Paddy Eger's Blog, page 3
April 6, 2015
13 Popular Ballet Movies
Here's a list of movies to get you started thinking about ballet. Enjoy!
La Danse - Le Ballet de l'Opéra de Paris 2009 159 minutes
Synopsis:
In La danse, Wiseman allows us to observe multiple corners of the Paris Opera Ballet, from rehearsal studios to costume rooms to administrative offices.
*************************************************************************************************************
Ballerina 2006 77 minutes
Synopsis
This documentary begins with a young dancer’s acceptance into Russia’s prestigious Kirov Ballet. Using her story and that of four other ballerinas at various stages in their careers, the film sheds light not only on the individual dancers, but also on the significance of ballet in Russian culture.
**************************************************************************************************************
Ballets Russes 2005 118 minutes
Synopsis
Ballets Russes is an intimate portrait of a group of pioneering artists – now in their 70s, 80s and 90s – who gave birth to modern ballet.
***************************************************************************************************************
The Red Shoes 1948 133 minutes
Synopsis
A Technicolor epic that influenced generations of filmmakers, artists, and aspiring ballerinas, The Red Shoes intricately weaves backstage life with the thrill of performance. Moira Shearer is a rising star ballerina torn between an idealistic composer and a ruthless impresario intent on perfection.
***************************************************************************************************************
Ballet 1995 170 minutes
Synopsis
Veteran documentary filmmaker Frederick Wiseman turns his rigorous gaze on the cultural institution of classical dance in Ballet, an epic account of days and nights with the premier US national company, American Ballet Theater.
*************************************************************************************************************
The Turning Point 1977 119 minutes
Synopsis
When her daughter joins a ballet company, a former dancer is forced to confront her long-ago decision to give up the stage to have a family. (Starring Anne Bancroft and Shirley MacLaine)
***************************************************************************************************************
Mao's Last Dancer 2009 117 minutes
Synopsis
Plucked from his childhood village, subjected to years of vigorous ballet training and threatened during the Cultural Revolution, Cunxin decides to leave China at great risk to himself and those he loves, for an uncertain future. (Based on a true story)
***************************************************************************************************************
The Company 2003 113 minutes
Synopsis
A behind-the-scenes look at the world of dance as seen through the eyes of a talented young dancer on the brink of success. (Starring: Neve Campbell, Malcolm McDowell, James Franco)
***************************************************************************************************************
Ballet Shoes 2007
Synopsis
Ballet Shoes is British television adaptation of Noel Streatfeild's novel Ballet Shoes first Broadcast on BBC One in 1975. Adapted from the series which aired in six parts.
**************************************************************************************************************
Ballet 422 2015 NEW Movie
Synopsis
From first rehearsal to world premiere, BALLET 422 takes us backstage at New York City Ballet as Justin Peck, a young up-and-coming choreographer, crafts a new work. BALLET 422 illuminates the process behind the creation of a single ballet within the ongoing cycle of work at one of the world’s great ballet companies.
***************************************************************************************************************
The Children of Theatre Street 1977 90 minutes
Synopsis
The Kirov Ballet in Leningrad is probably the most-filmed dance school in the world, but filmmaker Robert Dornhelm manages to pull fresh coals from the fire in Children of Theatre Street.
***************************************************************************************************************
Center Stage 2000 118 minutes
Follow a group of ballet students in the competitive world of professional dance where they must devote themselves to their art with the rigor of Olympic athletes. While experiencing the joys, sorrows and conflicts of youth they vie for a place in a prestigious ballet company and strive to take center stage.
***************************************************************************************************************
First Position 2011 95 minutes
American documentary film. It follows six young dancers preparing for the Youth America Grand Prix in New York City, an annual competition for dancers ages 9–19 to earn a place at an elite ballet company or school.
La Danse - Le Ballet de l'Opéra de Paris 2009 159 minutes
Synopsis:
In La danse, Wiseman allows us to observe multiple corners of the Paris Opera Ballet, from rehearsal studios to costume rooms to administrative offices.
*************************************************************************************************************
Ballerina 2006 77 minutes
Synopsis
This documentary begins with a young dancer’s acceptance into Russia’s prestigious Kirov Ballet. Using her story and that of four other ballerinas at various stages in their careers, the film sheds light not only on the individual dancers, but also on the significance of ballet in Russian culture.
**************************************************************************************************************
Ballets Russes 2005 118 minutes
Synopsis
Ballets Russes is an intimate portrait of a group of pioneering artists – now in their 70s, 80s and 90s – who gave birth to modern ballet.
