All posts by Headly Westerfield

About Headly Westerfield

Calling himself “A liberally progressive, sarcastically cynical, iconoclastic polymath,” Headly Westerfield has been a professional writer all his adult life.

Fantastic Felines ► Throwback Thursday

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Marley hangs out behind my computer chair

Yesterday’s successful adoption of Marley has me reminiscing about all the fantastic felines I’ve shared my life with.

Over the years I’ve had cats named Bleeko and Echo, Bert Parks, Miss Silver, Smith and Wesson, and Castor. Here are some stories:

Bleeko & Echo

Bleeko & Echo were brother and sister, beautiful little calico kittens when I adopted them. I thought about naming them both Bleeko, but decided the second one would be an Echo of the first. These were my first cats ever, as I had dogs growing up. My wife had had cats all her life, so we adopted these two scamps.

This was also my first place ever, having been married only a few months. It was a small apartment above a store at 2125 Dufferin Street in Toronto. When J went into the hospital to give birth to my eldest son, one of my sisters came to help me prepare for the new baby’s arrival. We never knew whether it was Bleeko or Echo, but one of them took great exception to this female interloper who came in and took over. They took a piss in her open suitcase.

That’s when I learned cats will always make their feelings known.

Bert Parks

Me’n’Bert: Well traveled diptych & photo by Stephen Feldman, Toronto, May 25, 1976

I have adored every one of my cats, but if I had to pick a fave, it would be Bert Parks, who I also had the longest.

With his black and white markings, Bert resembled a Holstein cow. He moved in with me way back in my Oakville days, where I moved to go to college after Dufferin. Bert joined me at the beginning of my bachelorhood and moved with me to my first solo apartment in Toronto [pictured above]. It was a basement unit on Bedford Road, directly underneath the Canadian head office of Island Records. Bert stayed with me for well more than a decade through a series of apartments, right into my 2nd marriage, when L and I settled on Dundas Street West at Pacific Avenue. It was another apartment above a storefront.

Bert and I were a bonded pair, but he adopted my wife without reservation.

Bert loved to take walks with me around the neighbourhood. No leash. He just followed me when I went out. Despite that intrepid spirit, he was deathly afraid of plastic bags. All you had to do is pull one out and he’s go running and hiding. The more noise you made with it the faster he’d run and the longer he’d hide.

Bert Park’s final indignity came after a long and happy life. L and I came home late one cold winter’s afternoon to find Bert stiff as a board on his side next to the radiator in the bedroom. He hadn’t been sick and didn’t seem to have suffered.

I called the Humane Society to find out what I should do with his remains and they told me to put him in a plastic bag and put him out with the garbage. I called the city and got the same answer. Sadly, there was no alternative where we lived. A plastic bag was Bert’s ultimate fate. Maybe he always knew.

Smith and Wesson, and [later] Castor

One of Marley’s first pics in her new home, still in her carrier

Soon after Bert died I was in the local laundromat when a teenage girl came in with a box of calico kittens up for adoption. I took 2 of them home and tried to convince L they followed me home. We named them Smith and Wesson. They were great pals. One day we had a big wind storm while they were outside. Smith came home. Wesson never did. We assumed he blew away to Oz. [Aunty Em!!! Aunty Em!!!]

Smith was inconsolable and wandered around the apartment crying and looking for her sister. It was heartbreaking. So we got ourselves another kitten to keep Smith company and named him Castor, another kind of oil.

Castor was another cat that liked to take walks throughout the whole neighbourhood. We often had to chase him back home to so he wouldn’t follow us from Sunnyside all the way to Roncesvalles, which was a really busy road with streetcars.

In the end, it turned out that my younger son was allergic to cats and that ended that. However, a neighbour adopted Castor, the only one who remained by then.

Miss Silver

Miss Silver — a long-haired grey — was the last cat I had before Marley. I had her for a very short time and I have always felt bad at how that ended 11 years ago.

Miss Silver and I were just getting to know one another, but we had already gotten into the comfortable stage. She was one of the most affectionate cats I’ve ever had. She could not get enough loving and slept between my legs.

Then Pops asked me to move in with him and I coudn’t take Miss Silver with me. Aside from the fact that importing a cat from Canada to the States is not like moving across town, but Pops hated cats. When we were growing up he always told us that if we ever brought at cat home, he’d drown it. I don’t know if he really would have, but none of us ever tested that theory.

Before I moved back to ‘Merka Miss Silver was adopted by a dear friend, who I knew would take good care of her. Not that long after Miss Silver developed a liver condition and eventually died of it. However, my friend gave her quality care to the very end.

Marley & Me

The inevitable Prisma glamour shot

I almost didn’t get Marley, who was named Gumdrop when I first met her.

This was my 4th visit to the Broward Humane Society to find a cat to adopt. I had yet to find a love connection. You know it when it happens.

The last 3 times there had been a very pretty grey cat named Marley. I was allowed to hang out with him each time, but he wouldn’t come anywhere near me and would recoil if I reached out to pet him.

Between visits I’d wonder about him, thinking his name was a sign of synchronicity.

So on my next visit I’d try him again, spending up to a half hour each time in his room. He was totally standoffish. Not in the way cats can sometimes be aloof, but in a way that convinced me he just didn’t like people all that much and me in particular.

