Irene Marie Sommer Gamble (1915-2010)

My grandmother passed away this morning. We visited Friday and Saturday and had a great time telling her all about our trip CA (us), school (Eli), and FL (mom & dad). She was among the last of a dying breed...the product of finishing school and Columbia...she was simply elegant. I recall her using a swear once in my life, and that to scold a table full of men (dad, Dr. Weaver, Granddaddy and Uncle Milton) who were discussing *very* disgusting things (she said, as I recall, "Damn it, I will not have this language at the dinner table").

When I was very young, she tried to get me to call her "Grandma Reenie". I promptly shortened it to Greenie and that is what she was for the rest of our lives. She, and my grandfather, lived a quite remarkable life. I offer one quick story, as I think it sums things up nicely. They went to Marion, AL 1938-1943...this young Irish immigrant and his new bride from NYC...to be the principal (Granddaddy) and a teacher (Greenie) at Lincoln School. Granddaddy was the last white principle of this famous black school that produced a remarkable number of leaders. Coretta Scott King would write Greenie, many years later, that her later college work "never taught me anything you didn't teach me at Lincoln School" (Greenie taught public speaking/drama classes). [The photo, to the left, shows the 25th reunion of the class of 1943, Granddaddy is at the left, standing directly behind Coretta and Greenie at the far right with the purse.)

Greenie called me Go Bragh...as in Ian Go Bragh (nee Erin Go Bragh). I'll miss a lot of things about my grandmother. I'll especially miss Go Bragh.

My mother crafted a lovely obit. I offer it here for friends and family:

Irene Marie Sommer Gamble

Tenants Harbor – Irene Marie Sommer Gamble, 94, widow of Wilfred Gamble, died on February 21st at Quarry Hill after a long illness.

Born on May 20, 1915, she was the daughter of John Sommer and Marie Haantz Sommer of North Bergen, New Jersey. She was educated at Hoboken Academy, Centenary College for Women in Hackettstown NJ, and New College at Columbia University in New York, where she received a Masters Degree in education, speech and dramatics.

She met her husband, Wilfred Gamble, at Columbia when he tried out for a play she was casting. After their marriage in 1939, she joined him as a teacher at the school where he was principal, the Lincoln School in Marion, Alabama. This was a groundbreaking private school for African American children, with a biracial faculty, run by the Congregational Board of Home Missions. She maintained close contact with both staff members and students throughout her life.

Upon Wilfred’s discharge from the U.S. Navy in 1945, the Gambles moved to Southbury, Connecticut, where they were involved in town, church, and school activities for over thirty-five years. Irene taught fifth grade for many years in nearby Woodbury. Towards the end of her career she became speech therapist for the Woodbury school system.

The Gambles summered in Maine, and in 1980 they moved to Tenants Harbor. They became active members of the Unitarian-Universalist Church in Rockland. Irene was very involved in the PBMC Auxiliary, working on many aspects of the annual Christmas Fair. For several years she ran the ornaments group and organized production of the advent calendars that are still used in so many homes in the midcoast area and beyond. She was an avid reader and was part of the Tenants Harbor book group for many years, where she is remembered for her excellent “book reports.” She kept up to date on anything concerning education and gave the education reports at meetings of the American Association for University Women. She loved crossword puzzles, travel, good conversation, her old houses in Connecticut and Maine, and above all, her family.

She is survived by her daughter and her husband, Patricia and Richard Kahn of Tenants Harbor, with whom she has lived for the past eight years, by her grandson Ian Kahn and his wife Suzanne Hamlin of Portland, Maine, by her granddaughter Gillian Kahn Hargreaves and her husband Andrew Hargreaves of Landing, New Jersey, and by great-grandchildren Aidan Kahn, Elijah Kahn, Oliver Hargreaves, and Madeline Hargreaves. They will always remember her as “Greenie.”

Arrangements are under the direction of Burpee-Strong Funeral Home of Rockland. A memorial service will be held in the Spring. In lieu of flowers, contributions may be made to Penobscot Bay Medical Center, Six Glen Cove Drive, Rockport ME 04856, the Unitarian-Universalist Church, 345 Broadway, Rockland ME 04841, or to the Lincolnite Club, Inc. PO Box 434, Marion, AL 36756.

I've no more grandparents, but I've some extremely dirty limericks....

My grandmother passed away today (more on this in another post), 12 years and one day following my grandfather. We have spent the day going through her photos, letters and the bits of ephemera that swirl around you after 94 years. It has been, pleasingly, great fun...reveling in her life (and that of my grandfather's) rather than mourning. Best of all, we found some things that she more or less hid to protect us.

For example, my grandfather was born and raised in Belfast, Ireland and had a quick and rollicking wit (among his many talents). Certain people, however, brought out his wicked streak and he their one. One such lifelong miscreant was Tommy Panzera. The two of them fed of each other's antic personalities and the results are the stuff of family myth and legend. We found a letter that Tommy wrote the Granddaddy in 1938. Greenie had hidden it in a dark, back corner as it is full of wildly dirty limericks. Quoting in part [N.B. seriously dirty words, etc. following...you are warned]:

Whereupon I explained that my best pal is a goddam Irishman and therefore there is no foolin' around. He retaliated or reiterated (I forget which) and gave me the following:

There was a young Chinese named Rhoda

Who kept an immoral Pagoda;

Festooned on the walls

Of the halls were the balls

And the tools of the fools who bestrode her.

