"All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence." ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

 

I first ran into Christa on the Deer Book Trail. She was working with the Youth Conservation Corps filling in some tread with crushed rock and gravel just above a newly built wooden staircase. It seemed, though, that wherever I turned in the park, I would run into her. …and in each place we crossed paths, she’d smile, quickly say hello, and quietly continue with her project.

 

I noted that Christa was an important teacher with the Youth Corps and ultimately with all of my questions. She’d bring one to a given spot to show firsthand example to accompany her explanation and also encourage getting hands dirty and ultimate comprehension through trial. Brilliant! …and while my overall understanding remains basic, I have a better grasp of trail building and maintenance thanks to Chirsta (and all the crew at Acadia).

 

When talking about Christa with the Trails Crew Superintendent he said, “Christa is usually the “quiet type” but don’t be fooled by that. She’s excellent asset to the team who shows independence, great work ethic and diligence.” I know Christa would be a bit embarrassed by this praise, but representing the crew member archetype, I think it’s important to highlight. The decency of hard work is evident through Christa. …and when leveraged through similar group effort, special things happen. Go, Christa, go!

 

Hasselblad 500C medium format SLR camera + Zeiss 80mm f/2.8 lens+ Kodak Professional Tri-X 400 black and white film

 

~Dan Grenier

2015 Artist in Residence

Schoodic Institute at Acadia National Park

 

www.schoodicinstitute.org/

daniel-grenier.com/

 

Belgian postcard offered by Victoria, Brussels, no. 639. The postcard was printed in Italy by C.C.M., no. 5.

 

American actor Gregory Peck (1916-2003) was one of the most popular film stars from the 1940s to the 1960s. Peck received five nominations for Academy Award for Best Actor and won once – for his performance as Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (1962). He almost always played courageous, nobly heroic good guys who saw injustice and fought it. Among his best known films are Spellbound (1945), The Yearling (1946), Gentleman's Agreement (1947), Roman Holiday (1953), The Guns of Navarone (1961), and Cape Fear (1962).

 

Eldred Gregory Peck was born in 1916 in La Jolla, California (now in San Diego). His parents were Bernice Mary (Ayres) and Gregory Pearl Peck, a chemist, and druggist in San Diego. His parents divorced when he was five years old. An only child, he was sent to live with his grandmother. He never felt he had a stable childhood. His fondest memories are of his grandmother taking him to the cinema every week and of his dog, which followed him everywhere. Peck's father encouraged him to take up medicine. He studied pre-med at UC-Berkeley and, while there, got bitten by the acting bug and decided to change the focus of his studies. He enrolled in the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York and debuted on Broadway after graduation. His debut was in Emlyn Williams' play 'The Morning Star' (1942). By 1943, he was in Hollywood, where he debuted in the RKO film Days of Glory (Jacques Tourneur, 1944). Stardom came with his next film, The Keys of the Kingdom (John M. Stahl, 1944), for which he was nominated for an Oscar. Tony Fontana at IMDb: "Peck's screen presence displayed the qualities for which he became well known. He was tall, rugged and heroic, with a basic decency that transcended his roles." He appeared opposite Ingrid Bergman in Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound (1945) as an amnesia victim accused of murder. In The Yearling (Clarence Brown, 1946), he was again nominated for an Oscar and won the Golden Globe. He was especially effective in Westerns and appeared in such varied fare as David O. Selznick's critically blasted Duel in the Sun (King Vidor, 1946), the somewhat better received Yellow Sky (William A. Wellman, 1948), and the acclaimed The Gunfighter (Henry King, 1950). He was nominated again for the Academy Award for his roles in Gentleman's Agreement (Elia Kazan, 1947), which dealt with anti-Semitism, and Twelve O'Clock High (Henry King, 1949), a story of high-level stress in an Air Force bomber unit in World War II. In 1947, Peck, along with Dorothy McGuire, David O'Selznick, and Mel Ferrer, founded the La Jolla Playhouse, located in his hometown, and produced many of the classics there. Due to film commitments, he could not return to Broadway but whet his appetite for live theatre on occasion at the Playhouse, keeping it firmly established with a strong, reputable name over the years.

 

With a string of hits to his credit, Gregory Peck made the decision to only work in films that interested him. He continued to appear as the heroic, larger-than-life figures in such films as Captain Horatio Hornblower (Raoul Walsh, 1951) with Virginia Mayo, and Moby Dick (John Huston, 1956) with Richard Basehart. He worked with Audrey Hepburn in her debut film, Roman Holiday (William Wyler, 1953). While filming The Bravados (Henry King, 1958), he decided to become a cowboy in real life, so he purchased a vast working ranch near Santa Barbara, California - already stocked with 600 head of prize cattle. In the early 1960s, he gave a powerful performance as Captain Keith Mallory in The Guns of Navarone (J. Lee Thompson, 1961) opposite David Niven and Anthony Quinn. The film was one of the biggest box-office hits of that year. Peck finally won the Oscar, after four nominations, for his performance as lawyer Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (Robert Mulligan, 1962). He also appeared in two darker films than he usually made, Cape Fear (J. Lee Thompson, 1962) opposite Robert Mitchum, and Captain Newman, M.D. (David Miller, 1963) with Tony Curtis, which dealt with the way people live. The financial failure of Cape Fear (1962) ended his company, Melville Productions. After making Arabesque (Stanley Donen, 1966) with Sophia Loren, Peck withdrew from acting for three years in order to concentrate on various humanitarian causes, including the American Cancer Society. In the early 1970s, he produced two films, The Trial of the Catonsville Nine (Gordon Davidson, 1972) and The Dove (Charles Jarrott, 1974), when his film career stalled. He made a comeback playing, somewhat woodenly, Ambassador Robert Thorn in the horror film The Omen (Richard Donner, 1976) with Lee Remick. After that, he returned to the bigger-than-life roles he was best known for, such as MacArthur (Joseph Sargent, 1977) and the infamous Nazi war criminal Dr. Josef Mengele in the huge hit The Boys from Brazil (Franklin J. Schaffner, 1978) with Laurence Olivier and James Mason. In the 1980s, he moved into television with the miniseries The Blue and the Gray (Andrew V. McLaglen, 1982) in which he played Abraham Lincoln, and The Scarlet and the Black (Jerry London, 1983) with Christopher Plummer and John Gielgud. In 1991, he appeared in the remake of his 1962 film, playing a different role, in Martin Scorsese's Cape Fear (1991). He was also cast as the progressive-thinking owner of a wire and cable business in Other People's Money (Norman Jewison, 1991), starring Danny DeVito. In 1967, Peck received the Academy's Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award. He was also been awarded the US Presidential Medal of Freedom. Always politically progressive, he was active in such causes as anti-war protests, workers' rights, and civil rights. In 2003, Peck's portrayal of Atticus Finch was named the greatest film hero of the past 100 years by the American Film Institute, only two weeks before his death. Atticus beat out Indiana Jones, who was placed second, and James Bond who came third. Gregory Peck died in 2003 in Los Angeles, California. He was 87. Peck was married twice. From 1942 till 1955, he was married to Greta Kukkonen. They had three children: Jonathan Peck (1944-1975), Stephen Peck (1946), and Carey Paul Peck (1949). His second wife was Veronique Passani, whom he met at the set of Roman Holliday. They married in 1955 and had two children: Tony Peck (1956) and Cecilia Peck (1958). The couple remained together till his death.

 

Sources: Tony Fontana (IMDb), and IMDb.

 

And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.

Wife and Harlot / Sex Tiger

 

On the left, Wife and Harlot from Playtime Books, 1964.

On the right, Sex Tiger from Bachelor Books, 1966.

Cover art by Robert Bonfils

 

Both Playtime and Bachelor were imprints of Neva Paperbacks ostensibly based in Las Vegas, Nevada, but probably out of Delray Beach, FL. Had to keep the Feds guessing!

It's interesting the earlier cover reveals more cleavage as the publishers tended to push the limits of decency as time went on.

Great blurbs on both covers! Mattress Mileage!!

 

Orion Crosses The Pre-Dawn Sky Above My Home, As The World Turns - IMRAN™

One of the many magics of the universe that I do not get enough time to savor, study, and share is simply the stunning sky right above our very heads. This was a nearly 4-hours timelapse from about 2-6 AM.

I captured it with the Nikon D850 pointed to the South as Orion crossed the sky above my blessed home in Apollo Beach, Florida. Even here the light pollution from Saint Petersburg to the right makes it harder to see the stars on that side.

It was interesting to see the pre-pre-dawn light breaking over the western sky start to flash to the left of the screen at about 5:30 AM. They were not house lights.

Maybe they were sky angel cops chasing Orion around the universe, flashing red and blue, early in the morning. No matter what light you favor in the elections, red or blue, I am hopeful for the rise of a new dawn, of hope, justice, decency, democracy, and love.

 

© 2020 IMRAN™

 

{Compare quality of the same video here to YouTube www.youtube.com/watch?v=jmRvkp6XSoU }.

 

#ApolloBeach, #commentary, #D850, #Earth, #elections, #Florida, #God, #humanity, #IMHO, #IMRAN, #ImranAnwar, #Inspiration, #leadership, #Lifestyle, #literature, #long #exposure, #motivation, #Nature, #night #sky, #Nikon, #opinion, #Orion, #Orion's #Belt, #political, #politics, #prose, #seaside, #Tampa, #TampaBay, #timelapse, #universe, #USA

French postcard by Huit, Paris, no. B12. Photo: 20th Century Fox / ISV. Caption: Gregory Peck in The Bravados (Henry King, 1958).

 

American actor Gregory Peck (1916-2003) was one of the most popular film stars from the 1940s to the 1960s. Peck received five nominations for Academy Award for Best Actor and won once – for his performance as Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (1962). He almost always played courageous, nobly heroic good guys who saw injustice and fought it. Among his best known films are Spellbound (1945), The Yearling (1946), Gentleman's Agreement (1947), Roman Holiday (1953), The Guns of Navarone (1961), and Cape Fear (1962).