Yesterday, after my third visit with Marley, I gave up on him. That’s why I met and inquired about 7 other cats. Most were calico, which I think are gorgeous animals. Three of them had tasted the outdoors. I would need to keep any cat I adopted inside [condo rules] and don’t believe in keeping an outdoor cat locked up. I’ve read many opinions about this, but am convinced they’ve had too much freedom to ever be fully happy inside. [YMMV]

I also rejected a cat that had been declawed, which I don’t believe in either. There were 2 others that were part of separate bonded pairs, but I can only handle one cat.

I was ready to give up when a volunteer broke a rule. She was in one of those little rooms that are supposed to resemble a real room to fool cats into thinking they’re actually in a real room, if cats think real rooms are 4 x 4, with two small pieces of furniture, 3 cats, and a glass wall putting them on display. This volunteer moved from room to room to spend a bit of time with each cat.

Anyway, the volunteer stuck her head out and said, “Wanna meet a sweet cat?” Then she invited me into the room. That’s the rule she broke. Properly a person at the front desk is supposed to give me access.

Marley is already suitable for framing

Gumdrop was all over me immediately, just sucking up all the love I could give her. I spent about 20 minutes with her and she remained in contact with a part of my body the entire time.

I hadn’t come in for a black cat, not that I’m racist, or anything. I just had my heart set on a calico or a tabby as a 2nd choice. I left Gumdrop and walked around for a while trying to make a decision.

I almost didn’t take Gumdrop home because, to be fair, she was the default cat. I didn’t drive 15 miles to settle for the default cat.

However, the Humane Society also told me that it’s true that black cats are the hardest to adopt. I went back to Gumdrop’s room and spent another 20 minutes with her. She was so sweet and starved for affection. I finally told them to wrap her up because I was taking her home.

[BTW: I just want to plug the idea of adopting a cat from the Humane Society. The $30 fee covered all her shots, a bag of kibble, having her spayed, getting her chipped, and $250 within 10 days at a local VCA. It’s a very good deal.]

When we got home, she stayed in her carrying case for about 45 minutes, even though the door was left open. When I next looked, she was gone. I eventually found her hiding behind the toilet. She felt safe there. When I petted her, she’d lean right into it, which made me feel good about her. I just left her there and visited very 20 minutes, or so, petting her each time.

Asking her to pose, Marley uses me as a pillow instead

After a couple of hours I tried a new tactic. First I stood a few feet from her and coaxed her out by patting my leg. Once she started weaving herself around my ankles I’d take another step out of the bathroom. She would head butt my ankles and I’d move a foot farther. She’d move with me and rub against my ankles again, and then rub the walls to place her scent. I kept moving a foot at a time.

When we got out of the hallway, where the room opened up, she became more apprehensive. It was so big compared to her 4×4 room! Danger could come from anywhere! First she crouched in a fight-or-flight stance, just in case there were monsters, yannow? Then she’d go back a few feet, return to rub against my ankles, as I continued to draw her farther out with each step.

Suddenly she rushed ahead into my bedroom and hid under the bed. She stayed there for a while, but kept venturing farther and farther out with each exploration. By the time I went to bed last night, she had been renamed Marley and explored most of the condo. She was starting to feel comfortable. I went to bed alone, but she was in bed with me when I woke up in the morning.

Marley is an absolute sweetheart and I am so glad I brought her home. I think we’re already a bonded pair.

Truth, Justice, and the ‘Merkin Spelling ► Unpacking The Writer

A recent meme about Emperor Trump’s payoff pick to head the Department of Education made me literally laugh out loud, or LLOL.

Long time readers know Unpacking the Writer as a semi-regular feature at the Not Now Silly Newsroom. Adressing new readers: It’s never is not about politics. However, this time I’m using politics to reveal the jumping-off point for this Unpacking. *

A meme quickly circled the information superhighway (which is more like a roundabout at times like these) after an internet wag corrected an ass-kissing tweet sent out by Betsy DeVos, Trump’s choice to oversee edjumacation for the entire country. There are many reasons why she’s totally unqualified for the job, not the least of which is this:

 

I felt the need to pass it along because it was simply HIGH-LARRY-US!

My quip at the bottom — what I think of as added value when I’m sharing — was based on an earlier meme. On his very first day in office Emperor Trump couldn’t spell “honerd” [sic] in one of his world famous tweets. It was eventually deleted (possibly breaking the Presidential Records Act) and reposted correctly, but only after the Unclothed Emperor was roasted on social media.

TRUMP VOTERS: Canada is that big place above ‘Merka

But, I digress. This isn’t about politics. It’s about being a writer from Canada. [You can read the entire discussion HERE]. Since I like nothing better than quoting myself:

When I first moved to Canada, all my editors would go crazy because I spelled [my words] ‘Merkin. It took a while, but I trained myself to spell properly to teh [sic] point that the Globe and Mail once printed my Letter to the Editor excoriating them for dropping all the “U”s in what they claimed was a way to save ink.

No. Really.

My complaint was that they could define their internal style guide any way they want, what they could not do is rename Harbourfront as Harborfront. [FULL DISCLOSURE: I worked at Harbourfront at the time.]

Anyway…I now type this way without thinking. When I have to type ‘Merkin ’cause I’m quoting one, my fingers stutter over it until I get it. It’s not smooth at all.

Bottom line: I don’t think I can type “humour” without the “U” automatically ever again.

There are other consequences to typing Canadian.

Recently I was wrestling with some simple HTML code and, no matter how many times I tried, I could not get it to format properly. I’d delete the tag, move the tag so it wasn’t nested in a tag, remove the tag from the nested tag, rewrite the tag, and nothing I did worked.

