Joe Haldeman's Blog, page 73
October 20, 2010
the beat goes on
[talking abour drummers on sff.net . . . ]
I haven't had any personal contact with professional music, outside of the folk scene, since Keith Richards was a pup. But I know what you mean about drummers. I think the constant repetitive acoustic trauma does something to brain cells.
I did know one drummer in high school whom everybody, even other drummers, thought was stone weird: short hair, well groomed, quiet and friendly disposition, a little plump, loved animals and children. But put sticks in his hands and he goes berzerkoid. Piece over, he puts down the sticks, wipes the sweat off his chubby face, puts on his thick glasses and looks cherubic again.
I don't know what became of him. Perhaps he broke a wrist and, unable to play, went berserk and became a one-handed axe murderer.
Work and life have kept me from blogging for a while. A few days ago we rented a car and drove up to Nadick for a concert featuring Trout Fishing in America, who we met and really liked on an Alaska cruise last year. We caught their children's show in the afternoon, which was a major hoot, then had early dinner with them. Came back in the evening when they had a split bill with Vance Gilbert, who was his usual jazzy fuck-the-world self – about half stunningly original guitar riffs around complex poetic songs, and about half goofing off with great comic energy. Hard act to follow, but Keith and Ezra (the Mutt and Jeff of Trout Fishing in America) were up to the job, following their energetic kid set with an equally energetic grown-up mash-up of bluegrass, country, folk, and what-all. I mean, you have almost-seven-foot Ezra frailing away on an electronic banjo while five-foot Keith dances around a huge electric bass, a futuristic vertical slab of ebony that he alternately slaps and bows. It's pretty safe to say there's nobody else like them on this or any other planet. Tour schedule at
http://www.troutmusic.com/calendar.asp.
Joe
I haven't had any personal contact with professional music, outside of the folk scene, since Keith Richards was a pup. But I know what you mean about drummers. I think the constant repetitive acoustic trauma does something to brain cells.
I did know one drummer in high school whom everybody, even other drummers, thought was stone weird: short hair, well groomed, quiet and friendly disposition, a little plump, loved animals and children. But put sticks in his hands and he goes berzerkoid. Piece over, he puts down the sticks, wipes the sweat off his chubby face, puts on his thick glasses and looks cherubic again.
I don't know what became of him. Perhaps he broke a wrist and, unable to play, went berserk and became a one-handed axe murderer.
Work and life have kept me from blogging for a while. A few days ago we rented a car and drove up to Nadick for a concert featuring Trout Fishing in America, who we met and really liked on an Alaska cruise last year. We caught their children's show in the afternoon, which was a major hoot, then had early dinner with them. Came back in the evening when they had a split bill with Vance Gilbert, who was his usual jazzy fuck-the-world self – about half stunningly original guitar riffs around complex poetic songs, and about half goofing off with great comic energy. Hard act to follow, but Keith and Ezra (the Mutt and Jeff of Trout Fishing in America) were up to the job, following their energetic kid set with an equally energetic grown-up mash-up of bluegrass, country, folk, and what-all. I mean, you have almost-seven-foot Ezra frailing away on an electronic banjo while five-foot Keith dances around a huge electric bass, a futuristic vertical slab of ebony that he alternately slaps and bows. It's pretty safe to say there's nobody else like them on this or any other planet. Tour schedule at
http://www.troutmusic.com/calendar.asp.
Joe
October 16, 2010
on the town
Yesterday morning we visited a friend in a hospital and while we were downtown, went to a movieplex and got tickets to a sort of random one – it was an odd hour and only one movie was showing without a long wait. So we saw Convictions, a strangely distanced biopic.
[spoiler alert]
.
.
.
A man is unjustly charged with homicide and his sister gets a law degree in order to re-open and defend his case, and frees him. I suppose the main problem was that there was no suspense; there would have been no story if she had not been successful.
.
.
.
From the movie we went to one of my favorite stores in Boston, the Bromfield pen shop, where I got two really intriguing bottles of ink – Noodler's "North African Violet" (a V-mail ink) and Private Reserve Sherwood Green, so dark it's like woods in deep shade. Also got a neat present for a friend.
We wandered around town for awhile, trying a new place for dinner – Hillstone, on the edge of Faneuil Hall. Highest recommendations! It's a little expensive, but the food and service were impeccable. Roasted artichokes! A vegetable to die for. (Well, so is roasted hemlock.)