 

Eldred Gregory Peck was born in 1916 in La Jolla, California (now in San Diego). His parents were Bernice Mary (Ayres) and Gregory Pearl Peck, a chemist, and druggist in San Diego. His parents divorced when he was five years old. An only child, he was sent to live with his grandmother. He never felt he had a stable childhood. His fondest memories are of his grandmother taking him to the cinema every week and of his dog, which followed him everywhere. Peck's father encouraged him to take up medicine. He studied pre-med at UC-Berkeley and, while there, got bitten by the acting bug and decided to change the focus of his studies. He enrolled in the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York and debuted on Broadway after graduation. His debut was in Emlyn Williams' play 'The Morning Star' (1942). By 1943, he was in Hollywood, where he debuted in the RKO film Days of Glory (Jacques Tourneur, 1944). Stardom came with his next film, The Keys of the Kingdom (John M. Stahl, 1944), for which he was nominated for an Oscar. Tony Fontana at IMDb: "Peck's screen presence displayed the qualities for which he became well known. He was tall, rugged and heroic, with a basic decency that transcended his roles." He appeared opposite Ingrid Bergman in Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound (1945) as an amnesia victim accused of murder. In The Yearling (Clarence Brown, 1946), he was again nominated for an Oscar and won the Golden Globe. He was especially effective in Westerns and appeared in such varied fare as David O. Selznick's critically blasted Duel in the Sun (King Vidor, 1946), the somewhat better received Yellow Sky (William A. Wellman, 1948), and the acclaimed The Gunfighter (Henry King, 1950). He was nominated again for the Academy Award for his roles in Gentleman's Agreement (Elia Kazan, 1947), which dealt with anti-Semitism, and Twelve O'Clock High (Henry King, 1949), a story of high-level stress in an Air Force bomber unit in World War II. In 1947, Peck, along with Dorothy McGuire, David O'Selznick, and Mel Ferrer, founded the La Jolla Playhouse, located in his hometown, and produced many of the classics there. Due to film commitments, he could not return to Broadway but whet his appetite for live theatre on occasion at the Playhouse, keeping it firmly established with a strong, reputable name over the years.

 

With a string of hits to his credit, Gregory Peck made the decision to only work in films that interested him. He continued to appear as the heroic, larger-than-life figures in such films as Captain Horatio Hornblower (Raoul Walsh, 1951) with Virginia Mayo, and Moby Dick (John Huston, 1956) with Richard Basehart. He worked with Audrey Hepburn in her debut film, Roman Holiday (William Wyler, 1953). While filming The Bravados (Henry King, 1958), he decided to become a cowboy in real life, so he purchased a vast working ranch near Santa Barbara, California - already stocked with 600 head of prize cattle. In the early 1960s, he gave a powerful performance as Captain Keith Mallory in The Guns of Navarone (J. Lee Thompson, 1961) opposite David Niven and Anthony Quinn. The film was one of the biggest box-office hits of that year. Peck finally won the Oscar, after four nominations, for his performance as lawyer Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (Robert Mulligan, 1962). He also appeared in two darker films than he usually made, Cape Fear (J. Lee Thompson, 1962) opposite Robert Mitchum, and Captain Newman, M.D. (David Miller, 1963) with Tony Curtis, which dealt with the way people live. The financial failure of Cape Fear (1962) ended his company, Melville Productions. After making Arabesque (Stanley Donen, 1966) with Sophia Loren, Peck withdrew from acting for three years in order to concentrate on various humanitarian causes, including the American Cancer Society. In the early 1970s, he produced two films, The Trial of the Catonsville Nine (Gordon Davidson, 1972) and The Dove (Charles Jarrott, 1974), when his film career stalled. He made a comeback playing, somewhat woodenly, Ambassador Robert Thorn in the horror film The Omen (Richard Donner, 1976) with Lee Remick. After that, he returned to the bigger-than-life roles he was best known for, such as MacArthur (Joseph Sargent, 1977) and the infamous Nazi war criminal Dr. Josef Mengele in the huge hit The Boys from Brazil (Franklin J. Schaffner, 1978) with Laurence Olivier and James Mason. In the 1980s, he moved into television with the miniseries The Blue and the Gray (Andrew V. McLaglen, 1982) in which he played Abraham Lincoln, and The Scarlet and the Black (Jerry London, 1983) with Christopher Plummer and John Gielgud. In 1991, he appeared in the remake of his 1962 film, playing a different role, in Martin Scorsese's Cape Fear (1991). He was also cast as the progressive-thinking owner of a wire and cable business in Other People's Money (Norman Jewison, 1991), starring Danny DeVito. In 1967, Peck received the Academy's Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award. He was also been awarded the US Presidential Medal of Freedom. Always politically progressive, he was active in such causes as anti-war protests, workers' rights, and civil rights. In 2003, Peck's portrayal of Atticus Finch was named the greatest film hero of the past 100 years by the American Film Institute, only two weeks before his death. Atticus beat out Indiana Jones, who was placed second, and James Bond who came third. Gregory Peck died in 2003 in Los Angeles, California. He was 87. Peck was married twice. From 1942 till 1955, he was married to Greta Kukkonen. They had three children: Jonathan Peck (1944-1975), Stephen Peck (1946), and Carey Paul Peck (1949). His second wife was Veronique Passani, whom he met at the set of Roman Holliday. They married in 1955 and had two children: Tony Peck (1956) and Cecilia Peck (1958). The couple remained together till his death.

 

Sources: Tony Fontana (IMDb), and IMDb.

 

And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.

If you saw this and guessed that I lost another bet to tapper, then you are 100% correct. My task this time, as payback for the last punshiment I gave to him, was to do a tapper tribute shot. What better way to tribute tapper than to construct a lewd potato assault? I hope he appreciates the makeshift potato boobies that I used.

 

In all honesty, though, I have to say a few nice things about tapper. When he first started making perverted comments on my stream, my entire family freaked out. My parents were upset, my grandpa was phoning my dad, telling him to watch out. My parents even warned Andy at a dinner out about "that strange potato guy" who kept posting suggestive comments on my photos. They were worried he might be a stalker! That is all entirely true. I'm sure they're happy to find out that he's actually a relatively normal guy who happened to get very lucky and marry a smokin hot lady who I now call a good friend.

 

And I consider tapper a good friend now too. He doesn't take as many photos as he should, being a regular flickr fixture, but the photos he does take are quality. And he's getting better with every shot. Whether he's shooting flaming beer bokeh, poor unsuspecting frogs, or sexy shots with his wife, he always manages to both cross the lines of decency and impress with clarity and interestingness. Interestingness, you ask? Why yes, he has made Explore. Of course, it was on his alibubba tribute shot, so really, are you surprised?

 

As a person, he is incredibly smart, incredibly supportive, incredibly hilarious and incredibly fun. Which, in my book, is the recipe for a fantastic friend. Oh, and you are all going to pee yourselves when you see his next entry into the Flickr 64 Challenge. Muwahahaha.

 

There. Tribute finished. Now I need to go ice my back. I think I tweaked something during my run today. Fun!

Old town is a place where u can spend thousands of hours and the surroundings will surprise you always...The mist of the area has a special essence of life which attracts me always... i was roaming around the Jail khana road very early in the morning and found her on the verge of the street... A little cute lady with a hijab looks very decent and an illumination of decency was reflecting from her face... asked her name but she was too busy with her own interst so didn't bother to talk with me :P

    

All Rights reserved by Kazi Sudipto .

 

www.kazisudipto.com

 

"""Join my Facebook page Kazi Sudipto Photography For more updates :) And you also can add me on Facebook :) """

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Wrote this poem back in November of 2016. Good to look back and see that see the truth in the idea that Martin Luther King, Jr., reminded us that “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Change takes a long time, but it does happen.

  

Hopeless

 

When all is said and done

The votes counted

And the wrong one chosen

As Gloom descends

And Doom surrounds us

Like heavy winter fog

As Despair with her long fingers

Grasps at our throats

We must stand tall

With hope and courage

Taking up the pen

The placard

And the microphone

Speaking of justice for all

Decency

And an America of dreams

Not nightmares

An America of open arms

Love and peace

Land of the free

And home of the brave

 

© Jamie McKenzie, all rights reserved

You will find more of my poems and songs here

and in The Storm in Its Passing and Flights of Fancy.

 

My songs are at

www.youtube.com/user/edtech2008/videos

 

Cassie grunts as her foe pins her to the wall. The sheets of razor-sharp silver unfurl inches from the young vigilante’s nose, revealing her restraints as enormous wings and wicked looking talons belonging to a woman. Blonde, disheveled hair veiling a face that could have might have broken hearts, if not for the eyes. Eyes clouded with torture and spite.

 

Beaudry: Don’t. Fight me.

 

Cassie: Good one.

 

She headbutts Beaudry, but neither of them yield.

 

Beaudry (nearly frothing at the mouth): Do you have ANY clue what they do to me here?

 

Cassie stares down the length of a claw next to her neck. It ends crudely, surgically embedded in a delicate white hand. An image of how the woman’s wings were attached crosses Cassie’s mind. Her resilience drops briefly, and she shudders at the notion.

 

Just then another flying blur, this one a deep ebony, rams into Beaudry, but she does not release Cassie upon taking the blow, and all three skid across the floor. George Grant pries and punches several of Beaudry’s feathers into a contorted mess, allowing Cassie to roll away.

 

Grant (frantic): NO! I get to bring her in!

 

Beaudry (hissing): She’s going to get away from both of us, you-

 

Grant (still grappling with Beaudry’s blades and beating her back): You honestly think they’ll let YOU go? You’re a science project now. You’ll end up doing their dirty work for them, and send us ALL back!

 

Cassie tries to double back, around the brawl, but Grant’s swings are so wild, she won’t make it, even with her agility. She sees Beaudry looking after her, past Grant’s onslaught. The tortured eyes filled with tears now.

 

Grant (utterly manic): THEY THINK I’M JUST ANOTHER WEAPON TO USE LIKE YOU! Superman melted me inside this suit when he threw me in a volcano, like I wasn’t worth the time; like a SUBHUMAN! You think he ever gave a damn what he did to me?! He made me like this for eternity, and I WANT OUT!!

 

Beaudry and Grant continue demolishing larger portions of the corridor. Cassie, appalled, runs onward.

 

***

 

The Russian’s name is Bolshoi. He is no criminal in his homeland. He was a hero, noted for his finesse and coordination. The People’s Heroes carry out his motherland’s most dangerous operations. That cause, he devoted himself to freely. Not like here. This place and those who control its prisoners are without law, morality, decency. He will not be a pawn of outlaws. He will not die here.