Until I realized I had been spelling it <centre>.

Similar happens when I use Der Googalizer to search for theatres, because that’s how I spell it. At least one no longer needs the exact case and spelling in search engines, the way it was in the olden days when I wrote for We Compute.

Not that it’s Canadian, per se, but I’m not giving up my Oxford comma either.

Look closely. There’s a divot in the shift key.

Tangentially, when I transitioned from typewriter to computer it took me a long time to give up the double space between sentences, as editors required back in the day. Occasionally, when I get into a Zen stream of unconsciousness, I’ll still hit the spacebar twice, but not that often anymore. I’ve also never adapted to how lightly one can hit an electronic keyboard and still form words. I bang the keys so hard that I’ve worn off the letters on every one I’ve ever owned. It’s a good thing I know where it stores the alphabet. Recently my sister needed to use my keyboard and it took her a few minutes to get acclimated.

However, when I went fully online and digital in 1988, far earlier than many, I embraced everything else about being able to make words out of electrons. I embraced CUT & PASTE most of all. To be fair: I always did cut & paste. In my typewriter days I would literally rip and move paragraphs around before typing a new, clean copy.

That was then. This is now. Paragraphs in this have been moved around.

Speaking of the Newsroom. How do you like the new look?

As long-time readers can attest: Before the New Year, Not Now Silly looked very different. We built a new site from the ground up. While the old site is still THERE, all of that material has been transferred here for your reading pleasure. However, it wasn’t without a few hiccups. One that I am finding frustrating — and the entire IT team is working on it — is that the archival posts were given a new date, the date they were transferred over here.

Another source of frustration is that some of the formatting from the old posts to the new ones are messed up. Worse yet, I recently learned that going back and fixing them — because they offend my OCD — changes the published date to teh day the page is updated. It must be related to the problem above. Until IT can tell me how to make a date stick, I guess I’ll have to live with it these 2 problems. But, they will be solved eventually.

As long time readers also know: I often use UtW to humblebrag about my discerning audience, and today will be no exception.

I am quite pleased with the posts that readers have elevated to the top of TODAY’S TOP TEN and ALL TIME TOP TEN (found in the right column on the front page) since launching the new, improved site.

Judging from the limited analytics we get so far (another thing the IT department is researching) reader faves seem to be the Monday Musical Appreciation, Saturday Morning Cartoons, and my Manifestos. Expect to see more Manifestos because — not only do they seem popular and I always give my readers what they want, unless I don’t want to — but I am getting angrier at Emperor Trump and what’s coming out of the White House, which has never been whiter, if you know what I mean. [Supremacist, if you don’t.]

Something I find very odd. While the ALL TIME list keeps changing, Roy Head has consistently held down the #3 spot, ever since it was posted. I can’t explain that and it feels like a glitch.

Speaking of glitches: Is there a law suit in my future? Seeing Tom Falco Libels Me Again. Then Runs Away as the #4 ALL TIME post gratifies me and reminds me that I need to use one of the 3 phone numbers of lawyers passed along unbidden by 3 separate people who read it. Eenie, meenie, miney, Moe. Was his name Moe?

Tom, if you’re reading this (and word gets back to me that you can quote me verbatim) all you ever needed to do — and still can do, for that matter — is retract your statements that I threatened you and a Miami Herald reporter. Deleting them doesn’t count. You might want to seriously consider that option because contingency lawyers salivate at the words “trust fund baby.” It might also be fun to subpoena the Herald.

Never mind, Tom. Stick to your lack of journalistic principles.

Meanwhile, I’m going to have to cut this short, even tho’ there’s more I wanted to say. I’m prepping for another community meeting on the restoration of the Coconut Grove Playhouse. [Read: The Coconut Grove Playhouse Trojan Horse; Part I, Part II.] I didn’t write about the last meeting because, quite frankly, I was underwhelmed. While I asked a question during the public comment segment, but I didn’t have the information at my fingertips to rebut the answer. That will be part of today’s prep. I want to be ready this time.

And, if I’m not underwhelmed, I may even write about it.

* As sometimes happens, this essay started as a comment elsewhere. This is an expanded version of those original, initial, thoughts.

Bob Marley ► Monday Musical Appreciation

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Read: The Day I Met Bob Marley

He was born Robert Nesta Marley in 1945. By the time of his 1981 death of melanoma, he was known worldwide as the Honourable Bob Marley, OM, and given a state funeral by the Jamaican government.

Starting in relative obscurity in Trenchtown, Jamaica, with The Wailers, Marley’s career lasted less than 20 years. By the time he died of cancer as a solo artist — at the far-too-young age of 36 — there were few places in the world where Bob Marley‘s name was not known, especially by people of colour and the downtrodden.

This tribute song makes the point far better than I could.

Scoot Irwin, friend to the Newsroom, reminded this writer of Marley’s upcoming birthday on the weekend, making today’s choice for a Monday Musical Appreciation a no-brainer. Then, as if by Jah, before Not Now Silly even began preparations, a news story came in unbidden over the transom. It turns out that some of Marley’s earliest live recordings were rediscovered and cleaned up. In the Guardian article ‘Spine-tingling’ lost Bob Marley tapes restored after 40 years in a cellar we learn:

The 13 reel-to-reel, analogue master tapes were discovered in cardboard box files in a run-down hotel in Kensal Rise, north-west London, the modest lodgings where Bob Marley and the Wailers stayed during their European tours in the mid-1970s.

