Of Odd Dreams, a Leg Infection and Dedication to Medical Careers
Aug. 8, 2010
SCOTTSDALE, Ariz. – The strangest dreams invaded my nights earlier this month. Instead of counting sheep, I encountered monstrous images. In a narrow tunnel with falling flakes of gold, I faced a smiling lime green snake large enough to swallow a bull.
Under a black sky, I floated over an endless sea of royal blue waves edged in red.
I walked through a subterranean world, which was between other underworlds. In each were leaning date palms. Trucks could fall though large holes in the dusty streets.
There were other images difficult to put into words. These weren’t really dreams. The experiences were a state of consciousness between being awake and fully asleep. I could end the odd dreams simply by opening my eyes.
They were like the stories from the television drama, “Rubicon,” which focuses on a team of analysts at a New York City think tank. The analysts search for hidden clues in crosswords, news stories, television broadcasts, and so on. Sort of like James Grady’s novel, “Six Days of the Condor.”
Meanings in dreams
Are dreams meaningless? Or are they messages or warnings, like mysteriously avoiding a speeding car by stopping to pick up a small item dropped by someone? And was the item dropped by accident?
My odd dreams likely were triggered by the antibiotic cocktails I received for a serious leg infection, which began as a large contusion from a fall. Then there was the overpowering nausea. I couldn’t stand the sight or smell of food. I was bedridden for eight days while doctors and nurses treated me for the infection. Since I enjoy hiking and other outdoor activities, being tied to a hospital bed with tubes was torture.
During my experience in the Phoenix hospital, I gained a new perspective of the medical profession. Most of the doctors, nurses, aides and therapists I encountered were friendly and dedicated, despite the negative treatment they received from some patients.
In another room, maybe next door, was a man who complained loudly. The staff must have used enormous self-control to offer him as much care as they did to other patients who appreciated the medical care.
Few, if any, patients want to be in hospital, but the loud and angry man was unhappy. Maybe he was in pain. Maybe he was lonely.
Dedication, despite criticism
A nurse told me she enjoys helping others, despite the occasional negative treatment from patients. Another nurse echoed her colleague’s comments. A therapist said that no matter now many unkind words she hears from patients, she knows she is appreciated. She added quickly that she still enjoys hearing that she is appreciated.
All the medical professionals who talked with me were believable. They took my vital signs, brought my medicine several times a day, emptied my commode, helped me get back on my feet and offered only kindly comments about the loud man.
Surgery for the infection in my leg was an experience. One minute, I was being prepped. The next thing I remember, I was in recovery. Whatever happened in between, my gray cells failed to record.
One thing I learned quickly while in hospital is humility. When one leg is benched with bandages and medical equipment, one is forced to ask for help to use the commode.
A nurse brightened the situation, as I was checking out, when she offered some kind advice. To paraphrase her, she said everyone looks alike when they’re naked. I had tried to keep myself covered, though that is a challenge with the open-backed hospital gowns.
Alike, we are
The nurse, in a way, is correct. No matter how much cash or clout we carry, or whether we’re on the street asking for bus fare or dodging bullets in a war zone, we are alike.
The nurse, wise beyond her years, has a good heart and a terrific attitude. She led the challenging effort in removing my leg dressing the first time after surgery. She hesitated, aware of the pain.
Do it, I encouraged her. Go. Don’t stop.
“Sorry,” she said. “Sorry.”
Removing the first adhesive pulled out all the leg hair.
She kept at it, carefully removing the dressing packed into my wound during surgery. She tugged the embedded sponge dressing one way; I pulled my leg the other.
Keep going, I said. Don’t stop. When she finished, another nurse gave me more painkiller. The worst was over. The nurses said future dressing changes won’t be as painful.
I am home now, immersed in my favorite books, the Internet and my collection of power rock ‘n’ roll. I’m also looking forward to experimenting with a new camera lens that arrived during my medical adventure.
Always will I remember the doctors, nurses, medical aides, physical therapists, dietary staff and housekeepers at John C. Lincoln North Mountain Hospital. They made my first medical adventure tolerable.
I will especially remember the support I received from my Best Friend during my hospital stay. She was with me every day.
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Bookends Through Eternity, or Sprinkled in Several Time Zones?
July 18, 2010
SCOTTSDALE, Ariz. – It’s probably time to give some thought to my funeral. Don’t worry; I plan to be around for a while, maybe forever.
Our financial planner’s schedule takes us as far out as age 102. I told him that’s not long enough. I don’t want to run out of cash before it’s time to cash in.
Anyway, grim as it may sound, I should plan for how I want to be treated after I’m gone. Better to do it yourself than letting someone else do it after you’re history, says my Best Friend.
She’s great at starting conversations. She brought up the topic the other night during a TV commercial. We were eating pizza.
So, she says between slices, have you given any thought to being cremated?
I didn’t dribble any pizza, but she had my attention. This conversation could be more interesting than the rerun spy drama on TV.
I imagined myself as six pounds of ashes packed inside an urn the size of a tiny ice bucket.
Better yet, if I were divided between two urns carved as bookends, I could embrace books through eternity.
Crystal or prehistoric pots?
My ashes could be stored in Waterford crystal or a prehistoric Native American pot. Just be sure it’s sealed and there is an “Occupied” sign on it so that no one tries to stick a candle in it.
Urns can be carved from teak or rosewood or stone – even decorated with mother of pearl and walnut finials – in just about any shape imaginable. I’m thinking footballs, bowling pins or milk jugs with wire handles.
I did some quick research. Cremations comprised about 35 percent of the funeral market in the United States in 2007. That number was predicted to reach 40 percent this year.
Cremation urns can be carved from wood, metal, stone or even salt, and in a wide variety of designs and sizes.