Meantime his pal was thinking hard and having thunk sprang this one upon us (the dirty slob):

There was a young man of Bombay

Who modeled a cunt out of clay;

But the heat of his prick

Turned the clay into brick

And wore all his foreskin away.

Followed almost immediately by the young man from Thermopylae,

Who found he couldn't pee properly

He said, "Pax vobiscum

Why the hell won't my piss come?

My semen must have a Monopoly."

In my life, I heard my grandmother swear *once* that I can remember (she said, "Damn it" when scolding "the men" at a dinner). She and Granddaddy were so wonderful together. It has been great fun to laugh as much as we have today...

Great moments in the defense of freedom of speech...

If you have not seen this, or do not remember it, take the time to watch it again. Frank Zappa defending the First Amendment, specifically rock lyrics, against the narrow minds of Lofton, Braden and Novak. 1986 to 2009...one step forward, three back.

RIP Judith F. Krug: Read a Banned Book in her memory...

Judith Krug passed away April 11th, 2009. A librarian and a powerful voice for library's "right to choose", she was the Director of the American Library Association's Office for Intellectual Freedom since it was founded in 1967. She also started Banned Books Week in 1982, promoting the right to read, write and shelve stories and books without the interference of various censors.

"She was a force of nature, fiercely determined to make sure that censorship wouldn't triumph in the library or the larger world," said Deborah Caldwell-Stone, deputy director of the Office for Intellectual Freedom."

True to her convictions, she was a strong opponent of content blocking on library internet connections ("Blocking material leads to censorship. ... [E]very time I hear someone say, I want to protect the children, I want to pull my hair out.").

She also created quite a stir (particularly by librarian standards) when, shortly after the Sept. 11, 2001 attacks, she criticized the Delray Beach Florida librarian who reported to the police the library use of one of the attackers...contrary to a Florida law that guarantees confidentiality to library patrons. Said Krug, "I would have felt better if she had followed the Florida law. I suspect most people faced with the same situation would have done what she did."

She was a great standard bearer and I regret I never got to meet her. I hope whoever picks up her reins will have the same vim and vigor.

RIP Philip Jose Farmer

Philip Jose Farmer (1/26/1918-2/25/2009) passed away in his sleep this morning. 

As posted on his website, [h]e will be missed greatly by his wife Bette, his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, friends and countless fans around the world.

He won his first Hugo Award in 1953 and his last in 1972 ["To Your Shattered Bodies Go"]. In the first few years of 2000, he one the Damon Knight Memorial Grand Master Award [lifetime achievement, awarded at the Nebula Awards Ceremony], the World Fantasy Award for Life Achievement and the Forry Award for Lifetime Achievement.

He will be missed by many...

John Updike has lost his cancer fight - Dead at 76

The AP is reporting that Updike's publisher, Alfred A. Knopf has issued a statement that he passed away earlier today (Tuesday) after a long battle with cancer. At this point, pretty much everyone else is just repeating the AP blurb. In a hour or so, NYT, et al will polish up the obits they have had more or less finished for the last 6 months and there will be much to read.

Over his life he won nearly every literary prize, including not one but two Pulitzers (Rabbit is Rich and Rabbit at Rest). He also won a pair of National Book Awards. Great writer. Great loss. Always annoying to lose a great when there are so many terrible hacks who couldn't be healthier. I'll have to add a book or two to my reading pile...

RIP Andrew Wyeth

Andrew Wyeth, son of N.C. Wyeth and father of Jamie Wyeth passed away Thursday night in his sleep at 91. 

A pity...condolences to the family.

Don't Panic. [...and speaking of dead writers I am fond of...]

The Guardian has just published an article of *monumental* importance to those of us who love Douglas Adams' increasingly inaccurately titled Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy trilogy. Irish author Eoin Ciofer (of Artemis Fowl fame) has been approached by Adam's widow Jane Belson to write a SIXTH book for the trilogy. The Guardian sums it up nicely:

Comic fantasy children's author describes being given the opportunity to continue Douglas Adams's legendary series as 'like suddenly being offered the superpower of your choice'

Adams had planned a sixth book (noting the somewhat dour nature of Mostly Harmless), and it is unclear what, if anything, Adams left toward this project. I have enjoyed Ciofer's writing...though he is not Adams...it will be interesting to see what emerges from this project.

Following up my prior missive, I should mention that I was to meet Adams and spend a weekend with him in 2001, weeks before his wildly untimely death at 49. He was and remains one of my most favorite writers...and humans...and I have never recovered from this "miss". I don't expect to do so...

DFW...as the dust settles...