The tapes – known as “the lost masters” among elements of Marley’s huge fanbase – were at first believed to be ruined beyond repair, largely through water damage. Yet after more than 12 months of painstaking work using the latest audio techniques, the master reels have been restored, with the sound quality of Marley – who died in 1981 but would have been 72 on Monday– described as enough to “send shivers down one’s spine”.

The tapes are the original live recordings of Marley’s concerts in London and Paris between 1974 and 1978, and feature some of his most famous tracks including No Woman No Cry, Jammin, Exodus and I Shot the Sheriff.

These were among Marley’s first concerts after going solo, recorded with the Rolling Stones mobile unit, said to be the only 24-track mobile studio in England at the time. Shows on these tapes include the London Lyceum (1975), Hammersmith Odeon (1976), and Pavilion de Paris (1978). There’s no word on whether these shows will be released commercially.


Live, with special lyrics name-checking President Barack Obama

Recently one of Marley’s earliest interview was released online. While the sound quality is not that great, it’s still wonderful to listen to a musician just on the cusp of international fame.

Bob Marley also popularized the Rastafarian religion, adopted by so many people who know and care nothing about Emperor Haile Selassie, whose name was Tafari Makonnen Woldemikael. Ras was his title, which roughly translates as “head” or “ruler.”

The shame of Marley having died so young is that we were deprived of the songs and collaborations that would have come.

There’s an entire school of thought (on which NNS is reserving judgement) that Bob Marley was assassinated by the CIA, because his brand of pan-Africanism was perceived dangerous to The Powers That Be. [Read: White people.]

As we are fond of saying here in the Not Now Silly Newsroom: It’s in the grooves. Here are some Bob Marley tunes you should never be without . . . and they’re not the ones that most people know, nor are they all political. However, the first one should give hope to all opposed to Emperor Trump.

Crank it up and D A N C E ! ! !












Heckle and Jeckle ► Saturday Morning Cartoons

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Heckle and Jeckle are 2 wisecracking magpies from Paul Terry, whose Terrytoons also produced Mighty Mouse and Deputy Dawg, among a host of other cartoon characters.

Terry — credited with over 1300 cartoons in 40 years — started in media in 1904 as a newspaper cameraman, where he also drew comic strips. Inspired to go into animation by Winsor McCay’s Gertie the Dinosaur, he drew his first cartoon Little Herman, which he sold. After a 2nd cartoon he was hired in 1916 by the J. R. Bray Studios, where he created and made 11 cartoons starring Farmer Al Falfa. He was able to take that character with him when he left in 1917 to start his own studio. Paul Terry Studios lasted for 9 more cartoons, only one with Farmer Al, before he joined the army to fight in WWI.

On his return he partnered up with the improably named Amedee J. Van Beuren to form Fables Studios, where they produced a successful series of cartoons based on Aesop’s Fables. In 1928 they released Dinner Time, the first cartoon with synchronized sound. It was released several weeks before Disney’s Steamboat Willie, often incorrectly credited as the first cartoon with sound. Watch:

Ironically, Terry and Van Beuren split up over the issue of sound, so Terrytoons was launched in New Rochelle, New York, where Terry had sold his first cartoon to Thanhouser film. That’s where Heckle and Jeckle were hatched just after WWII.

No less an authority than the Wiki tells us:

Paul Terry was quick to adopt techniques that simplified the animation process, but resisted “improvements” that complicated the production. He was one of the first to make use of “cel animation” including animation of separate body parts. His studio was slow to switch to synchronized sound tracks and to color. While this may have sometimes prevented his films from achieving the technical excellence of Disney or Fleischer Studios, he did manage to keep his studio profitable, while others went out of business. Terry was once quoted as saying, “Disney is the Tiffany of animation. I’m the Woolworth.”

Keep in mind that these were the days when cartoons were made to be shown between the movies in theaters. Television had been invented, but was not yet a commonplace household item. It would still be a decade before most homes had a tee vee.

However, Paul Terry cashed in when television came calling, but that didn’t go so well at first. As the Wiki also tells us:

Terry became the first major cartoon producer to package his old films for television. In 1955, Terry sold his animation studio and film library to CBS for $3.5 million and retired.[2] CBS appointed Gene Deitch, who replaced the old characters with new ones such as Sidney the Elephant, Gaston LeCrayon, Foofle, Clint Clobber, and John Doormat. Deitch departed after three years. After Deitch’s departure, Mighty Mouse and Heckle & Jeckle returned, as well as new characters such as Deputy Dawg. CBS made the Terrytoons library of films a mainstay of its Saturday morning programming and continued operating the studio making both new theatrical films and series for television until the late 1960s. -Today Terrytoons are most fondly remembered by Baby Boomers who grew up watching them on TV.

That’s my generation and I loved Heckle and Jeckle. I even had two gal pals, who were sisters, that Pops called Heckle and Jeckle. I saw both at his funeral in December.

Here are some more Heckle and Jeckle cartoons, starting with this dubious subject matter from ’47:







The Last Beatles Concert ► Monday Musical Appreciation

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It was 48 years ago today when The Beatles gave their last live performance, although no one knew that at the time. It’s come down through history known as The Rooftop Concert.

John, Paul, George, and Ringo — at that point the most famous musicians in the world — had been filming the recording of their ‘back to basics’ LP, that was supposed to do away with overdubs and studio trickery. The idea of a movie started out as a tee vee documentary ending with a live concert, before it morphed into a major motion picture.

