Part IV—Striving for Excellence

Normal working hours at Arthur Murray’s were 1-10 PM. Some students could only make it earlier so occasionally lessons were taught at 11 and noon. At one o’clock we would have a combination staff and training session for an hour and a half. During this time and all other down times, new instructors were expected to practice and learn. There were 20 steps in each of the six dances before reaching what was called Silver Dancing. All instructors had to reach this level. I was given some students that were already working on the beginning of their silver, so I was especially under pressure to get to that level ASAP. But as I recall, learning new steps got easier and easier and I had no problem. Soon I was working on my Gold Medal dancing which consisted of new dances besides more advanced steps in the other dances. There was Quick Step, English Waltz, Pasa Double, Peabody, and gold medal Mambo and Tango. I made good inroads into all of them.

There were also two kinds of Swing, Eastern and Western and both had single, double, and triple rhythm.

The other dance instructors were a close knit family and most of the time we got along fine. I recall a couple of spats that had to do with romantic concerns. We had two married couples having met each other at work. We didn’t have much life outside the studio and when we got off work, the men would spend an hour at the bar around the corner, drinking 10 cent glasses of Storz beer and playing bumper pool.

On Friday nights there was always an open house party for the students and all instructors danced with students and students danced with other students. The parties lasted until 11. So afterwards, what did all the instructors do but go dancing at a place a block away that had a dance floor and live music. We usually also did the same on Saturday night.

It was there I that I saw really great dancing by instructors that were experienced. Seeing them inspired me more than anything and I wanted to be able to dance like them. One of the great swing dancers of all time in my book was our dance director, Morris Stevie. He did things I had never seen before when we danced triple time Western Swing. So smooth, so effortless, so amazing was he. He was about 39 years old, ancient for a dancer then. He was always soft spoken and patient when he taught. He took a shine to me and taught me every single step in western swing that he knew.

Occasionally the owner Marc Stevens, would think up promotions to bring in additional money. For instance, a student could have dinner with their favorite instructor, and afterwards dance with him or her to a live combo at one of the better hotels in town. The instructors got paid for the hours put in and also got a free meal.

Then once a year all students were invited to a special exhibition of dancing put on by the staff followed by open dancing. A large dance hall and full orchestra were provided. The year I told part, we did English Waltz. All the instructor couples performed synchronized dancing for the exhibition which took many hours of practice. I believe the men wore tuxes and the women were dressed in one color. I am not to sure about this, but the exhibition was done without any problems and I look back on it as something spectacular and elegant.

I ate all this up. I gained confidence in teaching in front of a group. I gained confidence in myself and enjoyed the positive effect I had on my students. I took pride in seeing them advance and the enjoyment they received. It was a win-win.

I sometimes would go to dance bars and watch women dance before picking out someone I thought could keep up with me. Sometimes the women would be reluctant to accept my offer to dance. I was after all, just 21 and looked a little geeky with my buzz cut and dark rimmed glasses. But if one woman danced with me, then all the other women who liked to dance wanted to dance with me. I never once hit on any of the women. I was there only to dance with someone outside the studio and learn how to adapt to what abilities they had. I would try to lead them into something new for them and discovered enough success to keep trying.

I became a really good dancer in the space of 9 months and even though I don’t remember how to do the Peabody today, I still can cut an excellent rug.

Part III—One Magic Step for a Man

Unfortunately, my effort to reinvent myself to become more social and active campus life took its toll on my grade point. You might say I was too successful, but another way to look at it was that I didn’t have a good concept of moderation.

I got involved with Liz, a girl in the dance club during rehearsals for the Bolero number. She was a very good dancer and dancing and necking formed the basis of our relationship. She lived in Ames and had access to her mother’s car and would stop by and pick me up when I should have been studying. At the end of the first quarter of my Junior year, the university politely told me I was suspended and could not enroll for the winter quarter. There was nothing left to do, but to come home.

I managed to get a job at Union Pacific headquarters in Omaha with the title of clerk-filer. I worked in the accounting department probably based on the test they gave me requiring me to add a long list of numbers. I can not describe how much I hated working there. I don’t even want to describe the despair and boredom I felt. I was 21 years old and faced what to do with the rest of my life but I knew that doing menial tasks all day long and trying to look like I was busy, that was the worst part, was not for me.

I began to scour the ads in the Omaha World Herald, and I saw something I had not even thought about. “Wanted-Arthur Murray dance instructors.”
Soon I was taking Arthur Murray instructor training classes every night after work. They went from 7 to10. I was January. After class I would take a street car to Council Bluffs, hoping I would be able to catch the last bus for the night to my neighborhood. Many a time I missed it and had to walk 2 miles to reach my home. After 5-6 weeks of this, I had saved enough money to make a down payment on a 1950 straight shift Mercury dark green sedan with radio. It was my first car.

As I recall, there were 3 others in my training class when I arrived. The all had been there a week or two before I arrived. For the first two weeks, our dance trainer-instructor would be with us for the first hour and then leave us to practice on our own, dropping in occasionally to see how we were doing then a review for the last half hour. For my first two weeks, I did not learn a dance step. We practiced constantly how to move forward and back, called walking steps.