We wandered around Faneuil Hall and were surprised to find Haymarket still open, stalls of vegetables and fish (the ice hardly melting). A bit cold and spitting rain.
Pleasant longish subway ride home. Rereading The Dispossessed, which I'll be teaching next week. A real happiness, like spending time with an old friend. LeGuin occasionally disparaged the book as being too dense with politics. Sort of like saying Henry Miller has too much sex.
Biking home from Alewife in the rain, it was just on the edge of being too cold. Still good fall weather.
Joe
[spoiler alert]
.
.
.
A man is unjustly charged with homicide and his sister gets a law degree in order to re-open and defend his case, and frees him. I suppose the main problem was that there was no suspense; there would have been no story if she had not been successful.
.
.
.
From the movie we went to one of my favorite stores in Boston, the Bromfield pen shop, where I got two really intriguing bottles of ink – Noodler's "North African Violet" (a V-mail ink) and Private Reserve Sherwood Green, so dark it's like woods in deep shade. Also got a neat present for a friend.
We wandered around town for awhile, trying a new place for dinner – Hillstone, on the edge of Faneuil Hall. Highest recommendations! It's a little expensive, but the food and service were impeccable. Roasted artichokes! A vegetable to die for. (Well, so is roasted hemlock.)
We wandered around Faneuil Hall and were surprised to find Haymarket still open, stalls of vegetables and fish (the ice hardly melting). A bit cold and spitting rain.
Pleasant longish subway ride home. Rereading The Dispossessed, which I'll be teaching next week. A real happiness, like spending time with an old friend. LeGuin occasionally disparaged the book as being too dense with politics. Sort of like saying Henry Miller has too much sex.
Biking home from Alewife in the rain, it was just on the edge of being too cold. Still good fall weather.
Joe
October 14, 2010
Intestinal longitude
Hmm . . . I've been thinking about something of general as well as personal interest, but some aspects are kind of gross. So if body things make you uncomfortable, better move on to another blog. We'll wait.
For more than a year, ever since my attack of acute pancreatitis, I've essentially done without a large intestine. I'm sliced off at the ileum, the southernmost part of the small intestine. The stub of that is turned into an ileostomy, which basically pokes out of the abdomen and empties into a biomechanical reservoir, a bag with a clamp at the end. It has to be emptied every couple of hours, and changed every five to seven days.
(A mundane miracle is the adhesive that secures the thing to the abdomen. It holds for about a week under considerable mechanical stress, but smooths on just like a big round Band-aid [though it's wrapped in a vacuum pack] and unpeels after a week with very little pain.)
It's a pain in the abdomen, so to speak. There aren't any physiological signals for emptying the reservoir, so you have to keep an eye on it. I empty it before turning in and typically have to wake up twice at night to empty it again. Fortunately, I've always been a light sleeper. The one time I didn't wake up, it was about as distressing a mess as you might imagine.
The condition is temporary; the large intestine will be reattached. People who have a permanent condition can nowadays take a more drastic but easier-to-handle surgical solution. For me, the large intestine is just sleeping there, "resting," until it's convenient for me to face the hospitalization and recovery period, which will be January. (I could have had it done around June or July, but Europe got in the way, and then teaching.)
What is curious to me is that, inconveniences aside, I seem to be in very good health. So why do people have a large intestine at all? An extra five feet of tissue to have trouble with. If my ileum went straight down to the rectum, my digestive life would be similar to anybody else's.
Wikipedia says that "the large intestine absorbs water and electrolytes from the approximate 1.5L of chyme passing through the ileocecal valve daily. The colon absorbs vitamins which are created by the colonic bacteria - such as Vitamin K (especially important as the daily ingestion of Vit. K is not normally enough to maintain adequate blood coagulation), Vitamin B12, thiamine and riboflavin." (Creative Commons)
I don't take any vitamin supplements, though, and none of the small army of doctors who have passed through my life lately has recommended them. I do eat a well-balanced diet. It does occur to me that my blood may not clot as quickly as it used to. I've noticed this but it wasn't interesting enough to talk to a doctor about it.
So why did the large intestine evolve? Is it just a lurking problem, like an overgrown appendix?