Urns are available on the Internet, even on eBay, where – if you don’t want to be outbid – you can “Buy It Now” for about $30. And if you want to keep a tiny amount of your loved one’s ashes with you at all times, you could buy a metal container small enough to keep on a key ring, or to use as a pendant, like one of those tiny pill containers.
I found a reference to wind chime urns, in alto or soprano. There are tube-like steel cremation urns that can be bolted to motorcycles or other vehicles so the footloose departed souls can continue traveling with their loved ones. Wouldn’t work for me, though. I get carsick when I can’t see where we’re going.
I could be in a decorative ceramic or marble urn. Or maybe obsidian. Like that chunk of black and red obsidian I found along the Columbia River when I was in first grade. After death, I could be stored in stone like the obsidian I found in my youth. That would be cool.
Snowbird traveling by urn
Or, I could be scattered in the mountains or at the beach. But I don’t like cold, dreary weather, so mountains are out. Unless someone would carry my urn back and forth between the mountains in the summer and warmer weather in the winter.
And I’m not sure about the beach. I love seashores, the aroma of salt air and the relaxing music of the waves, but I’d rather not get picked at by hermit crabs or washed out to sea.
There are companies that, for a fee, will spread ashes from the air over the departed’s favorite places. But I’ve never worked up the courage for skydiving, so the idea of being scattered from 2,000 feet is probably out.
Some families, sidestepping cemetery approval, surreptiously spread ashes over their plots in cemeteries. But then I’d have to watch out for lawnmowers and earthworms. And cemetery workers would wonder who fertilized that patch of ground where the grass is greener.
My only experience with cremation was my father’s. We were planning his memorial when the mortuary called to say his ashes were ready for pickup. Or, the caller said, Dad could be mailed to us. I drove to the mortuary immediately to bring Dad’s ashes home. I sat him on the front seat next to me. He wouldn’t appreciate arriving home like junk mail.
Sprinkled around the world
My Best Friend and I set up our wills years ago, but we never finished the part about our funerals. In our newest cremation discussion, she reminded me about the story* we read recently about a National Geographic photographer’s friends spreading his ashes around the world.
I remember that story. I like that idea. If I were sprinkled in 24 time zones, I could enjoy sunrises and sunsets every hour, every day.
But that would require the expense and coordination of someone carrying me around the world. And how do you get cremated ashes past security workers in airports in 24 time zones? They’d probably demand to sift my ashes. I’d end up scattered over airport security conveyer belts, X-ray machines and other peoples’ shoes and diaper bags.
I’ll have to give cremation more thought. I could be cremated with a few of my favorite books.
But I have several favorite books. I’ll need a larger urn.
Is there more pizza?
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* (For more information about National Geographic photographer Ralph B. White’s family and friends scattering his ashes around the world, click here.)
Historic Denver Hotel’s History, Elegance Offer Luxurious Retreat
July 11, 2010
DENVER – The startling sights inside the 1892 hotel’s onyx lobby quickened our heartbeats. High enough for eagles to fly is this soaring eight-story atrium topped with original stained glass.
There are other upscale hotels with large atriums, but many are of austere, contemporary design. However, this hotel is unique. It is neither plain nor ostentatious, and its massive stone design gives it the strength of the nearby Rocky Mountains.
The Brown Palace Hotel & Spa, with 240 guestrooms and suites, is a historic structure in the Italian Renaissance style. It surrounds an expansive inner space topped with a 2,800-square-foot ceiling of stained glass maintained by the fourth generation of its designer.
History fans as well as architecture aficionados will enjoy the visual treats offered by the Brown Palace. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
We signed in at the hotel’s original onyx-covered front desk. The lingering spirits of our vacation getaway’s history distracted us when the concierge reminded us that our corner room on the eighth floor was ready.
A friendly bellman in a tailored uniform was ready to help with our luggage. Originally, the eighth floor was designed for the hotel’s ballroom and separate clubrooms for men and women.
The bellman accompanied us to our room, where we left our luggage for unpacking later. We returned to the lobby. We were anxious to learn more about the hotel and its place in Colorado history. We felt the same excitement when we stayed at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco earlier this year.
The Brown Palace is a fascinating architectural creation in downtown Denver. This stone-and-steel hotel rooted in the American West is ruggedly handsome outside, elegant inside. It is managed by Quorum Hotels & Resorts.
The Brown Palace Hotel & Spa in downtown Denver, dwarfed by nearby office buildings, has a history that offers a glimpse into Colorado’s past. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
The exterior is Arizona red sandstone and Colorado red granite. The lobby is covered with white Mexican onyx. Intricate cast-iron balcony railings on guest floors surround the atrium, except for the eighth floor, which is enclosed from the atrium by a wall of glass blocks.
The hotel, according to its walking tour handout, “is listed on The National Register of Historic Places and has been designated a Denver Landmark.” In Denver’s early days, this hotel was a political and social hub of the city’s wealthy and powerful.
The hotel literature also says that the hanging lamps “on the second floor and the lights in the arches are said to be original light fixtures from the time when the hotel generated its own electricity, a system which operated until the 1930s.”
A giant U.S. flag hanging several floors from the ceiling is appropriate for our July 4th visit. A woman at the front desk says the flag is displayed from Memorial Day to Labor Day. In the lobby, a grand piano highlights the arrangement of tables, chairs and sofas set for high tea.
Henry C. Brown, a carpenter and architect from Ohio, built the Brown Palace in the early 1890s. The construction cost was $1.6 million, according to the 2010 Historic Hotels of America directory.
Photographs of businessman Henry C. Brown, who built his hotel on land that once was a cow pasture, hang in the hotel. Today, the Brown Palace is considered a key feature in downtown Denver. Photo by Mike Padgett
Architect Frank Edbrooke designed the Brown Palace. It was constructed of iron, steel, concrete and terra cotta tiles, making it virtually fireproof. The unique construction was featured in the May 21, 1892, issue of Scientific American magazine.