The basic steps in Fox Trot or Waltz require a big forward movement straight ahead for the man’s part, always beginning on the left foot. Leading with the toe, the left leg is extended until the toe is about to hit the floor, then the ball of the right foot pushes enough that the left foot slides about 3-4 inches when it hits the floor. At the end of the step forward, the upper body should be directly above the foot. Dance shoes always should have a rubber heel and leather sole, the leather being important because it allows the slide. And the best dance floor is always wood and is not sticky.

So we would practice walking steps constantly during the first 2 weeks. Arms extended in dance position and without partners, we would move counter-clockwise around the dance floor, the way dancers are suppose to go, moving to fox trot music. Good dancers always have precise footwork and correct dance posture.

After two weeks of basic training, we started to learn dance steps and how to teach them. To complete the training class we had to learn 10 steps in six dances, Fox Trot, Waltz, Swing, Rumba, Samba, and Tango and we had to be able to teach both men and women’s parts.

Then something happen that thrust me into becoming a full time dance instructor before I had completed everything. Two of the men dance instructors decided to join the Coast Guard at the same time. The studio was suddenly in need of male teachers and the dance director pulled me aside and told me I was needed and she was confident I could do the job.
I quit my job at Union Pacific and started full time at Arthur Murray’s.

I Can Dance--Part II--Modern Dance

My freshman year at Iowa State was all study and no play. I was an engineering student with three hour lab classes in Chemistry, Engineering Drawing required 9 hours each of class time in addition to classes in English, Math, and mandatory ROTC. I joined the cross country track team hoping to excel enough to win an athletic scholarship. This meant running after a day of classes for at least an hour. We ran on the college golf course, not my favorite place. I was used to running on a track where I knew exactly when my next foot would hit the turf and I could establish a good rhythm. Cross country running was clearly not for me. There were small holes, down hill running, and a swaying bridge to vex me. But I stuck with in and ran indoors during the winter, on a minuscule dirt track where the straight-aways were only 25 yards. I liked that even less. In the spring, the team ran outdoors on a normal track at the football stadium. I did much better there. I never did get a scholarship though. Being the second best freshman half-miler was not going to get it done. I would come back to my room at the fraternity exhausted after track and classes all day just in time for dinner. After dinner, the pledges were given 30 minutes before being ordered up to our rooms to study.

At the end of the year, I went home for the summer where I worked at night on the ice docks and during the day reading gas meters. I had a lot of time to think and I had reached an age where I was able to reflect on my life. I decided I was lonely, socially inept and needing to change my college experience. I made a real effort to be more aggressive at our fraternity dance mixers at the start of my sophomore year and had some success. I could get a date if I called early in the week for the coming weekend. This was my first attempt to re-invent myself. Soon another life changing opportunity came my way.

My fraternity brother, Norm, and I sat together at the dinner table one night and he told me that he joined the Modern Class Club. I had no idea what he was talking about, but he patiently explained what it was all about. But the only thing I really remember was that he said there were beautiful girls in the club and lots of them. Turn out Norm did not lie as I found out the first evening I went with him. Almost all the girls were trim, nice figures what were well displayed in leotards and tights. I soon learned they were good athletes, limber, flexible, strong, and possessing some of nicest bottoms, my eyes had ever witnessed. One of the upper class men became first runner up in the Miss America contest the next year and I thought she was only the second best looking female in the club.

I dropped out of track and devoted my athletics to dancing from then on.

Although I perhaps joined this group for less that noble reasons, I soon found out how much I enjoyed the movement of my body. I had great rhythm and I was a quick, eager learner. Soon the presence of women became secondary although surely not abandoned. We discussed and practiced fundamentals. We were given exercises of movement and exercises to create something. We became choreographers as well as dancers.
Betty Toman was the woman in charge. She was born in Oak Park, Illinois. At the age of 3 she started to dance and a year later, she began dancing professionally; highlights included an appearance at the 1932 World's Fair in Chicago, when she was 8 years old.

Professor Toman graduated from Morton High School in Cicero, Illinois. She received a B. A. (1948) in Physical Education (Dance) from the University of Wisconsin, where she studied under Margaret H'Doubler, credited as the creator of dance education. She received her M. S. in 1957, a year after I joined the Modern Dance club.

Betty had a short, slightly thick body and would not be considered good looking. She was also one of the nicest persons I have ever met. Her dancing was so powerful and intense it could only be described as awesome. She nurtured me and inspired me. She saw potential in me and I tried hard to meet it.

Every spring, Iowa State produced an outdoor Broadway musical type review show on the football field as part of their annual open house. In the spring of my sophomore year, I was part of three couples dancing an interpretation of Ravel’s Bolero. Our movements followed the music, slow and sensual to start and reaching a dramatic and powerful ending, climaxed with the men lifting our partners to our shoulders and the women raising their arms to the sky.

