Adieu, Victoria Station

Late last week, despite the fact that I recently inherited a good many hundred postcards, I bought a some more. I couldn’t resist. I found a box of old cards at a resale shop that, in my experience, seldom offers any for sale. A dime each. Looks like someone was cleaning house after an elderly relative died. Or maybe the box represented a number of households with caches of cards, all stripped of their small-value debris at about the same time.

A few of them are used, but most are blank. Such as this one, which made me wonder, Whatever happened to Victoria Station?

VictoriaStationObvVictoriaStationRevTurns out there’s an entire book devoted to that question. (A song advertising Victoria Station starts playing when you open that page, which would normally be annoying, but the singer is Johnny Cash.) Anyway, the short answer is, as a darling brand of the ’70s, the chain’s time passed in a big way in later decades. Apparently the 99 locations at its peak shrunk to exactly one in our time, located in Salem, Mass.

Its web site says, “We are proud to continue the Victoria Station name and continue to pay close attention to the historic and nostalgic atmosphere with a new approach and even higher standards than today’s customers demand. We specialize in classic New England cuisine with a fusion of the once great Steakhouse and still offer Victoria Station’s signature slow roasted Angus Prime Rib and ‘All you can eat’ Salad Bar.” Well, good for them.

I can’t remember whether I ever ate at a Victoria Station. At first I thought yes, but then realized I was confusing it with Spaghetti Warehouse, so maybe not. Could be the confusion was because that chain always featured a trolley car in its restaurants.

For its part, Spaghetti Warehouse was an early adaptive reuser of old space that might have otherwise been destroyed. Say, whatever happened to Spaghetti Warehouse? Its contraction wasn’t as thorough as Victoria Station. Reportedly 14 are still in operation.

One more thing about Victoria Station. A chain of that name still exists in Japan, operated by Zensho. More specifically, there are 45 locations, most in Hokkaido, as this site makes clear (provided someone in your house can interpret the page).

Togo, Lesotho, Tuvalu and Other Olympic Teams

Spent some time on Friday watching the Parade of Nations. This time around, NBC didn’t seem to cut anybody out, so it was quite long, and I didn’t sit through it all. Even so, it’s the part of the Olympics I usually get around to watching. Everything else, not so much.

As usual, I’m pulling for Togo in the Games. Along with Lesotho, with their wonderful hats, and other small teams, such as Tuvalu, Bhutan, Chad, Dominica, and Equatorial Guinea, just to name a few. I’m sure the U.S. athletes will do well, and I wish them well, but any fool can get behind a large delegation.

But what about Tuvalu? Good old Tuvalu, which has sent exactly one athlete to the Games this time around, former footballer Etimoni (Reme) Timuani, who will be in the 100 m sprint. This is the third Olympics for the Pacific nation, which as yet has won no medals. Hope they win something while their country is still above sea level.

As for Togo, it’s sent five athletes to seek Olympic glory and swat mosquitoes in Rio: a couple of sprinters, a couple of swimmers, and a competitor in women’s single sculls. Does NBC pay any attention to single sculls? I suspect not so much. Why bother with someone like Gevvie Stone (who’s on Team USA just as much as a swimmer or gymnast) when you can spend hours talking about Michael Phelps?

At least NBC’s coverage of the Parade of Nations seemed to a little less annoying this year than before. The announcers’ subtext wasn’t quite so, “Golly, I don’t know where that country is! Do you? It’s so little, it’s hard to believe it’s a country. Go Team USA!”

Naturally, unheralded writers at NBC did their research, so that the announcers could tell heartwarming stores about some of the athletes. “That’s right, his family was so poor they couldn’t afford oxygen when he was growing up in such-and-such TPLAC. But he had a dream, and he began training by running up and down burning trash dumps without shoes.”

No doubt they told true stories, and I’m glad that some of the participants in the Games were able to overcome awful conditions to get there, especially the Refugee Olympic Team, which is a new thing this Olympiad. I don’t mock them. NBC, on the other hand, deserves to be mocked for the dumbed down coverage the network is sure to provide to American audiences. Am I merely being nostalgic in remember that ABC knew better how to cover the Olympics? I don’t think so. The network had better ideas about international sports coverage.

