Tuesday


9
Apr 13

Travel day

We left later than we wanted to. We did exactly as many miles as we’d like to do on the day. We had a burger on the road, stopped in Birmingham to pick up some banana pudding and managed to get stuck in only one city’s rush hour. It was a day full of travel. Here, then, are some simple pictures.

Just south of the Alabama-Tennessee state line. There is a rocket at the rest area, because this part of the state is full of super smart people, because SPACE.

rocket

That is the Saturn 1B, 141 feet of muscle, angry loud power and mid-century sexiness. Team America! Previously you could walk under the engine nozzles, but now that is fenced off. Team Lawsuits, I guess. The 1B was the predecessor of the Saturn V, which took people to the moon. Anyone remember that?

Nashville was the place where we started and stopped in traffic for no discernible reasons whatsoever. Nashville does that to people.

We stopped in Kentucky, because apparently I still need to take breaks to stretch my back and shoulder. Saw this marker. The good people of the great state of Kentucky have too many numbers on this plaque on this rock at a rest stop. I did not see the 2009-present numbers:

marker

Had dinner and spent the evening with the step-dad. We’re up for a conference close by and he let us spend the night. This is my too-tired-to-go-get-my-real-camera shot.

marker

We stayed up too late. That’s going to hurt at the conference tomorrow.


2
Apr 13

Stuck in 1898

I am very interested in some of the pictures from my oldest Glomerata, the 1898, the second one they ever published. Here are a few notes about one of the pictures.

On page 86-87 you find this image and the heading “Our Co-Eds.”

Coeds1898Glomerata

Click to embiggen, and then read these scant little bios.

There is Miss Erin Black, who grew up in Lee County, home to Auburn University.

Miss Dabney Bondurant, who would ultimately marry Clifford L. Hare. Auburn people know him very well. ‘Fessor Hare was the longtime dean of Auburn’s chemistry program. He also played on Auburn’s first football team and would ultimately served the university for more than half a century, the football stadium is named after him. They are both buried in Pine Hill Cemetery, just off campus. Much of their personal correspondence is held in Special Collections at the University of Virginia.

Miss Mary Boyd, the daughter of Auburn’s fifth president David French Boyd, was the wife of Walter Lynwood Fleming. A professor at Vanderbilt, he was the recipient of the dedication in the book “I’ll Take My Stand: The South and the Agrarian Tradition.” David Boyd was pals, before the war, with William Tecumseh Sherman. After the war he started LSU. His daughter, Mary Boyd, pictured here, christened a Liberty Ship during World War II. All of that in the span of one generation of a family.

Ms. Lucile Burton would go on to be the secretary to the university’s board of trustees. She died in 1966. There’s a dormitory named after her today.

Miss Toccoa Cozart was born in Atlanta, and moved with her widowed mother to Montgomery just before the Civil War. She grew up on Perry Street, right in here. She became a school teacher, and attended State Normal College in Florence, Ala. (The modern University of North Alabama) and API, studying English and history, under the great George Petrie. She wrote a biography on Congressman and Ambassador Henry W. Hilliard. Her uncle was Confederate colonel William Howell, who took a famous photograph of the inauguration of Jefferson Davis.

Miss Marian Dawson might shows up in the society pages of The Atlanta Constitution in 1905. Seems she was moving elsewhere. The Internet doesn’t give us much more, however.

Miss Eula Belle Hale was the eighth and Miss Zadie Hale was the fourth of 11 children. They probably often heard the tale: their mother, Josephine, was previously courted by their father Samuel’s brother. But the brother was killed at Chancellorsville. They could trace her family back to early settlers in Massachusetts in 1637 and many fighters of the American Revolution. Eula Belle died in the early 1970s.

Miss Pearl Hanson was only 15 in this picture. She’d live only seven more years. Her brother, Charles, would move to Memphis and become a very successful business man. They’re both buried near their parents in Opelika. Pearl’s husband was Ira Champion, the secretary to Gov. Thomas Kilby. Pearl died just five months after they were married. Ira would stay single, worked as a journalist and finally caught on with the governor. He died in 1942.