For the rest of my college days, one of my electives was a woman’s P.E. class in modern dance, assuring my grade point would be raised. The head of my engineering department would look at my schedule and would harrumph when he saw women’s P.E. on my curricula but that never stopped me.

Each winter, the club put on a dance show and all the performances were choreographed by the club members with help from Betty doing a kind of Tim Gunn critique of our work, without the “make it work” comment. My senior year I started the show with a solo performance done without music, one of my best. I was able to carve out a little niche of little known fame for myself. I was proud of what I accomplished and having Betty’s approval was all I ever wanted. She approved and I learned to approve of myself.

Betty went on to have distinguished career at Iowa State. She has an auditorium named in her honor.

I Can Danced-Part I-A Rough Beginning

remember when I was in 9th grade and I was having foot problems due to the high arches I inherited from my mother. We went to a foot doctor and he recommended I wear size 13AAA shoes. They were way too big for my feet and I felt like I was wearing clown shoes. I thought surely everyone would notice them and wrinkle up their nose at me. Believe me this is the last thing I wanted to have to deal with then. I wanted girls to like me and I had enough to worry about. I had braces on my teeth and acne on my face and yet to learn that projected confidence would make me desirable more than mere physical appearance. Of course, it didn’t help that girls then seemed to prefer rosy cheeked lads with perfect teeth.

So I was at this place in town where teens gathered one day after school. It had a juke box and a dance floor and someone was there to teach us how to dance. A girl I liked a lot came up to me and asked me to be her partner. But I was too embarrassed about my clown shoes and I replied, trying to be cool, “nah, I don’t want to”. She even coaxed me to try, so I paused a second and then said, “Nah, I don’t want to”.

So I watched, wanting so much to be out there with normal sized shoes having fun and being close to her. I walked home in a funk. God, I felt miserable and if boys were allowed to cry then, I have no doubt I could have “cried me a river”.

As I was still have some foot pain, we went to another foot doctor and he said to discard the clown shoes and put me into shoes my normal 10 ½ D size with arch supports. I was one of the turning points of my young life. Seriously! Having my braces removed came in a close second.

Later in high school, there would be sock hops in the gymnasium after football and basketball games. Ironically, shoes were not allowed on the gym floor so everyone danced in their socks. But I would not call what we did as dancing. It was more hold someone close and rock back and forth. This is what people do when they don’t really have a clue about how to dance. Rock and Roll was still a couple years away and the fast dances usually were some lively Glenn Miller tunes and not much was known about the art of the Jitterbug. The boys twirled the girls, and that was about all. The Bunny Hop was way more popular. Almost everyone could catch on and hold on to some hips. I remember Bunny Hoping during our Junior and Senior Proms where the entire class would form a snake line and hop around the room into the hotel hall and back.

But during times when we were done hopping, I would watch anyone that was a better dancer. Due to the lack of sufficient boys that could or even wanted to dance, girls would dance with each other. So I would ask the girl who was leading to dance with me and she would lead herself and would just hang on. Slowly I learned and got I got better and better.

Bali August 2009

Our side trip to Yogyakarta and Borobudur was a visual experience that we won’t soon forget. We are driven to the Yogyakarta airport taking back roads that avoid the center of town and see all kinds of farming with the exception of pigs and cows, if that falls within the category of farming. There are lots of chickens running around, but we don’t see anything that remotely resembles a chicken factory. It is not surprising that there are no pigs because Java is mostly Muslim besides, pigs need grain putting them in competition with humans and making them ecologically undesirable especially in the desert of the mid-east where their taboo started. Bali is Hindu and they eat pork but we are not there yet.

It is Saturday and the airport is teeming with people traveling to various part of this huge east-west country. We board our Garuda flight direct to Bali and not surprisingly find a full plane. All Garuda airplanes have 6 seats a row, with no extra leg round for anyone six feet or over, which is fine for most Indonesians, and tolerable for the rest because the flights are not long and they always have food and drink at no extra charge.

We land at Bali and for the first time, I do not have to go through customs because we came on a domestic flight. Soon we are off to the Laguna Hotel in Nusa Dua and after two security checks we check-in. We eat an excellent dinner just off the beach to avoid the wind while a trio and singer perform some light rock songs.

I wake up early Sunday morning and take off to the beach to get some sunrise pictures. I find these two workers raking up the seaweed, digging holes every 10 feet and burying the seaweed in the sand.

I see this heron like bird feeding in the tide pool and use him to add interest.

See the bird? Do you see him? His long beak is in the sun’s reflection. Enlarge.

Later the tide will come in and come close to these chairs. This is the quiet time before nature’s energy comes alive.

The AIDS/HIV conference is next door at the Weston and Judith goes and registers, and finds her students, from China and Indonesia. And she also meets with the Laguna event manager to make final arrangements for her small party to entertain her colleagues, students, government officials and others on Wednesday evening after the end of the conference. Of course, my time is spent on the beach, re-enforcing the best body tan I have ever had.

