Photo of the Day: Early Voting, Richard Rodda Center, Teaneck NJ

Bergen County, where I live in New Jersey, has 10 locations where early voting is held from October 24 through November 1. I cast my ballot at Richard Rodda Center in Teaneck. No matter what your party affiliation, I hope you’ll exercise this right that others before us have advocated—and even died—for before us. 

Photo of the Day: Halloween Display, Central School, Glen Rock NJ

This morning, while in this Bergen County town on other business, I noticed in the distance what looked like a mass of white sheets. Coming closer, I saw a couple of long rows of ghouls, spooks, and additional otherworldly creatures associated with the end of this month.

I chuckled as I took the photo accompanying this post of these apparitions, whose diminutive size put them in the same physical category as many of the youngsters in the school—and whose expressions suggested Caspar the Friendly Ghost much more than the malevolent Poltergeist. 

But, come to think of it, kids these days are probably exposed to so much on TV and in the movies that these Hollywood depictions don’t have the power to scare them like before. No, it’s just real life that they have to be concerned with.

Photo of the Day: Water Fountain and Pond, Pascack Brook County Park, Westwood, NJ

Seeking to enjoy a brisk walk and a brief respite of bright sunshine two days ago, I drove a few towns away from where I live in Bergen County, NJ, to Pascack Brook County Park.

I don’t get there often, but I always enjoy the change of scenery, including a fountain in the middle of its pond. It appealed to me so much that I felt compelled to take the photo accompanying this post.

Photo of the Day: Twilight on NYC and the Hudson River

The other night, at a restaurant near me in Bergen County, NJ, I was given the choice of eating inside or outside. Considering the view just before sunset, as seen in this photo I took then from the Hudson River Walkway in Edgewater, I don’t think my decision to sit with the skyline in view was surprising.

Photo of the Day: Shoe Shop, Old Economy Village, Ambridge PA

When it comes to all the subjects I could write about, too often my curiosity exceeds my time and energy. So it proved on a visit with a close relative in Pittsburgh in October 2019, when we took a day trip to Old Economy Village, 18 miles away from the Steel City in the Beaver County town of Ambridge.

Despite my intention to write about this site, other matters got in the way, such as holidays, COVID-19, disruptions in my career, and other situations. For the longest time, I had forgotten about my time there.

I doubt if many people outside Pennsylvania have heard of this National Historic Landmark, let alone visited it. But this set of buildings tells a fascinating story of how one of the many religious sects that spring into being in 19^th-century America lived and worked communally.

If you want to learn how these believers demonstrated a spirit of entrepreneurship as they sought to live according to the dictates of their faith, viewing the 18 buildings from this community is an excellent place to start.

The accompanying photo I took while there shows the shoe shop. It’s part of the Mechanics’s Building, which also housed tailors and hat makers; for a time, printing operations; and underneath, a wine cellar.

While the Society (or, as they were called, the Harmonists) made and repaired shoes for themselves, it would also do so for the public on request. The footwear would then be sold in the organization’s store.

On display here are tools of the trade, including benches; clamps; adjustable tin patterns; knives, hammers, awls, and other materials for finishing the leather; and lasts that were individually sized to a person’s feet. (Until the 19^th century, believe it or not, one last was used for both left and right feet. Imagine the discomfort!)

What fascinates me as well about the Harmony Society, a sect of German Lutheran separatists, is its place in the history of American utopian communities. One, Brook Farm, founded by Bronson Alcott (yes, Louisa’s father) in 1842, foundered quickly.

Alcott would have done well to see how Old Economy Village under its leaders, the preacher George Rapp (1757-1847) and his adopted son Frederick Rapp (1775-1834), the community’s business manager, managed to thrive for so long.

Part of it goes back to the old real estate mantra “location, location, location.” The 3,000 acres that the Rupps and other Harmony Society leaders purchased were along the Ohio River, offering plenty of opportunities for shipping their products to the established Eastern states, as well as to growing midwestern and western markets via the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers.

Moreover, the fertile soil made for excellent farming. Each household had its own garden which provided fruits, vegetables, and herbs.

Families, then, were self-sufficient—and the collective abundance was so great that politicians and businessmen in the area took notice. It was a vibrant community with a diversified economy that, as the saying went, placed “the agriculturalist beside the industrialist.”

