The Shipwreck We Missed in History Class

The first time I heard Stuff You Missed In History Class, I knew I’d found some some kindred spirits in Holly Frey and Tracy Wilson. Each episode is like you drove a Subaru hundreds of miles through the Appalachians, to arrive at a college town just in time for a dinner party where everyone’s educated, and you sit between two engaging women with subtly different Southern accents, who tell you all about a topic in thirty minutes. All that, except you didn’t have to leave your Subaru.

The conversations – and there are hundreds of them – could be about Victoria Woodhull; about Copernicus; a concise history of air conditioning; the Lumiere Brothers (two episodes); Martin Luther’s wife; the woman who led the repeal of Prohibition; the Sepoy Rebellion; or anything else.

Princess_Sophia_(steamship)_on_Vanderbilt_Reef_10-24-1918

I mention them today because they recently told the harrowing story of the sinking of the S.S. Princess Sophia, which left Skagway, Alaska on October 23, 1918, around 10 pm, three hours later than it should have, going a lot faster than it should have, and you can either guess the rest or listen to them tell it.

Theirs is the only podcast I’ve ever truly binged on, more than once in fact, and what’s remarkable about it is how spare the story-tellers are at injecting any kind of first person. Sure, they’ll say “I think” here or there, or leave you with some impression about them while having an ironic chuckle, usually at the expense of some ill-informed or overly confident participant in their stories, but they graciously keep that to a minimum.

I guess I do know that one of them is a mother and the other an animal lover, and any mention of cruelty to animals or kids gets a “You know this pushes my buttons” comment. Otherwise they leave out any of the personal-voyage-of-discovery anecdotes that tend to flatten every story in the National Public Radio orbit. It’s like, you can’t hear about a murder-mystery without the narrator mentioning the nature of the epiphany she had while on her way from the coffee shop to the crime scene.

Others have written about them with more access than I have. They have lots of stories about women, a sympathetic appreciation for religious subjects, and a sense of wonder about entrepreneurs.

Stuff You Missed History Class has that rare balance, both a sense of humor and a reverence for its subjects. In those hundreds of hours you rarely hear any theoretical rhapsodizing, though Holly Frey has a knack for stepping back and reminding you of the context of the story. In the case of the S.S. Princess Sophia, she muses, the end of World War I and the world flu pandemic kept us from committing this utter disaster to public memory.

What a vision, by the way, to think of a ship full of the bodies of the dead pulled from the water, arriving at a Canadian port on November 11, while people are celebrating the just-announced Armistice that ended the war.

I, for one, would have been tempted to stop the story and say “Think about that! Now that’s irony.” The Stuff You Missed History Class ladies, however, almost always stick to the third person and keep answering the question every story-teller should: Then what happened?

Carefree Highway

Last year around New Years, my wife and I heard Gordon Lightfoot’s “Song For a Winter’s Night” and asked each other, on a lark, “I wonder of he’s still touring.” Within minutes we discovered he’d be playing in April in Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania, on our wedding anniversary, and couldn’t resist.

frame-09-05-2016-08-30-53

Gord in Stroudsburg, PA in April. He’s had the same bass player, Rick Haynes, for 48 years.

On our way we wondered if he’d pay any tribute to Prince, who’d died a few days before – dedicate a song to him perhaps. (Springsteen played “Purple Rain” that same weekend.)

For the record, he did speak fondly of Prince, describing him as a “genius,” but didn’t play any song for him. Nor did he play the “Canadian Railroad Trilogy,” which disappointed me a bit. Months later I heard the WNYC interview with him and realized that this century he’s suffered both an aortic aneurysm (six weeks in a coma) and a minor stroke, and that he rehearses more than he ever did, because he has to! So you have to forgive him for skipping his hardest songs.

Today is my birthday, and I have too much to do to fall into a YouTube hole, but I’ve been known to spend hours watching singers. I even love seeing them try to lip sync to their own records during TV appearances. “Where are those strings coming from?” you wonder, “and was anyone really fooled by this?”

I also adore homespun attempts to sync up studio versions of songs with live footage, like the one below. I picture a guy with a Mac or at a cable access studio poring over the exact outpoint when the singer is obviously going “off script.”

I don’t know how you experience birthdays and anniversaries, but they’re starting to make me feel old. Like the pain in my feet and the extra second it takes to remember a coworker’s name is who I am. This year Gord was there, all 150 pounds of what used to be an imposing Northwoods frame, with a sweet smile and lovely manner, to say, “Don’t worry, you’re going to be cool old people.” He turned 78 a few weeks ago.

He started his set by playing about a half dozen of his recent songs – a classy maneuver – then played his 70s hits, starting with “Carefree Highway.”

O Canada!

May 7, 2016. How did I get a Bachelor of Arts from an accredited university, and spend years calling myself a writer, and today is the first time I’ve ever read Whitman’s Song of the Broad-Axe?

I turned to it, because of some photos I saw of the fires in Alberta.

tar-sands-ft-mcmurray-fire-clouds.jpg

“Muscle and pluck forever!
What invigorates life, invigorates death,
And the dead advance as much as the living advance,
And the future is no more uncertain than the present,
And the roughness of the earth and of man encloses as much as the delicatesse of the earth and of man,
And nothing endures but personal qualities.
What do you think endures?
Do you think the great city endures?
Or a teeming manufacturing state? or a prepared constitution? or the best-built steamships?
Or hotels of granite and iron? or any chef-d’oeuvres of engineering, forts, armaments?

“Away! These are not to be cherish’d for themselves;
They fill their hour, the dancers dance, the musicians play for them;
The show passes, all does well enough of course,
All does very well till one flash of defiance.”

Soon, friends, I’ll finish a long post about Gordon Lightfoot, the builder of the Erie Canal, and environmentalism. (I know you DeWitt Clinton fans are on the edge of your seats.) I get up to write it today, and what do I see in the news? A whole Canadian region whose economy is extracting oil from tar, going up in flames. It takes a Whitman to stay positive in times like these, and I don’t mean a box of chocolates.

Fort mac.jpg

ruins.jpg