Notes From the Silly Season ’97

August 8, 1997

Summer is dwindling… & the days float by like so many logs on a river, on their way to the sawmill of mind, to be made into the planks of memory… hm, don’t know that I would show that metaphor in public. Or is it a simile? What was the difference, anyway? So much for my liberal education.

Had a light brush with celebrity last Friday. A movie crew spent the whole day out in front of my office building, shooting something. It’s a good, very urban sort of location, and features a conveniently large traffic island to boot, so they weren’t the first ones I’ve seen there.

But it was no small effort, unlike a TV commercial or some music video. On hand were two huge cameras, a couple of cherry pickers outfitted with artificial shade that they could adjust as the sun crossed the sky, dozens of extras and a lot of technicians and crew waiting around for something to do. As I left for the day, I could see some active filming going on, and the star (as I’d heard) was indeed Bruce Willis, whom I got a short look at. Not my first choice among movie stars, but he was good in 12 Monkeys, anyway.

E-mail has proven itself quite interesting in the month or so I’ve had it. I’ve heard from people I almost never — in a couple of cases, flat-out never — get real mail from. I’ve also found out a number of things I might not have otherwise, not at least for months or years. Just this week an old VU friend e-mailed me to say he was moving to San Francisco after living 14 years on the East Coast. Not long before that, I found out that a Scotsman I knew in Japan had become a father this year.

Then there was the running series of E-Postcards (the sender’s phrase). One fellow I know took a laptop on vacation and has sent a daily report on his movements (mostly on the West Coast) to a large number of e-addresses, mine included.That’s something you won’t catch me doing, taking a laptop on vacation.

2016 Postscript: Since then, a child of mine then in utero has grown up, I often take laptops on the road, but not on vacations per se, and the most recent Bruce Willis movie I’ve seen is The Sixth Sense. I think Mercury Rising was the movie being made that day. It was one of the turkeys that earned Mr. Willis a Golden Raspberry that year.

As for email, I don’t use the hyphen any more, and the in pre-social media days, the regularity with which people corresponded on paper was a pretty good predictor of how much they used email. After the novelty was over, people who were lousy paper correspondents proved to be the same electronically.

Thursday Trifles

One more picture from Navy Pier.
Navy Pier, July 30, 2016Saw about a half-dozen ASK ME sign holders on Saturday, and I did ask one which way it was to the tall ships entrance. He told me.

Oh, God, Not that!Occasionally I still flip through TV channels, just to see what I can see. A few weeks ago I was doing so, and happened to have my camera handy. Here’s something I found.

By gum, it was original cast Three’s Company. Accept no substitutes. I spent all of about a minute watching it. Enough to get the gist of that week’s comedy of errors: a holiday show that saw Jack and the girls wanting to get away from the Ropers to attend a more interesting Christmas party, while the Ropers were doing their best to bore their young guests, so they could attend a more interesting Christmas party. The same one. Har-dee-har-har.

Yep, it's thatThen I became curious about Man About the House. It occurred to me that I’d never seen it. In the age of YouTube, there’s no reason not to, so I watched Series 1, Episode 1 (since removed, but it’ll probably be back). It was no Fawlty Towers, or even Steptoe and Son, but it wasn’t that bad. It had a couple of advantages over its American counterpart, such as better comic acting, especially the part of the landlord, and no Suzanne Somers. Remarkable how much of a difference that makes. Well, not that remarkable.

Some of the Man About the House lines were so very completely, breathtakingly British. The last line of the episode, for instance. Off camera, the brunette roommate persuaded the landlord to let the male character move in, as he was on camera in the kitchen with the blonde roommate. When the male character asked her how she did that — the landlord was gone by this time — she said, “I told him you were a poof.”

An announcement on Wednesday from the IOC: “The… IOC today agreed to add baseball/softball, karate, skateboard, sports climbing and surfing to the sports programme for the Olympic Games Tokyo 2020.”