The Beaver County location was the third that the “Harmonists” created in the United States. The first, in Harmony, PA, was founded in 1804. Eleven years later they moved to New Harmony, IN. After a decade, desiring more opportunity to sell their goods east and dismayed by unfriendly neighbors they moved back to Pennsylvania to a community they named “Harmony.”

(They then sold the Indiana land for $150,000 to the Welsh industrialist and social reformer Robert Owen, whose secular, utopian community collapsed after only two years.)

The Harmonists were already attracting considerable notice in their first two decades since coming to America, not always positive. Their practice of celibacy especially came in for biting criticism, notably from the English poet Lord Byron in his mock-epic Don Juan:

When Rapp the Harmonist embargo'd marriage
In his harmonious settlement (which flourishes
Strangely enough as yet without miscarriage,
Because it breeds no more mouths than it nourishes,
Without those sad expenses which disparage
What Nature naturally most encourages)—
Why call'd he 'Harmony' a state sans wedlock?
Now here I 've got the preacher at a dead lock.
 
Because he either meant to sneer at harmony
Or marriage, by divorcing them thus oddly.
But whether reverend Rapp learn'd this in Germany
Or no, 't is said his sect is rich and godly,
Pious and pure, beyond what I can term any
Of ours, although they propagate more broadly.
My objection 's to his title, not his ritual,
Although I wonder how it grew habitual.

Nevertheless, even though the number of Harmonists had already declined to about 500 by the time they settled again in Pennsylvania, the group prospered greatly, exporting their goods not just within the United States but also, by 1825, to 10 European countries. That wealth accumulated through shrewd early investments in the nation’s emerging coal, oil, and railroad industries.

Like the Shakers, the Harmonists had no trouble sustaining themselves economically, but their strict celibacy rules led to the end of the group at its Beaver County settlement. But visitors can still see today how they worked, lived, and even played (yes, the second floor of their Feast Hall served not just for meals but for musical performances on special feast days).

Photo of the Day: Riding on a Sunlit Summer Sunday Morning, Englewood NJ

What a difference a few hours make! As I write this on a late Sunday afternoon, the sky is gray and cloudy, with at least some rain predicted.

But this morning—well, it could have been what a local forecaster of some years ago used to feature as one of “the 10 most beautiful days of the year.” Bright blue skies, comfortable temperatures and humidity.

A whole group of guys—it must have been between 15 and 20 of them—thought the same thing, because they were out on their bicycles in my hometown.

They were riding single file as they rounded the corner across from me, barely slowing down. Not that it mattered: at that time of the day and week, traffic at this thoroughfare is much lighter than from Monday through Saturday.

I could barely whip out my iPhone to photograph the scene fast enough. Anyway, I was glad I could time what I did.

Photo of the Day: Saint Anthony Chapel, Pittsburgh PA

I took the image accompanying this post three weeks ago, on a short visit to Pittsburgh.

While touring the Troy Hill neighborhood on the city’s North Side, a close relative and I had hoped to see the venerable shrine. Unfortunately it was closed when we came around noon on a Friday, and we had to move on. But as I stood outside, even its exterior filled me with an aesthetic and spiritual sense of wonder.

The two-steepled Saint Anthony Chapel is laid out in a cruciform shape (i.e., in the form of a cross), with a pointed Romanesque arch at its center.

You’d never know that this modest house of worship, built to minister to a predominantly German immigrant population towards the end of the 19^th century, contains what is believed to be the greatest collection of relics outside the Vatican.

Although the relic dealing directly with St. Anthony of Padua here is a molar (the only part of the saint outside his hometown in Italy), more than 5,000 relics of other saints are contained inside, arranged in altars and side cases constructed of hand-carved solid walnut. Saints represented include the first martyr, Stephen; Frances of Rome, Philip Neri, Macharius and Stephana.

The dynamic force in collecting all of this was the shrine’s founder, the Belgian-born Father Suitbert G. Mollinger. He was able to secure so many relics because he traveled so widely and used his family’s great wealth for the acquisitions.

