found the history of Boston as the cradle of Independence, particularly interesting, and am trying to visit all of the sites of relevance. A visit last weekend to the official J.F. Kennedy Museum and Library gave a very interesting insight into this truly inspiring world leader, and on Sunday we went to the site of the Battle for Bunker Hill – the first true battle in the War of Independence. Visits to Salem, famous for its Witch trials, and Plymouth where the Mayflower landed, where they have reconstructed the original village of this first settlement and a native American Indian village of the same era, are still planned, and we want to go Whale Watching as well. Oh, and eat as much seafood as is possible….

("See ... told you it was a holiday").

But only 3 weekends left, and all that work to do as well.

("Oh dear, I don't hear any sounds of sympathy anywhere").

I have been asked to make a presentation to the the Alumni Association of the Federal Executive Institute (senior US Federal civil servants) in Washington DC in early May – basically on Leading Change in Northern Ireland– hopefully I can do this subject justice. We will be moving down to Washington DC at the start of May, where I will be based at the Smithsonian Institution, and explore their approach to commercialization. – but more of all this later…..

("sounds like its an excuse to enjoy yourself - but don't pretend it is anything else, cause no one will believe you!")

make money without doing evil

As the ship was sinking his father placed Harry’s Mother and her maid on the lifeboat, and the young man and his father, in an act of Edwardian gentlemanliness expected of the time, stayed aboard while his Mother and maid were rowed to safety.  The young man loved books, and had begun a significant collection, including a first folio of Shakespeare’s works in his collection.  He had always wanted a Gutenberg Bible, but that came later, 

Books, and more books; five floors above, and four floors below - we were taken down four flights, and along a corridor, through fire and flood proof doors - doors that could have stopped the Titanic from sinking, perhaps (?), into cold dry air.  “Books like the cold” our guide, Sarah, said.   “Here it is”, she says, triumphantly, having entered “Methodist”, “dancing”, and “drinking” in the Hollis on-line catalog and telling us about her Methodist Aunt spitting out the wine she had mistakenly drunk at a family wedding.  “This is”, she said, “a riveting read”, and nervously giggling she asked “how could such things be bad?”, the rebellious librarian emerging from a somewhat plain cover.  Too many books read, no doubt, underneath the sheets by torchlight, late at night?   Perhaps more shocking to her was the fact that Google had scanned this book, free of charge, and made it available back to the library. Google's mission is to organize the world's information and make it universally accessible and useful.   The slowness of the library to embrace the new media noted as a missed opportunity, perhaps?  But the book is now available on-line, for free at the moment, to everyone without entering a library.  “How could such a thing be bad?”.  The actual, physical (not virtual) book found undamaged from Google’s attack on the traditional printed word, we return back from whence we came.  

Sarah confides that the budget deficit at Harvard has brought about redundancies.  The University’s priority is for Professors and Computers, but not those that help others access the knowledge held.  She is, after 30 years, to lose her job.  Her positive approach about the future, her qualifications, experience and divorce settlement all providing a solid foundation for a brighter future, but the fear and uncertainty in her eyes cannot be hidden.  

Back in the grand entrance hall, faintly reminiscent of the grand staircase in the Titanic, a picture of Harry Elkin Widener can be seen at the top of the staircase, through a doorway, within the recreated wood paneled library.  A Gutenberg bible (one of only forty in the world) takes pride of place, in a glass case, not accessible to anyone in its physical form, except for the white gloved archivist, with Edwardian protocol, occasionally turning a page.

Journey to enlightenment.