Miss Fanny Holstun was born just up the road, one county over in sleepy little Waverly. And that’s all we know of her for now.

Miss Kate Lane stayed in town. She buried her sister in 1942. Her brother-in-law was Dean George Petrie and Kate donated his papers to the university in 1948, the largest donation they’d ever received at that time. She also gave her scrapbooks to the university, where they are held in Special Collections. Here is a picture of both Lane and Petrie. Her father was Gen. James Henry Lane, who was a part of Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg and a hero of the Battle of Bloody Angle (Spotsylvania). She died in 1968, and was buried just off campus. (Update: The General James Henry Lane House, where Kate lived, also appears in the Markers section of the site.)

Miss Lottie Lane was Kate’s sister. While Kate stayed single, Lottie married Matthew Scott Sloan of Birmingham, who also attended API and played football there at the turn of the 20th century. Matthew was a successful railroad man, managing the Missouri-Kansas-Texas Lines in the 1930s, tripling their revenues, and that during the Depression. Before that he worked at General Electric, Birmingam Railway, Light & Power, the New Orleans Railway & Light Company and was president of the Brooklyn Edison Company. Harvard Business School apparently called him one of the 20th century’s great American business leaders.

Miss Jessie Lockhart escapes us entirely. But I did find that she had a younger sister, Katherine, born in 1900. She died, in Auburn, in my lifetime.

Miss Julia Moore married Marion Roby Buckalew. Together they had seven children, including an accountant, two Naval Academy students, an Army officer who retired to become a high-ranking official at Veterans Affairs (who died just a few years ago) and more. She died in 1938.

Miss Hattie Phelps may have become part of a prominent family in Athens, Ala. She could have also lived and died a preacher’s wife in Citronelle, Ala. Now that we’ve covered both ends of the state, via a newspaper and a headstone, the point should also be made that she could have become anything.

Miss Annye Purifoy remains an open mystery.

Miss Mary Robinson was one of the first six young women enrolled at API. (Presumably the rest are also on this list.) She was the second of 10 children, and also from Waverly. She started college with just three years of formal education. She’d go on to be a teacher, and teach all over the state, including just down the road from where I grew up. She attended Howard College (now Samford University, where I teach) for post-graduate work. Her father rode with Gen. Joe Wheeler during the Civil War, and she traced her lineage back to John Hart, a signer of the Declaration of Independence. A remarkable lady, she died in 1955. I found all of this, and more, on a page dedicated to her that was written by Mary Helen Stitzel Benford.

Miss Berta Summers, one of eight children, stayed at home in nearby Opelika. She lost a brother in France in the Great War. A National Register of Historic Places document shows her selling Summers Plantation, a carpenter gothic, to family members in 1954. These days that property is home to the Little Halawakee Wildlife Reserve. The trail for Berta goes cold there.

Not bad for a little Internet searching of people who’ve been gone for decades. It seems they lived full lives of various scope. You’d love to know more details. How many of these young women grew into the suffrage movement, for example?

Next week we’ll check out the 1897-1898 track team.

Hint: They ran fast — for their era.


26
Mar 13

Amateurish, unless the right person does it

Here’s something insulting:

Some journalists are starting to renew attention to an old storytelling form — “the one-shot” technique.

Rather than editing together dozens or even hundreds of shots to tell a video story, the one-shot story uses just one shot, sometimes a couple of minutes long, to tell a story. A reporter drops in sections of voiced-over track to fill in the gaps or explain information the viewer might not know. It sounds amateurish, even YouTube-ish, until you see a journalist like John Sharify use it.

Because the videos you make aren’t good. Unless you are a reporter.

This is the example that column uses. Be the judge:

It doesn’t do anything for me. It comes off like a reporter trying to walk up to a post, which is amateurish, unless a DJ does it. And he doesn’t have a lot to say, except for repetition, which maybe doubles for emotion. But that just feels like someone who is unprepared.

But at least a journalist did it, saving us from so much YouTube.