What, no tug-of-war? Skateboarding, but not tug-of-war, a sport that’s easy to understand, telegenic and opens up the possibility of beach tug-of-war?

A Lot of Tall Ships

Last Saturday, Navy Pier, Chicago: Pay your money, get your wristband, and pretty soon you can board the likes of this.
Brig Niagara 2016Even better, this.
El Galeon Andalucia 2016The first ship is brig Niagara out of Erie, Pa., while the next one is El Galeón Andalucía, out of Cadiz, Spain.

Every three or four years, Chicago hosts a tall ships festival. The formal name of this year’s event was the Pepsi® Tall Ships® Chicago 2016, complete with registered trademarks symbols flying like pennants. I’m sure PepsiCo paid big bucks for the naming rights, but I can’t help feeling that the drink of choice among seafarers on tall ships should be rum. Bacardi ought to look into it.

Pepsi® Tall Ships® Chicago 2016 is part of a larger movement of sailing ships through the Great Lakes this year, known as the Tall Ships Challenge®. (There’s that trademark again, but I refuse to use all caps.) The event is organized by the Tall Ships Foundation  and includes visits to Great Lake ports this summer, as well as races between the participants.

Even now, the ships are on their way to Green Bay and then Duluth. Next year, other ships will visit Atlantic ports, and presumably after that Pacific ports, and so on. Guess the visits count not only as seafaring — an end unto itself — but are also for publicity and fundraising. The tall ships probably cost a lot to maintain, now that the supply of cheap Jack Tar labor isn’t what it used to be.

The participating ships were docked at Navy Pier. All were available to board and look around, while some offered rides on the lake for an extra (and fairly high) fee. All together, we boarded eight of the ships, or more than half: the Niagara and the Andalucía, but also the Pride of Baltimore II, Denis Sullivan, Madeline, Mist of Avalon, Playfair, and the Draken Harald Hårfagre.

Coolest of all was the galleon. Everybody seemed to feel that way, since that ship had the longest line to board. It was worth the wait of about 30 minutes. How often do you have the chance to board a Spanish galleon and look around? Not often.

El Galeon Andalucía, Chicago 2016El Galeon Andalucía, Chicago 2016El Galeon Andalucía, Chicago 2016The vessel, completed only in 2010, is a 170-foot, 495-ton wooden replica of a galleon that was part of Spain’s West Indies fleet, or, as Wiki puts it: “El Galeón Andalucía es la reproducción de un galeón español del siglo XVII.”

The other ships had their interests as well, including the Niagara and the Pride of Baltimore II
Pride of Baltimore II, Chicago 2016— and especially the Draken Harald Hårfagre, a re-creation of a Viking ship. The light was wrong for me to get a good side image of the vessel, but there are plenty of pictures of her.

Apparently there was some kind of kerfuffle about the Draken Harald Hårfagre in U.S. Great Lakes waters. Something about leaving behind a swath of destruction, pillaging as they went by — Cleveland, Detroit, Mackinaw City, Green Bay… No, that wasn’t it.

The ship’s problems are more pedestrian than that: not being able to pay a pilotage fee. The Sun-Times reported before the tall ships event: “While docked in Bay City, Michigan, the crew of a 115-foot vessel found out last week that they were required by law to have a pricey navigational pilot on board while traveling the Great Lakes in U.S. waters.”

Maybe that’s an onerous requirement. I’m not competent to say. But you’d think that the owners of the ship might have known about it before entering U.S. waters. Anyway, apparently they raised enough scratch to get to Chicago, and I’m glad. It was another cool ship to tour.

In fact, we got a guided tour by one of the crew, the only ship to provide that.
Draken Harald Hårfagre, Chicago 2016As a 21st-century replica, certain things about the ship would have been unfamiliar to, say, Erik the Red. Such as the hidden diesel engine, or the hidden stove and toilet aboard. Modern safety regs don’t allow as many crew as the ship would need to actually row it, so the oars are mostly for show, though the crew uses the sails as propulsion if it all possible. Also, in the spirit of modern Scandinavian egalitarianism, the crew’s half men and half women.