Monday Judith made plans to have two vans take her students and colleagues to Jimbaran Beach. This is the sunset beach where several seafood restaurants adorn the shore and after the sun goes down the place lights up.

There is cloud bank on the horizon this night so there will be no sun setting at the horizon, so this is the last glimpse of the sun.

The candles go on and the beach torches light up. Lights from the fishing boats add to the atmosphere along with the perfect weather and slight breeze. And I have my feet in the sand.

Wednesday the conference is over so Thursday, Judith rents a couple of vans and her ex-student Mad’e takes the group of us into the interior of Bali starting with Ubud. We have been there a couple of times before, but it was a new to most of the travelers. We split into two groups, one of whom went to the monkey forest and the rest of us wandered through the shops and markets before we gathered again for lunch. I have always wanted to get pictures motorcycles in Indonesia as they are the main form of transportation. Indeed, if everyone had a car, the roads would be hopelessly locked up.

From Ubud we traveled through mountains and rice fields where “lush” is the word of the day.

And a good time was had by all.

We ended up at Mad’e’s home before taking the 1 ½ hour return trip to our hotel, arriving worn out and looking for some hard liquor and light dinner.
We checked out of the Laguna Friday to get a change of scene. We checked into what used to be the Ritz Carlton and now is under new ownership as the Ayana Resort and Spa. We were here before when it was the Ritz. It now has refurbished rooms and carpeting which it needed before. We stayed in the club section and sat out on the balcony having a few drinks until it was time to get closer to the sunset.

Here is one of the best pictures I have ever taken.

Life is good!

Yogyakarta and Borobudur

Our primary destination was the International Congress on AIDS in Asia and the Pacific convention (ICAAP) held in Bali, Indonesia for our latest trip. However, we spent our first week in and around Yogyakarta (Joja), on the island of Java.

We spent two nights on Singapore instead of our usual one night this trip staying at a different hotel as is our custom. The Hotel was the Amara Sanctuary Resort on Sentosa Island which sits atop a hill overlooking the Palawan Beach. Part of the resort is a colonial style building where we stayed. It housed the British Sergeants quarters in the 1930’s. Outside were some bomb shelters used in WWII. The room had an outdoor Jacuzzi and a 4 poster bed. We spent the afternoon and early evening at the beach and snacked with a pitcher of margaritas after I soaked up some sun. Later, we ate supper at one of the local eateries, before climbing back up the hill and relaxing in the Jacuzzi.
The next morning we hopped aboard Garuda Airlines and flew to Jakarta and then transferred to Joja. We were met at the airport by a luxury van and driven to Amanjiwo resort near Borobudur.

Amanjiwo is featured in “1000 Places to See Before you Die” and for good reason. The domes of Borobudur are called supas and this dome motif is seen through out Amanjiwo. There are 35 terraced villas arranged in a half-moon shape around the main stupalike building. This shot was taken from the fields of vegetables in front of the resort. The main building is in the middle with the black dome.

One of the things that impressed me was that the center of the main building lined up with the center of Borobudur, seen in the distance.

Within our villa, this is a picture of our bed with the sliding doors behind revealing the area where the sunken tub is positioned.

This is our “back yard”.

And the swimming pool just around the corner.

And here is the sunken tub.

The resort also is just 5 minutes from Borobudur, allowing for an early morning trip there before dawn, which we did on our first morning there.

Borobudur is the largest Buddhist monument in the world. It was “discovered” by the British in the early 19th century. It was built about 800 A.D. and it was covered with volcanic ash from the eruption of Mt. Merapi in 1006. About 1953 a massive project was started under the direction of UNESCO to dismantle and reconstruct Borobudur and 10 years later and $25 million the project was completed. The monument is actually built on a hill and rain leaking down through the stones eroded the hill and caused it to collapse in sections. The reconstruction installed a massive hidden draining system to keep the structure intact.

We rise a 4:30 and meet at the main building at 5 AM and after rolls and coffee, we take off in the dark. Each party is given a van and driver so we are able to operate independently. We are given a flash light and we use it to climb up an equivalent of a 5 story building. After the sun came up and there was light, I took this picture from the ground after we climbed down.

When we arrive at the top, there are few spot lights on the monument. They provide enough light for silhouettes of the small supas to frame the ever changing colors of dawn.

Inside each of the stupa is a statue of a Buddha. This stupa was left open for everyone to see.

There is a lot of morning haze and low wet clouds as the sun starts its ascent.

Borobudur is surrounded by 4 volcanoes and the finally starts to appear over one of them just to the left of the peak.

On the way down we see other parts of the monument that were hidden in the dark on our way up.

Amanjiwo allows clients to choose 3 events out of several choices and of course Borobudur is a given. The next day we choose to have a picnic on a bank overlooking where two rivers join.

The next evening we eat in this local restaurant in the small town nearby. No one was in the place, but perhaps it was because we ate early.