Maybe a human who lived before refrigeration and the other benefits of industrial civilization had more use for the long tube. If you were a hunter-gatherer, you would ingest a lot of vegetable fiber, and when you had meat it might be feast-or-famine – a big meal full of saturated fats or nothing. Whereas most of the meat in my yuppie-fied diet is low-fat chicken or fish, and my carbs tend to be as complex as Whole Foods can make them.
Anybody out there have special knowledge; an informed opinion? Have we evolved beyond the need to have lots of guts?
Joe
For more than a year, ever since my attack of acute pancreatitis, I've essentially done without a large intestine. I'm sliced off at the ileum, the southernmost part of the small intestine. The stub of that is turned into an ileostomy, which basically pokes out of the abdomen and empties into a biomechanical reservoir, a bag with a clamp at the end. It has to be emptied every couple of hours, and changed every five to seven days.
(A mundane miracle is the adhesive that secures the thing to the abdomen. It holds for about a week under considerable mechanical stress, but smooths on just like a big round Band-aid [though it's wrapped in a vacuum pack] and unpeels after a week with very little pain.)
It's a pain in the abdomen, so to speak. There aren't any physiological signals for emptying the reservoir, so you have to keep an eye on it. I empty it before turning in and typically have to wake up twice at night to empty it again. Fortunately, I've always been a light sleeper. The one time I didn't wake up, it was about as distressing a mess as you might imagine.
The condition is temporary; the large intestine will be reattached. People who have a permanent condition can nowadays take a more drastic but easier-to-handle surgical solution. For me, the large intestine is just sleeping there, "resting," until it's convenient for me to face the hospitalization and recovery period, which will be January. (I could have had it done around June or July, but Europe got in the way, and then teaching.)
What is curious to me is that, inconveniences aside, I seem to be in very good health. So why do people have a large intestine at all? An extra five feet of tissue to have trouble with. If my ileum went straight down to the rectum, my digestive life would be similar to anybody else's.
Wikipedia says that "the large intestine absorbs water and electrolytes from the approximate 1.5L of chyme passing through the ileocecal valve daily. The colon absorbs vitamins which are created by the colonic bacteria - such as Vitamin K (especially important as the daily ingestion of Vit. K is not normally enough to maintain adequate blood coagulation), Vitamin B12, thiamine and riboflavin." (Creative Commons)
I don't take any vitamin supplements, though, and none of the small army of doctors who have passed through my life lately has recommended them. I do eat a well-balanced diet. It does occur to me that my blood may not clot as quickly as it used to. I've noticed this but it wasn't interesting enough to talk to a doctor about it.
So why did the large intestine evolve? Is it just a lurking problem, like an overgrown appendix?
Maybe a human who lived before refrigeration and the other benefits of industrial civilization had more use for the long tube. If you were a hunter-gatherer, you would ingest a lot of vegetable fiber, and when you had meat it might be feast-or-famine – a big meal full of saturated fats or nothing. Whereas most of the meat in my yuppie-fied diet is low-fat chicken or fish, and my carbs tend to be as complex as Whole Foods can make them.
Anybody out there have special knowledge; an informed opinion? Have we evolved beyond the need to have lots of guts?
Joe
October 10, 2010
Ten Day
Obviously, today is Ten Day, 10/10/10. In an hour and18 minutes it will be 10:10:10 on 10/10/10. I'll listen for the celebration.
Long day yesterday. Had to go down to Cambridgeport to return a hard drive that didn't work. Six-mile bicycle ride, more than half in traffic. Got there just after eight and found it didn't open till ten. But that was okay; there was a mostly deserted café a couple of blocks away with decent coffee, and I wrote a couple of pages waiting. Then pedaled on to MIT, another couple of miles, and wrote a page there.
Called Gay and biked to meet her at Davis Square – beautiful cool clear day for biking, incidentally – where we had lunch at the Foundry, new to us, good sandwiches, and then were entertained by HONK! "The Activist Festival of Street Bands." Um . . . don't know much about them, except they are a bunch of oom-pah and Dixieland-type bands organized, if that's the word, around leftist and libertarian causes. No leaflets evident or contributions requested, just fun old-fashioned music and outlandish outfits.