Navy Pier 2016

One of the new things this season at Chicago’s Navy Pier is the Ferris wheel.
Navy Pier Ferris Wheel 2016“The new attraction, dubbed the Centennial Wheel in honor of the Lake Michigan landmark’s 100th anniversary this July, offers a higher and longer but also higher-speed hoop ride than the one provided by its predecessor,” noted the Chicago Tribune in May. The ride is also significantly more expensive.”

But of course. Can’t let any opportunity pass to grab more of that tourist dollar.

“At 196 feet tall, 48 feet taller than the structure it replaces, the Centennial Wheel is present on the pier but not dominant, occupying roughly the same footprint as the old one, which began offering rides in 1995 and gave its last one here in September.

“The old wheel — expected to start offering rides from its new home on Branson, Mo.’s Highway 76 next month — served up about 760,000 rides in 2014, just under 10 percent of all Navy Pier visitors (both figures were down from pier peaks). That was at $8 for an adult ticket.” The new basic price is $15, with (naturally) other options that cost more, to make those buying the base ticket feel like cheapskates.

Good to know that the old wheel, like so many aging entertainers, is finding a new audience in Branson. I remember that the cars were red and sported the Golden Arches, denoting its sponsor. I only rode the old one once, ca. 2002, on a company outing one summer day. Worth $8 (probably less then) for the views of the city and the lake.

Even so, there are plenty of views from Navy Pier, from the pier itself. Such as of the East Loop.
Navy Pier 2016And sailing craft on Lake Michigan.
Lake Michigan from Navy Pier 2016Lake Michigan from Navy Pier 2016It had been a while since we’d been to Navy Pier. Not sure how long. A few years. Saturday was a good day for it, especially since temps weren’t expected to be in the 90s, as they had been the weekend before. While crowded, the expanse of the space — about 50 acres — holds a crowd pretty well, except for the food court.

As mentioned, Navy Pier is now 100 years old, built as Municipal Pier. “Navy” was an honorary title given in the 1920s, as the “Soldier” in Soldier Field, though in fact the U.S. Navy did use the pier for a while during WWII. By the time I got to know it in the late ’80s, the structure was in a state of picturesque decay.

As I wrote years ago: “For those unfamiliar with the pier, it juts into Lake Michigan from downtown Chicago a good quarter-mile or so. In the mid-90s, the City of Chicago fostered a redevelopment of the pier that transformed it from a seldom-visited, decaying relic, to the top tourist draw in the entire state of Illinois, featuring a large array of mostly family-friendly diversions, part outdoors, a good many indoors. Also, it has a relatively small amount of convention space (a gnat’s worth, compared to the elephantine McCormick Place).

“Occasionally, I miss the decaying relic, since it had some charm. I recall going there only twice in the late ’80s, once to see a live broadcast of a live radio show WBEZ no longer produces, at the ballroom at the tip of the pier; and another time to see parts of the AIDS Quilt on display under the pier’s enormous empty shed.”

As a summertime destination this year, Navy Pier wasn’t a random choice. We’d come to see the tall ships, more about which tomorrow.

Boomers 7, Miners 5

Not long ago I realized that we hadn’t been to a minor league baseball game in a while. I wasn’t sure how long, so I checked: more than eight years. Time to go again. Same stadium, different team, since the old Flyers went under in 2011 — something about a cool million in unpaid back rent to the stadium owners, who happen to be the Village of Schaumburg and the Schaumburg Park District.

Since 2012, the Schuamburg Boomers have been the home team at the stadium, which isn’t all that far from where we live. Besides proximity, there are other advantages to attending baseball games locally, mainly cost. I’m happy to note that the price of reserved seating this year was exactly the same as it was in 2008: $11.

I can’t say the same about the Cubs. It’s a little hard to tell, since the club seems to have changed the ticket pricing scheme since eight years ago, the better maybe to put a fig leaf on their naked avarice, but I think that a ticket at a “middle distance behind home plate” — which was $66 then — no longer exists, though some far-off seats are still in the $60s. Seems that nothing behind home plate is less than $99. My opinion of MLB as a pack of gougers remains unchanged, then.