 

He follows noises of the escapees and his “teammates” ahead, but does not hurry. He can savor his energy. The others will not best whoever this girl is before he arrives. The Wall released them all to capture a single child, meaning she was surely not what she seemed. Bolshoi would finish the job they would fail to complete. The next turn he takes presents him with a figure limping away from him. It looks like a living statue in shredded theatre garments. Not a prisoner, Bolshoi recalled. Not the girl. One of her helpers.

 

Bolshoi gracefully leaps forth, driving a heel into the back of the stranger and backflipping to the ground in fourth position. The stone-like man drops without a fight, small fragments of his face and hands crumbling off across the smooth floor.

 

Bolshoi (lightly walking over to the struggling man): You will tell me in which way the girl escapes, please.

 

The thing on the ground pants like a mongrel. A clod, perhaps, not hired for his mind. Or, Bolshoi suspected, loyal to a fault.

 

Bolshoi executes a jeté leap, his forward foot cracking the jaw of the downed man, turning him over onto his back violently.

 

Bolshoi (pacing): Do you know where? I think you may not. Maybe… you now regret trusting someone, who is in this place, to return your fidelity.

 

He hears the cry of a girl down an adjacent hallway. Maximum security.

 

Bolshoi: Mеня есть ты сейчас.

 

He dashes away, the sordid husk of a man on the floor entirely forgotten. A shame, for had he not forgotten, he would have seen it… me… reaching to the control panel commanding this section’s lockdown. Two strides from passing through the doorway, Bolshoi sees the laser field springing up, and can’t stop. Most of him makes it over the defense. His shins and everything below them are cleaved, just as his fingers had been when he was defeated and inducted into this nightmare. He lays still, looking very much like I had been moments before. I deactivate the grid and trudge past him. A man who I may have just ensured stays in this place forever. He doesn’t try to reach for my ankles or spit curses at me. What dignity he has left, he keeps.

 

***

 

Jack Kovacs enters Belle Reve’s control room, silently regarding William Tockman’s furious operation of the cameras and comms.

 

Tockman (growling): Pull up a chair Jack; the kid finally ran out of luck. She’s pinned herself in the worst place possible.

 

Kovacs: Grant’s destroyed an entire level. Kyodai is running the completely wrong direction. Are you even talking to them?

 

Tockman: Oh ye of little faith. It doesn’t matter where she holes up, I can wrangle whichever of these belligerent neanderthals are still standing to be a perfectly efficient unit. Anything, my friend, can be made to run like a clock. By me.

 

Kovacs knows Tockman isn’t bragging hollowly. His eyes flick between the monitors. Cassie seems to be trying to retrace her steps to collect Basil, but is being hunted by Gover. Basil himself is steadily falling apart. And that friend of his, Sims… he may very well be buried under Grant’s handiwork. Everything transpiring, Kovacs knew, was on him.

 

Tockman: Panzer, Gover, Kyodai. I need you to converge on these hallways, precisely on my marks…

 

Kovacs shuts his eyes, wordlessly apologizes to his son back home, then picks up Tockman’s semi-full kettle of tea.

 

Kovacs (aloud): I lied, Basil.

 

Tockman (interrupted from his commands): … What?

 

Kovacs hefts the kettle onto the switches before Tockman, and sparks fly. Tockman bellows and jumps up, ready to throttle the saboteur, but Kovacs’ other hand, holding Tockman’s paper weight, cracks the villain upside the head. Tockman flattens, as five guards barrel in and impede Kovacs’ attack. He raises his hands behind his head, and smiles faintly at the smoking, ruined screens.

 

***

 

Another javelin slices by Cassie’s heel. It’s a dead sprint to the next corner where she could potentially lose her pursuer. Unfortunately, that happens to be Sportsmaster.

 

Gover (mere yards behind her, and gaining): Take a breather, brat!

 

He banks a discus off the floor, and it rebounds into Cassie’s shoulder. Dislocated. She rolls into the impact, slowing enough to where Gover is about to trample her, then kicks a boot into his pelvis. He, too, can take a hit. As he doubles over, he scoops Cassie up under the arms and prepares to slam her back to the ground. Cassie waits for the apex of his swing, and then her functional arms reaches behind herself, swiftly entangling her own cape around his neck as he lets her go. His head whips down and collides right alongside Cassie, where she has already grabbed the fallen discus. She bashes his visored face twice. He doesn’t retaliate.

 

As Cassie rises from her victory, a blast of heat and light strikes just behind her, and she tumbles into one of the reinforced cell doors. Neither she nor her new opponent notice the label above it: A-15.

 

Panzer (wisps escaping his gauntlet): Mädchen, be sensible. You are sustaining unnecessary injuries. One substantial burn for the arm, or leg, would have been sufficient.

 

He keeps his distance, and his arm trained on the girl.

 

Panzer: UP, schnell! Or I will bring you back in my own fashion, and they can piece you together if they find you so terribly important.

 

Cassie starts to obey, when she sees a recovered Gover shambling to back up Panzer, obviously hoping to claim some credit for her defeat. At once, she sees her opening. Something she learned from a friend. She widens her eyes in Gover’s vicinity, just enough for Red Panzer to notice, but not exaggerated enough for him to detect it as a ploy. Panzer is already on edge, more than he would admit to. Despite The Wall’s stipulations, he knows any of his fellow inmates would take a chance to reap the reward by stabbing him in the back. He spins around at Cassie’s feint, and immediately opens fire on Gover. It’s all Cassie needs to swat the mechanism for the lock on the cell behind her, and vault over Panzer as he peppers Gover’s armor with his arm-cannon. A kick to his collarbone forces Panzer to stagger into the ajar cell, as Cassie again locks it.

 

Panzer rages and pounds on the trap, until he hears a clue as to whose cell this truly is.

 

???: hhRRrhng… I’mm aaaaa shaarrrk….

 

Panzer: … Scheisse.

 

Some hollering ensues, and is then cut short by tearing sounds and a soggy thump against the barrier between Cassie and the savagery. She doesn’t linger.

 

***

 

I’m not sure if my legs are moving anymore. I could be in the same hall I walked ten minutes before… No. I have to find Cassie and Sims. I could stand the thought of them being roped into this task force even less than finding them dead. If I had done so many things differently…

 

Like a miracle, as I’m giving up, there’s Sims. But his expression, the sharpness of his gaze… instead, I see on him a thousand-yard stare. He has his switchblade opened in one fist, the other wringing itself deep inside of a drenched pocket. His entire right arm and most of his face is splattered with maroon. Certainly, not all of the blood is his.

 

Myself: … Harry?

 

He tosses his head down to the right. Along the wall is Kyodai Ken. His chest is opened.

 

Sims (turning his knife over with one hand): I haven’t used it before. I never mentioned that to you, or you would’ve thought I was… Well, doing that, it feels… uh…

 

A haggard breath is all he manages before slowly kneeling and letting his eyes well up. Before I think of what I’m doing, I reach out and grasp his shoulder. But there’s no melting. No assimilation. My new weakness, it seemed, was also a gift.

 

Myself: We’ll find Cassie. Just leave it.

 

Sims (rising with my help): He was C-List. I… he’s just one of the guys, back in Gotham. I think we played poker, once.

 

Myself: You’re alright. It was him or you.

 

“Basil…”

 

Cassie’s alive too, but in her own predicament. From behind her steps William Heller. His fingers rests on a trigger that will fire an arrow into Cassie’s hip.

 

Heller: Evening. Who’s up for a game? It’s called, “Stay the hell out of my way, and you won’t blame yourself for how much hurt this chit’s got coming to her.”

 

A devastatingly loud shot rings out, and Heller’s hand, along with his crossbow, fracture. Cassie, being better off than Harry or I, reacts first and delivers a finishing kick, between Heller’s legs.

 

Our battered, sorry trio faces our rescuer. He has no gear beyond his prison attire, unlike the others sent after us. I thought he might have a face I knew, if his beard were trimmed. He lowers his rifle.

 

“Run. If you can.”

 

Cassie grabs Harry and me, guiding us once again to the exit she knew of. Wordless. Tenacious. Not unlike another hero we knew.

 

***

 

The gunman hurls the firearm away. It’s not his anyway. He used Gover’s, obviously, or he himself would be reprimanded for friendly-fire, and defying The Wall.

 

He didn’t know who the girl was, or the blood-soaked man, and if the third one had in fact been Clayface, well, he had certainly changed styles since the gunman had been free. But the girl… she was someone’s daughter. That was all it took.

 

He continues standing; it wasn’t like he needed to do more sitting, not with the cell he had. He would wait for the guards to gradually inspect the mayhem, finding their quarry gone. The Wall would have a tirade prepared, of course. No doubt the girl had a plan to slip away, if she had made it this far already. The gunman finds the small photo in his jumpsuit. A family photo. Marked at the corner with “Zoe”.

 

***

 

Cassie’s exit was in the maximum security wing, just as she insisted. Hidden in plain sight, where no convict would think to scour for freedom. We three now slogged through the foot-deep, algae-ridden waters of a bayou. Cassie directed us through the areas most dense with foliage, reasoning that Belle Reve would not give up their pursuit within the confines of the building itself. Harry had calmed his nerves, but did not speak. Most surprising of all, I was beginning to feel water creep back through my form. Spending a week in this swamp, I thought, might return me to “normal”. Perhaps I would need regular rehydrations from now on.

 

Before the sun had set on our first night, and we were preparing to hide out on a small mud bank for a rest, Cassie was certain we were being tailed. We had all failed to notice a drifting log that had been mysteriously gravitating with our every move. The log, of course, was not a log, but the thick scutes belonging to the back of “Sewer King” Morgan, Gotham’s own subterranean tall-tale.

 

He toppled Harry and Cassie with one tail sweep, and crushed me against a mangrove. It was me alone he had come for. No prey eluded his senses, as I had known for years.

 

Morgan (his crooked maw gaping wider than my head): IVY WANTS HER SON BACK!

 

} Part 4 of 7 {

I was lucky enough to watch this stunning Barn owl in decent light on an evening on the Somerset levels recently. it even had the decency to come fairly close.

Outskirts Christmas party 19th Dec 2016

For once I'm wearing a long skirt, this one is a very lovely pleated 2 layer affair I picked up at New Look. Both layers are very see through, but when combined in the upper part they just about preserve decency

...being careful not to show the grubby fingernail this time in the interests of public decency, Ray : )

American postcard. Photo: Monogram. Johnny Sheffield as Bomba, the Jungle Boy.