After Fr. Mollinger died in 1892, the chapel passed into the hands of the Archdiocese of Pittsburgh, which considered closing it when it couldn’t afford repairs because of hard financial times for the area in the late 1970s. Luckily the crisis was averted and the shrine remains for pilgrims offering prayers.

Photo of the Day: A Prized Pirate’s Locker, PNC Park, Pittsburgh

With this past weekend’s Baseball Hall of Fame induction of Jeff Kent, Carlos Beltran, and Andruw Jones, it seemed like an appropriate point to reflect on a place with reminders of its own Cooperstown members: Legacy Hall in PNC Park, home of the Pittsburgh Pirates.

As I mentioned in this post from the other day, a thunderstorm cut short my plans to watch the Bucs for the first time while I was on vacation earlier this month. 

But before finding my seat and waiting impatiently for the “Play Ball” call that never came, I spent a few minutes in Legacy Hall, a multi-use space filled with some great team memorabilia, with much of it not previously displayed at the ballpark.

Several Hall of Fame players are commemorated here, including Willie Stargell, Ralph Kiner, Honus Wagner, and Bill Mazerowski. But I’ll focus on one in this post: an original locker from the club’s prior home in Three Rivers Stadium, occupied by Roberto Clemente. Elsewhere in the city, a museum honors the life and legacy of this great ballplayer and humanitarian.

But fans will still want to look and linger at what is on display honoring him at Legacy Hall: his uniform, jacket, cap, cleats, photos, and a bat—emblematic of a consistent and superb hitter who won four batting titles and collected 3,000 hits.

These days, Latinos and Hispanics make up anywhere from a quarter to a third of players in major league baseball. But Clemente was the first superstar of the group. What this proud and sensitive man had to endure from the media then was shameful and would not be tolerated today.

It took a while for Clemente’s skills to be noticed in a bumper crop among a bumper crop of contemporary outfielders that included Willie Mays, Henry Aaron, Mickey Mantle, and Frank Robinson, but eventually his performance at the plate and on the field in the 1971 World Series exposed to a nationwide audience the greatness that so many in baseball had recognized since his debut in 1955.

His statistics and leadership had already made Clemente a basement legend. 

But his death on board a plane carrying supplies to earthquake victims in Nicaragua during the Christmas season of 1972 lifted him to the status of role model and icon, much like the New York Yankees’ Lou Gehrig—the only other player that Cooperstown’s Hall of Fame board explicitly waived its five-year rule for consideration to major league baseball’s Valhalla.

Photo of the Day: Fireworks Display, PNC Park, Pittsburgh PA

I took the image accompanying this post a little over two weeks ago, while visiting a close relative in Pittsburgh. Several times before, I had been impressed by the exterior of the home of the Pittsburgh Pirates, PNC Park.

With its setting along the Allegheny River, statues paying tribute to several Hall of Famers with the club, and easy access to multiple points in the Smoky City, the ballpark, which opened in spring 2001, struck me as a picturesque throwback to old-time baseball venues, much like Baltimore’s Camden Yards.

Yet I had yet to see a game there, until a few days after the Fourth of July, when the Pirates were to square off against the Milwaukee Brewers, ahead of them by a dozen games in the National League Central Division. 

It promised to be a pivotal series, with any hope for the home team making the playoffs, even as a wild-card contender, starting here. To underscore the dramatics involved, there would even be a fireworks display at the ballpark.

So much for the best-laid plans of mice and men.

By mid-afternoon, the Pittsburgh area was drenched in a thunderstorm that didn’t dissipate until  6:30. Fans still poured into the stands, optimistic that at the end of the hour-long rain delay would  eventually lead to the cry, “Play ball!”

That hope lasted until the announcer’s voice came on the loudspeaker: “The good news is that the planned fireworks display will take place in 10 minutes….”

The fans who had patiently sat through the rain delay already sensed what the rest of the announcement would be—“But tonight’s game will be rescheduled”—and promptly began booing. They had waited long enough, and could see on the weather apps on their cell phones that it was unlikely more rain would follow. They were not happy.

That game was to be my first attending a Pirates game. Now, with me heading out of town the next morning, it would have to wait a while longer—perhaps next season.

Well, sometimes in life you have to endure disappointments—like rainouts—and sometimes there are compensations—like the gorgeous multi-color display seen here on a warm summer night over one of America’s great rivers.