Our stay at Amanjiwo was the height of luxury. Although there was no TV, I kept up with world events through the Internet in their library. And an International Tribune was delivered to our room every late morning. This newspaper is surely one of the best in the world. The staff was excellent, the food was excellent, the drinks were excellent, the views were outstanding, the place was beautiful, and they gave me floppy straw hat as a gift,

Amanjiwo drove us to our next lodging, the Cangkrungan Resort near the slope of the active volcano Mt. Merapi about 30 minutes from the center of Joja. This was a quaint place with a small swimming pole, pool table, big couches under a roof just outside our front door. We think they were suppose to be shared by just 3 other rooms, but apparently these rooms were vacant because we had these facilities for ourselves.

We signed up to view the lava fields of Mt. Merapi and I believed we were going to see actual lava flow but I was mistaken. I also didn’t realize at the time that Mt. Merapi was only about 3000 feet above the hotel. From the bottom of the old lava flow we visited we clearly see the volcano.

We climbed up as far as the signs said we should, taking care not to twist an ankle as we navigated the rocky terrain. During the raining season, the lava flow becomes a heavy stream so walls have been built to contain it. The clouds cleared somewhat from the peak and smoke can be seen pouring out of the top.

And here is a better shot of the smoke. I asked the driver to stop for this photo.

The next day we hired a van to take us into Joja. We were told that the Sultan’s Palace and ground were closed that day and this being the main attraction, we started out disappointed. But after we went through the local museum, we found out that it was open.

The Sonobudoyo Museum was not too large and covered a variety of ancient arts that have become traditional art forms in the present day. The puppet making workshop was the most interesting. There were three craftsmen working on puppets and the man in charge was anxious to sell us one. But decided we had no place to display it and passed.

Within Indonesia politics there are two special regions within Java. Dated to the ancient history of the region, Yogyakarta remains a kingdom inside Indonesia, with its Sultan/King as the governor. The sultan’s official title is His Majesty, The Sultan-Carrier of the Universe, Chief Warrior, Servant of the Most Gracious, Cleric and Caliph that Safeguards the Religion. It is not unusual that ancient kingdom cultures often were declared themselves to be the center of the universe. Our guide through the grounds told us that when the man is in his governorship capacity, one can look him in the eyes, but when he is acting as sultan, one must look down at the ground in his presence. Here is his palace.

Here are some various shots around the grounds.

The exquisite figurine was presented to the sultan by the French Government.

We ventured on to the Sultan’s baths (not the current sultan) that were empty concrete pools that were being repaired. Our guide showed us where the Sultan used to select one of the concubines bathing into his private room and took delight in explaining that sometimes he would look out and select another to join them. Talk about man fantasy land!

We ended our day at a very nice restaurant just off the palace grounds.

We left for Bali the next day. When we flew back from Bali, we flew over Java on a clear day and I could see Mt. Merapi.

Java has 30 still active volcanoes and I saw a lot of them from the airplane window, all surrounded by a halo of white puffy clouds. The volcanoes seemed to be evenly spaced every 50-75 miles apart.

Hangzhou and the Tiananmen Square Massacure.

Some 7000 years ago rice was first cultivated in an area close to Hang Zhou. About 5000 years ago, the area was inhabited by people who developed jade carving. Hangzhou was founded 2,200 years ago and the city wall was constructed in 591 AD. It sits at the southern end of the Grand Canal which was completed in 609 AD and extends to Beijing. It is listed as one of the Seven Ancient Capitals of China. And Hangzhou sits at the entrance of the massive Yangtze River Delta.

Today, the metropolitan area is home to about 4 million inhabitants. The principle scenic attraction is West Lake. It strikes me that this is a pretty mundane name for people that are prone to have their bodies of water adorned with exotic names rising out of ancient mythologies. The lake was formed because silt built up blocked the Yangtze from depositing itself into the ocean. In 1089 AD the emperor had 200,000 workers build a 1.7 mile causeway across the lake so he could enjoy sitting along the shores and enjoy the aura surrounding early spring mornings. The causeway was built from mud dredged from the lake.

The Sunday Sunny Resort, our conference hotel is reached via this causeway and is nestled into the hilly terrain on the shore opposite the city. It is a 4 star hotel in the Chinese rating system. But is not, by any means, foreigner friendly.

The desk speaks little English and communicating to them on the phone is a lost cause. Having ice in your drink or a beer served cold is not going to happen. There are no English channels on TV. No WiFi in the room or lobby, but thankfully, there is a desktop, cable connected access to the World Wide Web. Breakfast, is buffet as usual and at least you can look and decide. Attempts were made to translate some food into English but when I came to something labeled arterial sclerosis, I quickly passed by without examination.

On the other hand, a Chinese hotel always offers a water heating pot that can be used for making tea or instant coffee. Being a big fan of General Foods International Coffee, I always bring an unopened tin with me and enjoy my favorite cup anytime. Such small comforts can help a new day begin with style.

After participating in these workshops in China several times, there are certain things we can rely upon to happen. We will always enjoy a banquet of food every evening with our hosts. The food will be presented with unique garnishes and creative carvings enticing the observer to at least sample and taste.