 

Johnny Sheffield (1931-2010) was one of Hollywood's most famous child stars. He was unforgettable as Tarzan's adopted son Boy in eight Tarzan films starring Johnny Weissmuller. Between 1949 and 1955, he starred in twelve Bomba films for Monogram Pictures.

 

Johnny Sheffield was born John Matthew Sheffield Cassan in 1931 in Pasadena, California, USA. His father was the actor Reginald Sheffield who began as a child star and later turned to character acting. In 1938, Sheffield became a child star after he was cast in the juvenile lead of a West Coast production of the highly successful Broadway play 'On Borrowed Time', which starred Dudley Digges and featured Victor Moore as Gramps. The seven-year-old Sheffield played the role of Pud, a long role for a child. He later went to New York as a replacement and performed the role on Broadway. That year he also played Napoleon's son in the short MGM film The Man on the Rock (Edward L. Cahn, 1938). When Maureen O'Sullivan wanted out of her Jane role in the Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan series, it was decided that she and Tarzan would adopt a son (they had to adopt, according to the Legion of Decency, because they weren't married) before she died. Weissmuller personally selected Sheffield from 300 boys for the part of Boy. The role was inspired by Bobby Nelson's portrayal in Tarzan the Mighty (Jack Nelson, Ray Taylor, 1928). Athletic by nature, little Johnny was taught to swim by swimming Olympian Weissmuller. Johnny Sheffield's feature debut in Tarzan Finds a Son! (Richard Thorpe, 1939) was such a success that MGM signed him to six more films as Tarzan's Boy. Sheffield played Boy in three Tarzan films at MGM, and in another five after Johnny Weissmuller, and production of the film series moved to RKO. Brenda Joyce played Jane in the last three Tarzan films in which Sheffield appeared.

 

In between the Tarzan films, Johnny Sheffield played supporting parts in other films. Sheffield appeared in the musical Babes in Arms (Busby Berkeley, 1939) with Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland, classmates of his at the studio school. Johnny and his brother Billy Sheffield were both in Knute Rockne All American (Lloyd Bacon, 1940), playing football player and coach Knute Rockne at different ages. By the time of Tarzan and the Mermaids (Robert Florey, 1948), Johnny Sheffield was too big for the part of Boy. The film merely said he was away at school. When Monogram Studios learned Sheffield had been dropped, they picked him up for s series of B-films based on Roy Rockwood's adventure novel 'Bomba'. The first was Bomba: The Jungle Boy (Ford Beebe, 1949). Between 1949 and 1955, Sheffield made twelve Bomba films for "Poverty Row" studio Monogram Pictures. Sheffield retired from films at age 24 after starring in his twelfth Bomba film Lord of the Jungle (Ford Beebe, 1955). He then made a pilot for a television series, Bantu the Zebra Boy, which was created, produced, and directed by his father, Reginald Sheffield. Although the production values were high compared to other TV jungle shows of the day, a sponsor was not found and the show was not taken up as a weekly series. In his later years, Sheffield sold bootlegged copies of the pilot to collectors on videotape. After leaving show business, Sheffield completed a business degree at UCLA. Turning his attention to other fields, he involved himself variously in farming, real estate and construction. For a time, he was a representative for the Santa Monica Seafood Company importing lobsters from Baja California in Mexico. In 1959 he married his wife Patricia and they would have three children, Stewart, Regina and Patrick Sheffield. In 2010, Johnny suffered a fatal heart attack at his home in Chula Vista, California, four hours after he fell off a ladder while pruning a palm tree. Sheffield was 79. His brother Billy Sheffield died two months later.

 

Sources: Ed Stephan (IMDb), Find A Grave, Wikipedia and IMDb.

 

And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.

Justice consists in doing no injury to men; decency in giving them no offense.

Marcus Tullius Cicero

This image is copyright, all rights reserved, and not part of the public domain. Any use, linking to, or posting of this image is prohibited without my consent. If you want to use this image in any fashion, please have the common courtesy and decency to ask.

 

92 Foot, Upper Bridal Veil Falls, Bridal Veil Creek, Columbia Gorge, Oregon

 

I made the climb down to one of the most beautiful waterfalls in the gorge two weekends in a row. This time it was my pleasure to lead Josh and Gary down the muddy steep slope to introduce them to her majestic view. On this trip the water level was double of what it was the weekend before making it a little bit of a challenge to cross the creek. Between the constant rain and heavy mist from the falls it made it an interesting challenge to get anything without mist on my lens. I also had spikes on my shoes this time but with the ground soaked muddy conditions all those spikes did was tear up the loose mud with every step back up that steep hill.

 

This is a two exposure blend, one at ISO 100 for the overall scene and the other at ISO 1600 which allowed me to freeze the foliage with a faster exposure. This allowed me to blend out the heavy motion of foliage. I'm also trying out a new logo that I'll be placing on future images, and whatever images I turn back to public will have this logo somewhere in the frame.

 

Update status on turning my photostream to private: I made it over halfway in two days through my photostream on my iPad when Flickr made the switch to it's current mess. Now when I change an image from public to private, somehow I get reverted back to the beginning of my photostream. Even clicking on the back button reverts me back. It's taken another week doing it on my phone but I'm almost there. Afterwards, I'll go back through my stream and fix those broken links in my comments. Once done with all that I'll be back commenting on all your great photos again.

 

Happy Waterfall Wednesday Everybody!

This image is copyright, all rights reserved, and not part of the public domain. Any use, linking to, or posting of this image is prohibited without my consent. If you want to use this image in any fashion, please have the common courtesy and decency to ask.

 

Dry Creek Falls, Dry Creek, Cascade Locks, Columbia Gorge, Oregon

 

Since my car was stuck for four days here's an image from our big freeze from back in December. It was a balmy 19 degrees Fahrenheit. I found myself enchanted with the naturally formed ice sculptures on the right, and how the blue color made them look like they were almost glowing.

 

Happy Waterfall Wednesday Everybody!

Ralph Dean - Lingerie Ltd.

Beacon Books B300, 1960

Cover Artist: R. Gifford

 

"Can a girl in the lingerie racket keep her decency even while she sheds her clothes?"

This unusual gents urinal stood on a small triangle at the junction of A.B. Row (foreground) Belmont Row and Prospect Row, now Jennens Road. The area was cleared in the 1960's and further re-development saw Prospect Row become Jennens Road.

The urinal was an unusual design, the panels formed an octagon with the entrance open but protected from view by a decency screen. The whole was surmounted by a glazed roof and a further dome had air ventilation and a fine cast finial to top it off.

The scene was located by the Black Horse pub, an M&B house which stands on the corner of Woodcock Street and Jennens Road (then the end of Prospect Row and the start of Ashted Row) The pub has no great age, it was a rebuild of an earlier Black Horse and dates from the mid 1920's. In the background, to the left, a gas holder appears over one of the buildings in Woodcock Street. Today the pub is boarded whilst new buildings surround it, the once quiet Prospect Row is a bustling dual carriageway, the modern picture being taken from the central reservation. I hope the pub will survive but given the track record of "accidental" fires to empty buildings I would put it's chances at 50/50.

The scenes are in Aston Birmingham.

Peter Shoesmith Circa 1958.

Copyright Geoff Dowling & John Whitehouse: All rights reserved

Everything seemed to be going smoothly with my seduction of Lord Trembath - until we hit a serious problem after supper!

 

I drove His Lordship back from Yeovil on the A303. We touched 135 mph on some of the straighter stretches of road, and I was really showing him what my E-Type can do - whilst all the time playing suggestively with the stick-shift. We arrived back at Lyndon Towers in record time, despite being pulled over by a young speed cop - who of course let me off with a stiff warning when he realized who I was. The Chief Constable of Beaufortshire – his ultimate boss – is a regular client at my Mayfair Escort Agency, and so I have immunity from speeding offences (and many other misdemeanours!) in that part of the world!

 

Back at the ancestral pile, Lord Trembath played a few frames of billiards with my husband, while I changed into one of my favourite seduction outfits. I chose a seriously revealing ensemble: a leather micro- mini-skirt - which conspicuously failed to cover the tops of my seamed black stockings - five-inch black and chrome stiletto heels, a black open-tipped bra and white a see-through blouse that puts my boobs totally on display. I could see Lord Trembath becoming visibly hot and bothered as supper wore on, and I thought I was in for an amusing evening - and night! After desert, my hubby (who knows his lines very well) casually remarked that he had been shopping in Winchester for some new silk lingerie – a late wedding anniversary present for me. He hadn’t had a chance to see if his purchases fitted. Would Lord Trembath object if Lady Rebecca put on a little after-dinner fashion show?

 

Well!!! Lord Trembath did something that hasn’t happened at Lyndon Towers since I was first married. He made an excuse - and left! Something about having to be up early next morning for a charity cricket match in High Wycombe. I was scandalized. He’s turning me down, I thought to myself! How can this happen???

 

It got worse. I offered His Lordship a lift to the station in Winchester - hoping that he might only be shy in front of my husband, and would jump my bones when we were alone together in the Aston Martin. Not a bit of it! Instead, when we pulled into the station car park, I received an unctuous lecture about my ‘promiscuous’ lifestyle. “You are such a talented woman, Lady Rebecca” said His Lordship, sententiously. ”You have so much to offer society through creative entrepreneurship and acts of human charity. But I had heard even before I met you that you were dedicated only to a life of sensual and sexual indulgence. I reserved judgement, and gave you the benefit of the doubt. But it seems it is true – you embarrass the ranks of the English aristocracy through your sordid career as a call girl, and the promotion through your Sodality organization of many other unnatural sexual acts which outrage public morals and public decency. Even your driving on the public highway is a danger to the public! I prefer to save my racer’s instincts for Goodwood. I am deeply shocked by your lifestyle, and especially because in other ways you are clearly such a refined and cultivated lady.”

 

I refused to rise to the bait. Instead, I gave Lord Trembath a gentle kiss on the lips, and teasingly stroked his inner thigh before he could wriggle out of the Aston’s bucket seat. “We must talk about this another time” I said sweetly. “Why don’t we do lunch at the Oxford & Cambridge Club together? It’s quite close to where I work. And, if you are going to try and reform my morals, I will need a good meal under my belt before you start. Do have a safe journey! Toodle Pip!”

