I’m a big fan of Andrew Sullivan’s The Dish blog. In fact, I’d say I read it more than all other blogs that I follow, combined. Maybe twice as much, really.

One of the many features of the blog is a daily “View From Your Window,” in which he posts photos that readers have sent in from all over the world, showing, well, the views from their windows. Once a week, there’s a contest, in which readers are invited to guess where in the world the picture was taken. And since the blog has many, many thousands of regular readers, the contest usually comes down to who can pick out the precise window the picture was taken from, and can tell a compelling story about the site to go along with their pick.

It’s all way beyond me: generally I can’t even guess the right continent. But it’s always fun to read the responses and see how people have figured it out.

This week, though, the contest view looked familiar. That harbor … that breakwater … that architecture. Knowing that Sullivan is from Provincetown, I jumped to Google Maps’ satellite view, and within seconds I found not only the harbor/breakwater, but the exact brick/concrete pattern of the sidewalk. Bingo! The Provincetown Public Library! So I did something I’d never done before; I sent in a contest entry. I knew that most readers would also get it right, so I didn’t bother to go into much detail, and was really pretty frivolous about the whole thing. But I included the above photograph, which I shot almost on a whim when I was in P-Town two years ago this month. The statue is entitled “Tourists,” and I am definitely a tourist when it comes to Provincetown. And what the heck, it shows the library (then being rehabbed) in the background.

Today at noon, right on schedule, the contest results were announced. As you’ll see, almost 300 of 350 people who entered correctly guessed the Provincetown Public Library. No surprise there. But I was thrilled to see that they had used my picture along with the results! Very cool!

OK, not a big deal for anybody else, I know. But I enjoyed it.

You’ll also notice in the latter pictures that they have apparently finished the rehab job, and the library is looking mighty fine, as is the rest of the town in the other pictures. Ahh, Provincetown, I hope I see you again sooner rather than later…

List: Top Five Story Songs — No. 1

This week, it’s been all about Story Songs, those songs that adopt their own meanings, sometimes far from what the original artists meant. Previous editions are here and here and here and here. And finally, we come to:

1. Stay Free, by The Clash.

Way back then, in the early early 1980s, we wrote letters. Lots of letters. On actual paper, which went into real envelopes, which that spent several days in transit before they were delivered.

My friend Geoff was back in New York, and I was in St. Louis, and for a couple of years there, it was extremely rare that there wasn’t a piece of paper in my typewriter, representing a letter-in-progress. Mostly to Geoff, and later to Jean, but also to other friends.

Geoff, in particular, soon got bored with sending letters in plain white envelopes, so my mailbox got a lot more colorful, with envelopes made out of pages torn out of rock magazines and folded around the letters inside, with my address scrawled on the outside under a stamp.

Basically, the outsides of our mailings became as much an outlet for creativity as the insides. Geoff, of course, was always much more creative than I was.

So yes, letters also went to other people, one of whom was my brother Jim. In the spring and early summer of 1980, we hung out a lot together, but by July of that year he found the weather and the attitudes of St. Louis to be too stifling, and picked up and moved to Provincetown, Mass., where he had some friends and where, I think, he had lived for a time previously.  That summer, I was sorry to see him go, but I always knew it was important for him, and I knew that once he got back to Provincetown, he was happier and, frankly, where he belonged.

He was from St. Louis, but he was at home in P-town.

Sometime in the late winter/early spring of 1981, I sent him a long letter. And on the outside of the envelope, I wrote the following song lyrics:

‘Cause time has passed and things have changed,
I move any way I want to go.
And I’ll never forget the feeling I got
when I heard that you’d got home.

And I’ll never forget the smile on my face
‘Cause I knew where you would be,
And if you’re in the Crown tonight,
Have a drink on me.

But go easy,
Step lightly,
Stay free.

They’re the closing lines from the song Stay Free, from The Clash’s Give ‘Em Enough Rope album. I thought they pretty well summed up how I felt about Jim at that point. (The “Crown” reference was a bonus; the previous year when we were in town and working at our Dad’s company, we would often have lunch together at Crown Candy Kitchen, a landmark in north St. Louis.)