All the above were delicious.

Whatever local sights are worthy of visiting, our hosts will see to it that a young English speaking guide will coordinate the transportation and drivers necessary to reach our destination. And they pay for all entrance fees. And they will be there to meet us at the airport, take our luggage, and make sure we are safety ensconced in our rooms. Other than providing a magic carpet, I can’t image how we could be better taken care of.

Typically, a workshop begins with introductions followed by an official group picture. The most important people are always center bottom row

The man in the white sweater is Professor Zeng, a high official in China’s CDC, with Professor Wood on the left and Judith on the right.

Whatever local sights are worthy of visiting, our hosts will see to it that a young English speaking guide will coordinate the transportation and drivers necessary to reach our destination. And they pay for all entrance fees. And they will be there to meet us at the airport, take our luggage, and make sure we are safety ensconced in our rooms. Other than providing a magic carpet, I can’t image how we could be better taken care of.

Typically, a workshop begins with introductions followed by an official group picture. The most important people are always center bottom row

We are guided to a walk around the lake and find many local people enjoying the serenity of the calm waters.

Later that night we are treated to boat ride on the lake.

One afternoon we are taken to the Xixi National Wetlands park which is the only one of its kind in China. We climb into boats and our oarsmen paddle our way through the maze of canals.

This is photo of the couple with us on our boat. Jeri is a professor at UIC and was one of the presenters and Ken is writer with several movie and TV scripts to his credit. They have a long distant relationship between Chicago and Brooklyn
We also visit a silk museum, a porcelain museum (they don’t call dishes China without reason) and an ancient bridge over the aforementioned canal. Apparently this bridge is where the emperor used to disembark from the journey from Beijing.

Here is a photo of our sight seeing crew.

We leave Hangzhou after 4 days and take a 4 ½ hour ride to Shanghai, with passengers in a van and luggage following in a car. While we were in China, the 20th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square occurred. Naturally, there was no news about this in the English written China Daily. During this time China shut down, Twitter, Flickr, and Hotmail. Strangely, Facebook and Yahoo were not, so I freely posted about the censorship going on. Blogspot.com is permanently blocked.


For the flag raising ceremony in Beijing on June 4th, date of the anniversary, tourists were stopped and hassled, and all TV media and other reporters were turned away. In Hong Kong, however, 82,000 gathered in Victoria Park to hear people speak for freedom while holding a candle light vigil.


Twenty years ago, the People’s China open fired on a crowd demonstrating in Tiananmen and the Avenue of Eternal Peace was streaked with blood. Time after time assault rifles were raised and fired directly into the crowd leaving dead and wounded. When an ambulance tried to collect the injured, the troops fired on them. According to eye witnesses, rickshaw drivers slowly pedaled out to collect the bodies of the dead and injured. When I heard about this I was deeply moved by the courage and defiance these old, peasant rickshaw drivers took in support of freedom. When you educate citizens and create a middle class, political participation is nurtured. There will be a time in the future when this political oppression will be overturned. As I wait, I will remember those rickshaw drivers and stay inspired by them.


For all the kindness and hospitality given to us by the Chinese people, I want to see them some day have the same freedoms I enjoy. I hope I live to see it.

It Is Summer Out and I Am Cold

Just before I graduated from Abraham Lincoln High School in 1954, I was awarded a scholarship for one year of tuition at Iowa State College. Four years later it was rightly re-named Iowa State University. Iowa State was on a 3 quarter system and not a 2 semester system. Tuition for each quarter was $50, so the total scholarship was worth a total of $150.

My parents were divorced and my mother could only help out financially occasionally. So basically, I had to make money to pay my way through. I was very lucky to get a summer job working for the Union Pacific Railroad icing rail cars containing fresh vegetable and fruits being shipped through a major railroad hub called Council Bluffs. It paid well.

Union Pacific Railroad headquarters was located at 15^th Street and Dodge in view of the Missouri River and later I would work there also. Omaha usually gets the credit for where the eastern end of the Union Pacific Railroad started, but it was really Council Bluffs where it started and there is a big statue of a Golden Spike to commemorate the event. Natives of Council Bluffs would always remind anyone who dared say the words “Union Pacific” where the Golden Spike Monument was located and what it commemorated. It was unveiled April 28, 1939 to coincide with the release of the movie, “Union Pacific”.

From the Columbia Encyclopedia--Council Bluffs, city (1990 pop. 54,315), seat of Pottawattamie co., SW Iowa, on and below bluffs overlooking the Missouri River, opposite Omaha, Nebr.; inc. 1853. It was first settled by whites when the Mormons came in 1846 and dubbed the site Kanesville; when they left in 1852, the settlement was renamed Council Bluffs. An important supply point during the gold rush (1849–50), Council Bluffs was made the eastern terminus of the Union Pacific RR in 1863.

Abraham Lincoln came to Council Bluffs during his presidency and predicted the city would be a great railroad center. The town put up another monument to dedicate Lincoln’s visit and of course named my high school in his honor.

