Two inspirational stories

Louis Zampirini in a bomber jacket. Zampirini, once expected to be the first man to run a four-minute mile, was shot down in a B-24, endured 47 days in a raft on the Pacific, only to be captured by the Japanese.
www.louiezampirini.com

When Laura Hillenbrand was researching her 2001 best-selling book Seabiscuit, she noticed another fast creature was appearing in the 1930s sports pages along with America's favorite racehorse: University of Southern California track miler Louis Zampirini.

In fact, his coach said in a 1938 interview that Louie, whose mile time was 4:13.7, would be the first man to  break the 4-minute mile. He remarked that the only runner who could beat Louie was Seabiscuit. Hillenbrand was intrigued, and Louie Zampirini became the subject of her next book: Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption.


If a screenwriter proposed Louie's story, it would be dismissed as too over the top and unbelievable. Any one part of his adventures would be enough for a blockbuster movie: the scrappy juvenile delinquent kid from Torrance whose running talent led to the 1936 Berlin Olympics and a handshake from Hitler; the World War II bombardier who survived 47 days on a life raft in the Pacific after ditching a crippled B-24, harassed by sharks and shot at by Japanese planes; survival in a string of Japanese prisoner of war camps after subjection to the most inhumane treatment imaginable; and the difficulty of returning to civilian life and overcoming the crippling nightmares where every night Louie returned in his dreams to be beaten, starved, and tortured.


I didn't pick up this book to read Louie Zampirini's story; I didn't know who he is and hadn't heard any of his story. I bought it because of Hillenbrand. Seabiscuit is a nonfiction book that reads like a novel. She has a novelist's eye for detail, for pacing, and for setting scenes. I would go anywhere this author wants to take me, and this time, it was World War II.

Hillenbrand's research is impeccable, and is even more remarkable because she does it all from home. She has suffered from chronic fatigue syndrome since age 19, and rarely leaves her house. She does research on the internet, interviews subjects from home, and carefully budgets her time and energy to be able to write. She has never met Louie in person, although they consider themselves the best of friends.

In a Washington Post article, Hillenbrand recounts that when she approached Zampirini, he warned her that he had already written two books about his ordeals, and a biographer had done another. He didn't see that there were any details left to be mined. But he underestimated her skills as a researcher: she uncovered journals that fellow POWs had kept, and found out what happened to many of the key players in Louie's story.

The result is a gripping, page-turning blockbuster of a book that includes a surprising amount of suspense, considering that we know how it turns out: Zampirini is 93 and still lives in Southern California. He is an inspirational speaker and is irrepressibly cheerful and active. But there are times in the book when you doubt that anyone can live through what he did.

One of the effects of the book was to make me rethink our bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. As a Baby Boomer teenager, I read John Hersey's book Hiroshima and was appalled. It seemed impossible that unleashing that kind of horror on the Japanese people could possibly be warranted. But when you read about what our POWs went through, and that the civilian population of Japan were drilling for a possible invasion even though we had razed most of their major cities with conventional bombs, it makes the argument that the atom-bomb actually saved lives seem more credible. It seems Japanese surrender was a distant hope before their deployment.

I won't give you any more details, because I want you to experience the book for yourself. But if you are interested in the story, you can read about Zampirini in the Wall Street Journal article about the book here. There are only a few modern books that after I read them I want everyone to read, and this is one.

Louie's story is inspirational and makes you proud to be an American, but as a writer, Hillenbrand's story is amazing too. If she can accomplish what she does with her disability, what is holding people like me back from realizing our dreams and honoring our talent? Lack of time? It's a paltry excuse.

LMAG comes to the BLVD

On the left is construction of the new Lancaster Museum/Art Gallery, tentatively expected to open in early summer, and on the right is the Arbor Lofts and Art gallery.

It has been almost six months since my column was axed by the newspaper, and I'm just now appreciating the joys of blogging. I can indulge my grandmotherly urge to show you photos of Charlotte or whatever I'm writing about; I don't have anyone "suggesting" that I shouldn't write about this or that; any typos belong solely to me, not someone downstream in the editing department; I can link to interesting sites; and I can swear if I want to.

My close friends will tell you I swear like a trucker. That I don't go beyond the occasional "hell" or "damn" in the blog is a testament to my concern for readers' sensibilities, not prudishness. I am a product of a Baby Boomer suburban upbringing, not Lenny Bruce, and I have nothing to prove. Swearing is usual counterproductive to communication, and communicating is my business.

