ArtBlog

Father's Day Tribute to Bill Appling

This Father’s Day is the memorial service for William Appling, a renowned choral conductor and teacher, my friend and mentor, probably the most important person in my life after my parents and my family. Bill passed away on August 29, 2008.

The moment Bill Appling got through to me was the moment I found myself pressed against a Western Reserve Academy wall, feet off the floor, his giant hand clutching my flea-market tie and button-down shirt, his scowling face inches from mine. “How dare you complain? Do you have any idea how lucky you are? To have a mother who cares? To be here? You are spoiled and you don’t even know it!” Bill set me down and assumed a disgusted face, but I knew that he knew that he had my number and was pleased about it. And he knew that deep inside I was pleased, too. That was 1977.

Certain bonds require no words. Bill arranged for Richard Rogers, then the Assistant Concertmaster of the Cleveland Orchestra, to be my violin teacher. After two years as his student, Richard said that it was time to make a choice: to take violin seriously, or to settle for being an accomplished amateur. I asked what it would take to be serious.  Richard said two to four hours a day of practicing, to the sacrifice of all other extracurricular activities.  I looked at Bill, whose eyes were cloaked, his face impassive, turned to Richard and said “I can’t do this; I’m sorry”, looked back to Bill and felt an eddy of sadness wash between us.  Then it dried up, but for long days I was on one side and Bill on the other.

Music or not, Bill decided I “got it” and made sure no impediment stood in my way: keys to the darkroom so I could make prints after curfew, in the wee hours of the night, a camera, recording equipment, graphic design materials. In return, I was pressed into service in surprising ways that reflected his confidence and also lack of other resources: photographer, chamber music coach, sound engineer, and poster designer, the last of which became a thread that wove our relationship for 30 years.

Bill raged against conventional wisdom. “Why?” he would ask, the pitch rising at the end, with a deeply furrowed brow. Then he would turn to me and instantly have his face inches from mine.  “Why so seeeeerious? Smile, Art, smile!” he would say with the frown still on his face but a voice light with laughter.

But nothing outraged Bill as much as false marketing.  “They say it’s a Top School?” he would sputter. “What does that mean?  Anything?  Hogwash! This is Excellence.” And he would pull out a Great LP, put it on the turntable, and we would sit in silence, just listening.  Once, he conducted a master class seated at a piano, speaking as he played, starting from Bach, combining it with African music, morphing into slave spirituals, then into jazz and rock, disparate ideas pulled into a seamless continuum.

Over the past two decades, I would get phone calls from Bill without ceremony.  “What are you doing? I have something for you to think about…” I would have a rush of joy at being asked. 

Often having a father means that one still needs a father.  Shortly before my father died, he said I could ask for one thing. “I want you to tell me that you love me,” I said. We never spoke again and to this day, I don’t know. With Bill, there was never a question. I loved him in a way I never before felt love, and felt loved in a way I never before felt. If a father is a role model, a cheerleader, a confidante, and an impetus for achieving one’s potential, then Bill was that man.

Happy Father’s Day.

Government 2.0: The Rise of the Goverati - ReadWriteWeb

Government 2.0: The Rise of the Goverati - ReadWriteWeb.  This focus on technology as a tool for better citizen access to government is certainly an important and exciting element of change.  But the essential ways in which government operates cannot be changed in long-lasting, fundamental ways without changing the IT infrastructure used in government operations. 

Household manager/childcare person needed!

Our babysitter got a great job pursuing his passion for green buildings.  So we need a high energy, bubbly, caring, responsible, organized person who wants a decent paycheck with flexible hours, lots of time off, benefits. independence and potential for growth!  If you are interested or can recommend someone else, please email me!

Below is a detailed description of what we're looking for. Would be perfect for someone with a late-night social life, a writer, an artist, or just someone looking to make a career transition with people who can help get her there. 

We are essentially looking for a right-hand person at the intersection of our personal and professional lives. Allison is one of the top people in her profession and generally works 14 hour days from her office in midtown. She misses the family dearly and tries to make up for it on weekends. I run a business downtown that helps start internet companies and and juggle all the other stuff at home.