The advert on the ‘T’ says “follow the path to enlightenment” with a picture of three gowned and mortar-boarded people smiling and walking together already on their journey to enlightenment.  My own journey to Harvard and enlightenment leaves every weekday, Monday to Friday, from the Joy Street apartment.  Today the sun is shining, and I head into the light, bright crisp air, towards the light of knowledge.  I head downhill out of historic Beacon Hill, with its steep brick paved and gas lamp lined streets, to Cambridge Street, a far more modern, fairly typical American street, with restaurants, laundry, and liquor stores.  I  turn left along Cambridge Street past Ladder 24 Fire Station, past the flower shop, and the people all rushing to work at this time in the morning.  Many cars travel slowly into town and work; a helicopter is taking off from the roof of Massachusetts General Hospital, having brought an emergency patient for treatment, and the occasional ambulance rushes, siren howling, to or from the hospital, on an urgent mission.  I cross the road, and into the glass covered station entrance, attached to the side of an old brick and steel viaduct, which carries the train across the Charles River on the Longfellow Bridge.  The Chief Inspector is standing there, looking stern and official, arms crossed and legs apart, dominating his entrance to his Massachusetts Bay Transport Authority (MBTA) domain.   Only last week he helped me and Anji get our “Chaawr-lee” card (Charlie card) - the sternness is a veneer, he is there to help - a man with knowledge and wisdom to those willing to learn; a professor and a mentor with a willingness to share his knowledge to aid others’ journeys.  Thanks to him I have the card that gives me access, and touch it to the pad, and the electronic gate opens and lets me through like a regular Boston commuter.  Past another flower-seller, and up the escalator.  A busker is playing classical music on a flute, he’s a regular, and some of the travelers shout a  hello to him, but give no money.   The official authoritative voice on the tannoy says “Attention passengers, the next red line train to Alewife is approaching”, and as promised it arrives, climbing out of the tunnel onto the viaduct, and into the station.  The doors close, and the train, with its promise of enlightenment, crosses the Charles River, and then drops back into the underground tunnel, stopping at Kendall / MIT, and Central before reaching Harvard Square. 

Off the train, I climb out of the darkness through the barriers and up the slope, past the underground bus station, where the buses collect passengers on the 77 to Arlington Heights and the 75 to Belmont Centre, via 700 Huron Avenue - each bus using overhead electric power assistance whilst underground.  I go up the steps, and cross the road and into Peets Coffee shop for my morning Cappuccino.  The cafe is Californian, with the relaxed coffee house atmosphere and smells, students and professors sit around, some reading, others on laptop computers, yet more chatting.  The barista is quick and efficient, calling my name and handing me a coffee: I leave and head down past the inevitable Irish pub and enter the Hauser Center, to figure out how the hell I get to this enlightened educated place that Harvard is - now that I am here - no one to help me, I am on my own, with all of Harvard’s resources at my feet - I just have to to find my own way....

Tadpole Playground, Frog Pond and squirrels

3rd April 2009.

Eight in the morning, cold and a Belfast-like mizzle is in the air.  A pile of snow still sits in the middle of Frog pond, the cold air and snow hinting at the skaters pirouetting across the ice just a few weeks ago on the pond during the winter.  Now all is grey and damp.  These 50 acres a training ground for yogi-bear style Park Rangers – three of their trucks are within view, but no bears.  There is a gangster in a Stetson and black overcoat on his mobile phone, and a lone china man, performing slow motion kung fu poses as he does his Tai-Chi down one of the paths.  In the corner stands a magnificent memorial to the 54^th Massachusetts Regiment: the first all Black regiment, refused their pay until it was the same as the white soldiers’ – it took two years.  The inscription applauds their courage and sacrifice for their nation.  The officers were white, and the inscription applauds their courage and belief in their men.  Another monument commemorates the victims of the Boston massacre, when 5 colonials were shot by British troops.  An echo of troubles in a damp Derry, on a bloody Sunday.

50 acres of parkland - two days later (today, Sunday) the sun shines, and the trees are starting to bud. What a different place.  After a brunch in a small bistro, a walk in the park.  Beautiful weeping willows over a small lake, curious, inquisitive squirrels come very close, the promise of food.  People out enjoying the sunshine, and spring is in the air....

Staggering amounts of Money

Can you imagine what sixty-six Billion dollars looks like?  What could you do with just a 1/1000^th of it?  $66 million!  But $66,000 million!    It costs less than a quarter of that to run Northern Ireland each year, its schools, roads, art galleries and social services for one and a half million people. But what would you do with that sort of money?  What if you started a business and in 20 years you earned enough money to be so rich that you could put half of that amount aside, and still live the life of the fabulously rich.  Or give $31 billion of your own personal fortune to someone else to spend on good causes.  

Microsoft earned Bill Gates enough money for him to start his foundation with half of the $66 Billion.  Another man, called Warren Buffet, decided not to start his own charitable foundation, but preferred to give his money to Bill, and Bill’s wife Melinda, to spend on their chosen charities, that is curing Malaria and helping child poverty – with $66 billion.  