Also, I don't have to worry about upsetting advertisers, so I can speak freely. It's an important distinction to remember that bloggers are not necessarily journalists, and are not bound by the ethics and attempts at impartiality that reporters strive for. Most of the time, bloggers are just riffing off the news-gathering work of real journalists, worrying it like a dog with a bone, looking for inconsistencies. 

That's a good thing; no one should be above scrutiny, but we need to remember that someone needs to get paid for doing the work of journalism, or the only people doing it will be those with an axe to grind. (See what I did right there, spelling "ax" with an "e"? I am not bound by the AP Stylebook, either.)

Why do I tell you all this? I write this preface so you understand that when I tell you something is wonderful, it is my concerted opinion. No one has paid me to say, or not say, anything; so I can freely tell you that I love the new revitalized downtown Lancaster.

My MGB parked in front of the Lemon Leaf on the fantastic new Lancaster BLVD, our wedding venue.

I have written for years of my love for Lancaster Boulevard. I saw businesses try and fail to make a go of it on the boulevard: Hangin' Java, the lovely second-hand bookstore, the kids' natural history store, and numerous restaurants. I patronized them, and other stores over the years: Daisy's Costumes, Tom's Cutting Chair, King Photo, Downtown Bistro, and Graphic Experience.

But my one-woman cheerleading wasn't enough for many of them, and no one business was strong enough to draw enough people downtown. What the effort needed what what it got: a complete street makeover, with the support of the city thrown behind it.

I was worried when I found out that the BLVD was going to be ripped up before my Oct. 2 wedding at Lemon Leaf. The street wasn't  finished, but my cartographer daughter made me a map to help my guests navigate the roadblocks. Now however, it is all open, and the last big construction is nearing completion: the new Lancaster Museum/Art Gallery. To see an artist's rendering of the new building, go here.

Graphic Experience co-owners Rena Patel, left, and Chris Calaba, with Rena's husband Vijay Patel, stand behind the piano painted by local artists and available to play during their open hours. Eventually, the piano will sit on the BLVD, waiting for strolling musician to take it for a spin.

Moving the museum onto the BLVD is a fantastic idea, it can't help but increase their traffic for the wonderful shows and exhibits they arrange. I spoke with Nick West, the museum curator, who is busy gearing up for the 26th Juried Art Exhibition that opens Feb. 5 and runs through Mar. 27, and for the second Museum Gala on Feb. 26. The Juried Show has an opening reception on Feb. 4, from 5-9 p.m. at the current LMAG location, 44801 Sierra Hwy. Lancaster. 

Prism: Through the Looking Glass is the title of the 2nd Museum Gala, and West said the theme takes its  inspiration from the glass architecture of the new building, "We're crossing this threshold into a new future with the building." West said the gala, being held in the current location, is a "fond farewell to this facility."

Dan Venturoli, president of the LMAG Associates, told me that the group is putting pressure in themselves to top last year's "urban chic" gala, Metamorphosis, held in the Arbor Lofts' parking structure. "It's the 25th anniversary of the Lancaster Museum/Art Gallery, and people are expecting something special," he said.

The Alice theme notwithstanding, this is not "rabbits and teaparties kitsch," according to Venuroli. "It will be a sophisticated take on Alice in Wonderland."  Through the Looking Glass is actually a chess problem laid out by Lewis Carroll, with Alice traveling a chessboard as a pawn, later becoming a queen; and the look will be "sleek and modern," with a dichromatic color scheme of red and white. Even the food will be red and white, according to caterer Maria Elena, of the Lemon Leaf. Leona Valley Winery will provide the wine.

"It will very different and artistic," Venturoli said. "The food is going to be very chic." Entertainment will dueling white grand pianos, to fit in with the decor, by 2Grand Entertainment. West said they were looking for a more "interactive event" this time, and they "want people to be very involved." The auction this year will be limited to the five painted antelope, so the official program will be shortened.

If you have never seen a dueling pianos show, you are in for a treat. I've never seen this particular outfit's show, but I have seen others on cruise ships and Las Vegas hotels, and they are great. The pianists conduct sing-alongs, teach hand gestures to songs, and pit one guest against another by playing school songs.

They will play an audience request, and if you don't like it, you can make them stop by tipping bigger for an alternate song. It's hysterical. 

The gala begins at 5:30 pm, and continues until 9 pm, with the after-party to the event beginning at 9:30 pm. The dueling pianos will play another set, and a DJ will come in so people can dance. 