Anyway, I sent the letter off and didn’t think much more about it, until that summer, when I took the train to the East Coast to visit both Jim, in Provincetown, and Geoff, in New York.

It was my first visit to P-town, and I was able to spend the better part of a week there. Jim had some friends who were Clash fans, and he was actually starting to listen to Sandinista! a little bit; it was beyond his usual range, but his musical tastes were always eclectic.

These friends had taken him to see the Clash movie Rude Boy, and he told me—I can still visualize him telling me this—that when they played that song in the movie, for the first time he recognized the lyric from my envelope. He had thought that I had just written it, so when he saw the lyrics sung out before him in the movie theater, it was a revelation. I think I would have written “—Strummer Jones” at the bottom of the lyric on the envelope, but at the time he received it he probably wouldn’t have known who Joe Strummer and Mick Jones were.

I wish I could remember our conversation more clearly, but for the most part it’s lost to time. I know, however, that he appreciated the sentiment, and the fact that he remembered the lyric over the several months between my letter and his seeing Rude Boy was fantastic.

So anyway, the song has always, for me, sort of encapsulated everything I felt about Jim and Provincetown. And my favorite part is that he got it; he was right there with me on it.


My Clash-fan friends won’t believe this—and will probably berate and shun me when they read it—but I’ve never seen Rude Boy. But as I was preparing this post, thanks to the miracle of YouTube, I have finally seen the Stay Free scene. It’s a little raw, compared to the album version, but hey, it’s the Clash. And it’s great. Here:

Two Easters, Far From Home

For a few decades there, I wasn’t much of a churcher. However, on two Easter Sundays during that time, I found myself at churches that were a long way—both geographically and ideologically—from home, and they were probably my most memorable Easters ever.

Easter 1987

It was Jean’s and my first Easter together as husband and wife, and we traveled to Provincetown, Mass., to visit my brother Jim. April is decidedly off-season in Provincetown; it was cloudy, misty and cool the whole time we were there—not to mention completely deserted compared to the other times I’d visited.

This sign on the bench outside the Universalist Meeting House reads: “From all that dwell below the skies, let faith and hope and love arise. Let peace, goodwill and truth be sung, through every land, by every tongue.”

Jim attended the Universalist Meeting House in Provincetown. In a way it’s a church, but for two people raised in Christian families, it was a vastly different experience, and for me, at least, a refreshing change from every other Easter service I’d attended. It was all  very casual. I don’t remember a whole lot of details about it, except that the minister, in her sermon (they probably didn’t use the words “minister” and “sermon,” or maybe even “service,” but those terms will have to do here) talked a little about the Rev. Oral Roberts, who had recently claimed to see a 50-foot-tall Jesus. She gently mocked him for that, as part of her larger point that we don’t really need spectacular displays like that to be good people. Was that her point? In the haze of the intervening 25 years, I can’t remember for sure, but that’s pretty much what I remember taking from it. Anyway, it was a fun, celebratory service, and when I walked out I felt like I was among a hundred or so new friends.

For Jean, though, the Universalist Unitarians didn’t really fuflill all of her Easter needs. So later that afternoon we went to Mass at a Catholic church in town. (Church twice in one day! It still stands as my personal record!)  Although the Mass was in English, it seemed like most of the other people in the pews were members of Provincetown’s Portuguese community. Now, I will admit that the Catholic church has some beautiful traditions, but this mass was one of the most soporific, lifeless Masses I’ve ever attended, and even more so in contrast to the festive service the Unitarians had put on earlier that day.

These pictures of the Universalist Meeting House are not, unfortunately, from that 1987 trip. I do have one picture of Jim taken during that visit, so I know I had a camera there, but I can’t find any more from that roll. These pictures were taken when I visited P-town in September 2010.

Easter 2005

This time when Easter rolled around, we were halfway around the world in Prague, Czech Republic. “We” refers to Jean and me and Jim, but it was our son Jim, not my brother Jim. We were in Prague with Jim’s high school band, which took a week-long trip to the Czech Republic during spring break that year. The trip happened to coincide with Easter, and the band leaders organized a trip to St. Vitus Cathedral in Prague Castle for Easter Mass, for those who wanted to.