We are most successful with people who see this not just as a babysitting job, but as an opportunity to jumpstart a career or pursue an aspiration. One of our babysitters has gone into computer project management. Another as a retail store manager.  One still works for me, but as my office manager, using admin skills she developed while helping to manage our household.

Because of this, the opportunities are flexible based on the person's interest and aspirations. Obviously, our basic need is babysitting, but that's generally a part-time activity. We have a couple of renovations we're planning. We are very active in non-profits. We and our kids are very social with the good fortune to have  a great and large network of down-to-earth friends.  There's a lot of work managing these activities.

The kids are both incredibly funny, silly, affectionate, and physical. They are into Transformers, spy stuff, science art, swimming and climbing. Their personalities couldn't be more different. Ben (8) is extremely sensitive and emotionally precocious. He struggles mightily with reading and worries that his friends laugh at his difficulties. Elliott (5) is tough, intellectually and artistically precocious and has a magnetic personality that means he doesn't have to work to make friends and too often gets anything he wants.

The minimum schedule is based on the kids. The rest is flexible.  Here are some data points on the kids schedule:

* M-Th: 3 - 8pm
* Occasional late-nights when we have events (about 2-4x per month)
* Occasional Saturday nights (1x per month)
* School holidays and breaks: 8-6pm

Compensation is based on a full-time salary of $42K per year, plus bonus. Benefits kick in after 3 months, including health insurance, major holidays, 3-4 weeks of vacation, subway reimbursement, plus cellphone or Blackberry. We also travel as a family a fair amount - when we're gone those days are also paid days off.

If you have or are pursuing a college degree, have a driver's license, have experience tutoring or as a camp counselor, can swim, and know how to play, we're interested in hearing from you. 

Today I Became A Patriot

My mounting outrage over the endorsement of torture by the U.S. Justice Department finally broke tonight when I read the Secret U.S. Endorsement of Severe Interrogations.  After two decades of letting my ambivalent feelings about the country that I've chosen to make my home paralyze my thinking about what it means to be an American, the New York Times reportage has made me realize that I am indeed an American and proud to be one,  that the criminal acts of the men in our government in no way reflect what I stand for and what I believe my fellow Americans stand for.  On the statue of Liberty in my beloved New York City, it is inscribed "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.  Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"  Not the windowless, mattressless stainless steel coffin in which our government incarcerated fellow American Jose Padilla, nor the replica Soviet police interrogation techniques that our "Justice" Department endorsed.  Our country is better than than.  It is time to take our government back from the criminals who purport to issue policies with the word "justice" across them.   

Ode to a Heated Pool

It's July 4th in New York, on Shelter Island specifically.  The rain beats against the windows.  It's 66 degrees outside.  But I'm happy.

A few years ago, we took a large chunk of our money and for the last week of August rented a huge, beautiful house in Southampton on a couple acres south of the highway.  It was our only vacation.  And it rained the entire time - in fact, the only week it rained that summer.  The temperature probably never broke 72.  My wife was unhappy.  Since I believe that a happy spouse is the key to a happy marriage (subject undoubtedly of a future post), I was unhappy. 

About 5 days into our stay, my brother discovered the pool heater and discovered how to turn it on.  To 90 degrees.  The remaining two days, we luxuriated in the bliss of a 90 degree pool and laughed at the rain and grey skies.  Allison was happy and so was I.

So when we rented this house, we discovered that the pool was unheated.  I talked to the broker, who talked to the owner.  We agreed to split the $5,000 cost of the pool heater, which is installed and working.

So far, we haven't needed it.  But, today, I set the thermostat to 90 degrees and swam in the rain.

I'm happy. 

P.S. We did buy a solar cover for the pool  - essentially heavy-duty bubble wrap - that reduces evaporation, keeps solids (i.e. seagull droppings) out of the pool, and retains heat.  Highly recommend it.  Without heating, the pool temperature has risen to about 88 degrees on its own. 