Tickets are $100 for the gala only, $125 for gala and after-party, and for those starving artists in the lofts, a $25 ticket for the party alone.

Sponsors are still needed at levels from the Rook ($500) up to the King, Event Sponsor ($10,000) and all the chess pieces in between.

Venturoli said he realizes that people in the Antelope Valley support a lot of good causes, and this is not a good time of the year, but he hopes residents will support the museum, saying "funding doesn't come easily." Although the city is building the new building, there are costs attendant with the move, and support is necessary for operating costs.

Citing the trunk program, where LMAG brings art into the area schools, and the collaborations with the Children's Center for art projects, Venturoli said the museum's work is dependent on fundraising.

For tickets or information about sponsorships, contact LMAG at (661)723-6250 or via email at lmag.gala@gmail.com. 

When is a waiter not a waiter? .... When he's a tenor!

The cast of "Three Waiters," who performed at the GAVAR installation of Dan Venturoli on Friday, Jan.14.  Photo courtesy of Liz Breault

No sooner had we sat down at the Greater Antelope Valley Association of Realtors installation dinner on Friday, than people started dropping hints about the evening's entertainment. "You, especially, will love it," one said. Another said "You will absolutely love this."

Okay, then, I said, it must be something to do with opera. They were shocked, and afraid that they had spilled the beans. Give me a break! Everyone knows I love opera,  the lobby was decorated in an Italian theme, there were breadsticks and bottles of Chianti in fiascos (straw-wrapped baskets) serving as part of the decor, and the honoree's last name ends in a vowel.

What else could it be? Of course, I happened to know that Dan Venturoli, the incoming GAVAR president is a big opera and classical music fan, so that helped me guess.

Dan played the piano at my wedding, and along with my friend Barbara Letson, did a magnificent job on the flowers and decorations for the wedding venue, making the evening unforgettable. The decor of the Hellenic Center Friday night was equally fabulous, and made the huge room seem intimate.

Dan called the theme of the evening "Italiano Famiglia Celebrazione," and it was like a family dinner. The food was served family style, and diners had to pass around plates of chicken and pasta. The twisted breadsticks tasted even better than they looked in the vases.

At one point, the "catering manager" came to the microphone and announced that the staff  had found a silver handbag in the restroom, and would the owner come claim it. After  few beats, he added that it was found in the men's room. Of course, I started thinking salacious thoughts, like "what was this woman doing in the men's bathroom?"

About five minutes later, "Alfredo" comes back to the mic and says the owner was found, and says, "He was very happy to have it back," with a twinkle in his eye.

By now, people are catching on that perhaps he isn't the real catering manager. I happen to know who the real catering manager is, so I wasn't fooled. Eventually, he breaks out in a Italian opera song from Verdi, that I can't remember the name of. Then, from the middle of the room, a "waiter"named Jean-Marc speaks up and denigrates Italian opera, saying that the French know the real meaning of love, and therefore, of opera. He sings Frenchman Georges Bizet's "Toreador Song," from Carmen.


They argue for a while, and sing something else. I'd like to be more specific about the repertoire, but I was half-way through my second scandalously expensive Bombay Sapphire martini. (If you go to an event at the Hellenic Center, bring lots of cash).

Then from the back of the room, a curly-haired American waiter breaks out into "Tonight," from West Side Story. I don't know that I would put Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim up against Bizet and Puccini, but it is American, and recognizable. He says his name is Brian.

"Brian" serenading a GAVAR attendee. I know what you're thinking, but she was not a member of the cast. Photo courtesy of Liz Breault.

At some point, they all sang "Nessun Dorma,"from Puccini's Turandot, possibly the most well-known of all opera songs, and the signature song of Luciano Pavoratti. That was fitting, since it turns out that the three "servers" are actually The Three Waiters, a send-up of The Three Tenors, of which the late Pavoratti was a member, along with Jose Carreras and L.A. Opera director Placido Domingo.

You can see the Three Tenors doing "Nessun Dorma" here.

The Three Waiters is a franchise operation, with singers all over the world, who adapt the show to whatever culture and language they perform in. At one point, according to the website, they actually got to sing for Carrera, Domingo, and Pavarotti. (I can imagine the stagefright before that gig. I'd be throwing up. I'm nervous enough cooking for my friend Maria-Elena, a restauranteur.)

The show closed appropriately enough, with "O Sole Mio," and before it was all over, everyone was waving their napkins in the air like they were doing a folk dance.