So, you see, Council Bluffs and the Union Pacific were married. Working for the UP gave me a little more status, which is what older teenage boys are looking for as they approach adulthood.

I worked the 10 Pm to 6:30 AM shift. Almost every night, our shift would be sent to the ice house, where 300 lb cakes of ice were produced and stored. Usually, we spent two hours in the ice mow dragging these big blocks of ice onto a conveyor which took them up to the docks. The crew on the docks pulled them off and stored them to both sides of the conveyor that ran down the center of the dock. Once there was enough ice stored on the dock, we moved from the mow to the dock.

The mow was not a desirable place to work. After walking on ice for 2 hours, my feet got cold even with heavy rubber boots on my feet. I wore a coat and heavy gloves, to keep my hands warm against the cold metal tongs.

Whether working in the mow or docks, it was necessary to have a partner. In the mow, my partner and I each held one side of the tongs as we dragged the ice block to the conveyor. We would change hands once in a while in order to work both sides of our bodies. There would be about 10 teams and usually the teams stayed together unless one was absent.

As you visualize this scene, I will mention a hardship you might not think of. If someone would pass gas, the smell would just stay there. There was no moving air in the mow. Very gradually the odor would dissipate There is one broccoli fart that brought work to a standstill. Eyes watered, men coughed up phlegm, and I had to repulse a gag reflex. Usually the culprit would not feel shame, but a sense of pride. That’s men for ya. The worst night was Sunday night after a weekend.

At the end of two hours in the mow, everyone welcomed the relief of moving to the docks outside into the summer night’s warmth. The docks were built just above the train cars. There were gates held up or down by chains which, when released, filled the gap between the train car and the dock. When a train pulled in everyone went to work filling the ice compartments at each end of the refrigerated cars. The compartments would hold about 3000 lbs of ice at each end. That’s 10, 300 lb blocks of ice. Sometime the compartment would be empty but rarely. In the middle of the car were perishables being shipped either east or west.

One man worked with a pike which had a 135 degree sharp hook on one side and a tapered spike on the other side. An upright block of ice would come down the conveyor and the hook was used to pull the block off the conveyor and lay it on its side. The block was divided into four pieces with the spike. A piece would be moved to a ramp that reached from the dock to the car’s hatch opening. Then it was pushed out to the hatch opening using the pointed end of the spike and in it went.

One man stood on top of the car just to the side of the hatch and chopped the ice chunk into small pieces so the compartment held few air pockets. He used a 2 prong pitch fork looking tool with a handle at the top. It weighed about 15-20 lbs and was made out of sturdy steel.

The dock would accommodate one train on each side, so as soon as one train was serviced, we would move to the other side to work the other train. If there was no train, we got to sit down and rest, taking care to avoid any melting ice water.

The first thing that happened, before working a train, was for all the hatches to be opened for the inspector. He looked in the hole and estimated the amount of ice it was going to take to fill it up. There were two men assigned to him to open the hatches. These 3 walked the length of the train on top of the cars. The guy with the fork hit the locking device on the side to allow the hatch to be open. The guy with the pike hooked the handle and pulled it open. These 3 then got to sit down, fall asleep, or read a novel while the rest of the crew worked the train.

When I got off the docks I would read gas meters for half a day, so I saw that having this job would allow me more rest and an occasional cat nap. So we started to cozy up to the foreman and let him now we would be glad to have this job. Soon we had our opportunity and from then on, till the end of summer the job was ours.

Every Friday morning at the end of the shift the boss would hand out our checks, but you had to tell him your social security number before he gave you your check. Ever since then I can whip off mine in about 3 seconds. When I am on my death bed sometime far, far away and someone were to ask me my social security number, I know I will have no trouble getting it out before I exhale my last breathe.

The Night I Was Run Out of Town.

About 12 miles south-east of Council Bluffs, Iowa is the small village of Treynor. Its existence is sustained by local farmers who can purchase farm tools, feed, and seed without having to travel into the big city. It had an American Legion Hall with a bar in front of an assembly hall where local young farm couples got married. So it’s a place to drink, like that bar in Boston called Cheers; a neighborhood bar. Only the neighborhood was a radius of 5 miles of rolling hill farm land.

The bar held nary an iota of sophistication. Beer and shots were the swill of choice. Order a Gimlet and you would see the bartender flinch then move hesitantly towards the seldom used, dusty liquor bottles that sat in front the mottled mirror. And you would almost see his mind’s gears whirling to recall the exotic ingredients and portions. The other patrons nearby the fancy-drink-ordering customer would sneak a startled furtive glance at who was disturbing the peace, then stare down at their drinks in order to hide a slight smirk. People do try to be polite in Iowa.

The reason I was privy to these observations can be found by examining the interests of teen age boys when looking for something to do on a Saturday night. Having access to beer was usually a prime mover, and the wedding parties which took place in the assembly hall behind the narrow bar room attracted single women looking to dance.