Originally the album was to have been called “Get Back,” but was eventually released as “Let It Be,” the same name as the eventual movie and the biggest hit on the soundtrack.

The recording sessions were fraught with tension, with the Beatles bickering with each other.  Even the level-headed and Transcendental Meditationizer Harrison had enough. He also quit the band for a period. When he returned he did so with Billy Preston to play keyboards, correctly guessing that the presence of a musician they all respected would cut down on the fighting.

According to the WikiWackyWoo:

Harrison recalled that when Preston joined them, “straight away there was 100% improvement in the vibe in the room. Having this fifth person was just enough to cut the ice that we’d created among ourselves.”[14]

While most of the bickering was left on the cutting room floor, this clip was left in the final cut of the movie:

They were stumped for a location for the ending of the movie. The documentary was always going to end with a live show, but they were stumped where to hold it. Suggestions ranged from an ocean liner, to the pyramids, to Pompeii. However, logistically those shows would have been difficult. At almost the last minute, as time was ticking away before Ringo had to start filming The Magic Christian, the decision was made to perform on the rooftop of Apple Corps, the Beatles’ own building on tony Savile Row.

The 42 minute concert was the last time The Beatles played for an audience. However, they would go on to record one more LP, Abbey Road, actually released before the movie and Let It Be album. By the time the movie was release, The Beatles were history.

The songs performed on the roof that day were Get Back (five versions), I Want You (She’s So Heavy), Don’t Let Me Down (two versions), I’ve Got A Feeling, One After 909, Danny Boy, Dig A Pony (two versions), and God Save The Queen.

Also cut out of the movie was all of the genesis for the song that eventually became Get Back. It started off much differently than the song you hear now and could NEVER have been released in this form:

The Beatles have been criticized for these 2 songs once bootlegs started to appear, but it’s clearly a protest song of sorts, condemning the racism that they had been seeing at home. It’s just not a very subtle character study, like Elanor Rigby, f’rinstance.

Ironically, the session tapes of Let It Be were eventually given to Phil Spector, who laid all kinds of overdubs on the songs. This appalled Paul McCartney, who had been outvoted. Eventually, in 2003, Let It Be… Naked was released, without all the sweetening in a form that McCartney could live with.

The movie Let It Be was briefly available to purchase on VHS, Betamax, or LaserDisc, however the 1981 release was the first and last time it was available legally. There are reports that the entire movie was remastered by Apple in 1992. Apparently there was another remastering in 2003, including outtakes and bonus material, that was to have been released with the Naked CD, but that never happened either.

“Some people say” it’s Paul who has held off release of the movie because he comes off looking like a dick. The Wiki has something to say about that, too:

In February 2007, Apple Corps‘ Neil Aspinall said, “The film was so controversial when it first came out. When we got halfway through restoring it, we looked at the outtakes and realised: this stuff is still controversial. It raised a lot of old issues.”[43]

An anonymous industry source told the Daily Express in July 2008 that, according to Apple insiders, McCartney and Starr blocked the release of the film on DVD. The two were concerned about the effect on the band’s “global brand … if the public sees the darker side of the story. Neither Paul nor Ringo would feel comfortable publicising a film showing the Beatles getting on each other’s nerves … There’s all sorts of extra footage showing more squabbles but it’s questionable if the film will ever see a reissue during Paul and Ringo’s lifetime.”[44] However, in 2016, McCartney stated he doesn’t oppose an official release, stating, “I keep bringing it up, and everyone goes, ‘Yeah, we should do that.’ The objection should be me. I don’t come off well.”[45]

Maybe one day we’ll finally get to see this movie again. Until then, enjoy some bootleg recordings of the Rooftop Concert while they’re still on the YouTubery.

ENJOY!!!

Little Nemo In Slumberland ► Saturday Morning Cartoons

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Click HERE for larger size

Little Nemo In Slumberland is not really a Saturday morning cartoon, but a weekly comic strip created by famed artist Winsor McCay, sometimes called The Father of American Animation.

If Nemo were his only creation, McCay would still go down in history. However, Zenas Winsor McCay was also the artist behind 1914’s Gertie the Dinosaur, considered the first example of true character animation. The WikiWackyWoo also tells us:

Although Gertie is popularly thought to be the earliest animated film, McCay had earlier made Little Nemo (1911) and How a Mosquito Operates (1912). The American J. Stuart Blackton and the French Émile Cohl had experimented with animation even earlier; Gertie being a character with an appealing personality distinguished McCay’s film from these earlier “trick films”. Gertie was the first film to use animation techniques such as keyframes, registration marks, tracing paper, the Mutoscope action viewer, and animation loops. It influenced the next generation of animators such as the Fleischer brothers, Otto Messmer, Paul Terry, and Walt Disney. John Randolph Bray unsuccessfully tried to patent many of McCay’s animation techniques and is said to have been behind a plagiarized version of Gertie that appeared a year or two after the original. Gertie is the best preserved of McCay’s films—some of which have been lost or survive only in fragments—and has been preserved in the US National Film Registry.

Little Nemo began his life as a comic strip, running in the New York Herald from 1905 to 1911. Hired away by William Randolph Hearst — in an early dispute about Intellectual Property — the Herald won the rights to the Little Nemo name, but McCay was able to move the characters he created to the New York American, where they reappeared under the name “In the Land of Wonderful Dreams.”