To boost business for his hotel, Brown donated other property nearby for a future state capitol. The seat of state government then attracted wealthy business owners, who built their luxurious homes in the area.
Brown was 85 when he died in 1906 in San Diego. It was because of his role in the location of the state capitol that the Colorado governor gave permission for Brown’s body to lay in state in the capitol.
Opposite the lobby elevators is a wall mural painted in 1937 by a local artist. According to hotel literature, the man in a trench coat in the mural walking to the waiting plane resembles billionaire businessman Howard Hughes. And the woman exiting the plane is said to look like Babe Zaharias, a pioneer in women’s professional sports. She died in 1956.
A hotel plaque near the piano says the concept of the National Football League’s Denver Broncos was first discussed in the lobby.
Historic photos of the hotel decorate walls on the guest floors. A mail tube, linked to brass slots near the elevator on every floor, is functional.
The lobby entrance to the hotel spa, opened in 2005, originally was the fireplace. Soft lighting on the second-floor archways sparkles like jewels. Two silver drinking fountains in the lobby offer water from the hotel’s 750-foot-deep artesian well.
The Brown Palace has been a favorite of dignitaries and celebrities from around the globe. The hotel’s slogan, “Where the World Registers,” and a sketch of the triangle-shaped hotel dominate the breakfast menu door hanger.
Comfortable hall seating is available on the second floor of the Brown Palace Hotel. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
This grand hotel in Denver has a history brightened for more than a century by the arrivals of U.S. presidents, visiting royalty, rock stars, movie stars and sports magnates.
When they arrived in Denver in 1964, the Beatles used the hotel’s service entrance to avoid injuries from fans mobbed at the main entrance on the other side of the hotel.
According to author Corrine Hunt’s book, The Brown Palace: Denver’s Grande Dame, many entertainers and heads of state, including Russian President Boris Yeltsin, stayed at the hotel. They included Buffalo Bill Cody, Lionel Barrymore, John Philip Sousa, Lillian Russell, Jack Benny, Peter Lorre, Robert Taylor, George Jessel, Helen Hayes, Jimmy Durante, Red Skelton, John Wayne, and Presidents Theodore Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, Woodrow Wilson, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Ronald Reagan, Bill Clinton, and George W. Bush.
Hunt was the hotel’s historian for 20 years. She retired in 1997. In her book, she mentions a murder in the hotel in 1911. Two men fought in the bar at the Brown Palace. One pulled a gun and fatally wounded the other. The murder is the focus of another book, Murder at the Brown Palace, written by Denver Post journalist Dick Kreck.
Many original photographs of the hotel can be viewed in cyperspace at www.denverlibrary.org. The earliest photos show horses and buggies on the streets.
Throughout our stay at the Brown Palace, we were impressed by the high level of service, from the wait staff in the Ship Tavern to housekeeping and the concierge. And the food, either in the restaurant or delivered by room service, was excellent. The other restaurants are Ellyngton’s, Palace Arms, and Churchill Bar.
The Ship Tavern, opened in 1934, has a nautical theme of models of sailing ships on shelves, antique lithographs of sailings on the walls and a mockup crow’s nest in the middle of the dining area.
Our favorite meals included the buffalo burgers, Angus burgers, skewered shrimp in salad spiced with jalapeno, and Maine lobster salad.
In the Palace Arms restaurant is the Independence Room. Its walls are covered with wallpaper similar to that in the Diplomatic Receiving Room in the White House, according to the hotel’s handout.
Leaving the Brown Palace for our return to Arizona was difficult. Our stay was too short. We lingered in the lobby, just as we did when we arrived a few days earlier. While we waited for our ride to the airport, we stood and admired the inner urban space. Other guests were enjoying high tea.
The original stained glass ceiling of the Brown Palace’s atrium is maintained by the fourth generation of the designer. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
I wondered about business deals made and political secrets shared, starting in 1892, under the stained glass ceiling eight stories above the lobby. If ghosts of previous visitors could talk, their words would be as valuable as the gold and silver mines in the nearby Rockies.
My Best Friend, squeezing my hand, shared my thoughts. We’re coming back, she said.
(See my post about our visit to the Palace Hotel in San Francisco here.)
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Theft Darkens a Successful Conference; Suspect Tracked via GPS
July 7, 2010
SCOTTSDALE, Ariz. – Was it a crime of opportunity? Or had the thief been stalking the women’s room?
Recently, one day after the end of an international conference in another state, a friend and two other women entered a restroom in the convention center. They were part of the host organization, and they had just finished an all-morning review of the multi-day conference.
Despite a challenging national economy, the conference was a success, judging from the number of attendees from across the nation and from dozens of countries, the number of vendors, and the large number of thank-you notes.
But in the restroom, a criminal act darkened the resounding team success. My friend placed her iPhone and her purse next to the sink as she washed her hands. She didn’t see or hear another woman enter the restroom and approach her from behind.
The silent stranger, ignoring my friend’s purse with its credit cards and some cash, grabbed the iPhone and fled. My friend turned and ran after the woman. She was only a couple of heartbeats behind the stranger, but the conference center was busy. Workers were breaking down the exhibits and carting them outside for transportation.
The suspect vanished in the crowd. My friend, using a colleague’s phone, contacted security and then reached for her iPad. She was able to track her iPhone, via its internal GPS, and watch it move on her iPad screen. Her iPhone was in the possession of the restroom thief who by this time was a block or more away, either walking down the sidewalk or in a car leaving the area.
Security officials reviewed their security systems. The security camera shows a woman entering the restroom after my friend and her associates. The same woman was first to leave the restroom.