Harvard University has discovered that it is short $8 Billion in its budget for this year.  That is half of what it costs to run Northern Ireland!   There are a series of crises budget meetings taking place around the University as they all figure how they are going to cut expenditure.  Harvard is a charitable foundation as well, investing a huge amount of money to enable it to support education, knowledge, and the ideal of its motto “Veritas”, or truth.  One way it does this is to provide financial support to help pay 2/3’s of the $60,000 per year fees.  27,000 people applied for Harvard scholarship grants this year, more than last year’s.  However, only 1/10^th will be successful – that is 2,700 people, leaving 24,500 disappointed applicants.

I wonder if $66 Billion is enough to cure Malaria?

The good, the bad, but no ugly (yet)

Sitting here in the apartment watching a retrospective of ER prior to the last programme in the last series; it was heavily advertised on the radio all day. I have to admit there are some things that the US does well, and appears to continue to do well. In the 1970’s we had some god-awful US TV serials ("Starsky and Hutch", the "Six Million Dollar Man" and others for example, springs to mind); then in the late 1970s the Hill Street Blues hit the screens in the UK, and a gritty, reality TV drama, and the credibility of US tv changed, almost overnight. Today we continue to get good TV, through "The Sopranos", and "The Wire". There is, however, a lot of crap on the 100’s of other channels that are available – the trick is to cut through the dross. Sorry. Still haven’t cracked how to do that! Too many adverts as well!

Late this afternoon I went to a lecture called “Mission Critical Investments in non-profits”. If ever there was a title to put you off, this was one. The Americans have a knack of making things sound, well, complicated. But, I’m the new boy, so went along, and I was one of 12 there. It was delivered by a finance expert from the Heron Foundation, involved in investing millions of dollars in good causes, and making a return on this investment. The American way is not only about making money, it is also about helping the less well off, and supporting good causes – the US is big into philanthropic causes, and they put a huge amount of money, time and effort into it. However, this was about making money through investment in good causes and using this money to invest in other good causes. Is this the better side of the American Way?

Map Nerd's Paradise

There are over 80 Harvard libraries with over 15 million titles - or is that 80 million titles in 15 libraries – in either case it is a remarkable number. I went to two today to check out how I can get in, and what to do to use them, and then discovered a third. All of the libraries are catalogued on-line, and my Harvard Id and PIN number is an ‘access all areas’ pass to search, download electronic copies of papers, and to take books out from the libraries. There are also a whole range of talks, seminars and workshops on a variety of subjects, ranging from politics, women’s rights to self improvement in communication (public speaking) and interview techniques. Whilst looking for the entrance to the second library I found the Harvard Map Library, and it had a small exhibition of maps of Rhode Island – “Taking the Measure of Rhode Island: A Cartographical Tour” telling the story of the cartography of the smallest US State (apart from Washington DC that is), and the story of the people who surveyed and drew them. Seventh heaven for a map nerd! With the map drawn by Surveyors in the 1750’s, and quotes from their ‘poetic’ journal telling of rests under orchard trees, and drinking wine at an inn, and the drinking of sweet beverages to celebrate completing their survey (typical Surveyors!). Or the tale of another surveyor who went bust drawing another map, because the State only bought 7 printed copies of the map, and he had to sell the original copper plates later to make ends meet, only to discover that the purchaser asked someone else to update and publish the new map – he sued for copyright breach but lost on a technicality. And then the sale of ‘subscriptions’ to pay for the work – some subscribers would get their name mentioned, others who paid more got to tell of their business and more. An excellent little exhibition bringing to life the maps from a time when this land was newly discovered, and had to be organised and laid out, and all its resources understood and located. And then there were to original globes made by Mercator himself, sitting in a glass display cabinet, one of the earth, the other of the heavens, and the only two known to be in North America. (Told you it was for Map nerds!).