 

Damn it! Damn it!! Damn it!!! I do hate it (but I love the challenge!!!) when they play all innocent and hard to get!!!

 

Love and Seductive Kisses to All!

xxxxxxx

Lady Rebecca Lyndon

Duchess of Basingstoke

 

Okay, well, so, I gave in to the temptation that I’d been feeling ever since I got Fiyero, and:

 

FIYERO: ‘EY!

 

NICK: Hmm, not bad at all. The pants are short and the waist is too low, but the jacket suits me very well, I’d say.

 

FIYERO: Why?!??

 

BRUNO: Who’s this clown? Beat it, buddy; there *are* decency laws, y’know.

 

NICK: What do you think, Nimmie?

 

NIMMIE: Well, on *you* it looks good.

 

FIYERO: Why do you hate me??!??!??

Inna lillahi wa inna illayhi raji'oon - To Allah we belong and to Allah we will return

Al-Qur'an, 2:56; إنا لله و إنا إليه راجعون

 

BENAZIR BHUTTO, 21 June 1953 - 27 December 2007

Photographed at her home in Dubai, 4 December 2004,

by Patrick Litchfield/Getty Images

 

~ BB was gravely determined to fulfil her last promise to her father, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, imprisoned by General Zia ul-Haq's military regime in 1977, and hanged to death on

4 April 1979: "He told me at our last meeting at Rawalpindi Jail that I must sacrifice everything for my country. This is a mission I shall live or die for."

 

In the revised edition of her autobiography, Daughter of the East, An Autobiography, published on 2 April 2007 in London, BB stated her intention to return to Pakistan

once again under great personal risk, a statement that is telling, chilling:

 

'So as I prepare to return to an uncertain future in Pakistan in 2007, I fully understand the stakes not only for myself, and my country, but the entire world. I realise I can be arrested.

I realise that like the assassination of Benigno Aquino in Manila in August 1983, I can be gunned down on the airport tarmac when I land. After all, al-Qaeda has tried to kill me on several times, why would we think they wouldn't try again as I return from exile to fight for the democratic elections they so detest? But I do what I have to do, and am determined to return to fulfil my pledge to the people of Pakistan to stand by them in their democratic aspirations.

 

I take the risk for all the children of Pakistan.

 

It is not about personal power. It is about simple decency and respect for the right of men and women to live in security and dignity and in liberty. And now, in this new age

of danger, extremism and terror, it is about something more. Democracy in Pakistan

is not just important for Pakistanis, it is important for the entire world. In this age of

the exploitation and radical interpretation of my beloved religion, we must always remember that democratic governments do not empower, protect and harbour terrorists.

A democratic Pakistan, free from the yolk of military dictatorship, would cease to be the

petri dish of the pandemic of international terrorism.

 

So I plan my return from exile to lead yet another campaign. I pray that the democratic world will demand that General Musharraf provides the standards of free and fair elections; allow all political personalities and parties to freely contest them; allow international observers to moniter the balloting and counting; and above all, abide by the outcome. I know it sounds idealistic, and to some unrealistic, but after all these years, I still maintain my faith that time, justice and the forces of history are on the side of democracy.

 

Some people might not understand what drives me forward into this uncharted and potentially dangerous crossroads of my life. Too many people have sacrificed too much, too many have died, and too many people see me as their remaining hope

for liberty, for me to stop fighting now. I recall the words of Dr Martin Luther King:

'Our lives begin to end the day we remain silent on things that matter.' With my faith

in God, I put my fate in the hands of my people.'

 

[Part 2: Taking on the Dictator, chapter 17: Prime Minister and Beyond, page 430-431]

 

جپ تک صو ج جاند رہےکا تب تک تیرا نام رہے کا، جیے بھٹو

 

Postscript, 1 January 2008: A writer always worth reading, and the first commentary I

read after hearing of BB's death, is Tariq Ali writing in The Guardian, 28 December 2007: 'The Bhutto family should not be asked for any more sacrifices.' God help and protect her teenage son, Bilawal Bhutto Zardari, who is successor of the fight and of his mother's political legacy.

  

Yup, a bunch of bikers rode through Seattle's Pride Queer-nival on Saturday wearing nothing. Nada. Zippo. At least three of them had the decency to paint themselves! (I'm kidding - hee hee.)

Once Upon A Time, back in the late-80's. I worked as a kitchen manager at a newly-opened pseudo-restaurant called Willi's Chili and BarBar. The restaurant had been installed in a newly remodeled, two-story wood-frame house on a busy street just a couple blocks down from the campus of an Unnamed Southwest Missouri University, in a medium-sized city much like the medium-sized city of Springfield, Missouri.

 

In its former, pre-pseudo-restaurant days, the house had been what was known at the time as a "party house," i.e., an oftentimes money-making operation set-up by some enterprising student, where, for a small entrance fee, one might consume a limited amount of keg beer (limited because usually there were too-few kegs for too-many people) and pursue additional opportunities in the worlds of Sex, Drugs, and Rock&Roll.

 

Not a whole lot changed at the house after the remodel and the Grand Opening of Willi's Chili and BarBar. Willi, I discovered after I came to know him, was kind of a party boy himself. At that time I was teaching a couple of courses at the Unnamed Southwest Missouri University as a member of the adjunct (low-paid) faculty, but, because I had a lot of bills to pay (my girlfriend had moved out and left me with a house payment and $4400 worth of equity to cough-up, and I had a new-car payment to boot) I was also cooking full-time at a pseudo-French place (you might say that, back then, all the restaurants in the medium-sized city much like the medium-sized city of Springfield, Missouri were pseudo) called Patrick's, over on the south side of town, where the richer folks lived. Patrick's was okay, I learned a bit, but the pay was low (and some of it was in cash), and Patrick was, well, we won't go into that. Let's just say that he was predictably unpredictable. So I was looking for another, higher-paying, less-stressful cooking job, preferably with a more predictably predictable owner.

 

I heard about Willi's Chili and BarBar while it was still in the gestation stage, and one night, after I had taught my classes, I went over to the see Tina Louise (not her real name), who was a member of the Psychology faculty (she was also one of the more liberal members of the not-terribly liberal local city council) and was also Willi's consort. Her husband had died and his wife had died, or there were divorces in there somewhere. Anyway, they were together, shacked-up in the parlance of the time, and they were doing the restaurant together, though in reality Willi was the driving force. I told Tina Louise of my interest in the new restaurant and she invited me to meet Willi, over at their house, and have a get-acquainted interview.

 

Okay, long story short, I met Willi (he was a florid-faced middle-aged fellow who had also been a city councilman, but who had been recalled by his constituents when he insisted on doing a favor for a developer that his constituents vehemently informed him they didn't want him to do). He had also been a successful businessman, but was now being sued by some outfit in California over some legal matter, a legal matter that he was most vehemently not culpable in the commission thereof, according to Willi), told him about my cooking experience (over the course of two, or maybe more, drinks (now that I think back on it, it was more than two, and I remember being pretty thoroughly sloshed when I left their house that night)) and soon enough found myself hired as one of the two kitchen managers. One guy was the day guy and one guy was the night guy. I think I was the night guy.

 

The restaurant opens and is wildly successful. In the medium-sized city much like the medium-sized city of Springfield, Missouri, all the restaurants may have been pseudo, but some were more pseudo than others. What Willi's Chili and BarBar had going for it was crazy Willi, and the decor that Willi installed. He had been a World War II fighter pilot in the Pacific and had collected numerous Air Force related artifacts, drawings and photographs, and other mementoes, Flying Fortresses cruising and P-51 Mustangs diving and Jap Zeroes (that's what Willi would have called them) engulfed in flames and heading downwards, towards oblivion.

 

So while I kept my cooking job at Patrick's and continued to teach my classes, I began to help out at the now late-term, soon-to-open Willi's, working on recipes, planning prep lists, conducting interviews for the kitchen staff.

 

At last, opening day was at hand. The building inspector arrived, surveyed the premises, gave us the okay for the fifty-one seats that were installed, signed the Certificate of Occupancy, and left. Willi promptly had another forty seats installed, twenty inside and twenty outside on the front patio. Since the kitchen was about the size of two bathrooms on a ConAir commuter jet, any fool could see that things were going to be tight. And I was any fool.

From the git-go, we were super-busy . The number of local avant-garde hipsters in the medium-sized city much like the medium-sized city of Springfield, Missouri was large, and those ninety-one seats only went so far. Almost from opening day, the line stretched out the door, around the side of the building, and into the parking lot in back.

 

Willi designated one of the waitresses, one who looked especially fetching in short-short short shorts and a little handkerchief-kinda-bikini-top-thing, to go out with her order pad and take drink orders. The stout drinks, the short shorts, and the handkerchief-kinda-bikini-top-thing kept everybody happy.

The primary menu offering at Willi's Chili and BarBar was grease. Willi even specified that all the chili served must have a quarter-inch of grease floating on top. Just about everything had cheese in it, and every item on the menu had a name derived from Willi's World War II glory days. I don't remember all the names, but I can tell you that there was no entree called the "Enola Gay," and the vegetarian burrito was called "The Glider." Ribs were a popular seller, and barbequed chicken was a popular seller. Both of them spent some time in our little quartz oven (about the size of a microwave oven), and that quartz oven ran, night and day, at 800 degrees. Since the ceiling in the kitchen, on the cook's line, was seven feet high, and since, just to remind you, that kitchen was about the size of two bathrooms on a ConAir commuter jet, it was hot back there. It was hot as The Hot Place.

 

But in the beginning, when a restaurant is brand-new, when it's more of a Platonic Ideal than a Grubby Reality, it can be a heck-of a lot of fun. There's a Mickey Rooneyesque, Let's Put On A Show magical feel to it all. Everything's new, everyone's putting on their best face, hope reigns supreme. All the waitresses seem available, and alluring (at least until you get to know their stories). One night one of the waitresses came into the kitchen and, in the course of ordinary conversation, said something about something being "capricious." "Ooooh," I said, all mocking and condescending, "big word." "Did you think I was stupid?" she said. I looked at her. I hadn't paid much attention up to that point, perhaps because she was wearing glasses. She didn't look stupid, she looked rather smart, and she was plenty cute enough. Soon, we were out in the hall, chatting each other up. Not long thereafter, we were on a date, a date that segued soon enough . . . Well, I won't describe what it segued into, but it was pleasing, and left me with a lasting affection for the word "capricious." Of course, that word cuts a lot of ways, and not too many days passed before we were at a party, and my Capricious Lass turned to me (we were standing outside the bathroom in a hallway of a little two bedroom house) and said, "I lost my virginity right here." She meant right there in the hallway, on the floor. I should have known that my days were numbered, then and there.