Quickly, security workers identified the woman. They located her and confronted her about the iPhone. She denied any involvement. Investigators had nothing to link her to the theft, although the security camera shows that no one else entered the restroom.
The iPhone is probably a goner, according to one person instrumental in trying to recover it.
Police in San Francisco warn that iPhones have become popular among thieves who rush up and grab iPhones from the hands of distracted users. Photo by Mike Padgett
News accounts in San Francisco quote police as saying a rise in reported iPhone thefts suggest an organized effort by thieves targeting the popular device. Police are unsure whether the stolen iPhones are wiped and resold locally or in other countries.
Since every iPhone has a serial number, it could be traced back to it original owner if it ever lands in police custody, according to a recent story in the Detroit Free Press.
The theft of my friend’s iPhone reminded me of the many police reports and court records I read during my years as a newspaper journalist on the police and courts beats. The descriptions of suspects, no matter what crime was involved, could remind you of everyday people you meet on the street or in the grocery store.
The descriptions – color of hair and eyes, color and type of clothing, and so on – could remind you of a friend or neighbor. Criminals are everyday people. They wear sweatshirts and jeans or business suits. They are like you and me.
A logical first step after the theft of my friend’s iPhone was to remotely wipe its memory. That keeps names, phone numbers, e-mails, passwords and other important data out of the hands of strangers.
Wiping an iPhone memory is easy. But it’s unlikely anyone could ever wipe the incident from the memory of my friend, her two colleagues, and all of their families and friends.
If they are like me, as my friend, her colleagues and their families and friends reflect on the crime, they likely will become a little more vigilant and a little less trusting.
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Different Cultures Strengthen a City’s Ethnic, Historical Tapestry
May 28, 2010
SAN FRANCISCO– Rolling stones on two feet, in suits or jeans and jackets, are part of the energy of San Francisco.
Some of this city’s free spirits and forever young carry children or groceries.
Others, full of youth, or not, tote backpacks and briefcases.
They make pit stops for coffee and bump BART turnstiles on their hustle to work.
They are the colorful threads of this city’s ethnic and historical tapestry.
They, along with Captain Hook and the Lost Boys this summer,
Energize the city with new sights and sounds and tastes.
They are a colorful kaleidoscope of peoples and cultures in one place.
Many strive to overcome language barriers, to ignore unkindness, to be friends, to welcome new ideas.
The Palace Hotel (center) in downtown San Francisco was reopened in 1909, after severe damage by fire in the 1906 earthquake. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
Seven floors up in the Palace Hotel at Market and New Montgomery,
A visitor to this historical city greets cloudy sunrises.
This out-of-towner doesn’t feel like playing tourist. Not this time.
No cable cars or killing time at Ghirardelli Square. No recharging at Point Reyes National Seashore, hiking Muir Woods National Monument or driving Highway 1 south along the coast to Point Lobos beyond Monterey. Done all that.
This time, the visitor is enjoying the ghosts of the Palace Hotel, first opened in 1876, destroyed by fire in 1906 and reopened in 1909.
When morning clouds and rains yield to azure skies,
He wanders the financial district’s streets.
He stops at coffee shops for breakfast, a deli for lunch.
Close up and through blocks-long vistas down concrete canyons,
He studies the city’s historic and contemporary architecture.
He monitors the city’s pulse at Market and New Montgomery.
His walks in downtown San Francisco, between light rains,
Resemble a child’s scribbles on a map.
He finds ethnic eateries and American business icons.
He hears different languages in crosswalks and in restaurants.
Heard and seen are motorists’ horns and angry eyes.
Streetcars and buses, loaded at rush hours, rumble past the Palace.
When rain begins, umbrellas are pulled from pockets and backpacks.
On the sidewalks, homeless fleeing personal sorrow unfold their cardboard marquees.
They sit cross-legged or stand in doorways of vacant businesses.
They crave eye contact, ask for change, thank you, have a good day.
“Stranded, robbed,” reads a sign held by a young woman with a dog.
Shuffling slowly on the sidewalk is a middle-aged Black man.
Grimy tennis balls on two of his walker’s four legs.
New cafes are opening, hoping to survive the economy.
Cabbies thank the rain for more customers.
Flower vendors add aromas and bright colors to concrete and asphalt.
The theater in the round at Clay and Drumm streets is busy this summer,
The threesixty Theater, in a circular tent near the Ferry Building,
Hosts the Darling family and the Lost Boys and Captain Hook.
They add new life to the play, “Peter Pan,” which is based on novelist JM Barrie’s original 1904 story.
Business conferences keep the Palace Hotel busy.
Hotel workers fill carts with coffee, pastries and sliced fruit for the meetings.
The Palace Hotel’s hallways, between conference meetings, are filled with attendees checking voicemails and emails. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
In the hallways off the lobby, suits are seated or wander back and forth.
They have laptops on their knees or mobile phones to their ears.
At a networking scrimmage, the suits fill the hotel’s Pied Piper Bar.
Between voicemails, glances at the menu, polite smiles and body language,
The suits block each other’s passes and tackle their competition.
They talk new frontiers and promote their technology.
They lock eyes, share ideas, make deals and shake hands.
Visitors stop to admire the bar’s namesake, the giant 1909 Maxfield Parrish painting.
The Palace Hotel’s Garden Court, under a dome of stained glass, is a rare dining experience. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
In the hotel’s elegant Garden Court, with its Austrian crystal chandeliers,
Is genteel dining mirroring the era of F. Scott Fitzgerald.
The afternoon sun pours through the stained glass dome ceiling,
Creating sparkles on polished marble floors and columns and silverware.
On the hotel’s upper floors, housekeeping workers push carts
Loaded with towels and sheets, washed and dirty.
They check off the rooms emptied by visitors headed home.
They fluff the pillows and straighten the rooms of long-term guests.