See http://hcl.harvard.edu/news/2009/rhode_island_maps.html

A Sunny Day (at last)

Sunshine! Early morning walk along the Charles River, beautiful day, crossed Harvard Bridge, and walked past Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). Another day at Harvard, this time the busker was playing rock nut incoherently (not sure what it was, but it sounded like rock). Opened a Bank account at Citibank – they were keen for my business – their office was very quiet, not surprising given their recent Treasury rescue last November. There were also very few working there, and a lot of empty offices. University life is very laid back, no real interest in what I might be doing (just as well, as I’m not clear yet myself), and I’m left to figure the mysteries of accessing the enormous Harvard library resources. Later, back in Boston we join the largest gym I have ever seen, overlooking Boston Common. The sun is shining, and there is a real hint of spring – but more rain expected before the weekend. There is a danger that you see America as a cliché, we see it through the prism of Hollywood so it is inevitable, but its true! Mexicans or Latinos work behind the deli counter, and the African-American’s really do work in sports shops, and the fire engine’s really are big, red and have long ladders on top of them! And the sound of distant sirens, are just like in the movies.

30th March 2009

The Chief Inspector on the MBTA gave us step by step instructions on the benefits and value of the Charlie Card, and the need to buy limited number of journey’s as a month’s pass would not apply until 1st April. A good guy and great Boston accent – particularly the way he said “Chaaarrlee” card. After guiding us to the platform he wished us well, and we got the train to Harvard Square, exiting the station to the sound of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”, played by a busker. I collect my Harvard ID (!!) joining the many other prospective US presidents and Nobel laureates who attend Harvard (at least until I’m found out!) – Then I’m shown my desk and computer and meet the faculty staff at the Hauser Center where I am based, and try to figure how I’m going to do my work….. Outside it is still raining, and later I travel back to Charles / MGH on the “T” (as the subway is known). The busker is still playing Hallelujah, and Anji tells me he was playing it earlier to bunch of Spanish tourists as well. Harvard Square is full of students, academics, aspiring presidents, Nobel Laureates and a surprising number of beggars, perhaps reminding the students to study hard and stay focussed – or else – either that or else they’re failed ex-presidential candidates. We notice the students writing music over coffee and in small groups deep in ardent conversation about something very important.

Day Two - Beacon Hill and Graveyards

Dawn’s grey, cold and raining heavily and persistent. A bit disappointing, but we get out determined to make the most of the day, although the rain was the perfect excuse not to. We trudge the Lonely Planet walking tour of Beacon Hill; a beautiful part of town, lovely large mansions, interesting and varied – with the expensive houses of a town with history, and the poorer contrast of the freed slave areas of the north-side, and the slave escape route of Holmes Alley, at the end of Smiths Court. Lunch of Clam Chowder in the Sevens Ale House, better for it beer and friendly Bar man, who worked weekends here, and spent the week at home in Maine, than for its food it has to be said. He tells us that Maine lobster at $9 per 2ib lobster is cheaper than delivered Domino's Pizza at $11. The rain stops and we walk across Boston Common through town to the Quincy Market, past the Irish famine memorial, raised in 1998 since I was here in 1997. We pass the Granary Grave Yard, a dark and grey 2 acre plot of Boston history going back to 1664, surrounded by skyscraper blocks of offices with leafless trees, mud and puddles, surrounded by iron railings, with a few large memorials to well known Bostonians, and the rest marked by headstones – large for adults, small for children, some with a a skull and wings headlining their life time – heightening your own mortality, in the middle of a lively, living, city. After burgers and beer and wine at the 21st amendment Bar, by the Massachusetts State House with its golden dome, then an early night,

Day Zero

28th March 2009

We landed in fog at Logan Airport, Boston, and took the taxi to Beacon Hill. Suspicious whether the African taxi driver actually knew where it was, but he did, and he went what was probably the direct route. The apartment is on the slightly less expensive, and less well-to-do north side of Beacon Hill, but still full of character. On the fourth and top floor of an older building with creaking stairs and creaking floor boards, nicely decorated, and antique, or nearly antique furniture. After a quick orientation tour of the immediate neighbourhood we have an early US, but late Irish Italian dinner at Antonio’s Cucina Italiano, then an early night. But disrupted sleep due to noisey couple rowing in the flat below, he swearing, and her quietly crying at his load abuse, and frequent and ominous crashes and bangs, followed by even more ominous silence. Finally at 5.30 am – silence; and time for us to get up after a respectable Irish lie-in, but a far too early US start.