McCay led a fascinating life. During his time with the Hearst papers, he also debuted a vaudeville act, where he would produce drawings at a rapid pace. He would also appear with his animated creation Gertie in an interactive show. A live McCay would command the animated figure, who would comply.

It was a box office hit in much simpler times.

Eventually, Gertie toured the country in the form seen above, without the live segments, using intertitles instead.

Hearst, who seemed to think he owned McCay, objected to his vaudeville career because he thought the strip suffered. When he couldn’t reach McCay because he was on stage, Hearst ordered his papers not to run advertising for the stage show. Eventually the artist was forced to limit his stage appearances and, in the end, Hearst got McCay off the stage almost completely. However, he also agreed to pay McCay more to make up for the loss of the box office income.

In the ’70s I became interested in comic strips that came before my time. Starting with what’s considered the Golden Age of Superheroes, I worked backwards.

I fell in love with Little Nemo the second I found him. He’s been my favourite comic strip character ever since. I’ve bought large coffee table books filled with Slumberland comics and return to them often.

Little Nemo is simply gorgeous to look at. Each viewing brings out details not noticed before. While McCay created much of the later vocabulary of the graphic artist, no other comic strip before, or since, looks this way. Cartoonists ever since have tried to imitate him, but nobody has ever come close.

However, it’s appeal to me is based on more than that. Little Nemo has always appealed to both the child and the cynic in me: Dreaming big but waking up in the same mundane world day after day no matter how exciting a night I may have had.

Apparently there was a crappy animated movie made in 1989 called Little Nemo: Adventures in Slumberland. From all reports I’m glad I missed it.

The images for this post came from (were swiped at) The Comic Strip Library, a wonderful source. Here are a couple more full size:

 

Wilder Penfield ► Throwback Thursday

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When I first moved to Canada — and later got involved in Canadian show biz —  one of the first people I became aware of was Wilder Penfield, III, who wrote about music and culture for the Toronto Sun.

For quite a while I was totally ignorant of a fact familiar to every schoolchild in the country. Before his death in 1976, Dr. Wilder Penfield, Wilder’s grandfather, was often called “the greatest living Canadian.” The Canadian Library and Archives says this under Famous Canadian Physicians:

Dr. Wilder Penfield was one of Canada’s foremost neurosurgeons. He is best known for the discovery of a surgical treatment for epilepsy, a brain disorder characterized by sudden and recurrent seizures. He was also the founder and first director of the world-famous Montreal Neurological Institute.

These 2 videos tell his story better than any thousands of words I could type:


Dr. Penfield’s life had an entire second act:

One of these grandchildren might be Wilder Penfield, III – 1956

During the last 15 years of his life, Wilder Penfield enjoyed a second career as a writer of historical novels and medical biography. It was his firm belief that “rest, with nothing else, results in rust” and he led by example. He wrote several books, including one that he completed in 1974 when he was 83. It was called The Mystery of the Mind and was an account for laymen of his studies of the brain over almost 40 years.

Dr. Penfield also devoted himself to public service, particularly in support of university education. His close friendship with Governor General George Vanier and his wife resulted in the creation of the Vanier Institute of the Family, which Penfield helped found “to promote and guide education in the home – man’s first classroom.” He also became widely known for promoting early second-language training.

l-r: Penfield, III; Linda Dawe; Roger Delair; Roger Ashby

When I was promoting Island Records in the ’70s, Wilder Penfield, III, was an important person to schmooze. However, since he was a fan of Reggae, it took almost no persuasion at all to get him excited about our latest releases.

Wilder also said something to me once that I still think is the funniest thing anyone has ever said to me, and it’s a line I’ve stolen and still use to this day. I was at some industry function in mid-February (if I remember correctly) and had to wander away for a washroom break. There I encountered Penfield, who thrust out his hand. As we were shaking hands he said to me, “Let me be the last to wish you a Happy New Year!”

Seeing as how it’s already January 26th, let me be the
last to wish all my readers a HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Coconut Grove Grapevine Addendum

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Nothing about Tom Falco has made me laugh as hard as something I discovered this morning.

No, it’s not another run-on sentence like this:

What’s got me guffawing is that I’ve long maintained that Falco really only cares about promoting White Coconut Grove, because he’s basically an unofficial arm of the Business Improvement District, an organization that ignores West Grove. It’s my long-held opinion that the BID is racist. Otherwise why wouldn’t it mention the long and honourable history of the Black Bahamians that built Coconut Grove, and much of the rest of Miami?

In fact, the entire proud history of West Grove is left off the official BID page called The History of Coconut Grove, except for a single throwaway line: Some of the inn’s early staffers were black Bahamians who created their own settlement along Charles Avenue. That’s 17 words out of 1,529. This WHITEwashing is also evident in the tourist brochures that the BID prints and passes out at every tourist trap downtown. It’s as if they don’t want anyone to find out there are Black people in paradise.

But I digress. We were talking about Tom Falco, who I also believe is racist. [That contention is outlined in If It’s News, It’s News To The Coconut Grove Grapevine. I don’t want to get too deep into the weeds here.]