It was a hard act to follow, but before long, Lou Bozigian took the stage to the tune of The Godfather theme. What's that you say? That the realtor is Armenian, and a helluva nice guy, and highly unlikely to send anyone to "sleep with the fishes"? It was funny anyway, especially when he broke out his Marlon Brando imitation.

Lou Bozigian swearing in Dan Venturoli, the new president of GAVAR. (Or is he swearing allegiance to The Family... we're not sure.)  Photo courtesy of Liz Breault.

Dan gave a speech with exactly the right tone for these trying times in real estate: just the right mix of humor, optimism and pragmatism. He dubbed 2011 the era of "Making the most of what we've got," and I think that's really true. Let's not pine for how well we used to have it, but appreciate what we've got left.

It was a fantastic night, and we were proud of our boy Daniel. He said years ago he wanted to be president of GAVAR by the time he was 30, and he has. His birthday is coming up soon, so he just made it under the wire. Good luck, Dan and thanks for the fun evening.

Sorry!

I just made a pot of coffee, without the pot. So now there is coffee all over my kitchen. Why, yes, I AM losing my mind.

Column will be late. Feel free to catch up on previous weeks, and I'll have it up in a few hours.

Thanks for your patience.

Kim

Take my jobs....please!

NASA's 747 bearing the Space Shuttle back to Cape Canaveral. One of the author's jobs was guarding the aircraft out at Edwards AFB.

I told my students in a professional development class I’m teaching that I am eminently qualified to teach them how to get a job, since I’ve had so many. In my folkie phase, I was intrigued by album liner notes that said that singer Dave Van Ronk had a variety of jobs before he made it in the music biz, including “eye-dot painter in a Mickey Mouse factory.”

I loved the idea of him toiling by day giving eyesight to Mickey figurines, then singing about injustice in Greenwich Village by night. I never had a job that esoteric, although that was probably just public relations bullshit, but I had some weird ones.

My dad didn’t allow us to have jobs in high school. Since his formal education ended after the 8^th grade because he had to work to help support his family, he believed that school should be only job of kids.

He became an engineer thanks to his Air Force training and technical school, the last of the engineers without a four-year degree. I’d like to say we kids appreciated his ban on after-school jobs, but when I was on my own at 17 without any work experience, I can’t say that I did.

Jack in the Box and McDonald's wouldn’t give me a job in fast food because I had no experience, but I could sew, so I ended up in a Simi Valley sweatshop making god-awful polyester clothing for women.

I had recently returned from living in Spain, and my Spanish was pretty good, so when the bosses found that out, they started asking me to translate for the Hispanic staff, who made up most of the factory.

I got wise and said I wanted to be paid for my services, so they went back to drawing pictures and talking too loud, like that was going to help comprehension.

I knew the owners were cheap, because after I quit, the hospital kept dunning me for the tetanus shot I got when I ran a sewing machine needle through my finger at 4,000 rpms, and had to pull it out with a pair of pliers. That’s workman’s comp, man! I refused to pay.

By the way, getting a needle all the way through your finger and nail happens to just about everyone who runs an industrial machine. The Spanish-speaking ladies women gathered around me smiling, saying, "You are a woman now."

Teledyne Industries made guidance systems for the F-14 Tomcat, another unskilled job the author held.

On my checkered resume: I sewed custom-made cowboy shirts (sort of a low-glitz Nudie the Rodeo Tailor), manufactured and sold a pink, gooey cleaner called Like Magic, made diodes for Litton microwave ovens, guidance systems for the F-14 Tomcat, sorted ball bearings, was a cashier and assistant manager in a hardware store, sold tickets for People Express airlines, and, for a few miserable days, was an orderly in a convalescent hospital.

Back then, unskilled, minimum-wage jobs were a dime a dozen. If you didn’t like a job (like emptying bedpans), you simply quit.

Then I began my brilliant career in retail at Wherehouse Records as a store manager, then a district manager.

When I first came to the Antelope Valley in 1985, there was not a lot of opportunity here, so I became a PBX board operator at an answering service. In search of more money, I got my guard card and carried a .38 out at Edwards Air Force Base, at one post guarding the 747 that flies the Space Shuttle back to Cape Canaveral.

After that came an eight-year stint managing Waldenbooks, and when I quit to go to Antelope Valley College full-time, I had four part-time jobs at one time: cafeteria worker, teacher’s assistant, tutor, and library page.