Photo of the Day: Two Kinds of Toxic Environment

I took the image accompanying this post a week ago while I was still on vacation at the Chautauqua Institution, a lovely enclosed upstate New York community with numerous Victorian cottages that have helped make this picturesque place a National Historic Landmark.

As much as its cultural and intellectual atmosphere, habitual visitors glory in its physical environment. For the 30-odd years that I have come up here, I have made it a point, as long as the rain is holding off, to take daily brisk walks by Chautauqua Lake.

Until the last three days of this vacation, that is.

In the background, a particle-laden, milky uniformity had replaced sunlight streaks of the morning horizon. Never mind a wide view of what lay upon the waters: as you can observe in this image, nothing could be seen beyond the boats lined up at the marina.

Probably at no time, I suspect, since the height of COVID-19 up here, masks were being distributed and gratefully worn by many visitors on the grounds.

The first day of the wildfire, the designation was “Dangerous for Certain Groups”; the following day, the label became simply “Dangerous”: and by the third, the bad air quality had turned sufficiently dreadful to earn the term “Hazardous.”

This photo renders in literal terms a toxic physical environment. But it symbolizes what has increasingly become a toxic diplomatic one, as well.

At this moment, Donald Trump has chosen to do what he does best: make a bad situation worse. He’s taking literally the satirical South Park song “Blame Canada,” but without an iota of logic. Our nation up north is responsible for not maintaining its forests properly, he claims.

That’s pretty rich, coming from a President who has already laid off thousands of U.S. Forest Service workers and whose 2027 budget includes cuts of more than 70% to the agency. But his rationale would be hideous in any case because he refuses to accept the reality of human-caused climate change.

Super-hot temperatures in the areas around the wildfires, together with dry vegetation, resulted in “functioned like a chimney, a super long chimney shooting smoke into the upper atmosphere and then the jet stream” and then found its way to the US, according to Ava Berger’s NPR report last week.

This is a situation that calls for international cooperation to address causes, not finger-pointing—unless you’re Trump. Then he tells citizens of a country that he has not-so-jokingly called to be annexed into the U.S. that he’s going to levy “a big tariff” on their nation for the wildfires crossing the border.

Trump has turned the Ugly American stereotype of the Vietnam War era into an actuality. His default reflex—to blow smoke every time he finds himself in a difficult situation—has become literal this time, and it’s losing the U.S. a neighbor and friend it could always count on.

The smoky air has cleared from beautiful Chautauqua Lake, as well as other areas affected in the northern part of the U.S. last week. But before the end of this second Trump term, you can count on it coming back, perhaps at more hazardous levels.

And Americans had better accept that it’s going to take longer before the effects of Trump’s careless, toxic rhetoric dissipate.

From now on, traditional allies like Canada are entitled to wonder what got into Americans that they put in the White House a charlatan like Trump twice—and whether the Republican Party he has remolded in his image will nominate as his successor someone equally wedded to his agenda of environmental callousness and diplomatic exploitation.

Photo of the Day: Troy Hill Incline Steps, Pittsburgh PA

About a decade ago, vacationing to see a close relative in Pittsburgh, I visited the Duquesne Incline, one of the last remnants of a once-common form of transportation in the Smoky City. Over a week ago, I saw another one reminder of these 24 massive structures that once moved goods and people up and down this city’s many steep hills: the steps around the Troy Hill Incline.

Unlike the Duquesne Incline, which remains operational nearly 150 years after it was built, the Troy Hill Incline lasted only from 1887 to 1898. 

When I took the attached photo on my recent visit to Pittsburgh, it was easy for me to imagine the necessity for this mode of transportation and the skill required to build it.

Trust me: the Troy Hill neighborhood (part of independent Allegheny City before being absorbed by Pittsburgh) is an acrophobe’s nightmare. 

Rialto Street (nicknamed “Pig Hill”), for instance, the fifth-steepest street in the city, ascends 118 feet, with a grade or steepness level of 24%. It’s a narrow, two-lane thoroughfare Thank God I wasn’t the one driving around there.