They open the drapes and collect newspapers and room service trays.
They replace soaps and shampoos and used drinking glasses.
They wipe the sinks, showers and toilets.
They ready the rooms for tomorrow’s guests.
It will be another day, like any other, in other cities.
But just a short drive north, across the Golden Gate Bridge, are Muir Woods and Point Reyes. Next time, for sure.
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Arizona’s Housing Market Improving, Despite Controversies
May 17, 2010
PHOENIX – Random thoughts from Arizona’s business and political sidelines:
• A new report from the W.P. Carey School of Business at Arizona State University shows the median price of single-family housing in metro Phoenix is up 5.5 percent so far this calendar year. In January, the median price was $136,500. In April, it was $144,000. But whether the momentum will continue, or whether it is the result of short-term factors, is unknown. The full report from Associate Professor of Real Estate Jay Butler is at http://wpcarey.asu.edu/realestate/Phoenix-Resale-Market-Reports.cfm.
• Can the housing market in Arizona improve in the shadows of controversial state politics and historic budget troubles? What astute out-of-state buyer or employer will relocate to a state whose leaders approved a controversial immigration law that is facing legal challenges?
• With today’s voice mail systems, just who is answering their phones when pollsters call about the topic de jour? Is that audience a true cross-section of the American public? How familiar are the respondents with the topic, beyond what they learn from headlines and ranting radio commentators? It is too easy to formulate questions to get answers supporting any set of beliefs.
• For many years, Arizona has ranked near the bottom of the 50 states in terms of annual spending per student in the K-12 grades. The anti-education sentiment is abundant in Arizona, like a persistent weed. Arizona employers struggle to find qualified workers locally when the worker pool is filled with graduates of one of the nation’s bottom-tier education systems.
• I don’t remember any public vote on photo radar in Arizona. Officials have decided to let the contract expire because of the program’s vocal opponents. But do the opponents constitute a majority? Critics often are vocal, but do they constitute a majority? What about the program’s silent supporters, those who see other motorists punch the accelerator and speed weave through traffic as soon as they pass the photo radar sites? After the photo radar program ends this summer, we should expect to see an uptick in traffic accidents. Or worse.
• I don’t understand the need for a new Arizona law allowing any adult to carry a concealed weapon. What’s the purpose?
• When opponents of any new proposal get organized and demonstrate in the streets, do they genuinely believe in their efforts? Maybe they are participating because they have nothing else to do. Whatever reason, I wish they would use correct grammar and spelling on their placards and t-shirts. If they cannot spell, they should expect to be ignored.
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Of Robber Barons, Teddy Roosevelt and Firefighters Running into Flames
May 11, 2010
If you’re interested in reading about everyday life in the United States in the early 20th Century, and how its citizens survived the sorry side of government, read Pulitzer Prize-winner Timothy Egan’s “The Big Burn: Teddy Roosevelt and the Fire That Saved America.”
Egan, a Seattle-based journalist who writes a column for The New York Times, based his book on a monster forest fire in Montana, Idaho and Washington state in August 1910. The era was the heyday of the robber barons in railroads, banking and timber, to name a few.
“The Big Burn” is a book about timber, conservation, politics, and several small forest fires that merged into a runaway conflagration in three states. The fire pushed by 80 mph winds consumed forests as well as settlers, livestock and towns.
Remove the jacket of “The Big Burn” to see a photo of a cave in which several firefighters sought refuge from an inferno that consumed more than 3 million acres in Montana, Idaho and Washington state in 1910. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
Nearly 10,000 men were recruited to fight the fires. Settlers tried to bury their belongings in their backyard to escape the flames. Some settlers and migrants-turned-firefighters became trapped by the flames. Egan describes how men fighting the fire became running torches as they tried to outrun the waves of flames. Their hair caught fire first. Then the flames melted exposed skin on their hands and faces. A few survived by diving into creeks, lakes or abandoned mines in the mountains.
Egan quotes the grim words written by a Seattle reporter visiting the aftermath: “The dead bodies where fire has swept directly over them seem to be turned to charcoal. Fingers, ears and even arms drop off when the bodies are touched.”
In two days, nearly 3.2 million acres of timber on national forests and private and state land were burned. The racing inferno pushed down the forests, creating “a weave of horizontal timber” several feet thick in places.
“The canyons and hillsides were covered with a twisted mass of broken, blackened trees, in some places five feet deep,” Egan writes, quoting a ranger’s recollections.
For many weeks, the fire in the Northwest and Congress’ subsequent debates about increasing the U.S. Forest Service budget dominated headlines. The challenges and risks faced by forest rangers caught the attention of author Zane Grey, who “made a forest ranger the hero of his next book, ‘The Young Forester,’” Egan writes.
Integral to the story is the establishment of the U.S. Forest Service and the power of the robber barons.
Egan backgrounds the book heavily with President Theodore Roosevelt, conservationists John Muir and Gifford Pinchot, financier J.P. Morgan, and U.S. Sen. William Clark, the powerful Montana politician who later owned copper mines in Arizona and played a role in the establishment of Las Vegas, Nev. Clarkdale, Ariz., is named after him, as is Nevada’s Clark County.
Egan writes that Clark’s influence in politics and business was well known. He says Clark was reported to have said, “I never bought a man who was not for sale.” Egan describes Clark as “a sunken-faced gnomish man with a paintbrush beard and eyes that cut with a slicing stare.”
One of the reluctant heroes in the book is Ed Pulaski. Egan describes him as “a middle-aged master of carpentry, metal forging, riding, route finding and other skills that had allowed him to survive in the Rocky Mountain West at a time when it was being fully opened up.”
Pulaski was on the front lines of that war in the forest. He survived with major injuries. Egan writes that Pulaski “took a faceful of flame on Saturday night, burned over many parts of his body, the skin so raw and festered, blind in one eye, unable to see very well in the other.”