I became the textbook buyer at AVC, then got the job at the Antelope Valley Press, where I stayed for 10 years while I finished my education.

So, whenever I get discouraged with the life of a "Freeway Flyer" adjunct English professor, spending hours commuting to Victorville, Burbank and Downtown L.A., I remember that 11pm to 6am shift on the flightline at Edwards, watching the sun rise over the desert after an ungodly boring night carrying a gun, and think: "It could be a lot worse."

Your Kindle or mine?

Our his-and-hers Kindles.

I was surveying packages under the tree on Christmas Eve when I made a startling discovery.

“Hey honey, I think we got each other the same present for Christmas,” I told my husband.

“No way! Mine is a super-duper present,” was his reply.

“So is mine!” I said, slightly offended that he would think I wouldn’t get him an equally super-duper gift.

We compared the packages and weighed them, one in each hand. We decided that he would open his, and if it was the same thing, I could open mine. He opened his, and starting laughing like crazy.

We had bought each other Kindle readers from Amazon.com.

After living with the Kindle for a week, I can make this evaluation: it will never replace books, magazines, or newspapers for me.

I love the fact that I am walking around with the complete works of Shakespeare in a device that weighs about the same as a mass-market potboiler. It would have come in handy at our wedding.

Matron of Honor Lynn DuPratt giving her wedding toast at our reception.
Courtesy of www.LittleBlueWorldPhoto.com

Lynn, my maid of honor, was trying to quote what we now know to be the Bard’s Sonnet 116 in her wedding speech toast, but she got no farther than, “Let me not to the marriage of true minds/Admit impediments,” before she lost the rest.

It was a very sweet sentiment, and her point was that my husband and I are ideally suited. My friend the English professor was at another table trying to look up the quote on his smart phone to help her out. If I’d had the Kindle then, it would have been easy.

The Kindle is great for instant gratification: with the 3G model, you can have the book you want instantly, and if you were traveling and wanted to read your hometown newspaper, you could. (Well, not my hometown newspaper, but they are infamous for being aggressively neo-Luddite.)

One can carry the Oxford English Dictionary, foreign language dictionaries, travel books, field guides, atlases, your desert-island reading list, the Bible, or the latest bestseller around in your purse or backpack. You need never want for reading material.

I paid .99 for a Kindle book called "Free Kindle Books and How to Find Them," by Michael Gallagher, and it has been very helpful. I learned the hard way that not all free books are alike.

I have found that it is better to pay a nominal fee to get classics than to get them free, because you need the book to be configured for the Kindle to go directly from the table of contents to the chapter you want. 


I downloaded a free copy of "Alice in Wonderland," but soon realized that it didn't have any illustrations, and as Alice herself points out, "what is the use of a book without pictures or conversation?"


So I deleted it, and for a little over a buck, got a mobi version that did have John Tenniel's line drawings.


There are lots of books that have been scanned, but they are like reading a PDF; there is nothing interactive about them. 


There are lots of books that I like to quote and refer to, and would love to carry around with me all the time. But there is nothing quite like holding a book in your hands. 


When I commute, I listen to audio books from Audible. For a nominal monthly fee, I get credits good for downloads. I am now listening to Ken Follett's "Fall of Giants." John Lee, the Follett reader, is particularly gifted at mimicry, and his different accents in a book that takes place everywhere during World War I is very enjoyable.

But I find myself wondering how certain words and names are spelled, and long to see the words on a page. I often seek out books on the shelf that I'm listening to just to look at the typography.


I cancelled my trial Kindle subscription to the Los Angeles Times after three days. In the print edition, I am often drawn by well-written headlines to stories I wouldn't otherwise read. Having the whole page laid out to view is preferable to seeing only the section headers, like you do in the Kindle edition. 


Then, when you select a section, you have to fast-forward through the stories you don't like, because they aren't laid out in a way so you can choose them.


One of my other Christmas gifts from my husband was a hardback copy of Pat Conroy's "My Reading Life." It's a lovely little book, with handsome deckle-edged pages in just the right size to fit your hand. I would never want that in a Kindle edition.


I guess that's what it comes down to: fiction that I don't care to keep, like the Follett or Stephen King, is okay for Kindle, because I just pass them on to friends anyway. But those authors who write the lovely and graceful prose I love, like Conroy or TC Boyle, I want to have in my hands and on my bookshelf.


I guess Lynn was right, my husband and I truly do have a marriage of true minds if we buy each other the same Christmas present.