I definitely wanted to. Even though I don’t always go along with all the doctrine, I love going into old churches to check out the architecture. And this one definitely qualifies as “old.” It was built beginning in the14th century, although it wasn’t completed for 600 years.

The enormous gothic-style cathedral is part of Prague Castle, which is also the home of the seat of the Czech government. The cathedral itself is amazing; long, narrow, and incredibly tall; I don’t know how high the ceiling is, but you can get an idea from the pictures here. (The “tallness” of the place is reflected in the fact that, as I look at these pictures seven years later, I notice that almost all of them are verticals.)

We arrived in Prague on Good Friday, and the cathedral was actually one of the first places we visited. After that, we walked down the hill to Old Town, and as we were crossing the Charles Bridge, we saw a procession coming the opposite direction: it was a re-enactment of Jesus’ last day, with Jesus, Roman soldiers, and the lot. Now, everything is strange when you’re jet-lagged as you visit a foreign country for the first time, but seeing that just added one more surreal note to the day.

On Easter morning, I guess we were a little late arriving, because we ended up sitting way in the back of St. Vitus’. Prague’s bishop is a Cardinal, and he said the Easter Mass, in Czech, of course. The sound wasn’t great, and the place was cold, but the experience was well worth it.

Here’s a gallery with these pictures and a few more: clicking on any of the thumbnails below should bring up the gallery view. Happy Easter!

A Day Of Remembering

There was a surprise for me on Facebook this morning: a message from  Sinan in Provincetown, asking if I had any digital pictures of my brother Jim.

I met Sinan through Jim, before Jim died of AIDS in 1987.

Today was World AIDS Day, and Sinan wanted to post a remembrance of him in honor of the day. At work, I only had access to a couple, pictures that I had used in a previous blog post. I sent those off to him. A while later, I logged on to FB, and there was one of the pictures as Sinan’s profile picture for the day. Next to the picture was his post, which read simply, “Remembering Jim”

It was jarring, but beautiful and perfect. Before long, several of his friends who knew Jim had posted brief remembrances of him. Sinan posted the other picture, and a few more people weighed in. I’ll tell you, it felt great to see people who …Keep reading

Pictures Of 2010

Here, in chronological order, are a few of my favorite images from my camera in 2010.

You might have seen a couple of them in Shoulblog or Facebook,, but most are published here for the first time.

As always, click on the thumbnails for a larger view.

We had a snowstorm early in January, and on the 11th I took the opportunity to walk around the Arch grounds and take some snow pictures. I liked this one both because of all of the geometry, but also because those guys apparently have a lot of work to do. If you’re not familiar with these steps that go up the hill from the river, they are (I’m guessing here) maybe 50 yards wide at the base, and probably more than 100 yards wide at the top. I suppose the shovelers’ plan was just to clear a path along the edge there, but I think they should shovel the steps all the way across, don’t you?

The same day, I managed to snap this one from the sidewalk along Leonor K. Sullivan Blvd. It looks more deep-country than it actually is; look carefully, and you can see those same Arch steps in the background. Both of these pictures look like they’re black-and white, but they are definitely color — there’s just not much color on a snowy day.

In March, Daisy, our Parson Russell Terrier, tore a claw on her foot, and had to wear the cone for a day or so. She didn’t like it of course, and of course, it didn’t prove to be much of an obstacle to her efforts to chew the bandage off her foot within about 12 hours. But in the meantime, I got a picture of her ultimate canine humiliation. I haven’t written much about Daisy here, but she’ll show up in Shoulblog more in 2011.