Pulaski died in 1931, but his legacy lives today in the form of a tool he forged in his shop and tried to patent. Every firefighter knows how to use the Pulaski, a tool Egan describes as an “ax and hoe-type blade on a single handle.”
“The Big Burn” is a glimpse into U.S. history, complete with earlier versions of today’s heroes and villains.
Egan’s other books include “The Worst Hard Time,” “The Winemaker’s Daughter,” “Lasso The Wind,” “Breaking Blue,” and “The Good Rain.”
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California’s Oldest City Offers Nonstop Photo Ops
April 28, 2010
SAN DIEGO, Calif. –The afternoon we arrived in San Diego, the brisk winds blew strong enough to straighten curly hair.
Two days later, it was calm. The skies were clear. The coastal temperatures were in the 70s.
We love this city. Especially its ocean breezes, Balboa Park, sunsets off Point Loma, and holding hands on morning walks along the bay. I enjoy walking to the corner grocer for breakfast muffins and fruit, ignoring rush hour, and nodding hello to dog walkers.
The iconic San Diego Museum of Man, originally called the California Building, is one of the few original structures in Balboa Park. The 200-foot-high tower was built in 1915. This view is from Alcazar Gardens. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
On this recent trip, I spent my first two mornings in Balboa Park. The lush hilltop park overlooking downtown is a photographer’s dream. Its museums, spring flowers and Spanish Colonial architecture offer photo ops in every direction.
Casa del Prado was rebuilt in 1970. It originally was the Food & Beverage Building. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
Balboa Park dates to 1868. Its original name, City Park, was changed in 1910. The 1,200-acre park was home to the 1915-16 Panama-California Exposition to celebrate the 1915 opening of the Panama Canal. The park also hosted the 1935-36 California-Pacific International Exposition to help the city rebound from the Great Depression.
Reflected in the Lily Pond are the images of the Casa del Balboa and the House of Hospitality. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
Several of the park’s wood-and-plaster buildings, because some dated to 1915, were rebuilt between 1970 and 2005.
Year round, San Diego’s temperatures are moderate, thanks to the ocean’s influence. San Diegans tell visitors that if they don’t like the local weather, just wait. The weather could change quickly. Which it did during our visit.
The gusty winds lasted one day. The next day, it was cloudy, but comfortable. A day later, it was sunny. A couple lounged, hammock-like, in a small inflatable boat drifting in the marina’s calm waters. A statuesque heron walked a floating dock between berths.
The San Diego Marina is filled with a variety of watercraft, ranging from modest pleasure boats to high-dollar yachts. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
In Coronado across the bay from our hotel is the three-story Coronado Island Marriott Resort & Spa, which formerly was the Hotel Le Meridien. Several times, we stayed there. We enjoyed the rooms on the third floor because they have higher ceilings and private patios with better views of the bay.
Once, after a waiter placed our breakfast on the patio table, and before we sat down, a seagull snatched a croissant from our table.
The Marriott is next to the bayside promenade popular with joggers and cyclists. Many times, we walked its length south to the Coronado Bridge, under the bridge and along the golf course.
In the distance beyond the Marriott we spotted another of our favorite haunts, the Hotel del Coronado. We also could see aircraft carriers docked at the Navy base at the other end of Coronado. The military comprises about 23 percent of the San Diego economy, according to a recent PBS news report.
During the many times we played in San Diego, we watched the city’s downtown evolve. In the 1960s, it was a sad part of the city, a place to avoid at night. There were many vacant lots, empty warehouses and under-utilized properties. There were a few antique businesses, which we enjoyed visiting.
Today, walking the downtown’s Gaslamp Quarter is like wandering on a different planet. There are new hotels, new office buildings, and many new residential condo buildings. All have encouraged the openings of neighborhood grocers and drug stores, along with many new shops, restaurants and bars. PETCO Park opened in 2004 as the new home of the San Diego Padres. The San Diego Convention Center and neighboring hotels are obvious downtown attractions.
One of many popular Gaslamp nightspots is Chianti Restaurant. We enjoyed the salmon entrée. The dinner, along with the tiramisu, was excellent. As was the service.
On one wall of the restaurant is a portrait of actor Marlon Brando’s “Godfather” character. A well-dressed man cruising the tables (the owner or maitre d’?) pointed to the portrait and struck a pose matching Brando’s. Smiles and polite laughter. He and a waiter in tow cruised on.
After dinner, my Best Friend and I thought about walking back to the hotel. But it was near the dregs of the evening, and we were tired. The sidewalks were crowded. We took a cab.
The next morning, still curious about the Gaslamp, I walked back into the neighborhood. It was quieter. There were fewer pedestrians and less traffic. I took advantage of the morning light for some photos.
The 132-room Horton Grand Hotel is one of the most photogenic buildings in the Gaslamp Quarter. The Horton Grand is referred to as San Diego’s oldest Victorian hotel. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
That evening, a Saturday, we returned to the Gaslamp. Again, the streets and sidewalks were crowded. This moderate year-round weather encourages all kinds of adventures, whether shopping or gastronomic. Art galleries were open late, too.
As we walked, restaurant hosts and hostesses hovered at their outdoor podiums, ready to escort customers to the next available table. Taxis jockeyed up to, and away from, the curbs.
Expensive suits and short black dresses and the aromas of expensive cologne mingled with business casual and tourist grunge. A sidewalk couple shared a cigarette that smelled like rock concert tobacco. This Saturday night of shoulder-to-shoulder crowds included the occasional panhandler, mostly courteous but sometimes surly.
“C’mon, with your million-dollar suit,” moaned a rejected 20-something hustler.