Here’s a story from Madison, Ala., where Easter is too … Eastery for one principal:

The power went out in Homewood tonight. So I ducked out for dinner, only the power was out. No intersections had lights. No restaurants could run their neon or their kitchens. People took it in stride. They knew it was coming back on eventually. So I went downtown and finally settled on a calzone at Mellow Mushroom. It was silly to say, but I ordered the Italian Stallion, and it was flavorful.

Then I was able to watch the soccer match:

Just the second point the Americans have ever earned at Azteca. Even if Mexico is playing bizarrely uncharacteristic soccer right now — nothing I saw made sense at least — you take the point toward World Cup qualifying.

Two of the weakest things I’ve put on Tumblr, here and here. There’s also a lot more of useful things on Twitter. Be sure to check that out.

That’s all for now. More tomorrow, have a great evening!


19
Mar 13

1,032 words on a slice of the Steubenville story

There was a high profile rape trial in Ohio you might have noticed. You might have watched some media coverage that was sympathetic to the attackers. Perhaps you saw some of the news media shared the victim’s name — likely an honest error which nevertheless breaks an unwritten rule of this type of coverage.

I doubt you read this:

It’s a misplaced anger that will do nothing but further confuse the public about issues of rape and sexual assault, particularly as the crime affects children and teenagers, who make up 44 percent of rape victims.

[…]

Here’s the problem: Rape and other forms of sexual assault are incredibly common. (For more information and statistics go here or here.) Researchers estimate that one in four girls and one in six boys will be sexually assaulted before age 18.

That means there are a lot of rapists out there. Sure, some rapists are responsible for multiple attacks and some are dangerous predators. But that many victims suggests profound confusion about rape on the part of both men and women, boys and girls.

Portraying all rapists as monsters and refusing them any sympathy creates a dynamic in which it’s impossible to acknowledge how many ordinary and common rapists live among us. (According to the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network, “approximately 2/3 of assaults are committed by someone known to the victim,” and “38 percent of rapists are a friend or acquaintance.)

To media ethicist and Poynter Institute faculty member Kelly McBride, it seems we can’t characterize the familiar types as monsters. Just the strangers, one supposes.

When your premise starts out as “Railing against CNN’s Steubenville coverage is a waste of time” and moves to shakier ground from there you should reconsider your point. Otherwise you’ll conclude there are plenty of ordinary rapists right there in your hometown. Maybe on your city council! Or church or street! You know, just folks.

Maybe we should treat that as an extraordinary thing.

McBride sees this as “an opportunity to have an honest conversation about the sexual assault of children and teenagers, and about misguided perceptions of healthy sexuality and the role of sports culture.”

So sports turned the young men into rapists. Or maybe it was just that good old fashioned healthy American sexuality.

Poynter, which is a school “dedicated to teaching and inspiring journalists and media leaders” does fine work. This might be one of the most highly trafficked pieces they’ve published for some time, and you should read the comments. There McBride attempts to answer some of the criticisms:

I wish that some of the news orgs that are spending so much space on the CNN controversy would find some survivors to tell their stories.

This is a huge huge international problem. Yet, I think we will be more successful convincing the men who hold these views to see women as fully embodied humans and endowed with clear rights that should not be violated by approaching them as humans, not monsters. Tell someone he’s a monster and he’s not likely to hear you out.

I don’t believe having sympathy for an offender precludes me from being shocked at their sentences, especially when I compare them to the sentences that some teens receive for drug offenders.

(W)hat I would love to see is more news orgs taking the opportunity to explore how confused people are about consent.

Alternately, “You’re doing the wrong story, media” or “You aren’t seeing the right forest because of the wrong trees, society” or “They shouldn’t go to jail for too long because they aren’t monsters and many former victims are able to lead fruitful lives. Also, look at drug sentences.” or “People don’t understand.”

Gotcha.

If I may: Life is choices and consequences, with each meaning something. One choice can make you a gentleman or a braggart or a person who preys on other human beings.

It is troubling that there are so many in that latter group. Being critical of our media doesn’t diminish that. Praising our media for good coverage doesn’t either. Finding shades of gray within that group — as McBride seems to do — is problematic.