Here are some politicians on a bridge. This was in April, when the Missouri and Illinois DOTs held a joint “groundbreaking” ceremony for construction of the new I-70 bridge across the Mississippi River. The ceremony was held on Eads Bridge, and the fake shovels-into-the-ground schtick was replaced by the dignitaries combing two piles of dirt — supposedly one from Illinois and one from Missouri — into one pile. Anyway, before that, all of the politicians had to have their say. In this shot, Sen. Kit Bond is speaking; to his right are Rep. Russ Carnahan and U.S. Secretary of Transportation Ray LaHood. To his right, among others, are Sen. Dick Durbin and Rep. Jerry Costell0. Kind of caught the entire Midwest political spectrum here.

More geometry. This is taken from the observation platform at the Malcolm W. Martin Memorial Park in East St. Louis, which I visited for the first time in April. Great views of the city and of the Gateway Geyser.

In June, my wife, Jean, our son  Jim and I went to Springfield, Mo., for an orientation for Jim at Missouri State University, where he started attending in the fall, leaving home for the first time . There’s a statue of a large bear — the MSU mascot — in the middle of campus, and even though you can’t see much of the bear in this picture, it made for a nice backdrop for a picture of Jim and Jean.

2010 saw the return of the air show to Fair St. Louis, the city’s annual July 4 festival on the Arch grounds. The nice thing for downtown workers is that the day before the fair opens, the air show pilots get a chance to practice their maneuvers over the Mississippi River. It’s a bonus for downtown workers, who get to watch without having to endure the crowds that show up for the weekend fair. (If you missed them the first time, there are a few more pictures here.)

I love what you can do when you stop down a telephoto lens and point it at a sunrise or a sunset, particularly one over water. This was at Lake Michigan from Michigan City, Ind., in August.

In late September, my work took me to Boston for a meeting of the National Waterways Conference. One of the highlights of the meeting was a full-moon cruise in Boston Harbor. I got to experiment a little, and this photograph resulted. (Looking at the two photos above, I guess you can see the kinds of things I love to photograph the most. Two very similar scenes, one of the sun and one of the moon, both reflected on large bodies of water.)

After the meeting was over, I took  a ferry out to Provincetown, Mass., for a one-night visit to the town where my brother Jim lived. I wrote about that trip here. The photograph on the left, the three towers, is a retake of one my  brother Phil took on a trip there at least 30 years ago. Several people in Provincetown told me how much the town has changed. This view, though, is pretty much the same as it was three decades ago. The picture on the right shows that moon again, and Provincetown’s Pilgrim Monument.

My son Mike played his last season of high school soccer this fall. He’s No. 10 in this picture, leaving a player from arch-rival Kirkwood on the ground behind him.

Christmas day in St. Louis. After a nice, wet snowstorm on Christmas Eve, the snow clung to every tree branch and every twig for a long time. This is the ornamental crabapple tree in our front yard. Our year in St. Louis was nearly bookended by snowstorms.

After Christmas, we drove to the Denver area to visit Jean’s brother’s family. Denver, surprisingly, had had less snow than St. Louis this winter, so we were able to take some nice hikes while there. This panorama shot shows her brother Don on a rock up the mountain from where they live in Conifer. (All of these pictures are best viewed by clicking on them to see larger versions; that especially applies to this one.)

Don and his family  live fairly close to Red Rocks, the site of some great geological formations and a fantastic amphitheater. We toured the amphitheater and the museum below it, which highlights the many bands — including the Beatles! — who have played there over the years. That rock is probably at least a hundred feet high. My son Andrew, apparently, is taller.

So there you have it. Hope you enjoyed these pictures, and will come back to see some more in 2011!

(Avoiding) The Road To Provincetown

To drive to Provincetown, you take Highway 6 out to near the end of Cape Cod, and then cut over to a beachside road for the final approach. The road takes you over a rise, and then suddenly the town appears laid out in front of you, curving off to the left. It’s a beautiful, postcard-perfect view, whether you’re arriving in the day or at night.

Before last week, I’d made that trip four times. The first three — June of 1981, August of 1985, and April of 1987 — were to see my brother Jim, who was fortunate enough to live in Provincetown. Each time we approached on that road, I was filled with excitement and anticipation. I was looking forward to seeing Jim, of course, but also the town itself has always had a kind of mystical attraction for me.