Its incline was built by Samuel Diescher, a Hungarian-American engineer responsible for 10 inclines in Pittsburgh alone. The tracks—partly laid on the ground, partly on wooden trestles—handled both freight and passengers with a 15-ton capacity. The building cost: $94,000. 

For a while, it seemed like a godsend for workers in this blue-collar enclave who didn’t have to trudge up what must have felt like a Himalayan height at the end of a long, weary day in area mills, tanneries, breweries, and railroad yards.

In contrast to other inclines, the one serving Troy Hill didn’t shut down because of safety concerns. Instead, low ridership, maintenance costs, and competition from expanding streetcar lines combined to undercut profitability. 

The tracks were eventually removed, but the physical geography of the neighborhood makes it unlikely that the legend of the Troy Hill Incline will disappear from the minds of Pittsburgh residents.

Photo of the Day: José de San Martín Monument, Central Park, NYC

Longtime New York Times columnist James Reston wrote that Americans would do anything for Latin America except read about it. Let’s see how many of my readers disprove his contention.

I came across the equestrian statue in this photo a couple of weeks ago, when I was walking near the entrance to Central Park at 59^th Street and Avenue of the Americas. It pays tribute to José de San Martín (1778–1850), a general who led Argentina, Chile, and Peru to independence from Spanish rule—then remarkably, instead of seizing power, as so many post-independence soldiers did over the last two centuries, resigned his post.

The San Martin statue, dedicated in 1951, is a smaller-scale replica of one in Buenos Aires created in 1862 by the French sculptor Louis-Joseph Daumas.

Whether intentional or coincidental, the Central Park version faces another equestrian statue of a second Latin American liberator, Simon Bolivar, as if in commemoration of their historic July 1822 encounter in Guayaquil, Peru.

Nobody is quite sure what the two commanders said in this closed-door meeting, but two months later San Martin resigned his title as “Protector of Peru,” in an attempt to ensure South American unity.

That hope was frustrated. Two years later, dismayed over the continued fracturing of the nations he’d just helped free as well as the death of his wife from tuberculosis, San Martin set sail with his daughter for Europe, and never returned. Following his death in France in 1850, his remains were transferred to the Cathedral of Buenos Aires in Plaza de Mayo.

North Americans should know more about San Martin’s military campaigns. His 1817 crossing of the Andes particularly displayed his cunning, audacity, and precise planning. Before marching, he used Mapuche natives to spread misinformation about his next moves among the opposing Spanish forces.

A New York parade on the day I walked by prevented me from coming close to the statue, so it is a bit hard to see to its top, more than 34 feet off the ground.

But you can see from the photo that San Martin’s right arm is raised. I would guess that it’s not merely commanding his men in battle, but directing the 5,000 troops he had trained in Argentina into rugged passes in the Andes more than 10,000 feet high.

By the time he left the mountains and entered Chile, the Spanish royalist forces opposing him, confused by the false intelligence passed along through the Mapuches, did not know where to concentrate their forces. San Martin defeated them soundly at the Battle of Chacabuco.

Photo of the Day: ‘Last Stop USA,’ John F. Kennedy Memorial Park, Piermont NY

“GI Joe,” the waving soldier in this statue in upstate New York’s Rockland County, represented a common figure in World War II: the 1.5 million GIs who, after training at Camp Shank in nearby Orangeburg, would embark from Piermont Pier for the European theater.

Though a half million disembarked at the conclusion of the conflict, all too many others never made it home. It is they, as well as all the others who perished in American wars, that we remember and honor today—and pray that their supreme sacrifice may never be repeated.

Photo of the Day: 7 Gifts of the Holy Spirit, Pentecost, St. Cecilia Church, Englewood NJ

A number of people, including myself, lined up after morning Mass on Pentecost Sunday in front of this display at my longtime spiritual home, St. Cecilia Roman Catholic Church of Englewood, NJ. 

The white tags here, in English and Spanish, list the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit” understanding, wisdom, knowledge, counsel, fortitude, piety, and fear of the Lord.

Photo of the Day: Shark River, Avon-by-the-Sea, NJ

Yesterday an event took me down to an area that, despite my lifelong residence in the state, I have rarely gone to in recent years: the Jersey Shore. As soon as I stepped out of my car in the parking lot next to the Marina Building, I was enthralled by this setting, with the bridge leading to Belmar off to the right, so I took this picture.

