T. Buckingham Thomas Archive 2018 March

My name? It is nothing. My age? It means less.
The country I come from is called the Midwest.
I was taught and brought up there the laws to abide,
And the land that I live in has God on its side.

Oh, the history books tell it — they tell it so well —
The cavalries charged, the Indians fell.
The cavalries charged, the Indians died.
Oh, the country was young with God on its side.

The Spanish-American War had its day,
And the Civil War too was soon laid away,
And the names of the heroes I was made to memorize,
With guns on their hands and God on their side.

The First World War, boys, it came and it went.
The reason for fighting I never did get,
But I learned to accept it, accept it with pride,
For you don't count the dead when God's on your side.

When the Second World War came to an end
We forgave the Germans, and then we were friends.
Though they murdered six million in the ovens they fried,
The Germans now too have God on their side.

I've learned to hate Russians all through my whole life.
If another war comes, it's them we must fight,
To hate them and fear them, to run and to hide,
And accept it all bravely with God on my side.

But now we got weapons of the chemical dust.
If fire them we're forced to, then fire them we must.
One push of the button and a shot the world wide,
And you never ask questions when God's on your side.

In a many dark hour I've been thinking about this:
That Jesus Christ was betrayed by a kiss.
But I can't think for you. You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot had God on his side.

So now, as I'm leaving, I'm weary as hell.
The confusion I'm feeling, ain't no tongue can tell.
The words fill my head and fall to the floor:
“If God's on our side, he'll stop the next war.”

Five years later, 24-year-old Tim Rice and 20-year-old Andrew Lloyd Webber were celebrating the success of their school cantata Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. What would they do next?

The question Dylan had posed in his eighth verse — did the vilified Judas Iscariot also have God on his side? — inspired Rice to suggest telling the story of Holy Week from Judas's point of view.

Most Christians are unaware that the original manuscript concluded with Mark 16:8. Our Bibles today include a dozen more verses after that, because various other ancient authors remedied Mark's apparent oversight by appending anecdotes about the risen Jesus making curtain calls on Earth before retiring to Heaven.

There are other discrepancies among the stories. For example, the Jesus depicted in Mark's gospel comes out somewhat differently in Luke's.

According to Robert M. Price, Luke described a “politically correct Jesus” who “eschewed apocalyptic fantasies of a violent visitation by angel armies slaughtering the bad guys, in favor of ... a ‘safe space’ where ‘never is heard a discouraging word and the sky is not cloudy all day.’ This Jesus never spoke a syllable of nasty rhetoric. ‘Oh no, he'd never do that!' Threats of damnation? ‘Hell — I mean heck — no!’”

Many timid Christians understandably prefer to picture a loving “personal savior,” rather than an angry God raging from on high. They'd like their Lord to be kind, not vindictive. But has the Gospel of Luke led them astray?

I've imagined Mark writing a letter arguing against revisionism. It's called Mark vs Luke.

Italian wedding soup is quite popular in this area. How did it get its name?

A:

It's served at Italian weddings.

B:

It's a “marriage” of meat and vegetables. The Italians call it minestra maritata.

Hint: Whenever you don't know the answer to a multiple-choice question, the mostly likely option is B.

Okay, I'll say B then.

Correct! Around here, the meat is little meatballs, and the veggies include slightly bitter greens like escarole or spinach. And of course there's pasta.

Speaking of bitter greens, the menu for the Jewish Seder specifies “bitter herbs” to symbolize the harsh slavery the Hebrews endured in Egypt. Which bitter herbs are usually used for Passover nowadays?

A:

Kale and chard.

B:

Romaine lettuce and horseradish.

Huh? Are you implying that the answer is again B? Neither romaine nor horseradish seems bitter to me.

Yet there they are, on the right.

In fact, I'd describe horseradish as “hot.”

“Hot” merely refers to a sensation of pain. It's not among the five officially defined basic tastes, which are bitter, salty, sour, sweet, and umami or savory.

We learn something every day.

For example, I read yesterday that Pitt has named a new head basketball coach by the name of Jeff Capel.

He's been Duke's associate head coach under Mike Krzyzewski since 2011 and is considered a great recruiter. But I wondered how to pronounce his name. Like “Chapel”? Like “Chappelle”?

I learned today that “Capel” has the stress on a long A, like “Capable.” Seems appropriate.

On TV, I've been watching the HBO series John Adams, which begins with Adams' defense in court of the Redcoats involved in the 1770 Boston Massacre. I also recently saw a documentary about the 1970 shootings at Kent State University.