Because Treynor was so small, there never was a need to get an invitation to attend the festivities in the back room. We would try to buy a beer at the crowded bar, hoping the bartender would be so harried in trying to serve the wedding party that he would not notice or not care enough to take notice of our fuzzy cheeks. We had some, but limited success using this tactic. A better tactic was to give one of the bar bums $1 to buy you a 75 cent beer.

It was fun to watch the wedding party dance and in general whoop it up to a live band whose repertoire included a generous number of polkas. The bride and bridesmaids typically wore 50’s styled ruffled dresses that came down about 4 inches below the knee, pooched out with starchy layers of petticoats, nothing too elegant or pretentious.

The groom with his farmer’s tan now in full view, presented an impression of awkwardness that is difficult to describe. A farmer’s face above the eyebrows is white enough to make any fair skinned maiden envious, and a sharp contrast to the ruddiness below. Add a powder blue tuxedo to the mix and the red, white, and blue is on full display.

To get away from the noise and gaiety, I would occasionally go outside and enjoy the cool night air. One time, I saw someone was fighting with my friend Ray. Ray was a skinny and mouthy teen who frequently found ways to get in trouble in school. Still the guy having the upper hand with him was a stranger. Without a lot of thought I jumped on the guy’s back to pull him away.

Bam! Bam! Bam! I was being hit with something other than a fist. I soon discovered it was a blackjack. Turns out the stranger was a deputy sheriff wearing faded jeans and a plaid shirt. He pointed to his chest. “You see this,” he said. I looked and sure enough it was a badge. I quickly explained, “No, I didn’t. All I saw was your back while you were beating up my friend.”

That seems to placate him enough so as to not throw me in jail. But, he then puffed himself up, reminiscent of Don Knotts, playing Barney Fife, and ordered Ray and myself out of town.

Luckily, Ray had a car. I got in and we headed out, westward bound. “Wow”, I thought, “I’ve just been run out of town. How many people could say that?” I couldn’t help feel some pride and I ignored the persisting sting of the blackjack.

My First Job with the Feds

During my high school junior and senior years my best friend Phil and I worked nights at the Post Office Mail Terminal for two weeks during the Xmas rush. All the mail was brought in via Union Pacific railroad to the major train terminal in town. Post office employees were right there to start sorting the mail as soon as it left the train cars. I was lucky that Phil had access to a car because after we worked through the night we were able to get to class on time the next morning thanks to his transportation. We then had a full day of school. When we got out of school we were able to get a few hours sleep before leaving for work. By the end of the two weeks we were walking zombies from lack of sleep.

First the mail was sorted by state. The loose letters came in a large bin. I would grab a hand full of letters and start to pigeonhole them by state. As soon as a pigeonhole was filled, the letters were bundled up with brown fiber cord and placed in other bins labeled by state. Then these state bins were moved to separate pigeonhole racks labeled for each state. All the major cities in that state had its own pigeonhole, with a big slot at the lower right of the rack to catch every other place in the state.
First the mail was sorted by state. The loose letters came in a large bin. I would grab a hand full of letters and start to pigeonhole them by state. As soon as a pigeonhole was filled, the letters were bundled up with brown fiber cord and placed in other bins labeled by state. Then these state bins were moved to separate pigeonhole racks labeled for each state. All the major cities in that state had its own pigeonhole, with a big slot at the lower right of the rack to catch every other place in the state.

When I begin to sort mail for any rack I was assigned to, the sorting started slowly. I would have to search and find the proper hole to put a letter. But gradually, I would remember the proper slot location on the rack. And after a while, I could place a letter properly without having to look at the rack with some of the cities.

Once in a while they needed someone to help sort packages and I did 2-3 nights. Most of the older permanent employees sorted packages so this was probably a sign that it was a better job. Anyway, I thought it was. I got to toss, throw, and underhand packages, big and small into various large mail sacks. The packages would come down a conveyor belt cold because they hadn’t time to warm up from outside. The job involved a little walking which was much better than standing all night in front of a pigeonhole rack.

When I worked a rack, I saved all the brown fiber string from the opened bundles. I would make a mat with them for standing on, providing a cushion against the cold, hard cement floor. The further along the shift, the more I had built up the cushioning providing more and more comfort to my feet. Standing all night was tiring.

In the early 50’s, people sent a lot of Christmas cards. Adults sent cards to all there sisters and brothers, parents, grandparents, people at work, neighbors, what have you. All that mail was sorted by hand. The cost of a first class stamp was 3 cents. Postcards were a penny. It was way before the post office issued special Xmas issues; there were no zip codes, no return address stickers, and no letter sorting machines. A mailmen would deliver big bunches of mail to each house. Their big brown leather bags worn over a shoulder were crammed with various colored envelopes. Once opened, the cards frequently became part of the Xmas décor with the best of the lot displayed most prominently.

The night of the 23rd of December was my last day to work. Then I stayed awake all the next day. When Xmas Eve came I was able to snuggle myself into bed for a good nights sleep with visions of, well, a good night’s sleep.