 

In those early days at Willi's ,the pace, and the hours, were phenomenal. I had my two classes at the Unnamed Southwest Missouri University to teach (in the morning) and I also had another class that I was teaching at an Unnamed Southwest Missouri College on the other side of town (that was one night a week), and, my job at Willi's (I had quit at Patrick's, and, miraculously, made it out of there on good terms). That first week, I taught my two classes at the University and immediately rushed over to Willi's, where I worked past mid-night. On the days when I didn't have classes to teach, I worked all day. That first week, I worked 102 hours at Willi's.

 

It wasn't a schedule that I could keep up for long, and soon enough, for one indiscretion on another, and because he didn't want to keep paying me overtime, or at least as much overtime, Willi demoted me, stripped me of my rank as kitchen manager. There was a hefty, horse-faced middle-aged head bartender named Stella (as usual, not her real name) and she had quickly determined that I stood in her way of advancement. She undermined me with Willi at every turn. What astounded me was that when he demoted me, Willi informed me that he was also giving me a raise, of a dollar an hour. I still haven't figured that one out.

 

Stella took control, but I was still an integral part of the operation. I could have contributed more, but since neither Willi or Stella ever asked me, I never spoke up about the gaping leaks in their operation. They thought that hiring fraternity boys as bartenders was a good idea, because the frat boys would attract their house mates as customers. But night after night, after Stella and Willi had gone home (in Willi's case, he went upstairs---he and Tina Louise had fixed up the second floor as a one-room pied-a-terre), the frat boy bartenders entertained their brothers at the bar with free drinks. Everybody who worked there, in fact, got free drinks. The waitstaff got theirs, and, in return for cheese fries or a burger, us guys in the kitchen got ours.

 

Not that it really mattered, because just about everyone in the restaurant, everyone working there anyway, was high most of the time anyway. There was a chest freezer down in the basement, and the locked liquor cabinet was down there, so just about everyone had an excuse to go down, at more or less anytime. What Willi and Stella didn't know was that there was an exhaust vent, over by the furnace, and you could light up a joint, take a hit, and blow out the smoke into the vent, and it went all the way up and escaped through the roof of the house. I would have been the worst offender, gladly, but I had learned, cooking omelets in front of the customers at Patrick's on Sunday morning, that being high and cooking didn't go well together, at least for me, so I limited myself to the odd Screwdriver, when the kitchen was closed and we were cleaning up to go home. Half, two-thirds, maybe everybody else, was either drunk or stoned or both, most if not all of the time. One Sunday afternoon, I remember, two of the waitresses were so drunk that they had to sit down at the tables with their customers to steady themselves so they could write their orders. They came into the kitchen and laughed about it. Another time, I remember one of the waiters bragging that he had worked the previous day while doing five hits of acid.

 

Of course, if Willi had been on top of the situation, he would have picked up on the problems. If he had been more liked and respected, someone would have made him aware of the disfunction. But he started his day at ten in the morning with an eight-ounce juice glass full of vodka, every day. For a long time, I thought it was water, but then I figured it out. He had a rather winsome dog, a big Standard poodle, named Jack (not his real name) and sometimes in the morning, Willi would coax (well, after a while I guess he didn't have to coax too much) Jack up on a bar stool, and Stella or someone would give Jack a saucer full of Kahlua and cream. Finally someone, a disgruntled employee no doubt, called the health department and they put a stop to Jack's libations.

 

So now you have the scene, Willi's Chili and BarBar, a wide-open, Hellbent for Leather, anything goes kind of place, already in decline but not keen to the news. We'd been open maybe ten months, so it would been around February. A new guy started working at Willi's, another frat boy, named Stewart. He was tall and imposing in a I'm-throwing-my-weight-around kind of way, with a tall brow, a face of flat planes, and an arrogant, droning, nasal bray. I would have guessed that his family had some money, but still, he was waiting tables, so perhaps they didn't have that much money. Perhaps it was Stewart's air of superiority coupled with his physical bulk , his complete lack of elegance, grace, intelligence, decency. whatever, but soon enough, Stewart and I had become enemies in the kitchen. One day we squared off and mutual threats of physical anhillation were exchanged. Neither of us had the true tough guy's indifference to consequences (and, I might add, the physical courage) to go first, so we backed off, a mutual stand-down. But I'll say this---Stewart was someone I detested. When he was working and I was working, the whole atmosphere of a job I had formerly liked was now different.

 

It was about this time of year, towards the middle of March, Spring Break Time. On the Friday before the break began, almost the whole campus cleared out. That night, there was a freak, unexpected snowstorm that dumped four or five inches of heavy wet snow over the western half of Missouri.

I guess I was off that weekend. On Monday, after I taught my classes, I came in to work and found the restaurant completely changed. No one was talking, everyone was going about their appointed tasks in the most desultory manner, no looking up, no smiling.

 

"What happened?" I finally asked someone. "Why is everyone so depressed?"

 

"Didn't you hear? Stewart's dead. He ran his car head-on into a snowplow."

 

I won't say that I was saddened, but shocked I certainly was. Soon enough, the details started coming out. Stewart and one of the other waiters had gone back to the waiter's apartment and done some drugs, pot probably, or acid, perhaps. How much,

I don't know. Then Stewart had gotten into his car and started home for Kansas City. He was going to see his family for a day or two and then head down to Fort Walton Beach for the break. He got about half way home, somewhere up in central Missouri, around Sedalia, when he met the snowplow, on a bridge.

 

By Wednesday, the story had changed. Stewart hadn't been with the other waiter, and, as far as the other waiter knew, no drugs had been consumed. It's always funny when people's stories change. Do they think you forget, from one version to the next?

 

The kicker to the story of Stewart is this: He couldn't have been a guy who was much loved by his fellow frat brothers. He was a winning combination of obtuse, overbearing, bullying, and dumb. Even if they were like him, they couldn't have reveled in his companionship. And now, dead, he pored gasoline on the smoldering pyre of their detestation. As his frat brothers, they all were obligated to attend his funeral. It fell in the middle of spring break week, so they all had to buy plane tickets and get to Kansas City for the service. Whether they went back to the beaches after that I never heard.

 

Certainly the Stewart that exists for me is a one-dimensional character. I never saw another side of him, but most probably there were some worthy traits. I would like to think that even Stewart, who burns in my imagination like the purest of elements, contained some trace minerals that would surprise me. I don't want to say that I was glad to see him go, but I will admit I never caught myself missing him.

 

Before I moved up to the medium-sized city much like the medium-sized city of Springfield, Missouri, I had heard two things said about it. The first time was one afternoon in a fiction workshop. Jim Whitehead, loud, large, wonderful Jim Whitehead, subtle as a ten-pound sledge and now gone, was leading the workshop that semester. Someone had submitted a story that had for its setting [a medium-sized city much like the medium-sized city of] Springfield, Missouri. Whitehead leaned back in his chair (or leaned foreward---how would I remember) and said "Ha Ha, He He, Ho Ho (insert your own Jovian interjections), [a medium-sized city much like the medium-sized city of] Springfield, Missouri, it's a typical midwestern American city." Pause for dramatic effect. "Rotten at the core."

 

Then, a few years later, I was getting ready to move to the medium-sized city much like the medium-sized city of Springfield, Missouri. I was in my final days in Fayetteville, getting my bags packed, cleaning out my apartment. On Sunday morning for some unknown reason I went up to the English department. Ben Kimpel, the department chairman, the smartest man I ever knew, (but to get a proper visual you have visualize an elderly Tweedledum, or Tweedledee) was coming out the door of the building that, now that he's gone, bears his name. He looked at me. I guess he knew where I was moving. "Awh, Van Noate," he said, "don't be so down at the mouth. [The medium-sized city much like the medium-sized city of] Springfield, [Missouri] is not the asshole of the universe."

 

I lived there for eighteen years, and I can tell you that, though the medium-sized city much like the medium-sized city of Springfield, Missouri is not really a midwestern city (it actually has more of the Wild West, and more of the Ante-Belllum South in it), in all other respects, both statements are true. It's rotten-at-the core, but it's not the asshole of the universe. You can, most definitely, get a good meal, if you're willing to make it yourself. And for my flickr friends who might be out there in the vicinity, remember, they're always exceptions to the rule. You yourself are one of them.

Not really business casual

 

Dress codes chafe me. It doesn’t matter how liberal or conservative the code is, I’ll find a reason to dislike it. Currently, I have no dress code, so I rant about the uniform we are sometimes required to wear.

 

Even with no dress code and my own disregard for decency, I know this dress is too short for work. Worn with leggings, though, is it really business inappropriate?

 

Dress, Parker (consignment). Leggings, Express. Boots, Vince Camuto. Earrings, Ali’s Boutique. Sunglasses, grinderPUNCH.

 

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breaking joyfully through with ever-loving commitment to freedom and all that is good and right and decent.

 

Winners don’t quit on themselves. Americans put in the work and fight to uphold values of honesty, decency, respect, love and joy. We know freedom isn’t free.

See this photo for a full explanation of the gold BA.

 

One of the Jovian Marines delivers a new trophy weapon to his boss, renegade former Space Police officer Nigel MacGruder. An M1917 Revolver sits on a bed of crimson fabric (which I embroidered) next to a set of chrome bullets represented by an ammo chain link. MacGruder himself is carrying an HSR with a chrome Chainblade.

 

Please do not even think about asking me to trade or sell these.

Derde Kostverlorenkade 26/04/2020 14h24

The phenomenon "plaskrul" ("pee curl") is something we can still experience and photograph. All 39 existing urinals will disappear over the years.

This can be found on the Derde Kostverlorenkade on the corner of the Vosmaerstraat. Peeing with a view of the Kostverlorenvaart.

 

Plaskrul

The pee curl disappears: "Too bad, it belongs in the street scene"

 

The green curl of water, once a symbol of civilization, disappears from the streets. The municipality has an extinction policy. Not everyone agrees. "It is a familiar and quite graceful appearance."

If you want to urinate old Amsterdam again, you shouldn't wait too long. As rancid as it may be, the Amsterdam curl is an attraction: standing puddles - unfortunately only for men - while looking out at the canal and passers-by, through a cast iron grid.