What I hadn't noticed until now was the strong similarity between these two events that occurred almost exactly two centuries apart. In each case, soldiers confronted by a mob fired their weapons, and the gunshots hit about a dozen civilians. Five died on March 5, 1770. Four died on May 4, 1970.

In each case, the crowd had been enraged by recent government actions. In 1770, the British government had levied taxes on American colonists, commandeered their homes to quarter troops, and otherwise oppressed the citizenry. Boston residents were especially angry. In 1970, the United States government had escalated the already-unpopular Vietnam war by sending troops into Cambodia. Kent State students were especially angry.

In each case, the irate citizens protested to the point of destroying government property. The authorities tried to maintain order by bringing in soldiers, but the crowd outnumbered them, taunted them, threw things at them. Tensions mounted. The soldiers, feeling threatened and nervous, finally fired on the civilians. It's still disputed whether anyone actually gave an order to open fire.

In Boston, a historical marker is set into the pavement of what is now, rather incongruously, a traffic island in the middle of a busy street outside the Old State House.

In Kent, the shootings took place behind the gymnasium where I've since televised basketball.

Each tragedy stirred much resentment, in the colonies and on the campuses respectively, and the protesters finally achieved their goals a few years later. In 1776, British forces retreated from Massachusetts, and in 1973, American forces withdrew from Southeast Asia.

I've used various methods to loosen lids on glass jars so they can be unscrewed. But lids on tin cans? They present a different difficulty.

Yesterday afternoon, we denizens of the TV truck outside Mellon Arena in Pittsburgh were preparing for that evening's telecast of the Penguins hockey game against the New Jersey Devils. But at 2:00, for our own safety, we were herded inside the domed building. Another structure across the street was about to be destroyed.

Making our way to the opposite side of the arena, we looked out through the windows at the former St. Francis Central Hospital. This now-empty building needed to come down to make way for the construction of a new arena for the Penguins. Fifteen of the hospital's columns had been prepared with 32-pound charges of C-4 explosive. I'd never seen an implosion in person, and here I was only 400 feet away.

At 2:15, the charges were set off at half-second intervals. The bangs were very loud, shaking the windows of the arena; I took a step back. The effect was similar to the "aerial salutes" in the finale of a fireworks show. Had we been outside, the sound would have been deafening.

However, aside from the noise, nothing seemed to be happening. Finally, as planned, the weakened building began to fall in on itself. In another ten seconds there was only rubble, hidden by a cloud of dust.

The dust cleared, and we went back to work. We've been promised that the new arena will be ready for the 2010-2011 season.

NEWS PHOTO news photo

No! I'm right about this! The movie is terrible! There must be some sinister explanation. It's a conspiracy. The studio must have paid the guy for a favorable write-up.

I have principles! I believe in good honest work. But I don't believe in just handing people money if they've done nothing to deserve it.

While telecasting basketball at the University of Pittsburgh this season, we frequently had to show a graphic about the Panthers like “0 Field Goals in Last 8:42.” What a shooting slump! And, of course, the visitors' resultant scoring run led to an insurmountable lead.

But that's just Pitt, I thought. The Panthers never won after Christmas. “0 Wins in Last 19 Games” inevitably cost the coach his job.

Cold shooting sometimes affects even good teams, however. Yesterday in the NCAA men's tournament, five contenders were upset by lower-seeded opponents.

In particular, I noticed that 11 Syracuse eliminated 3 Michigan State when the Spartans managed to make only 9 of their 38 field goal attempts in the second half. That's 23.7%. My high school team shot better than that! (However, we didn't have to face Jim Boeheim's defense.)

In fact, all five losing favorites shot worse than their season averages, underperforming by an average of 12 percentage points. The lids were on the hoops.

MARCH 18, 2018 ROBBY!

Someone made Justin Cousson sound stupid, he tweets, by convincing him that Margot Robbie's last name is pronounced “Row-bee.”

I'm more concerned with her first name.

I think it rhymes with Fargo, but we all know that an actress has options. She could have chosen a long A, and a soft G, and a short O, and a non-silent T. Yes, Margot could have been “Mare-jot.”

Why not? It's been established that we can say our names any way we like. My Thomas Thomas could very easily be pronounced “Though-mace Though-mace.”

On special occasions, the First United Methodist Church in Richwood, Ohio, features instrumental duets on organ and piano. This image from a videotape shows Phyllis Rees at the organ (center) and Marge Gamble at the piano (lower left, in front of the flag) during the Christmas open house about five years ago.

During the 1960s and 1970s, I was one of those keyboard players, often filling in on the organ during the summer.