Lucky to Have Had A "Velvet Hammer"

In the Fall of 1980, it would not have been farfetched to imagine that I am dressed in a blue oxford button-down shirt with the top button unbuttoned, green rep tie loosened a studied two inches, tan corduroy jacket, narrow cords, sockless microbe-rich top-siders, longish hair, seated at a black-topped laboratory table listening to Christine Breuker outline the terrifying curriculum of the upcoming year of AP Bio.  I probably smirked behind my hair, thinking that this was going to be easy.  I probably thought to myself, "I'm destined to go to Harvard Medical School.  I've been studying medical textbooks since I was a kid. I'm going to blow this course away."  Little did I know that of the three statements, only the second proved to be fact.

Ms. Breuker was - and is - a study in contrasts: soft voice, mild demeanor, even-keeled, but with a steely gaze that echoes the precise line of the bridge of her perfect nose, large perfectly perfect teeth, and perfectly sharp jawline.   She didn't have to raise her voice, able to finely tune a spare choice of words that would have made Hemingway proud to effect a bludgeonly full body impact or a surgical, nearly painless slice to instantly rightsize one's inflated ego.

My school graded on a one to seven scale, seven being the highest.  I specialized in fives.  AP Bio was no exception.

I seem to remember that after the midterms, Mrs. Breuker asked to see me.  "Art," she said, "I don't understand what's going on.  I'm disappointed in your performance.  You have such potential and are wasting it on this class."  I probably smirked.  "You may think you are a hot-shot in this school, but to the world who only sees your grades, you are second-rate at best.  You are better than that."

It took months for it to sink in, but with less than a month to go before the AP exam, I met Fear.  I meticulously re-outlined the entire course materials for the year, filling two spiral notebooks with single-spaced outlines and diagrams that represented the entire year's curriculum.  On the morning of the exam, having stayed up most nights for several days, I declared myself finished and played tennis with the future Dr. Dan Katz. 

The exam was not memorable.  The sleep afterwards was.

Weeks later, when I received a five out of a possible five, I felt on top of the world   I'm sure I gloated, smirked, and engaged in all the peacock behavior an 18-year-old guy could possibly muster. 
With the AP score representing 90% of my year's grade, I received a seven. 

Shortly before graduation, I ran into Mrs. Breuker on campus.  "Art," she said.  "You are really a disappointment.  Just think what possibilities lie in that mind of yours if only you apply yourself." 

For years I think I resented that ego-shrinking comment.  It probably helped provide the fuel I needed through semesters at Yale when I was working full-time to survive and on the verge of failing academically. 

I don't know if I have ever lived up to Mrs. Breuker's confidence in my ability to apply myself.  But it has given me a deep respect and admiration for those who do apply themselves.  I think of her every time I say to a young employee, "Just think of what is possible if only you apply yourself!"   And I hear those words in my mind almost every day.

Thank you Mrs. Breuker for helping to instill in me the meaning of excellence.  I'm lucky to have had my own Velvet Hammer.

Christine Breuker has taught for over three decades at my alma mater, Western Reserve Academy in Hudson, Ohio.  I wrote this in honor of her retirement.

Vegetable oil removes adhesives, oil paints...

Perhaps the earliest time I was impressed by my mother was when I asked her,
"What soap I should use to wash silk? I ran out of Woolite."  She began a series of rhetorical questions: how delicate is silk?  What part of the human body gets washed that is closest to silk?  What do you use to wash it?

The answers: quite delicate, hair, and shampoo.   The solution worked, but more importantly, the process opened up the possibilities of using real life analogues to solve seemingly unrelated problems.

A few years ago, I discovered one that seems to work.  I had to clean a brush that I used to apply an oil-based paint.  For environmental, health and a host of other reasons, I have become loathe to use acetone or other solvents to clean the brush.  So I asked myself, "How would my mother solve this problem? What is oil-based paint based on?  Is there an product that could mix well with oil-based paint but would be affected by ordinary soap? 

The answer, vegetable-based oils.  Corn oil, olive oil, safflower oil, organic or not, it will mix with oil paint, then enable that vegetable oil-thinned oil-based paint to be washed off using dish soap and warm water.  Amazingly, it also works with adhesives applied like labels on glasses, ceramics, plastics and any other hard, dense substrate, or motor oil on hands, etc. etc.