The Shark River is one of three bodies of water, along with Sylvan Lake and the Atlantic Ocean, that surrounds Avon-by-the-Sea. It was a quiet late afternoon when I got down there, so I missed the parade of boats that often go by. But I gloried in the view and the crisp air of this seaside community.

Running eleven miles, the Shark River is bordered by Avon-by-the-Sea, Neptune City, Neptune Township, Wall Township and Belmar Borough. Despite its approximately 800 acres of shellfish growing waters, much of the river is classified “Restricted “by the New Jersey Department of Environmental Protection.

Oh, yes: wondering about sharks? Turns out none is present in these waters. So why this name? Some possible theories:

*Maybe the name dates from the mid-1800s, when a shark might have been in the river;

*Maybe it derives from the “low-grade” fishing huts or shacks around in the late 1700s, with “shark” being a twisted form of  “Shirk” or “Shack”; or

*Maybe it comes from because upstream in Shark River Park can be found shark teeth left in fossil from the Cretaceous geologic period.

For an interesting oral history of the Avon River (including bootlegging that went on during Prohibition), see this interview with longtime area resident Ray Dodd, recorded and posted online by his son Charlie after his death.

Photo of the Day: Saddle River County Park, Fair Lawn NJ

I took the image accompanying this post yesterday while soaking in the sun. 

Though I entered Saddle River County Park from Fair Lawn, that’s not the only suburb encompassed by its 577 acres. It also runs through five other Bergen County towns: Glen Rock, Paramus, Ridgewood, Rochelle Park, and Saddle Brook.

I can never get enough of bodies of water, and though the crisp air may have kept more people from venturing outside, I was happy to take the path around this pond without bumping into crowds.

Photo of the Day: Swings at Lincoln Center

This past Wednesday, heading over to a matinee event at Lincoln Center, I was surprised to see this set of bright-red swings across the plaza. I didn’t recall ever seeing it before. Indeed, it was only just installed and is temporary.

"Mi Casa, Your Casa 2.0" is an interactive artwork, a series of open, house-shaped frames, each roughly 8 feet wide and nearly 10 feet tall. Designed by Mexico-based studio Esrawe + Cadena, it’s open to the public as part of Lincoln Center’s Big Umbrella Festival.

The piece only lasts as long as the festival, through April 26. On the warm, sunlit afternoon when I took this photo, many visitors were taking advantage of the installation while they still could at this New York entertainment and cultural mecca.

Photo of the Day: Better the Sax Man Than the Tax Man

Yesterday, having paid my debt to Uncle Sam, I happened to be in New York’s Duffy Square when I came upon the fellow you see here.

In contrast to the costumed characters that have come to populate (or, if you prefer, litter) this center of the Manhattan entertainment world, this musician was intent not on sight but on sound, blowing sweet notes into the rapidly warming air. 

It felt like such a blessing and relief, amid the high temperatures and the annual presence of the IRS, that I just had to take his photo.

Photo of the Day: “Reading Together” Sculpture, Teaneck Public Library, NJ

I’m a sucker for statues of kids falling in love with books, maybe because I was like that so long ago.

A few weeks ago, with winter still holding Bergen County in its icy grip, I wrote a post about such a sculpture in front of the Maywood Public Library.

Then, in late March, I came across one with the same idea, which I’ve photographed here: “Reading Together,” in the Children’s Reading Garden in the lawn outside the Teaneck Public Library.

This bronze sculpture was created by New Jersey artist Judith Peck. It’s a charming centerpiece of the garden, which was dedicated 30 years ago this coming July.

Photo of the Day: Stations of the Cross, St. Cecilia R.C. Church, Englewood NJ

This Good Friday, my longtime parish, St. Cecilia, conducted a bilingual “Living Stations of the Cross.”

A couple of hundred people followed the solemn procession through the streets surrounding the church.

I took this picture on the steps of the church, where this recent tradition of the Passion narrative began with Pontius Pilate’s interrogation of Jesus and the scourging of this man of peace at the hands of Roman soldiers.

It took much preparation involving multiple people for this devotional practice of pageantry and pathos to occur. Congratulations to all the organizers.