On Friday the Schaumburg Boomers of the Frontier League — whose mascot is a Prairie Chicken — played the South Illinois Miners, first of a three-game weekend series. Another thing to like about minor-league ball is that the players commit whopping blunders sometimes, and that happened almost right away, with the Miners getting two runs in the 1st inning because of a wildly misthrown ball to first base (or rather, in the direction of first base). But during the bottom of the same inning, the Boomers then got three runs because of poor play by the Miners.

After that, the quality of the fielding — but not always the hitting — improved somewhat. Both teams managed some well-executed double plays, and most of the outfielders caught the pop flies they needed to, with only one more run until the eighth inning, which began 4-2, with the Boomers leading. Around the 6th inning, it began to drizzle.

The weather had been a worry all evening, since heavy rains had fallen that day, only clearing up about two hours before the first pitch, when it was still cloudy. I didn’t want the game to be called because of rain, not because missing a few innings would have been that bad. Mainly I didn’t want to miss the fireworks after the game.

The prospect of rain might have depressed attendance that evening. I don’t know how many seats usually sell at a Friday Boomers game, but last Friday the stands were less than full, with large swatches of seats empty. As the drizzle fell, more people left. We stuck it out. We being Yuriko and I, along with Lilly and three of her friends (Ann declined to go).

I don’t remember whether the announcer was such a minimalist last time around. All this announcer could be bothered to do was tell us the name of the batter up and natter sometimes about some promotion or other at the ballpark. I don’t mind that, but I would like to hear occasional clarifications of what was going on.

At one point, with two men on base — first and second — something happened, an umpire or two suddenly went into motion, there was noise from members of the crowd who might have understood what was going on, and then the two men advanced to second and third. It took me a while to figure out that a balk must have been called on pitcher. Maybe that’s me being dense about baseball, but I got the sense that a lot of other people were mystified as well. A short sentence from the announcer would have helped. Could be interpreting the game’s above his pay grade.

By the top of the 8th, when the drizzle petered out, all the Boomers had to do was keep the Miners at bay for two more innings. No such luck. In short order, bang, bang, the Miners got two runs to tie the game, 4-4. Actually, it wasn’t that short an inning. One batter in particular had a fondness for foul balls, and he hit one again and again and again and again.

I wasn’t looking forward to extra innings. Nine’s enough, especially when it might rain. Luckily, in the bottom of the 8th, the Boomers did pretty much the same thing as in the bottom of the 1st, bouncing back with well-placed hits, and scoring three runs. The Miners got a run in the top of the 9th, but couldn’t catch up, and that was that, 7-5. I don’t care one way or the other much about the Boomers, but oddly enough I was glad to see them win. That’s crowd psychology for you.

The postgame fireworks were dessert. Not the most spectacular ever, but a nice show, everything you want in hanabi (literally fire flowers in Japanese; always have liked that word). Even better, the show was close enough that you could faintly smell the gunpowder, adding an extra layer of enjoyment — and memory. I thought of the fireworks at Tivoli all those years ago, close enough so that the ash rained down on us (and while I didn’t mention it, you could smell the fireworks too).

Nonstop-Kino, Last Day of July 1983

Why do I still have a movie ticket stub after a third of century? Don’t ask. I don’t save all of them, or even very many. This one, yes. On July 31, 1983, I went to the Nonstop-Kino in Innsbruck, Austria.

Nonstop-Kino Innsbruck 1983Rich and I took in a screening of Manhattan that afternoon. All together only four people — including the two of us — were at the show. Even so, in an example of doing what the Romans do, or in this case the Austrians, we actually sat in Row 6, Seats 7 and 8.

I’ve seen movies in London (Return of the Jedi and Babette’s Feast and Duck Soup) and Rome (I forget what) and of course many in Japan and some in other Asian countries, but the cinemas in the German-speaking world are the only ones I’ve encountered that sold seats like a live theater.