The basic technique:

1.  Pour a little oil (a couple teaspoons to start) on the offending item and rub until a "thinning" effect is felt/observed.

2.  Apply full-strength liquid dish soap to the area and rub. 

3.  Rinse with warm water.

4.  Repeat if necessary.

Try it.  Let me know how it works.

Youngsters’ Defiance Is a Lesson in Acceptance - New York Times

Link: Youngsters’ Defiance Is a Lesson in Acceptance - New York Times.

Almost 20 years ago, my younger brother in his role as editor-in-chief of the Reserve Record, the school newspaper of Western Reserve Academy, dared to publish an issue that expressed the fears of the students towards its new headmaster.  The issue was confiscated and never released. That headmaster, Skip Flanagan, has just announced his retirement. 

One phrase uttered by Asmahan Mansour, the 11-year-old player, struck home: "I was very proud of my teammates for having my back." 

That's what friends do.  They watch for the unanticipated  They amass their indignation against the tyranny of the powerful against the small.

In my experience, it's a privilege to have this.  Asmahan is so lucky to be surrounded by people who watched her back.  I wish that I had this, and that I had the courage to be one of the watchers.

Poor Behavior Is Not Linked to Time in Day Care - New York Times

Link: Poor Behavior Is Linked to Time in Day Care - New York Times.

The headline should be: "Great Behavior Is Linked to Time in Quality Day Care".   

Poor behavior in day care graduates is only ascribed to those children in substandard day care.  I am frankly becoming quite unnerved by the volume of messaging attacking daycare as a general concept.  Given the necessity of dual-working parents across most income demographics, it's not a useful construct.

My two children are successful graduates of daycare.  I think daycare has provided additional stimuli and social benefits that we could not have provided under any other scenario. 

Experts are just part of the solution

Perhaps because my mother continually received calls from teachers dismayed at my "underperformance" in school, it was not a surprise to learn that my older son was being assigned a reading specialist, since he was having trouble keeping up with the other children in his first grade class.

I was willing to carve out 90 minute slots for people I didn't know.  Why wasn't I willing to carve out slots for my children, especially when they needed me?

So Ben started coming to my office Mondays and Wednesdays after school to work on homework.  It quickly became apparent that reading was a big issue.  He didn't want to do it.  It made him feel stupid.  He felt the other kids were making fun of him.  It was hard.  He was forced to read "baby books", where he still failed. 

The last statement made me see red. But in fact his reading was awful.

One day, I held up a book in front of me so I was peering over the top.  Something told me to watch his eyes as he read.  Instead of making linear left-to-right movements to follow text, his eyes appeared to jump all over.  As I watched, the apparently random pattern began to resolve into the pattern of the illustrations. 

So I retyped the text of the book into a Word document, one sentence per page, 36 point type.

I put it in front of him.  He read, with great difficulty.  My heart sank.  But as he was dressing to go home, he said, "Dad, reading was a lot easier without the pictures.  Can we do it again?" 

Over the past few months, we've read, covering the pictures with white paper. 

And why not?  This is a boy whose visual intelligence is truly precocious.  Little kids' books are richly illustrated.  What's more interesting - the images or the text?  Clearly, for Ben, it's the images.  I can't blame him.  Covering the pictures is the only way to make the text interesting.

A technique for teaching reading is to have kids focus on the pictures for clues to the words meanings.  But for kids like Ben, the pictures are more interesting and complex in context than the words. 

Everyone missed this. 

Experts are taught to be experts in a technique or a set of techniques.  It's impossible to become deep in multiple areas, which means that experts are self-limiting in their breadth.  They're the 80 in 80-20 solutions.  For us 20s, it is imperative that we use our own wits to arrive at practical solutions. 

So I don't blame them, but it makes me worried about the kids who don't have parents who can take work hours to focus on their issues, or who don't have access to resources who can help figure out the unique needs of each child.  It's left me with an overwhelming sense of how truly lucky I and Ben are and a question about how to help the kids who don't have his advantages.