Anyhoo, dear readers, what got me laughing is that while researching this morning’s Tom Falco Libels Me Again article, I discovered this bon mot in the archives of the Miami New Times [emphasis mine]:

Best Of /// People & Places /// 2010

Tom Falco, editor, Coconut Grove Grapevine
Best Gadfly

Tom Falco’s Coconut Grove Grapevine community blog can be irritating. When he’s writing about threatening to take photos of kids “posing” as school basketball players — only to watch them “scatter like rats” — or railing against a woman in a food truck poaching customers from Grove restaurants, Falco has all the perspective of a Picasso. But Merriam-Webster’s definition of a gadfly is one who “stimulates or annoys, especially by persistent criticism,” which might as well be the Grapevine’s mission statement. There is no louder voice for a community — in his case, the Grove’s business owners — in Miami.

What’s funny is that the Miami New Times is not buying it. Not at all.

While Falco’s sycophants may have stuffed the ballot box, New Times makes it clear through snark that he’s not really a gadfly and is only concerned about the “Grove’s business owners,” which — coincidentally — also happen to be his advertisers.

TO BE FAIR: The Coconut Grove Business Improvement District Walking Tour map includes the E.W.F. Stirrup House. However, the BID stops at Margaret Street. To get a sense of the reality for people who live west of that, please read my continuing series Unpacking Grand Avenue.

Tom Falco Libels Me Again. Then Runs Away.

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Lookie who ruined my King Mango Strut shot

I’ve made no secret of my total disdain for Tom Falco, Head Grammarian (and Trust Fund baby), at the typo-laden Coconut Grove Grapevine.

My contempt for Falco goes back a number of years when I had only just recently discovered the E.W.F. Stirrup House and decided to save it. However, because the blog I created (under a nom de troll) had such a small footprint, I started to reach out to people who I thought could help me save the E.W.F. Stirrup House.

Falco was among the many people I contacted, which included every media outlet I could find. Falco not only declined to help, but did so with comments that I took as racist. Unprompted he brought up the travesty of the Mariah Brown House and said that “whitey didn’t do that.” However, despite how little he cared for the E.W.F. Stirrup House back then, he said this week:

At the [Housing Summit] meeting, the Grove pioneer EWF Stirrup’s House was brought up, and people are bitter about the way the house is being rebuilt and not restored. The house is being rebuilt to look historic and is turning into a bed and breakfast (See that here). I was also curious as to why the building was being rebuilt and not restored, until I realized that the house just sat and rotted for years, termites and lack of care hurt the house (look at it here). It’s costing more to rebuild the place as being historic, than it would have been to just renovate the old house, if it has been kept up. That’s where the city should step in. In my neighborhood they come after you if you don’t mow the lawn, why are old, historic houses allowed to rot without the city fining someone? [NB: I removed all links because Falco has refused to allow me to link my articles on his facebookery and his blog.]

To be perfectly honest: I was stunned that Falco would suddenly echo what I had been saying about the DEMOLITION BY NEGLECT of the Stirrup House after blowing me off years ago when his help may have meant something. So, I decided to leave a comment on his crappy blog.

The following exchange was posted, but then removed by him. I’m glad I saved the text, but I know how slippery Falco is.

MY COMMENT AT THE GRAPEVINE:

Tom, are you kidding?

I tried to interest you in helping save the E.W.F. Stirrup House years ago, before all the DEMOLITION BY NEGLECT, when it would have done some good. You specifically told me you didn’t want to get involved. But now you’ve got something to say?

Furthermore, contrary to your assertion, it actually would have cost more to bring the old house up to code than it did to recreate the house, especially after almost 10 years of DEMOLITION BY NEGLECT. Why do you think the developer allowed it to go that way?

In a run-on sentence you ask, “In my neighborhood they come after you if you don’t mow the lawn, why are old, historic houses allowed to rot without the city fining someone?”

Because I was the only one who cared. Even the Historic Preservation Office didn’t care, although I warned them many times what was happening.

THEN FALCO LIBELED ME:

Headly, I do remember at the time that you threatened me and threatened the Miami Herald into doing what you wanted. The Herald called me to ask me what they should do, you apparently scared their reporter with your threats. I don’t know what they ended up doing, but I don’t respond to threats.

At the time I explained that there was nothing I could do because unlike you, I don’t threaten people. I could not afford to buy the house, not that it was for sale, and I could not persuade anyone involved to take action. Other than that, there was nothing I could do.

I shined light on the house and Charles Avenue many times, starting in 2009. I also posted links to your story in 2012, showing the deterioration. I am not sure what else I could do. I reported and wrote about their canopy destruction a few years back. I spoke with neighbors in the area who have been living there for years. They did nothing.

I am not part of the HEP or zoning boards and I am not part of any city agencies and again, I will not threaten people. I warned the city agencies, I warned the commissioner, I warned many people, as well. Maybe I didn’t report on that, but I do a lot around here that people don’t know about.

I honestly don’t know what else you would have had me do. I write the news here. I shed light on things. I notify the authorities. I just had a conversation with someone yesterday about turning that open spigot on the roof of the Playhouse. He made one call and it was done. I helped someone find housing, I helped another find a job, I stood up to a developer trying to change easements in the neighborhood, I sat through a three hour housing summit to find out the facts, etc. I do that silently and don’t report it all.

I don’t buy houses and restore them. Sorry. And I don’t threaten people to see it my way.

PS. I didn’t want to get involved with YOU years ago, not the house.

January 24, 2017 11:16 AM

SO, I DEMANDED A RETRACTION:

Tom:

This is now the 2nd time you’ve defamed me by falsely claiming I threatened you. The last time it was in an email chain with Al Crespo. At the time I asked you to withdraw the accusation and apologize. You did neither.