There are gems in between. The one on the Plantage Kerklaan gives a view of Artis, the one on the Herenmarkt overlooks the postcards-Amsterdam of the Brouwersgracht.

At The Grand, on Oudezijds Voorburgwal, there is a curl built of natural stone, a red brick mesh with a statue on the roof, designed in the style of the Amsterdam School at the beginning of the last century. This urinal will survive the major cleaning; it was designated a national monument in 2001.

 

The other curls, still 39, will disappear one by one and will be replaced by modern MVG toilet units: more hygienic and suitable for men, women and disabled people.

The first curls were placed around 1870. De Baar: “From a hygienic point of view. Men used to do it directly in the canal. But the standards of decency changed. A civilized gentleman also found a bit of seclusion pleasant. ”

 

The design of the curl had to provide transparency. That was, according to the city archive of 1880, "for the police, to check that no indecent acts were taking place." Especially from the twenties of the last century, the curls became popular as a meeting place for men.

In recent years, many curls of urine have disappeared due to redesign of the public space or after complaints from local residents about odor nuisance. The municipality has an extinction policy. Also because the curls fall under sanitary sexism.

[ Het Parool, 30/01/2020 ]

Belgian postcard by Victoria Biscuits Chocolats, no. 28. Photo: M.G.M. Lana Turner and Vincent Price in The Three Musketeers (George Sidney, 1948), based on the novel by Alexandre Dumas.

 

The Three Musketeers (George Sidney, 1948) is a classic Swashbuckler, starring Gene Kelly as D’Artagnan and Lana Turner as Milady De Winter. Other stars in the cast include Van Heflin, June Allyson, Gig Young, Angela Lansbury, and Vincent Price. It is one of the many, adaptations of the famous French book ‘Les trois mousquetaires’ by Alexandre Dumas père, and possibly the liveliest one, full of acrobatics, galloping horses, flapping cloaks, and sword fights with almost operatic intensity. Dumas’s story is followed quite faithfully, but the creative fantasy is in the theatrical way of depicting it.

 

As in the book: the story of The Three Musketeers (George Sidney, 1948) is set in 1625 in France. The young and inexperienced D'Artagnan (Gene Kelly) leaves his home village in Gascony to become a musketeer in Paris in the service of His Majesty King Louis XIII (Frank Morgan). In his pocket, he has the letter of recommendation from his father (silent film star Robert Warwick), a former musketeer and friend of the current captain of the musketeers, Treville (Reginald Owen). His father has taught him the art of fencing masterfully and gives him the good advice never to let himself be compromised with impunity. He is only too happy to follow this advice. Very soon, before he has even reached Paris, D'Artagnan gets into a confrontation with Rochefort (Ian Keith), Cardinal Richelieu's (Vincent Price) confidant, and his companion, the mysterious Lady de Winter (Lana Turner). At this first opportunity to preserve his honour in battle, he is unceremoniously struck down and robbed by Rochefort's henchmen, and his credentials are also taken from him. Once in Paris, he not only meets his new friends and comrades-in-arms Athos (Van Heflin), Porthos (Gig Young), and Aramis (Robert Coote), but also his landlord's niece, Constance Bonacieux (June Allyson), and falls in love. Many adventures and entanglements lie ahead and in the path of the brave hero D'Artagnan. Driven by his desire to become the king's musketeer and to prove himself in battle, he falls into the clutches of both the Queen (Angela Lansbury) and the cardinal, experiences numerous dangerous situations and sometimes needs his new friends to get away at all. Nevertheless, he sets out to travel to England for the Queen's honour, to retrieve a jewellery box given away by the Queen's secret lover, Lord Buckingham (John Sutton), and to prevent Richelieu from plotting. To assist him, he is accompanied by Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, as well as his dull but loyal servant Planchet (Keenan Wynn). Shortly after D'Artagnan's return from England, Constance is kidnapped at the behest of Cardinal Richelieu. D'Artagnan makes a pass at Milady de Winter, discovers a delicate secret, and only just manages to save himself. Constance is freed and taken to safety in England, shortly after which war breaks out, and our four friends are drawn into it. They overhear a conspiratorial meeting between the Cardinal and Lady de Winter in an inn. The latter is to travel to England and kill Buckingham. Planchet also travels to England at D'Artagnan's behest to warn Buckingham. Lady de Winter is convicted and is to be executed. Constance is appointed her guardian. Milady de Winter, after a lengthy psychological duel, manages to take out Constance as well as a guard and Buckingham and then escapes. Athos and D'Artagnan, who wanted to help Constance, arrive too late; after Constance dies in D'Artagnan's arms, they themselves also have only escaped. Back in Paris, the four friends track down Lady de Winter, pronounce the death sentence on her, and have the prisoner executed. During their subsequent escape towards Spain, they are overpowered and arrested. Their fate seems to be sealed, but young D'Artagnan still has one trump card: the Countess's passport, personally sealed and signed by Cardinal Richelieu, with the note that everything the bearer of this letter undertakes will serve the good of the state. The king is not allowed to know the background of this letter - so Richelieu has to give in. Aramis receives permission to take up a clerical office. Porthos is allowed to marry richly, Athos gets his property back and D'Artagnan is to negotiate a peace offer with the enemy England on behalf of France.

 

Among the many American film versions of Alexandre Dumas' The Three Musketeers are the 1914 Film Attractions Co. production, directed by Charles V. Henkel, the 1921 Douglas Fairbanks production, directed by Fred Niblo, the 1935 RKO Radio Pictures, Inc. production, directed by Rowland V. Lee and starring Walter Abel, Paul Lucas and Margot Grahame, Richard Lester's 1974 Twentieth Century-Fox production starring Michael York, Oliver Reed, Richard Chamberlain, and Raquel Welch; and the 1993 Buena Vista release, directed by Stephen Herek and starring Charlie Sheen, Kiefer Sutherland, Chris O'Donnell, and Rebecca de Mornay. This splashy 1948 MGM adaptation of The Three Musketeers was the third sound version and was also the first version in Technicolor. In 1947, a representative of the National Catholic Legion of Decency, an organisation that monitored the interests of the Church in motion pictures, objected to the characterisation of Cardinal Richelieu in the planned MGM adaptation of Dumas' story. In a letter to MGM producer Pandro S. Berman, the organisation stated its objection to the cardinal being portrayed as a "worldly and unscrupulous man" and urged the studio to remove the character from the film. Berman refused to remove the character from the film but promised he would use great caution in all sensitive matters pertaining to the story and in the film, Richelieu is never referred to as Cardinal Richelieu. Berman also indicated that Constance, the married mistress of D'Artagnan in the novel, would be unmarried in the film version. While early sound versions of Three Musketeers eliminated the deaths of Constance and Milady, this adaptation telescopes the novel's events to allow for these tragedies. According to AFI, screenwriter Robert Ardry was displeased with Sidney's irreverent approach to the Dumas story and objected to the spoof elements that were added to the film. A biography of Kelly noted that Belgian fencing champion Jean Heremans, who appears in the film as the cardinal's guard, taught Kelly how to fence. Kelly's biography also noted that during the filming of a bedroom scene, Kelly flung Turner onto a bed with such force that she fell to the ground and suffered a broken elbow. Hal Erickson at AllMovie: “True to form, MGM saw to it that Lana Turner, as Milady, was dressed to the nines and heavily bejeweled for her beheading sequence. Portions of the 1948 Three Musketeers, in black and white, showed up in the silent film-within-a-film in 1952's Singin' in the Rain, which of course also starred Gene Kelly.” The Three Musketeers opened to mostly favourable reviews, with several reviewers commenting on the film's unusual tongue-in-cheek approach. New York Times reviewer Bosley Crowther noted that "more glittering swordplay, more dazzling costumes, more colors or more of Miss Turner's chest have never been seen in a picture than are shown in this one." And added: “Completely fantastic, however, is Miss Turner as the villainness, the ambitious Lady de Winter who does the boudoir business for the boss. Loaded with blond hair and jewels, with twelve-gallon hats and ostrich plumes, and poured into her satin dresses with a good bit of Turner to spare, she walks through the palaces and salons with the air of a company-mannered Mae West.” In 1948, there was an Oscar nomination for Robert Planck in the category Best Cinematography/Colour. Hans J. Wollstein at AllMovie: “The Three Musketeers remains an outrageously entertaining yarn, the Southern California locales perfectly standing in for 17th Century France and England.” And finally, Yvette Banek at her blog In so many words: “Lana Turner is really quite superb in her evilness. So evil that she is even photographed without make-up. Well, as 'without make-up' as MGM got, at any rate. Even then, she is exquisitely beautiful - especially when praying.”

 

Sources: Bosley Crowther (New York Times), Hal Erickson (AllMovie), Yvette Banek (In so many words), AFI, Wikipedia (Dutch, German), and IMDb.

 

And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.

If I can't hide away in a tropical paradise, then perhaps I should go live atop a tall pillar. At least I'd have good views.

 

I finally found out why my now ex-friend stopping talking to me. It would appear that they took offense to something I had said, which was taken a bit out of context. Had they bothered to try and sort things out like normal grown-ups would, they would have realized that it was all a big misunderstanding. Instead, they decided to abruptly end our friendship. What was worse was that they did not have the decency to tell me that our friendship was over. Why? I think I deserved a little better than to have been treated like dirt.

 

In other news, I'm getting sick of this free account. I keep getting asked if I'm a robot when I make apparently too many comments. How many is too many for me not to be considered human anyway? Oh, and I have some new toys. Can't wait to play!

East-German postcard by VEB Progress Film-Vertrieb, Berlin, no. 184/70. Gregory Peck in Mackenna's Gold (J. Lee Thompson, 1969).

 

American actor Gregory Peck (1916-2003) was one of the most popular film stars from the 1940s to the 1960s. Peck received five nominations for the Academy Award for Best Actor and won once – for his performance as Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (1962). He almost always played courageous, nobly heroic good guys who saw injustice and fought it. Among his best known films are Spellbound (1945), The Yearling (1946), Gentleman's Agreement (1947), Roman Holiday (1953), The Guns of Navarone (1961), and Cape Fear (1962).