Manhattan was dubbed in German. I’d seen movie before, so that didn’t matter, but I didn’t think the voice actor doing Woody Allen was a good fit. In the age of the Internet, it’s easy enough to find out that the voice actor who’s done Allen for years — the Synchronsprecher, love that word — is one Wolfgang Draeger (who also was Sir Robin in Monty Python und Die Ritter der Kokosnuß). Apparently Draeger’s highly esteemed, especially for doing Allen. Still, I didn’t care for the match. His voice wasn’t nebbish enough.

Four Cards From Afar

Might as well end the week with more about postcards. The following, from Ed, have been pinned to the wall of my office since I received them in the late 2000s. The text is his message on each card.

Bora Bora“Have circumnavigated the island in a tevaka, outrigger canoe. It is way prettier than I expected. Fed sting rays yesterday, watched a turtle swim toward the open ocean. Story itself is being difficult, but trip is great fun.”

Yap“I suppose it’s the cliche postcard from Yap, but then, for an extremely beautiful island, the postcards kind of suck. So far, I love it here. Topless women greet you at the airport, flowers are blooming everywhere, and outside the town, it is very, very quiet. Unlike the Tahiti story, which is like pulling teeth, this one is going to be extremely easy. And I haven’t even seen the manta rays or giant fruit bats yet. Marvelous.”

Uganda“Technically, haven’t been here yet, but going tomorrow. Today, saw ~50 elephants and dozen giraffe, countless zebras, antelopes and buffalo, 4 lions, 2 leopards. It really is like being inside a national geo special.”

Timbuktu“I’ve been here & you haven’t. Ha.”

To that last one, I think I answered by sending him a postcard of the Gerald Ford Museum in Grand Rapids and saying exactly the same thing. He admitted it was true.

The Postcard Bequest

About a week after we returned from Texas, UPS delivered a box to me containing a few hundred postcards. Amanda Castleman, a friend of Ed Henderson’s, had arranged to send them to me. They represented his bequest to me. The last time I saw him, he told me I would get his collection of postcards after he died, and so I have.

The other day I took them out of the box and put them under the noonday sun.
The beads were a lagniappe. Yuriko recognized them at once as beads that a pilgrim would wear to do the 88 temples on Shikoku associated with Kōbō Daishi.

Ed's postcard bequestThat image wasn’t impressive enough, so I stacked them up, and added a ruler for perspective. About 8 inches of postcards. Ed's postcard bequestSome of the bequest cards are blank ones that Ed acquired during his many travels, with their numbers a kind of rough guide to how highly he esteemed a place. A fair number are thus of Alaska and Venice. But there are also cards from (noted here at random) the UK, Norway, Iceland, France, Germany, South Georgia, Hawaii, Yap, Canada, French Polynesia, the Caribbean, Mexico, the Balkans, Turkey, Mali, South Africa, and more. The dude got around.

Then there are the cards other people sent him. Many of them are from me. It’s odd looking at a bit of paper you focused on one, two, or five years ago and then put out of your mind. Or sent more recently. In the box is the last card I sent to him, obtained at the National Museum of the U.S. Air Force, which pictures Bockscar. On it I wrote, “We already dropped the big one to see what would happen.”

A bit cryptic, unless you know that I was answering an email Ed sent to me on May 1 of this year, which had this subject line: Hmm. The entirety of the message was: “Had a very odd dream last night, most of which is lost, but not you singing randy newman’s political science.” (Ed typically didn’t bother with capitalization in nonprofessional writing.)

Ed also collected hotel and motel postcards. Many of them are in the box, too — some of which I’d sent to him over the years, used or blank, that I’d picked up at resale shops. Increasingly that’s the only place to find hotel or motel cards, since hotels and motels rarely offer them any more, with the recent exception of the Munger Moss Motel in Missouri, which still has cards of itself for a small fee.

All of these add considerably to my agglomeration of postcards, “collection” not being the right word. The blank ones are in drawers and boxes, and those I’ve received over the years (many from Ed) are tucked away in files and other boxes, their value almost entirely sentimental.

How many all together? I don’t know. Might be better not to count.