The Gaslamp Quarter is a stop-and-go-traffic part of San Diego I would not drive at night. Brake lights flash like out-of-sync red neon signs in traffic creeping through the four-way-stop intersections.
Take the light rail line in and out of the Gaslamp. Or park blocks away, and walk.
But despite the crowds and traffic, Southern California has an irresistible energy. The ocean. The bay. The fresh seafood. The moderate weather.
Can anyone recommend the name of a Realtor in Southern California? It is a buyer’s market.
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‘Land of Oz’ Nickname Fits Australia’s Magic
April 20, 2010
MELBOURNE, Australia – The wheels are coming up on this steel bird lifting off from the Land of Oz.
Our United Airlines 747 climbs easily, pointed east from Melbourne, bound for Sydney. There we’ll change planes for a nonstop flight to Los Angeles.
The 747 crew’s commentary fades as I look back at Melbourne and Port Phillip Bay. Melbourne is a city of more than 4 million.
Melbourne is said to have the nation’s most elaborate Victorian architecture. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
Victorian architecture blends with gleaming contemporary high-rise office buildings. And to keep up with Melbourne’s growing population, there are plans for several new high-density residential towers and other developments.
Australia sometimes is affectionately called Oz. Maybe it’s because the nation’s name sounds like Oz-tray-lia. Or maybe, like the fantasy novel, “The Wizard of Oz,” it’s because Australia is a land of come-to-life magic. It has koalas, kangaroos, cassowaries and other creatures found nowhere else.
Australia’s people, too, are magical. They are outgoing and full of energy. They enjoy sports and athletics as much as, if not more than, Americans, if that’s possible. The sports sections of their newspapers are as large as the rest of the paper.
Although Australia is about the size of the United States, about 90 percent of Australia’s 22 million residents live within an hour’s drive of the coast.
During our journey in Oz, I was impressed by the warmth and courtesy exhibited by most workers in hotels and restaurants in Sydney, Melbourne and the friendly beachfront communities along the Great Ocean Road.
A businessman with enterprises in the United States and Australia invited us to dinner at the Meat & Wine Co. Steakhouse at Melbourne’s Queensbridge Square. He says Aussies have a powerful work ethic, but without the level of competitive pressures found in the U.S.
That competitive pressure in the U.S., he adds, can be a negative influence on productivity. Maybe we need tea breaks, like Australia.
First stop: Photographs and memories
Our Easter trip began in Sydney, where during our 2006 adventure we explored the Opera House and enjoyed the play, “Pirates of Penzance.”
This new adventure in Oz, four years later, took me back in time. We stayed at the Radisson Plaza Hotel Sydney. And because of my career in newspapers, the boutique hotel became a personal time machine. The Radisson is in a historic building that drew me into journalism’s past, a legacy that – because of the digital age and the 24-hour news machine – today exists only in photographs and memories.
The Radisson Plaza Hotel Sydney is in a historic building that once was home to Australia’s oldest newspaper. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
The original building on the site dates to 1856 “when it was home to John Fairfax & Sons, publishers of Australia’s oldest surviving newspaper,” The Sydney Morning Herald, according to the hotel’s web site. The existing building was erected on a triangular-shaped city block in the 1920s.
The final edition of the Herald written and typeset in the building was in December 1955. The Radisson, with 336 rooms and 26 suites, was opened in 2000 in the heart of Sydney’s business district. Two of the executive offices have been preserved largely as they were when the Herald was in the building.
As I studied historical photographs of the building’s earliest years, I could only imagine the generations of reporters responsible for countless news stories and writing honors.
The black-and-white photos show streets filled with horse drawn buggies and streetcars. They show workers loading bundles of newspapers onto small flatbed trucks. It was a different era.
I could almost feel and hear the vibrations of giant printing presses. I remembered, from my own experiences, the camaraderie and energies of a daily newsroom, the adrenaline rushes, the smell of ink, and the vacations and weekends sacrificed to catch up with sources and finish stories.
On the hotel lobby walls are a few inspirational quotes. One is especially appropriate to the building’s link to wordsmiths. “It’s all a big game of construction, some with a brush, some with a shovel. Some choose a pen.” The quote is attributed to American painter Jackson Pollock.
The Radisson is a short walk from many of Sydney’s major attractions – the harbor, which is busy with commuter ferries, whale watching cruises, and the occasional ocean liner; the Opera House next to the harbor; and The Rocks, a historic part of Sydney listed as the “birthplace of European Australia” in a walking tour pamphlet. Visit www.rockswalkingtours.com.au for more information.
The Sydney Opera House is a multi-venue facility completed in 1973. Two security guards were among a handful of visitors on an early March morning. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
Pedestrian traffic in downtown Sydney is heavy because of the choices of mass transit – the ferries, buses, monorail, trains and light rail. Also noticeable is the mutual respect between motorists and pedestrians.
One of Sydney’s most popular events is The Rocks Markets. Every Friday evening, city workers erect barricades to convert a block of George Street into an arts and crafts fair venue. The city crews then install canopies for dozens of local arts and crafts dealers and food vendors. Saturdays and Sundays, The Rocks Markets is packed with thousands of shoulder-to-shoulder visitors perusing or buying the arts and crafts and enjoying local foods and produce.
Vendors offer arts and crafts, fresh produce, jewelry, bakery items and other goods every weekend in The Rocks Markets. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
Our favorite places in The Rocks include the Baker’s Oven Café, where we enjoyed lunches at covered bistro tables in the courtyard; local bakeries and restaurants; and art galleries.
A stay in Sydney isn’t complete without visiting the Queen Victoria Building, a block-square Victorian building that opened as a shopping market in the 1890s. Today, the QVB houses more than 180 boutique shops and restaurants on four levels.
A few blocks away is another popular shopping site, Pitt Street Mall, which is undergoing $1.5 billion in new investments. A recent Sydney news story about the plans says the Pitt Street area is “among the top 10 most expensive retail spaces for rent in the world.”