 

Eldred Gregory Peck was born in 1916 in La Jolla, California (now in San Diego). His parents were Bernice Mary (Ayres) and Gregory Pearl Peck, a chemist, and druggist in San Diego. His parents divorced when he was five years old. An only child, he was sent to live with his grandmother. He never felt he had a stable childhood. His fondest memories are of his grandmother taking him to the cinema every week and of his dog, which followed him everywhere. Peck's father encouraged him to take up medicine. He studied pre-med at UC Berkeley and, while there, got bitten by the acting bug and decided to change the focus of his studies. He enrolled in the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York and debuted on Broadway after graduation. His debut was in Emlyn Williams' play 'The Morning Star' (1942). By 1943, he was in Hollywood, where he debuted in the RKO film Days of Glory (Jacques Tourneur, 1944). Stardom came with his next film, The Keys of the Kingdom (John M. Stahl, 1944), for which he was nominated for an Oscar. Tony Fontana at IMDb: "Peck's screen presence displayed the qualities for which he became well known. He was tall, rugged and heroic, with a basic decency that transcended his roles." He appeared opposite Ingrid Bergman in Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound (1945) as an amnesia victim accused of murder. In The Yearling (Clarence Brown, 1946), he was again nominated for an Oscar and won the Golden Globe. He was especially effective in Westerns and appeared in such varied fare as David O. Selznick's critically blasted Duel in the Sun (King Vidor, 1946), the somewhat better-received Yellow Sky (William A. Wellman, 1948), and the acclaimed The Gunfighter (Henry King, 1950). He was nominated again for the Academy Award for his roles in Gentleman's Agreement (Elia Kazan, 1947), which dealt with anti-Semitism, and Twelve O'Clock High (Henry King, 1949), a story of high-level stress in an Air Force bomber unit in World War II. In 1947, Peck, along with Dorothy McGuire, David O'Selznick, and Mel Ferrer, founded the La Jolla Playhouse, located in his hometown, and produced many of the classics there. Due to film commitments, he could not return to Broadway but whet his appetite for live theatre on occasion at the Playhouse, keeping it firmly established with a strong, reputable name over the years.

 

With a string of hits to his credit, Gregory Peck decided to only work in films that interested him. He continued to appear as the heroic, larger-than-life figure in such films as Captain Horatio Hornblower (Raoul Walsh, 1951) with Virginia Mayo, and Moby Dick (John Huston, 1956) with Richard Basehart. He worked with Audrey Hepburn in her debut film, Roman Holiday (William Wyler, 1953). While filming The Bravados (Henry King, 1958), he decided to become a cowboy in real life, so he purchased a vast working ranch near Santa Barbara, California - already stocked with 600 head of prize cattle. In the early 1960s, he gave a powerful performance as Captain Keith Mallory in The Guns of Navarone (J. Lee Thompson, 1961) opposite David Niven and Anthony Quinn. The film was one of the biggest box-office hits of that year. Peck finally won the Oscar, after four nominations, for his performance as lawyer Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (Robert Mulligan, 1962). He also appeared in two darker films than he usually made, Cape Fear (J. Lee Thompson, 1962) opposite Robert Mitchum, and Captain Newman, M.D. (David Miller, 1963) with Tony Curtis, which dealt with the way people live. The financial failure of Cape Fear (1962) ended his company, Melville Productions. After making Arabesque (Stanley Donen, 1966) with Sophia Loren, Peck withdrew from acting for three years in order to concentrate on various humanitarian causes, including the American Cancer Society. In the early 1970s, he produced two films, The Trial of the Catonsville Nine (Gordon Davidson, 1972) and The Dove (Charles Jarrott, 1974), when his film career stalled. He made a comeback playing, somewhat woodenly, Ambassador Robert Thorn in the horror film The Omen (Richard Donner, 1976) with Lee Remick. After that, he returned to the bigger-than-life roles he was best known for, such as MacArthur (Joseph Sargent, 1977) and the infamous Nazi war criminal Dr. Josef Mengele in the huge hit The Boys from Brazil (Franklin J. Schaffner, 1978) with Laurence Olivier and James Mason. In the 1980s, he moved into television with the miniseries The Blue and the Gray (Andrew V. McLaglen, 1982). He played Abraham Lincoln, and The Scarlet and the Black (Jerry London, 1983) with Christopher Plummer and John Gielgud. In 1991, he appeared in the remake of his 1962 film, playing a different role, in Martin Scorsese's Cape Fear (1991). He was also cast as the progressive-thinking owner of a wire and cable business in Other People's Money (Norman Jewison, 1991), starring Danny DeVito. In 1967, Peck received the Academy's Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award. He was also awarded the US Presidential Medal of Freedom. Always politically progressive, he was active in such causes as anti-war protests, workers' rights, and civil rights. In 2003, Peck's portrayal of Atticus Finch was named the greatest film hero of the past 100 years by the American Film Institute, only two weeks before his death. Atticus beat out Indiana Jones, who was placed second, and James Bond who came third. Gregory Peck died in 2003 in Los Angeles, California. He was 87. Peck was married twice. From 1942 to 1955, he was married to Greta Kukkonen. They had three children: Jonathan Peck (1944-1975), Stephen Peck (1946), and Carey Paul Peck (1949). His second wife was Veronique Passani, whom he met at the set of Roman Holliday. They married in 1955 and had two children: Tony Peck (1956) and Cecilia Peck (1958). The couple remained together till his death.

 

Sources: Tony Fontana (IMDb), and IMDb.

 

And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.

Quite a shocking day of cold, windy, low cloud / fog all day today, despite this being 30 May. At least it had the decency to start raining just as I was taking this panorama out in the polder, after having threatened to for hours.

I am trying to make myself as conspicuous as possible while staying within the bounds of public decency.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY

•

" The government of the United States does not, in its policies, express the decency of its people. "-- Jerry Fresia, author of Toward an American Revolution

This image is copyright, all rights reserved, and not part of the public domain. Any use, linking to, or posting of this image is prohibited without my consent. If you want to use this image in any fashion, please have the common courtesy and decency to ask.

 

Mossy Grotto Falls, Ruckle Creek, Columbia Gorge, Oregon

 

After toughing it out to get to the Mossy Grotto, it's nice to know that you've come upon a little slice of paradise. Douglas is a great guy to go hiking with, and we had a lot of fun exploring the Mossy Grotto. Well worth the risk to life and limb to get there.

 

Happy Waterfall Wednesday Everybody!

I like this sort of censoring. I like how it protects both the 'innocent' and the 'guilty'.

 

Please remember to abide by the Social Distancing Guidelines (which differ from country to country, of course). Thank You.

A gesture that would seem totally incongruous a short while ago: a young couple

holding hands in the streets of Pyongyang.

In North Korea, decency is not an old fashioned concept.

Seeing my surprise witnessing men dancing together during a giant ball, while lots

of girls were alone, my guide explained:

“it’s their first ball, they are shy. In your country, when it’s their first ball, do boys

find the courage to ask girls to dance?”, which left me speechless.

 

Geste totalement incongru il y a encore peu: un jeune couple main dans la main dans les

rues de Pyongyang.

La pudeur nord coréenne n’est pas un vain mot. Voyant des hommes danser ensemble

lors d’un bal géant alors que de nombreuses filles étaient seules, devant mon

étonnement , mon guide me répondit:

-c’est leur premier bal, ils sont timides. En France, les garçons invitent les filles à danser

la première fois?

-...

 

© Eric Lafforgue

www.ericlafforgue.com

Sikhism originated in the 15th century, in the Punjab region by Guru Nanak, who preached ideas that were radical for his age: he denounced Hinduism's oppressive caste system and Islam's gender discrimination, preaching that all people can commune with the divine equally, without the intervention of rituals or priests. The Sikh faith is a monotheistic religion, meaning Sikhs worship one God. The three core pillars of Sikhism are: vaṇḍ chakkō (sharing with others, helping those in need, as well as participating as part of a community), kirat karō (earning/making a living honestly, without exploitation or fraud, and speaking the truth at all times) and naam japna (meditating on God’s name to live a life of decency and humility).

The temporary distractions of the material world are seen as an illusion. The qualities of ego, anger, greed, attachment and lust are known as the Five Thieves that rob a person of their ability to realize their oneness with God and creation. Sikhs work to counteract the temptations of these qualities through the values of service, equality, and seeking justice for all. Sikhs also believe that one’s form on Earth is only a temporary vessel for the eternal soul. Thus, the death of the physical body is a natural part of the life cycle, while the soul remains. Death is not an end, but merely the progression of the soul on its journey toward God.

Nine more gurus succeeded Guru Nanak (Angad, Amar Das, Ram Das, Arjan, Har Gobind, Har Rai, Har Krishan, Tegh Bahadur, and Gobind Singh), and continued to spread his teachings across the world.

The last guru, Guru Gobind Singh, named the Sikh sacred text, the Guru Granth Sahib, to be the eternal Guru that would guide the Sikhs going forward. It consists of 1,430 Anks, or pages, and 6,000 Sabads, or line compositions, all are written in poetic verse and are aligning to the rhythmic forms of ancient north Indian classical music. At the core of the Guru Granth Sahib is a yearning for a world governed by divine justice, without oppression of any kind.

The final living guru, Gobind Singh, also established the Khalsa, or order of Sikh soldier-saints. They are recognizable by "The 5 k's," their physical articles of faith: Kesh (unshorn hair and beard), Kirpan (ceremonial sword), Kangha (comb), Kara (steel bracelet) and Kachha (drawers). The Dastar, or turban, is considered a spiritual crown, a token of remembrance of the Sikh principles.

 

Subathu, Himachal Pradesh, India

Catching up on some back shots from the beginning of the year

 

On a walk around the Addington Cemetery with a wonderful Flickr friend. February 13, 2016 Christchurch New Zealand.

 

There is so much damaged in the cemetery because of the earthquake we have had. It is such a pity as I don' think it will ever be fully repaired.

 

The Addington Cemetery was established in 1858 when the Scottish Presbyterians of St Andrew’s Church purchased land for a cemetery in Selwyn Street. Although not the first cemetery in Christchurch, Addington was in fact the first “public” cemetery, “being open to all persons of any religious community” and allowing the performance of any religious service “not contrary to public decency”.

 

The first burial took place on the 10th of November 1858. The cemetery has several persons of note buried within its grounds including activist Kate Sheppard, Christchurch Mayor Tommy Taylor and members of the pioneer family, the Deans.

For More Info:http://my.christchurchcitylibraries.com/addington-cemetery/