The fourth time I rode down that road into Provincetown was for Jim’s memorial service — he died of AIDS on July 9, 1987 — and as we came over that rise and saw the town, my already deep sadness about his death was suddenly multiplied. As the town grew larger before us, I remembered the elation I’d felt at that point in the previous trips, and this time it was turned upside down. It was the deepest, darkest pit of sadness I’ve ever experienced: a coal mine of grief.

The memorial service went all right. We — my brother Phil, my cousin Bruce and I– had a good visit with Jim’s many friends in Provincetown, and we got through it all somehow. I was of course sad about Jim’s death for many months afterward, but life went on: my wife Jean and I bought a house, we had children, we moved on to new and better jobs, and so forth.

Jim in Provincetown, 1981.

For me, the sadness evolved into a kind of thankfulness: I could see many things in myself that I knew were heavily influenced by Jim, the two most prominent being what I might call a detached, ironic sense of humor, and a deep connection to certain kinds of music. So whenever I came upon something that reminded me of him — which I would say happens at least daily, even now — my memories would not be accompanied by sadness, but instead by joy in that connection with him.

On the whole, I think I have “handled” his death pretty well.

On Friday — 23 years and two months after that fourth trip — I went to Provincetown again. But this time I avoided that beachside road. I took the “fast ferry,” a 90-minute boat ride from downtown Boston to MacMillan Wharf in P-town. I’d ached to get back to Cape Cod and P-town ever since 1987, but had never gotten up the cash … or the nerve. Last weekend, after an improbable business meeting in Boston (I’m involved with the inland-river barge industry; most of our meetings are in places like Paducah, Memphis, Louisville, or, if we’re lucky, New Orleans), I had the opportunity to take a couple of extra days to steal out to the Cape. I was thrilled about the trip ever since I confirmed that I’d be able to go.

But as I sat on the ferry at the dock in Boston, waiting to shove off, I was suddenly, unexpectedly, seized by nerves and intense emotion.

The fast ferry leaves Boston.

A group of three girls boarded the ferry and were sitting close to me on the upper, outside deck. From what I could hear, they were heading out to the cape for a bachelorette weekend, and they were giddy with excitement; not long after they sat down, they were breaking out a bottle of champagne and making mimosas. I was reminded of the excitement I felt on my early trips to the cape … and the weighty contrast with that last time I’d gone. Before long, I got up and found a seat in a different area of the ferry.

My plans for this trip included meeting up with Sinan, who was Jim’s partner for some of the time he lived there. I had first met him during that trip in 1985, and then, although he and Jim had mostly broken up by then, he was helping to care for Jim after Jim got sick in late 1986. Sinan and I kept in touch for a while after the memorial service, but, with time, our letters tailed off, and for maybe 20 years we hadn’t communicated. But this spring, through the magic of Facebook’s friend-finder feature, I was able to reconnect with him, and not long after that, this trip to Boston came up. We made plans to get together for dinner. Early last week I sent him a message with a final confirmation that I’d be able to come out to P-town, and he suggested a restaurant: the Mayflower, which he said was one of Jim’s favorites.

A day or so later, he posted something on his Facebook wall that sent me reeling. It was one of those silly Facebook “like” things, where someone comes up with a pithy little statement, and other people can “like” it, and it shows up on their wall too. This one, though, wasn’t silly. It said: “Death leaves a heartache no one can heal; love leaves a memory no one can steal.” True words, those, but they stung whenever I let myself think about them — were my efforts to reconnect with Sinan dredging up painful memories for him? Was this meeting going to be as hard for him as it was turning out to be for me?

Halfway through the ferry ride, the seas got rougher. By then I was sitting inside, and I actually wrote an early draft of this blog post. The writing turned out to be somewhat cathartic. My nerves had calmed down a bit as we got closer to the cape, and when I first noticed that we were alongside land, which I guess would have been the sandy, remote beaches near Race Point, the needle on my emotional meter was wavering toward Excitement, rather than Grief. As the iconic Pilgrim Monument came into view, the needle was trending a little further on the positive side, but also bouncing back into Grief every once in a while. I had to consciously push aside the sad feelings that were welling up, and replace them with positive memories. It was a battle I would end up having to wage several times during my time in P-town.