Meanwhile, there is plenty of opportunity to discuss both culture and media because, so often, media effects culture. McBride is missing that.

Her last graph:

Railing against missteps or an imbalance in coverage makes us less likely to take up powerful stories that will change the way we as a society understand the extent of the rape problem and the power we have to change it.

Do not share your indignation about “missteps or an imbalance in coverage.” That will … do something or other and you won’t like it.

It has to mean something when the media talks about cultural issues, preferably the right things, in the modern cultural context — yes, your mileage will occasionally vary. When the media strays they deserve a public course correction.

McBride is a media ethicist, a field where right and wrong would, occasionally, be a good thing. But this isn’t about the media for her, rather about some poor put upon teenagers. Did they get the proper messages? Did they know right from wrong? Who taught them that? Could the jocks with the promising grades and a modicum of athletic potential know any better? Or were they mired in some larger, dumber, ignorant problem? Just how backwards is your typical Steubenville teen scene anyway? Maybe it was their coaches? Teammates? Anything, anything but created, complimented or exacerbated by media, except that the larger problem was nurtured by media, which doesn’t deserve criticism, but should, in fact, change “the way we as a society understand the extent of the rape problem and the power we have to change it.”

The circular distraction is maddening.

Kelly McBride on Twitter:

But it isn’t the parents’ problem, apparently:

One wonders who she’s willing to blame. Maybe that’s the problem.


12
Mar 13

Things I’ve read recently

Tuesdays sometimes get away from me. Of all the days of the week, Tuesday is the one I’d rather keep in order, but that doesn’t always work out. And yet it was a mostly productive day. Students are putting together the newspaper. I did a lot of grading and reading and writing of emails and so forth. Of its own accord it probably wasn’t much, but it is cumulative. It adds up.

So instead of reading all about that, read all about this!

I finished First Man, by Auburn professor James Hansen a few weeks ago. This is the authorized biography of Neil Armstrong, the often misunderstood engineer-pilot-astronaut … why am I explaining who Neil Armstrong was?

This is a fine biography, immensely detailed and well sourced. All but one of Armstrong’s sons took part in in-depth interviews and, of course, the biggest part of the tale leads up to one of the most widely observed accomplishments of all of humankind, so, you know, there are notes for the author to consult.

And despite his analytical, engineering approach to pretty much everything Hansen hints at an engaging Armstrong. He even tells jokes! Which might sound odd of a man considered by so many of his contemporaries considered aloof. He sounds more private, unassuming, and unsure of why you need to know so much about him. Armstrong, after all, only considered himself “a white socks, pocket-protector nerdy engineer,” (pg. 602).

One of the best anecdotes, perhaps, actually involved his wife, Janet:

For the terrors of the landing, Janet again needed to be alone, so she retired to the privacy of her bedroom. Bill Anders decided to join her. Bill and Janet together had given Pat White the bad news that awful night in January 1967 when her husband Ed died in the Apollo fire, and Bill felt he should stay with Janet right through the touchdown. Rick, a very intelligent and sensitive boy, also wanted to be with his mother. She and Rick and been following the NASA flight map step by step, now with Anders’s help. Rick settled on the floor near the squawk box, while Janet and Bill sat on the foot of the bed. (Long after the Moon landing, this led to one of Bill Bill Anders’s favorite quips. “Where was I when the first Moon landing occurred? I was in bed with Janet Armstrong!”) (pg. 480)

Last week I also read No Time for Sergeants which famously became both a Broadway play and movie. I find aww shucks hokum and dialectic reading to wear me out, but this was tolerable enough to get through in a day or two. It wasn’t as funny as the dust jacket implied, but the movie is great, and this scene in both formats is terrific:

It always helps to imagine Griffith in this role:

Mac Hyman attended Auburn for a short while before the war. He lived here. I looked for Hyman in the Glomeratas, but he didn’t seem to make an appearance.

Speaking of Glomeratas, stick around. There’ll be an update to that section later this evening.