#jan. 13

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Noel Coward hobnobbing with aristocratic guests in the Stork Club on January 13, 1939. Left to right are Sir Martyn Beckett (Mrs. Eden’s brother), Beatrice Eden (wife of Anthony), Coward, and Lady Hinchingbrooke.

Photo: Associated Press

[ofwrxth]

+ ISLA / CROSS CABIN / JAN. 13

"I just think that the town's crowded, is all," Elliot says, hands on his hips as he stands by the closed door of their room, watching Isla get dressed for her shift in Town Hall. "And I don't like the idea of you bein' there with all them wild wolves." As if the Crosses aren't wild themselves. But this is different. "It ain't safe." And, also, he'd already seen the way some eyes trailed Isla. "So I'll do registration today. You can just relax here. Do some more research. Take a nap. It'll be like vacation." @waterfallswords

[bobbybobertson]

Playing around with digital painting again

[wrkiba]

We reach another city...

… where the stars are again blocked out by all the humans’ lights. Hunger rumbles from Toboe’s belly and he tries to quiet it with human hands.

“Eh he he, guess I’m hungry… Oh, I know of a place we can easily get some food, if they have one here.”

What does he mean? He scents the air and leads us down the side walk. We wonder for a while going left two times and then right to the back alley of what smells like some sort of bakery.

“Here we are,” he states excitedly while jogging over to the container of trash. Then he just hops into the large bin without any hesitation. What is he doing?! A sizable see through bag hops out with Toboe coming out after it. He quickly tears open a hole and the smell of bread and meats rises up.

We eat our fill and find shelter in a small empty building. I rest against a wall still tasting our meal on my tongue. The food was.. awful.

“It’s the best we can get around here. If I see a deer loping by I’ll be sure to catch it  for you.”

Again no face or name comes to mind with the small memory, just more confusion and frustration. Who said that to me? Would Toboe know?

“Hey Kiba?...Do you remember when Tsume finally started believing in Paradise? He was so cool then.. I hope we can find the others soon.”

Catching me off guard, I look up and search for the memory in his innocent face but I can’t find it. I really wish I could remember.

“No I don’t. I’m sorry.” Brown eyes widen at my answer.

“But...Do you.. remember anything from before?” I shake my head. “Oh.”

Silence follows and an odd tension rises between us. The outside wind presses hard against the building causing it to groan. Suddenly nails scrape against concrete and paws trot over to my side. My younger companion encircles himself on the floor as if readying for sleep. He nudges my forearm with affection.

“I can help you. If you want I can tell you all about them and all that I remember.”

I view him from the corner of my eye and unsuccessfully hide the smirk on my face. “That’s not how packs work. The old take care of the young, not the other way around.” His chin rests on the floor between his paws as he childishly pouts. I rub my cold nose on the bridge of his auburn snout. “But thank you, Toboe.” He lets out a breath of contentment and I too curl up for sleep.

For the first time in so long, I feel warm as I fall asleep.

[maxdoodlesstuff]

Happy Birthday to me Jan. 13, 2017

[newyorkthegoldenage]

The Museum of the American Indian's annex, at its original home at 155th St., was a great favorite with schoolchildren in the spring and summer, though they were always welcome to come and look over the various totem poles and Indian habitations on the grounds. John Jamieson, a maintenance man, repairs one of the totem poles as pet chickens roam about, January 13, 1950. The National Museum of the American Indian now has its headquarters in Washington, D.C., although there is a branch in the Old Custom House downtown.

Photo: Robert Kradin for the AP

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Seeing in The New York Times the photograph of Helen Keller in the Observation Tower of the Empire State Building, I [Dr. John H. Finley] wrote her asking her what she really “saw” from that height. This remarkable letter written by her came in answer and was published in The New York Times Magazine. It will be agreed by all who read it that, as she said, she “beheld a brighter prospect than my friends with two good eyes.”

January 13, 1932 Dear Dr. Finley:

After many days and many tribulations which are inseparable from existence here below, I sit down to the pleasure of writing to you and answering your delightful question, “What Did You Think ‘of the Sight’ When You Were on the Top of the Empire Building?”