We biked back home, about fourteen miles for me, and rested for an hour, and then Ethan and Anne picked us up to drive out to Newburyport for an afternoon and evening at that fun little seaside port town. We wandered for a couple of hours windowshopping, and actually buying bits here and there. I got some ginger-flavored tea and a badger-bristle shaving brush to replace one I left in New York last week. Had a nice dinner at the Brown Cow, a waterfront place.
Joe
Long day yesterday. Had to go down to Cambridgeport to return a hard drive that didn't work. Six-mile bicycle ride, more than half in traffic. Got there just after eight and found it didn't open till ten. But that was okay; there was a mostly deserted café a couple of blocks away with decent coffee, and I wrote a couple of pages waiting. Then pedaled on to MIT, another couple of miles, and wrote a page there.
Called Gay and biked to meet her at Davis Square – beautiful cool clear day for biking, incidentally – where we had lunch at the Foundry, new to us, good sandwiches, and then were entertained by HONK! "The Activist Festival of Street Bands." Um . . . don't know much about them, except they are a bunch of oom-pah and Dixieland-type bands organized, if that's the word, around leftist and libertarian causes. No leaflets evident or contributions requested, just fun old-fashioned music and outlandish outfits.
We biked back home, about fourteen miles for me, and rested for an hour, and then Ethan and Anne picked us up to drive out to Newburyport for an afternoon and evening at that fun little seaside port town. We wandered for a couple of hours windowshopping, and actually buying bits here and there. I got some ginger-flavored tea and a badger-bristle shaving brush to replace one I left in New York last week. Had a nice dinner at the Brown Cow, a waterfront place.
Joe
October 9, 2010
praying to budda-budda
[response to gun talk in sff.net]
That's a good url, Geoff, about gun myths in movies. An interesting thing to me, though, was the statement that modern US soldiers carry only 210 rounds for their assault rifles. The ref was this –
"Most American soldiers carry an M4 or M16 rifle, which contains a 5.56mm round (.223 caliber). This weapon carries ammunition in a 30-round magazine. If the weapon is fired on full automatic capability, a full magazine can be burnt up in just a few seconds. Since the standard combat load for a soldier is seven magazines (210 rounds), soldiers have been trained and disciplined not to waste ammunition in this manner."
That does sound reasonable. But I remember when we went out on patrol for small unit search-and-destroy missions, each soldier would draw 400 rounds (I think eight fifty-round cardboard boxes), which was a heavy load. Then most people would also carry a linked belt of 7.62-mm ammunition, a yard or so long, for the M-60 machine gun. (I didn't have to because I was carrying a 20-pound demolition bag.)
We didn't have those 30-round magazines, either. We had twenty-round ones, about the size of the palm of your hand, usually loaded with only eighteen rounds, so they wouldn't jam. We carried a lot of them, some taped back-to-back so you could empty one and then quickly reverse it.
Of course we didn't fire at the cyclic rate, budda-budda-budda, which would mean you'd run out of ammo every 1.8 seconds or so. We were trained to touch off bursts of three shots. (Which training often evaporated as soon as you drew fire.)
Joe
That's a good url, Geoff, about gun myths in movies. An interesting thing to me, though, was the statement that modern US soldiers carry only 210 rounds for their assault rifles. The ref was this –
"Most American soldiers carry an M4 or M16 rifle, which contains a 5.56mm round (.223 caliber). This weapon carries ammunition in a 30-round magazine. If the weapon is fired on full automatic capability, a full magazine can be burnt up in just a few seconds. Since the standard combat load for a soldier is seven magazines (210 rounds), soldiers have been trained and disciplined not to waste ammunition in this manner."
That does sound reasonable. But I remember when we went out on patrol for small unit search-and-destroy missions, each soldier would draw 400 rounds (I think eight fifty-round cardboard boxes), which was a heavy load. Then most people would also carry a linked belt of 7.62-mm ammunition, a yard or so long, for the M-60 machine gun. (I didn't have to because I was carrying a 20-pound demolition bag.)
We didn't have those 30-round magazines, either. We had twenty-round ones, about the size of the palm of your hand, usually loaded with only eighteen rounds, so they wouldn't jam. We carried a lot of them, some taped back-to-back so you could empty one and then quickly reverse it.
Of course we didn't fire at the cyclic rate, budda-budda-budda, which would mean you'd run out of ammo every 1.8 seconds or so. We were trained to touch off bursts of three shots. (Which training often evaporated as soon as you drew fire.)