Now you compound your defamation by going public with it *and* claiming I threatened an unnamed Herald reporter. Where do you get your alternate facts?

Since I have never spoken to you or any Herald reporter — and all my communication has been by email — you should be able to prove your assertion that I threatened you and a Herald reporter because there would be a paper trail.

Prove it or retract it.

===========================
GOVERN YOURSELF ACCORDINGLY
===========================

FALCO TRIES TO WEASEL OUT:

She and I will not apologize for feeling threatened. That was our emotion at the time, that is why you were put on ignore and spam and I haven’t seen an email from you since.

The Herald reporter vaguely remembers it, but not clearly, she is checking her notes and also with her partner in the morning.

No more comments on this subject. Waste of time. If I get the info from her, I’ll send it to your pal Al Crespo and he can forward it on to you.

THE END.

I ATTEMPTED ANOTHER REPLY:

I’m not asking for an apology. I’m asking for a retraction.

You defamed me, but now are hiding behind new weasel words, that you were “feeling threatened”.

However, that’s not what you said. You said I threatened you and a Herald reporter.

That is libel. I am demanding a retraction or proof. What could I have possibly said that made the little snowflake feel threatened? Put up or shut up.

Falco also pretends to be a cartoonist

However, that comment wouldn’t go through and Snowflake Tommy posted this instead:

I deleted a couple of my own comments here because I decided long ago not to argue with readers or even read the comments.

Then a few minutes later even that little note disappeared. Now there are zero comments on that post and no comments whatsoever will be allowed.

Here’s the important thing: I was still libeled. Consequently:

I am still demanding a
retraction from Tom Falco.

Deleting a comment that remained on his site for hours doesn’t mitigate the libel.

Deleting the comment does not take the place of a retraction.

Deleting the comment doesn’t absolve Tom Falco from damages.

However, this episode does show (once again) that:

  1. Tom Falco is no journalist;
  2. Tom Falco has no ethics;
  3. Tom Falco is a coward.

This is not the first time I’ve blasted Tom Falco
for his supreme idiocy. You may also enjoy:

Go Home, Coconut Grove Grapevine, You’re Drunk! • A Coconut Grove Grapevine Update • If It’s News, It’s News To The Coconut Grove Grapevine  • UPDATED: Coconut Grove Grapevine, Stop the Lies!

1st Rock and Roll Hall of Famers ► Monday Musical Appreciation

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The Not Now Silly Newsroom is still waiting for the musical movers and shakers to correct a grievous oversight and FINALLY induct Harry Nilsson for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Regardless, let’s take a look back at the first field of RnRHoF inductees, announced on this date in 1986.

As everyone knows, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was built in Cleveland, Ohio — aka the mistake on the lake — because … well … err … Alan Freed! However, the decision to drop it there may have had more to do with money than because Cleveland was the location of what’s generally accepted as the first Rock and Roll concert ever: the Moondog Coronation Ball. As always, the WikiWackyWoo tells all:

Cleveland may also have been chosen as the organization’s site because the city offered the best financial package. As The Plain Dealer music critic Michael Norman noted, “It was $65 million… Cleveland wanted it here and put up the money.” Co-founder Jann Wenner later said, “One of the small sad things is we didn’t do it in New York in the first place,” but then added, “I am absolutely delighted that the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum is in Cleveland.”

The Rock Hall didn’t open until 1995, but the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Foundation started inducting Rockers and Rollers in 1986, soon after it incorporated. Mike Greenblatt at Goldmine tells us:

New York, New York. By all accounts, it was a night to remember. Despite nobody yet knowing where the museum would be constructed, and Bill Graham on hand to argue long and loud that it deserved to be built in San Francisco, the First Annual Rock ’n’ roll Hall Of Fame Induction Ceremony took place in the Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York City. More than 1,000 music bizzers and invited guests dined on smoked river trout and fruit sorbet, drank California wine and witnessed a glittering array of rock stars dressed up and getting down with the kind of all-star jam one could only dream about. (The Harlem Blues & Jazz Band performed during pre-show cocktails and hors d’oeuvres.)

[…] Then came the jam.

Paul Shaffer led the house band which featured saxophonist David Sanborn, guitarist Sid McGinnis, bassist Will Lee and drummer Steve Jordan. Their rousing ceremony-starting overture featured the signature tunes of all 10 inductees. At one point, towards the end of the night, Chuck Berry, Keith Richards and Hank Williams Jr. stood side-by-side wielding guitars while Billy Joel, Fats Domino and Jerry Lee Lewis shared two pianos for a balls-to-the-wall ragged-but-right jam on Berry’s “Roll Over Beethoven.” “Johnny Be Goode” had Berry with John Fogerty, Neil Young, Ron Wood and Richards playing guitar. Berry took over for “Little Queenie” and even sang a duet with Julian Lennon. Joel and Steve Winwood shared a piano, Winwood switching to organ in blasting out “Gimme Some Lovin’,” the song he recorded as a teenager with The Spencer Davis Group. Berry did some blues. Chubby Checker materialized to sing and dance “The Twist.” Fogerty let loose with “Proud Mary” to close the night, the first time he played the song in public in 14 years.

The first class of inductees set the mark for the years to come:

Chuck Berry

James Brown

Ray Charles

Sam Cooke

Fats Domino

The Everly Brothers

Buddy Holly

Jerry Lee Lewis

Little Richard

Elvis Presley

Here are some of the performances and acceptance speeches from that first induction ceremony:

Rock and Roll is here to stay!!!