The ferry landed and I walked down MacMillan Wharf and up into town, dragging a huge suitcase overloaded with business clothes I’d no longer be wearing on this trip. I found the inn where I’d made a reservation for the night: Dexter’s, on Conwell.

By a strange and happy coincidence, Dexter’s turned out to be right across the street from where Jim lived the last few years of his life. I suspected this when I went out for a run shortly after checking in, and Sinan later confirmed it at dinner. The layout of the property he lived on has changed a bit, but I still recognized the block and the surrounding area. I had hoped to find Jim’s old place while I was there, but when I reserved at Dexter’s, it was just the result of an Internet search for low prices: I had no idea it was on the same street.

I ran out to Herring Cove, which was one of Jim’s favorite beaches. I took the shortcut over the sandy flats to the dunes that back up the beach, having to take off my shoes several times to wade through the pools and streams of water that covered parts of the path. The payoff, though, was magnificent: the beach was beautiful, with the sun just starting to come down over a turbulent surf. Being on a run, I didn’t have my camera with me (this was one of the few times on the whole trip), which was a pity because I could have gotten some great shots. There was hardly anyone on the beach — it was also very windy — which made it even nicer for me.

Sinan and I met up at 7 at the Mayflower. We had a wonderful dinner and talked for a couple of hours about Jim and about our families and lives and work. By this time, the positive emotion of happy remembrance had all but won out over the resurrected grief. Sinan, by the way, had not posted that Facebook “like” in response to my impending visit, but had simply “liked” something that a friend of his had “liked.” Not that that detracts from the truth of those words, though.

Jim in 1981. Though slightly blurry, it’s one of my favorite pictures of him.

Sinan has been in a committed relationship since before Jim died. I must have met his partner in 1987, if not 1985, but I don’t remember him. Every time I went there, I met a lot of Jim’s friends, and I was never sure who was a lover and who was a friend. That’s part of what I never fully understood or knew about Jim, the level of commitment in his relationship with his lovers. Those commitments always seemed to be more fluid than in my world, and for Jim, apparently, they were even more fluid than most in his community. That, no doubt, led to the sequence of medical events that resulted in my fourth visit to Provincetown. And of course, Jim’s insatiable appetite for partying probably played a huge role as well. I have no doubt the story would have turned out differently if he had stuck with Sinan, who was certainly a calming influence on both fronts.

But we can’t change history; we can only deal with it. After dinner, Sinan and I parted with a hug and a promise to stay in touch — it’s a lot easier, now, with Facebook — and I explored nighttime Provincetown a little more before returning to Dexter’s to do some writing and go to sleep.

Saturday morning I did some more photo-walking around town, and then was one of the first customers at Edwige when it opened for breakfast. That was another favorite place of Jim’s. I had just enough time to enjoy my Lobster Benedict before I had to check out of Dexter’s and queue up for the 10:30 ferry back to Boston.

My visit to Provincetown was as much about “place” as about “person.” Yes, I wanted to reconnect as much as I could with Jim, and clarify my memories of him. Sinan was a huge help in that regard. But I also wanted to reconnect with the town itself. If you have ever been there, perhaps you understand the almost magical attraction it has. It’s hard to explain, and to try would probably require another equally long essay. But I can say I feel it is the town where Jim finally found peace and happiness in his life, and for that fact alone, I will always love it. It was, and continues to be, probably my favorite place on earth.

There were several additional places I had hoped to visit while in Provincetown. I had wanted to go for a run in the Province Lands, the wild area of dunes and beech forests immediately behind the (over)populated area of town. Also, there is an enormous sand dune beyond the east end of P-town, from which you can see the whole town and both Cape Cod Bay on the “outside”* of the cape and Provincetown Harbor on the inside. Jim took me to that dune several times, and his ashes were scattered there in 1987.

Unfortunately, with only 18 hours between ferry rides, I couldn’t fit everything in that I wanted to. Those two items will have to wait until my next visit — which hopefully will be sooner than 23 years from now.