Joe
October 8, 2010
hot time in the old Town
After work this morning Gay and I went to an afternoon matinee of The Town, the crime drama set in next-door Charlestown. The local color was fun – the first heist is a bank in Harvard Square, which automatically makes the story a fantasy – try to find a parking space, let alone drive a fast getaway car, anywhere near that bank.
A lot of it was good. Ben Affleck starred and directed, doing a good job with both, but the interesting writing and acting was really around a "buddy" character, crazy-ass Jeremy Renner. The Girl, played by Keesey Rebecca Hall, was also good. Most of the bit actors were spot on. (But I couldn't shake Jon Hamm's Mad Ave persona.)
Maybe people worked too hard on their local accents. I've lived around here for decades and needed subtitles.
There were two big suspension of disbelief problems, which I think I can discuss without giving anything away. One was that the bank jobs these street-wise toughs constructed were so complex they had to be written in C. The other was that two gun battles involving automatic weapons threw so many tons of lead around that there wouldn't be anyone left alive in the 617 area code. I mean, really.
I guess both of those problems fit within the "constraints" of the genre. But I do know from personal experience that one bullet can make a hell of a noise and put you down for months or –ever. Maybe a movie that was realistic in that regard would be a big snooze for today's audiences.
Joe
A lot of it was good. Ben Affleck starred and directed, doing a good job with both, but the interesting writing and acting was really around a "buddy" character, crazy-ass Jeremy Renner. The Girl, played by Keesey Rebecca Hall, was also good. Most of the bit actors were spot on. (But I couldn't shake Jon Hamm's Mad Ave persona.)
Maybe people worked too hard on their local accents. I've lived around here for decades and needed subtitles.
There were two big suspension of disbelief problems, which I think I can discuss without giving anything away. One was that the bank jobs these street-wise toughs constructed were so complex they had to be written in C. The other was that two gun battles involving automatic weapons threw so many tons of lead around that there wouldn't be anyone left alive in the 617 area code. I mean, really.
I guess both of those problems fit within the "constraints" of the genre. But I do know from personal experience that one bullet can make a hell of a noise and put you down for months or –ever. Maybe a movie that was realistic in that regard would be a big snooze for today's audiences.
Joe
October 7, 2010
thy sting
[In response to a meditation on sffnet -- ]
True enough, Dave.
Of course there's a longer view. The particles that make up your body have been around for 13.75 billion years, and will be around for a lot longer, and for the merest femtofraction of that, a few decades, that material came together and sort of guided itself around, on its way back into chaos. As Voltaire noted, though he can't have been the first, some of the most pleasant time you have spent alive was during deep dreamless sleep. If that is what the rest of the past was like, and the future will be, we have no complaints.
In his six decades, Ralph accomplished a great deal -- and did a great deal of good for people like me. I'm sure he made enemies, since the game he chose has hard rules and people who play for keeps. But he made a lot more friends, and spread a lot of what you have to say is love.
Joe
True enough, Dave.
Of course there's a longer view. The particles that make up your body have been around for 13.75 billion years, and will be around for a lot longer, and for the merest femtofraction of that, a few decades, that material came together and sort of guided itself around, on its way back into chaos. As Voltaire noted, though he can't have been the first, some of the most pleasant time you have spent alive was during deep dreamless sleep. If that is what the rest of the past was like, and the future will be, we have no complaints.
In his six decades, Ralph accomplished a great deal -- and did a great deal of good for people like me. I'm sure he made enemies, since the game he chose has hard rules and people who play for keeps. But he made a lot more friends, and spread a lot of what you have to say is love.
Joe
October 4, 2010
art 'n' shit
Several days of airplanes and airports, not much fun. Did enjoy reading Mary Roach's Packing for Mars, an amusing and informative look at the quotidian aspects of near-future space habitation. Nitty gritty about things like diet and elimination – the chapter "Separation Anxiety" is worth the price of the book.
Gave a talk at the Bellamy Road Art Gallery in Melrose, Florida, about my life and times in science fiction art. Mostly about how it affects the writing part of the business. But of course I do a little drawing and painting myself. Thirty slides of good and awful covers and interior illos. The talk was well received . . . not many science fiction fans there, but lots of art fans. And our gang does some pretty good stuff.