Frankly, I was so entranced “seeing” that I did not think about the sight. If there was a subconscious thought of it, it was in the nature of gratitude to God for having given the blind seeing minds. As I now recall the view I had from the Empire Tower, I am convinced that, until we have looked into darkness, we cannot know what a divine thing vision is.

Perhaps I beheld a brighter prospect than my companions with two good eyes. Anyway, a blind friend gave me the best description I had of the Empire Building until I saw it myself.

Do I hear you reply, “I suppose to you it is a reasonable thesis that the universe is all a dream, and that the blind only are awake?” Y—es—no doubt I shall be left at the Last Day on the other bank defending the incredible prodigies of the unseen world, and, more incredible still, the strange grass and skies the blind behold are greener grass and bluer skies than ordinary eyes see. I will concede that my guides saw a thousand things that escaped me from the top of the Empire Building, but I am not envious. For imagination creates distances and horizons that reach to the end of the world. It is as easy for the mind to think in stars as in cobble-stones. Sightless Milton dreamed visions no one else could see. Radiant with an inward light, he sent forth rays by which mankind beholds the realms of Paradise.

But what of the Empire Building? It was a thrilling experience to be whizzed in a “lift” a quarter of a mile heavenward, and to see New York spread out like a marvellous tapestry beneath us. There was the Hudson—more like the flash of a sword-blade than a noble river. The little island of Manhattan, set like a jewel in its nest of rainbow waters, stared up into my face, and the solar system circled about my head! Why, I thought, the sun and the stars are suburbs of New York, and I never knew it! I had a sort of wild desire to invest in a bit of real estate on one of the planets. All sense of depression and hard times vanished, I felt like being frivolous with the stars. But that was only for a moment. I am too static to feel quite natural in a Star View cottage on the Milky Way, which must be something of a merry-go-round even on quiet days.

I was pleasantly surprised to find the Empire Building so poetical. From everyone except my blind friend I had received an impression of sordid materialism—the piling up of one steel honeycomb upon another with no real purpose but to satisfy the American craving for the superlative in everything. A Frenchman has said, in his exalted moments the American fancies himself a demigod, nay, a god; for only gods never tire of the prodigious. The highest, the largest, the most costly is the breath of his vanity.

Well, I see in the Empire Building something else—passionate skill, arduous and fearless idealism. The tallest building is a victory of imagination. Instead of crouching close to earth like a beast, the spirit of man soars to higher regions, and from this new point of vantage he looks upon the impossible with fortified courage and dreams yet more magnificent enterprises.

What did I “see and hear” from the Empire Tower? As I stood there ’twixt earth and sky, I saw a romantic structure wrought by human brains and hands that is to the burning eye of the sun a rival luminary. I saw it stand erect and serene in the midst of storm and the tumult of elemental commotion. I heard the hammer of Thor ring when the shaft began to rise upward. I saw the unconquerable steel, the flash of testing flames, the sword-like rivets. I heard the steam drills in pandemonium. I saw countless skilled workers welding together that mighty symmetry. I looked upon the marvel of frail, yet indomitable hands that lifted the tower to its dominating height.

Let cynics and supersensitive souls say what they will about American materialism and machine civilization. Beneath the surface are poetry, mysticism and inspiration that the Empire Building somehow symbolizes. In that giant shaft I see a groping toward beauty and spiritual vision. I am one of those who see and yet believe.

I hope I have not wearied you with my “screed” about sight and seeing. The length of this letter is a sign of long, long thoughts that bring me happiness.

I am, with every good wish for the New Year,

Sincerely yours, Helen Keller

Top photo: Times Wide World Photos/Letters of Note Bottom photo: Associated Press

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Foolish Bear, 84, left, and Drags Wolf, 75, came to New York on January 13, 1938 to recover from the Heye Foundation (Museum of the American Indian) two sacred skulls of thunderbird deities that they believed would end recent droughts in their native North Dakota. The men were members of the Water Buster or Midi Badi clan of the Hidatsa (Gros Ventre) tribe. This was the first known successful repatriation of Indian objects. They visited President Roosevelt on the way to New York.

Article about this repatriation

Photo: Associated Press via WHNT