Flight to Melbourne
After a week in Sydney, we boarded a Qantas 767 for the hour-long hop west to Melbourne. And like Sydney, Melbourne pulses with the energy, friendliness and smiles of its people. So much to see, so little time. The city architecture is a blend of old and new, of historic and contemporary.
The ethnic diversity of Melbourne, the largest city of the state of Victoria, is fascinating. Recent surveys show that 46 percent of Victoria’s residents either were born in another country, or their parents were born in another country.
The result of this international background of Victoria’s residents is obvious in the foods, clothing, and celebrations, and in the languages heard on the streets. A wide selection of fresh seafood and aged beef is standard fare in restaurants. Kangaroo, which has a taste and texture of tender lean beef, can be found on the menu.
Melbourne’s rapid growth began in the 1850s when immigrants flooded Victoria’s gold fields. This influx of new residents led to the 1880s land boom and the city’s status by the end of the 19th Century as Australia’s financial capital.
Melbourne is bisected by the Yarra River, which is popular with local tour boats and local rowing clubs. Copyright photo by Mike Padgett
Restaurants, shops, a casino and the convention center line the wide river walk on the south side of the river, hence the Southbank name.
Southbank’s broad promenade is popular with street musicians and artists. The artists’ work is genuine; you can watch them create it on the concrete or stone walkway with colored chalk. But when musicians surround themselves with loudspeakers and other electronics, how can one tell if their music is genuine, or if they are lip-synching to CDs?
Flinders Street Train Station at Flinders and Swanston streets was built in 1854. It is called Australia’s oldest train station. Copyrighth photo by Mike Padgett
Several times, I walked Collins Street, lined with new and historic buildings that house offices, hotels, restaurants, bakeries, and many other types of businesses. Part of me said, “So many enticing foods, where to begin.” Another part of me said, “Diet, diet, diet.”
We accompanied friends to a football game in Melbourne. In scoring and strategy, the game is different from American football. There are no scrimmages, and players wear no padding or helmets.
Dead Ships Sailing
Australia is more than a magical land known for koalas and kangaroos. Off its rugged southern coast, dominated by the Great Ocean Road, are hundreds of shipwrecks dating to the 19th Century. The captains of the doomed vessels didn’t know, until too late, that they were aboard dead ships sailing. They couldn’t see the reefs hidden beneath the waves.
The Great Ocean Road, at about 245 crooked kilometers long, or 150 miles, makes for a memorable day trip. We rode a tour bus so we could focus on the magnificent scenery. In places, the road has straight-down, adrenaline-pumping views of hidden beaches and powerful waves smashing on rocky shoals.
The rugged cliffs and freestanding rock stacks are limestone versions of massive icebergs, sculpted into spectacular formations by fierce waves.
For hiking fans, there are several bushwalks (hiking trails) meandering through the forest.
The skies during our journey were steel gray, except for a short glimpse of sunshine, and the winds were cold. Autumn was blowing in. Late in the afternoon, we began our return to Melbourne. The green countryside we crossed resembled the rolling hills of western Oregon and Ireland.
Return to Arizona
For the next morning, we set an early alarm. We needed extra time to pack luggage. In my carryon bag, I pack two books – James Thurber’s “Credos and Curios,” and former publishing executive Arthur Plotnik’s “Spunk & Bite.” Thurber and Plotnik – and the attentive United Airlines crew – will help me survive the long flight back to Los Angeles.
After a hail from our hotel concierge, a taxi in the waiting queue across the street pulls up next to us. We tell the driver we want to go to Tullamarine International Airport. We’re headed home to Arizona.
“Arizona,” the driver says, looking at me. “America” he adds, savoring the word.
He pulls away from the hotel, gently insisting that I fasten my seatbelt. Then he eases into morning rush hour. I learn that our softspoken driver is from India. His black turban tops his head like a magnificent crown. He’s been in Melbourne 18 months.
After a few more kilometers, he points to himself and says, “Someday, America too.”
I nod. He smiles.
At the airport curb, before I step out, I give the driver a tip. Not a large tip, just adequate. He gets out and pulls our luggage from the trunk. Then he steps forward. He grabs my hand and pumps it like a friend.
“Safe trip,” he says. “See you next time here.”
Never has a cab driver anywhere else shaken my hand. Many have been courteous, whether silent or talkative. This driver from India was different. There is magic in Oz.
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New Book Delivered by Arizona’s ‘Cowboy Baby Doctor’
April 16, 2010
KINGMAN, Ariz. –An Arizona doctor who once a month rides his horse into the Grand Canyon to treat Native American patients is touring the state to promote his first book.
Dr. Kenneth Jackson, known in Kingman as the “cowboy baby doctor,” is the author of “Manifest West.” He will be at book signings April 21 at Changing Hands Bookstore, 6428 S. McClintock Drive, Tempe; and April 22 at Bookmans at 6230 E. Speedway Blvd., Tucson.
Dr. Kenneth Jackson’s book is about a doctor facing medical malpractice while investigating the disappearance of a boy. (Jackson photo)
Jackson has been at book signings in Prescott, Flagstaff and Pinetop promoting his book. The idea for his novel sprang from his fascination with the Native American culture.
The suspense novel is based in the Southwest. The storyline is centered on Jackson’s experiences as a physician, starting in 1976 when he began working for the Indian Health Service on the White Mountain Apache Reservation northeast of Phoenix.
Today, Jackson is a family physician at the Kingman Regional Medical Center. But on the last Friday of each month, he rides by horseback into the Grand Canyon to provide prenatal care for the Supai tribe.
For more information about Jackson’s book, visit www.manifestwest.net.
Treble Heart Books is the publisher of Jackson’s book.
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