Had a good breakfast this morning over at Lore's, Tim doing all of the impressive cooking. Then off to the airport on a three-bounce, Gainesville to Charlotte to LaGuardia to Logan. Had dinner at Logan rather than fight rush hour on an empty stomach. $37 for two. I had a hot dog and a non-alcoholic beer.
(Interesting that the receipt printed out BEER and then indented and asked SHOT? Yeah, give me a tumbler o' red-eye with that O'Doul's.)
Lots of school work waiting. I can do student manuscripts on the train, but don't like to do anything challenging on an airplane. Read half of a James Lee Burke novel, Heartwood. Going okay but I'll put it away till the next plane trip.
Do have a self-indulgence tomorrow – going to the first meeting of an open studio here in Arlington.
Joe
Gave a talk at the Bellamy Road Art Gallery in Melrose, Florida, about my life and times in science fiction art. Mostly about how it affects the writing part of the business. But of course I do a little drawing and painting myself. Thirty slides of good and awful covers and interior illos. The talk was well received . . . not many science fiction fans there, but lots of art fans. And our gang does some pretty good stuff.
Had a good breakfast this morning over at Lore's, Tim doing all of the impressive cooking. Then off to the airport on a three-bounce, Gainesville to Charlotte to LaGuardia to Logan. Had dinner at Logan rather than fight rush hour on an empty stomach. $37 for two. I had a hot dog and a non-alcoholic beer.
(Interesting that the receipt printed out BEER and then indented and asked SHOT? Yeah, give me a tumbler o' red-eye with that O'Doul's.)
Lots of school work waiting. I can do student manuscripts on the train, but don't like to do anything challenging on an airplane. Read half of a James Lee Burke novel, Heartwood. Going okay but I'll put it away till the next plane trip.
Do have a self-indulgence tomorrow – going to the first meeting of an open studio here in Arlington.
Joe
October 1, 2010
requiescat in pace
The "viewing" for Ralph Vicinanza last night was sad and uncomfortable, as such things must be. I don't want one, myself. Spend the money on a party at the next worldcon. Put a photograph of me by the beer.
I saw lots of people I look forward to seeing soon under better circumstances.
It's strange to go through New York without "being in" New York. We took a cab ride from Penn Station to Grand Central, and then straight up to Yonkers on the commuter rail. After the funeral here, we go straight to the airport and down to Florida, where I'm giving a talk tomorrow. Have to scan a bunch of cover art before that.
And student manuscripts to read on the train and plane. Maybe a little of my own writing. Busy busy busy.
All through this sad business I've been haunted by the lines of a Steve Goodman song, not so much sad as true:
The day you're born, they sign a piece of paper
That certifies the date of your birth.
Then when you die . . . they sign you another
Just to prove you've gone back to the earth.
In between those two pieces of paper
Lies a truth that is so hard to find
For the story of your life is written,
But you must read in between the lines.
Joe
I saw lots of people I look forward to seeing soon under better circumstances.
It's strange to go through New York without "being in" New York. We took a cab ride from Penn Station to Grand Central, and then straight up to Yonkers on the commuter rail. After the funeral here, we go straight to the airport and down to Florida, where I'm giving a talk tomorrow. Have to scan a bunch of cover art before that.
And student manuscripts to read on the train and plane. Maybe a little of my own writing. Busy busy busy.
All through this sad business I've been haunted by the lines of a Steve Goodman song, not so much sad as true:
The day you're born, they sign a piece of paper
That certifies the date of your birth.
Then when you die . . . they sign you another
Just to prove you've gone back to the earth.
In between those two pieces of paper
Lies a truth that is so hard to find
For the story of your life is written,
But you must read in between the lines.
Joe
September 30, 2010
Ralph Vicinanza
Here's the obit entry I wrote for Ralph --
A dear friend Gay and I will miss forever. Ralph also had an acerbic wit and encyclopedic knowledge of genre fiction, and literature in general.
A quiet charmer, always the voice of reason. A fair fighter, but not a man you would want to be on the wrong side of. He had a lot of power, in this small world, and he used it with intelligence and grace.
Joe
A dear friend Gay and I will miss forever. Ralph also had an acerbic wit and encyclopedic knowledge of genre fiction, and literature in general.
A quiet charmer, always the voice of reason. A fair fighter, but not a man you would want to be on the wrong side of. He had a lot of power, in this small world, and he used it with intelligence and grace.
Joe
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