I really tried to avoid posting on the passing of David Foster Wallace. I have read nearly everything he ever wrote...much of his codex more than once (the bad habit of rereading is one I've never been able to quit). I spent a summer, some time ago, (re)reading Infinite Jest, Finnegans Wake, The Wasp Factory and A Void (Perec's, La Disparition as translated by Gilbert Adair, keeping the original's avoidance of the letter "e") (I was in a masochistic mood). I am fond of complex, convoluted and challenging text. It is not always rewarding...and it is often quite painful...but there is always a chance of running across *greatness*. I do not think it is possible to find *greatness* in the easy to consume.

DFW never held back from playing with his craft. There was greatness and there was crap...and one person's greatness was often another's crap and vise versa (as is often the case, The Independant declared Bank's first novel, Wasp Factory as one of the 100 great novels of the 20th century, the Economist declared the same work "Rubbish"). I just finished rereading Girl with Curious Hair (a collection of short stories, first published in 1990). I first read it...well...about 18 years ago and again around 1996 when it was reprinted. It was interesting how different my sense of the collection is now vs. my "memory" of it.

There has been much written of him since his passing, and I include a few notated links that I think are interesting...and one counterpoint:

Howling Fantods - cornerstone DFW fan site, extremely detailed listing of related articles;
McSweeney - "Timothy McSweeney is devastated and lost" - remembrances by McSweeney writers, etc. (including Dave Eggers);
Harper's Magazine - is providing every article DFW wrote for them as downloadable .pdfs (if you read nothing else, read Shipping Out);
SFGate - Mark Morford offers a personal and *very* praising recollection;
and as a counterpoint...because it is useful, sometimes, for perspective -
Hackwriters.com - agree with it or not, David Schneider's review/critique of Girl With Curious Hair (and Post-modernism) is a good read.

I hate when a great mind goes away...more so where, as here, its passing is tied so closely to that subtle line between insanity and genius. The loss here is greatest for what might have been written...what we have lost by his passing, comforted only in that we will never know what we have lost. There are so many writers who could never write another word and I, personally, would not care one whit [e.g. (and while acknowledging that the following is completely inappropriate) does the world really need another novel by Nicholas Sparks?]. Though I had not read him recently until his passing, I really can't find the construct to voice my sense of loss. I think I will just go reread some essays and short fiction and be annoyed.

Speaking of rereading, tragic writers and...well...broken minds; I am rereading a collection of H.P. Lovecraft's short fiction and had just (re)started Call of Cthulhu when I heard of DFW's passing. Its opening appears to be a fitting close:

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

Tasha Tudor [Starling Burgess] - 8/28/15-6/18/08

This following is making the rounds on various bookish listserv groups:

It is with great sadness that we must tell you Tasha Tudor, 92, passed away in her Vermont home on June 18, 2008 surrounded by family and friends.
We thank you for supporting Tasha Tudor's lifestyle and artwork during her long career. We hope that Tasha's message of 'taking joy' in all that one does will be remembered as we pass through this difficult time together.

-The Tudor Family

The gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it, yet, within our reach, is joy. Take Joy.
Fra Giovanni

A wonderful illustrator, writer and generally lovely human. I know what I will be reading the boys later this afternoon. [This and the image lead to the Tasha Tudor website.]

A butterfly flapped its wings in Brazil and...

science looses another great. Edward N. Lorenz has passed away and somewhere there is a very guilty-looking butterfly. The meteorologist, seeking better models of weather systems, and in doing so be became the father of Chaos Theory.

The concept of the butterfly effect dates to the 1890s, but it was Lorenz in 1961 who reduced the concept to its modern conception and developed it into the theory we are familiar with. Interesting, his analogy first revolved around a seagull, "One meteorologist remarked that if the theory were correct, one flap of a seagull's wings could change the course of weather forever." (1963 paper to NY Acad. of Science).

It is possible that his subsequent use of the butterfly is, at least in part, a hat tip to Ray Bradbury. Bradbury's 1952 short story on time travel, "A Sound of Thunder", revolved around consquences of the death of a butterfly in the days of the dinosaurs. It is hard to argue that the wings of a butterfly are more poetically pleasing than the wings of a seagull.

It has been a bad week for the sciences. Three days ago, another butterfly flapped its wings which ultimately opened a wee black hole that took the life of John Wheeler. Wheeler coined the term "Black Hole" and was one of the key brains behind the development of nuclear fission. Wheeler was the last of physics' rockstars...those whose names are nearly all ubiquitous. He argued the nature of reality with Bohr and Einstein, his grad students include the likes of Richard Feynman (whose Nobel Prize is owed, in part, to Wheeler) and Hugh Everett (of "Many Worlds" theory fame...to the pleasure of cosmologists and speculative fiction writers everywhere). Freeman Dyson said of him, “He rejuvenated general relativity; he made it an experimental subject and took it away from the mathematicians,” (see, also and just for fun, Dyson shere).

I think in escapist homage I'll read, Who Got Einstein's Office? Eccentricity and Genius at the Institute for Advanced Study.

[and yes, the MARIAB wrap-up is forthcoming...I need more time in the day]