The regular organist at the time was Gladys Winter; she's on the left in this picture from the 1978 church directory. Gladys was succeeded by Patt Houk, who's on the right. I played the piano for several duets, particularly "The Holy City," with each of these organists.

It's not an ideal venue for duets. The piano is only a spinet, and it must be tuned to match the pitch of the organ, which varies as the temperature changes with the seasons.

The piano is located on the floor beside the altar rail, while the organ bench is in an elevated position in the choir loft.

Nor can the musicians easily share audible cues. The organist sits close to the pipes; if she plays loudly, she can't hear the piano. And if she plays softly, the pianist can barely hear her. When I played the piano, I could detect when the organist changed from one chord to another, but repeated notes in the melody blended into each other. That meant that I couldn't hear the beats, only the measures.

A duet, therefore, is an act of faith. One musician begins playing to set the tempo, the other joins in, and occasionally one will be able to hear the other well enough to re-synchronize. Just before the end of "The Holy City," there's a fermata

, and as we held that dramatic chord Gladys and I had no way of communicating when to break it off and proceed to the conclusion. She finally suggested that we count a fifth beat in that measure, and we were able to stay together, more or less.

Neither musician can actually hear the "mix," the balance between the two instruments. Both have to use their best judgment as to volume and take it on faith that their music sounds good to the people out in the congregation.

It was usually about this time of year that we performed "The Holy City." Here's a link to an approximation of our performance (but I didn't do the piano glissandos). The fermata comes at the five-minute mark.

Here's another link to a vocal performance. The words were written in 1892 by Frederick E. Weatherly (who would write "Danny Boy" 18 years later). If only the first verse and the last chorus are sung, it can be associated with the Christmas season, but the three verses actually allude to Palm Sunday, Good Friday, and chapter 21 of Revelation. In the right column I've imagined beginning an Easter Sunrise service with a soloist singing the verses of "The Holy City" and the choir joining in the chorus.

Last night I lay a-sleeping.
   There came a dream so fair:
I stood in old Jerusalem
   Beside the temple there.
I heard the children singing,
   And ever as they sang
Methought the voice of angels
   From Heav'n in answer rang;
      Methought the voice of angels
         From Heav'n in answer rang:

"Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
   Lift up your gates and sing!
Hosanna in the highest,
   Hosanna to your King."

The sanctuary is in darkness except for a few candles and a light on the soloist.

More lights gradually reveal the choir, with children bearing palm fronds marching by.

And then methought my dream was chang'd:
   The streets no longer rang.
Hush'd were the glad hosannas
   The little children sang.

The sun grew dark with mystery,
   The morn was cold and chill,
As the shadow of a cross arose
   Upon a lonely hill;
      As the shadow of a cross arose
         Upon a lonely hill.

(softly) Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
   Hark! how the angels sing:
"Hosanna in the highest,
   Hosanna to your King."

From my kitchen window in Pennsylvania I can see this lighted cross a mile away, dedicated on a hillside overlooking the Allegheny River on Easter 1956.

Darkness once again.

Another light slowly brightens to reveal a cross, or the shadow of a cross.

And once again the scene was chang'd:
   New earth there seem'd to be!
I saw the Holy City
   Beside the tideless sea.
The light of God was on its streets.
   The gates were open wide,
And all who would might enter
     And no one was denied!
No need of moon or stars by night
     Or sun to shine by day,
It was the new Jerusalem
   That would not pass away;
      It was the new Jerusalem
         That would not pass away.

Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
   Sing, for the night is o'er!
Hosanna in the highest,
   Hosanna for evermore!
      Hosanna in the highest ...
         Hosanna for evermore!

Now all the lights in the sanctuary gradually brighten, and more candles appear.

In full brightness, everyone rises.

Later, immediately following the benediction at the end of the sunrise service but before the Amen, the choir joyfully reprises the final chorus. Sing, for the night is o'er!

On this night 2,061 years ago — the eve of the Ides of March — frightening portents were seen in the streets of Rome. A lion calmly walked past the Capitol, a slave's left hand went up in flames, and so on.

When Julius Caesar got up the next morning, his wife urged him not to leave the house. However, he ignored the omens because they didn't target him in particular. In the words of Shakespeare's play, he said [2.2]:

Yet Caesar shall go forth, for these predictions
Are to the world in general as to Caesar.

When I recently watched the 1953 movie of this tragedy (with Marlon Brando looking on as Mark Antony), I was struck by Caesar's repeated reference to himself as “Caesar.” An ordinary man would have spoken in the first person: “But I shall go out, because these warnings are directed to the whole world as much as to me.”

