THE SIGNAL from David Katznelson
"I prefer an accommodating vice to an obstinate virtue."-Molière
It is crazy to think, but 101 years ago this weekend the “dry law” went into affect. Yes, we responded to the post-1917-flu reality by banning the sale of alcohol. Drinking was not banned….buying and selling alcohol was. And the ban went on for thirteen years. Thirteen years. And America responded during this time with the rise in organized crime and a huge spike in general criminal acts. The roaring twenties WAS a reality…and it was all pretty much illegal.
Interestingly enough, Prohibition was a racist act…with part of the argument against drinking being weary of the ones doing it. “The grogshop is the Negro's center of power," argued Women's Christian Temperance Union leader Frances Willard. Willards statue, side note, is still right up there in the Capitol Building.
It was Franklin D Roosevelt who spurred the new era of alcohol consumption, being elected partly on a platform of ending prohibition, using both the rise in organized crime and the need to spur the economy as his two primary reasons. Prohibition became the only amendment to the Constitution to ever be repealed, and Roosevelt was quoted saying "What America needs now is a drink."
Selling alcohol in Mississippi was still banned into the 60s (and still has dry counties today).
These might be dark times we live in, but at least we have the right to purchase alcohol…cannabis too. I just got my weekly bulletin from K&L Wines about a great scotch they just got in…and then there is my Ease e-mail about a sale on my favorite CBD tincture. I’m going to raise one this weekend in gratitude that I can…and then maybe raise another in defiance of Frances Willard and everything she and her followers stood for…and then maybe raise another to freedom. And then maybe raise another just because.
This has been a big week for San Francisco to show up in the news, first that incredible New Yorker piece about growing up in SF during the 80s…and now this Times study about the evolution the city has gone through over the past year as the “tech era draws to an end.” Is that true? Regardless, looking forward to seeing the next chapter in my city’s life as Mayor Lee’s affects of giving the city over to Silicon Valley….for nothing…come to an end. The damage has been done. What is next?
Fascinating piece from National Geographic on viruses…worth the gander for the graphics alone but beyond that a great deep dive into how they look, spread, manifest.
New York Dolls Guitarist Sylvain Sylvain Dead at 69
There was one night in 1986 when Hector Penalosa of The Zeros took the time to play for me The Stooges, The MC5 and The New York Dolls. In one evening I learned about three bands that would become pivotal to my musical appreciation forever. The Dolls had two incredible guitarists, Johnny Thunders, the sloppy American Keith Richards and Sylvain Sylvain, the rhythm guitarist who kept it together….who taught Thunders how to play as he help start the band… who helped style the Dolls and usher in both the punk and glam movements. Gone too soon.
A new take on the Alfalfa legend….new as in 2 years ago when the article came out…but new to me! What a crazy story. The guy hunted bears (shame). Who knew.
A Dolly Parton Statue Might Be Coming to Nashville, Tennessee
Caged Bird
By Maya Angelou
A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
~~~
(my daughter read the above poem in her class today and we read it together after, both just devastated by the song of the caged bird)