Why did Shakespeare choose to have his title character speak in the third person? Perhaps his cue came from Caesar's book Commentarii de Bello Gallico (parts of which I read in high school Latin class), where he narrated his Gallic War campaign that way. “Caesar, on being informed of these things, cheered the minds of the Gauls with his words.” Earlier, Xenophon had described his military career similarly in Greek.

The rabblement hooted, and clapped their chapped hands, and threw up their sweaty nightcaps.... Three or four wenches where I stood ... forgave him with all their hearts. But there's no heed to be taken of them. If Caesar had stabbed their mothers they would have done no less.

I consider myself reasonably well-informed, from my studies and additional reading over two disparate centuries. I'm proud to have a degree from a distinguished liberal-arts college. I think I've learned how to tell the difference between a scientific conclusion and a fairy tale.

MARCH 9, 2018 MINUTE BY MINUTE

While revisiting my archives over the winter, I discovered some additional images and details from 44 years ago.

In my very first month working at Cable TV-3 in Washington, Pennsylvania, I covered a beauty pageant in the role of a news reporter. That's the winner on the right, Do Do Gatalski.

The story is in my new article, Miss Pennsylvania.

In my second month, I organized a six-hour fundraiser from our TV studio, including a clock and a captain.

Not only that, I also reorganized the news and interview blocks for Greater Washington Today.

Click here and then scroll down through April and May for those expanded narratives about the long-ago year of 1974.

Every few days I peruse the television listings and select the primetime programs I want to watch. Then I set my DVR to record every one of them. (Sports events and the Academy Awards are exceptions, because they're newsworthy and need to be seen as they happen.)

I may watch some of my selected shows live. If so, the recording becomes superfluous and can be deleted. More often, however, I fall asleep in front of the TV and let the DVR do the watching for me. Later, whenever it's convenient, I can catch up with what I missed.

I actually prefer this delayed viewing, because it allows me to fast-forward through the commercials. Nowadays there are a lot of them, some only six seconds long, adding up to an estimated 11 minutes per hour. (The NBC networks recently promised that this fall they'll cut a minute off that, reducing ad time in original primetime programming by 10 percent and the number of commercials by 20 percent.)

I'm not the only one giving the DVR a workout. Mark Evanier notes, “Audiences these days are becoming more and more accustomed to watching TV shows with no commercial interruptions.” The commercials on the Super Bowl not really an interruption, he says, because “they're a point of interest by themselves. More and more though, I think all those cutaways to ads throughout the Oscars are seeming more and more intrusive.”

And that may be one reason why Sunday's Oscar viewership was historically small, 17 percent under the previous record low and 19 percent below last year. Other reasons: “Few moviegoers had any emotions attached to any of the nominees... the ratings of most things on broadcast television are going down... and the public is getting tired of watching the rich and famous celebrate how rich and famous they are. An awful lot of folks in this country think Big Stars look down on them.”

Of course, another problem was that the awards show was much too long. There's no way I could stay awake for the whole thing.

On Wednesday, January 8, 1992, the President of the United States, George H. W. Bush, was on the other side of the world. He was the guest at a state dinner in Tokyo.

Headline News is now the channel known as HLN. Back then, however, it was a ten-year-old CNN “second channel” that presented a full newscast every half hour, including sports and business and, in many cities, five minutes of local stories inserted by an affiliated station. At any time of the day, viewers could tune in and get a complete update of current events, “around the world in 30 minutes!”

Nowadays, of course, we rely on the Internet for that. And today's all-news channels often tell us only one story, all the time, over and over from every angle for hours on end.

That other voice, I learned later, came from executive producer Roger Bahre. He knew that the unverified report might not be true. Don glanced to his left and then said, “We are now getting a correction. We will not give you that story.”

He could have stopped right there. He should have. However, he went on to hint at the nature of the report he was not going to give. “It was regarding some rather tragic news involving President Bush. But, updating that story, President Bush is reported to be resting comfortably.”

My goodness, I thought. A Presidential tragedy? Headline News must have been mere seconds away from erroneously reporting his death!

The unconfirmed report turned out to be a hoax. An Idaho man had phoned CNN pretending to be the President's physician and saying that Bush had died. If the report had turned out to be true, at least Don's hint of “some rather tragic news” would have allowed his network to claim they were the first to learn of the scoop, but I'm not sure they would have wanted to make that boast.

That afternoon, preparing with my colleagues for the Syracuse at Pitt basketball telecast, I told them about the historic almost-moment in broadcast journalism I had witnessed. The situation was still ripe for parody two decades later.