***************************************************************************************************************
The Red Shoes 1948 133 minutes
Synopsis
A Technicolor epic that influenced generations of filmmakers, artists, and aspiring ballerinas, The Red Shoes intricately weaves backstage life with the thrill of performance. Moira Shearer is a rising star ballerina torn between an idealistic composer and a ruthless impresario intent on perfection.
***************************************************************************************************************
Ballet 1995 170 minutes
Synopsis
Veteran documentary filmmaker Frederick Wiseman turns his rigorous gaze on the cultural institution of classical dance in Ballet, an epic account of days and nights with the premier US national company, American Ballet Theater.
*************************************************************************************************************
The Turning Point 1977 119 minutes
Synopsis
When her daughter joins a ballet company, a former dancer is forced to confront her long-ago decision to give up the stage to have a family. (Starring Anne Bancroft and Shirley MacLaine)
***************************************************************************************************************
Mao's Last Dancer 2009 117 minutes
Synopsis
Plucked from his childhood village, subjected to years of vigorous ballet training and threatened during the Cultural Revolution, Cunxin decides to leave China at great risk to himself and those he loves, for an uncertain future. (Based on a true story)
***************************************************************************************************************
The Company 2003 113 minutes
Synopsis
A behind-the-scenes look at the world of dance as seen through the eyes of a talented young dancer on the brink of success. (Starring: Neve Campbell, Malcolm McDowell, James Franco)
***************************************************************************************************************
Ballet Shoes 2007
Synopsis
Ballet Shoes is British television adaptation of Noel Streatfeild's novel Ballet Shoes first Broadcast on BBC One in 1975. Adapted from the series which aired in six parts.
**************************************************************************************************************
Ballet 422 2015 NEW Movie
Synopsis
From first rehearsal to world premiere, BALLET 422 takes us backstage at New York City Ballet as Justin Peck, a young up-and-coming choreographer, crafts a new work. BALLET 422 illuminates the process behind the creation of a single ballet within the ongoing cycle of work at one of the world’s great ballet companies.
***************************************************************************************************************
The Children of Theatre Street 1977 90 minutes
Synopsis
The Kirov Ballet in Leningrad is probably the most-filmed dance school in the world, but filmmaker Robert Dornhelm manages to pull fresh coals from the fire in Children of Theatre Street.
***************************************************************************************************************
Center Stage 2000 118 minutes
Follow a group of ballet students in the competitive world of professional dance where they must devote themselves to their art with the rigor of Olympic athletes. While experiencing the joys, sorrows and conflicts of youth they vie for a place in a prestigious ballet company and strive to take center stage.
***************************************************************************************************************
First Position 2011 95 minutes
American documentary film. It follows six young dancers preparing for the Youth America Grand Prix in New York City, an annual competition for dancers ages 9–19 to earn a place at an elite ballet company or school.
March 17, 2015
Ballet Story Writing Challenges
For almost two decades, I danced: tap, modern, jazz, character and ballet. Through those years of moving to music, I became appreciative of many types of music, but I always veered back to listening to classical ballet. The emotion of the musical swells, the variety of instruments playing in unison and the stories ballet told through the music and movement held me tight.
Now, several decades later, I'm writing stories about young dancers who strive to become great dancers with interesting dance lives and dance experiences, something I didn't have for a variety of reasons. Those intervening years between when I danced and when I started writing about fictional dancers has left me with so many questions and so many forgotten details. It's true; if you don't use it you lose it so I'm finding myself leaning on a variety of references to help me keep my work authentic.
One of the biggest challenges is terminology. Ballet has an entire language, most of it in French and my French is so rusty that if it were a nail, it would be back to its metallic beginnings and no longer resemble a nail. Thanks to a local dance studio, I'm getting help. A delightful young woman, Brittany, is offering to watch the YouTube ballet excerpts that show the choreography I want to include in my third book, Letters to Follow . That way I'll write smarter and able to use the appropriate terminology for the turns, lifts and such.
The next challenge is to explain the ballet moves in non-dancer terms within the story. I want to keep readers engaged without their needing to stop, look up the term and head back to the story so I'll be curious to find out if I succeed.
One idea I'm working on, is including a listing of YouTube channels where readers can observe the various dances and/or listen to the music. I've loved exploring the wealth of video information I've found. In fact, it's becoming an obsession to watch the YouTube ballets with lush costumes, detailed sets and flowing symphony music enhancing my experiences.
Curious? Go to YouTube and type in a composer or the name of a ballet. A listing will arise and you can get lost in the dance and music just as I do.
Now, several decades later, I'm writing stories about young dancers who strive to become great dancers with interesting dance lives and dance experiences, something I didn't have for a variety of reasons. Those intervening years between when I danced and when I started writing about fictional dancers has left me with so many questions and so many forgotten details. It's true; if you don't use it you lose it so I'm finding myself leaning on a variety of references to help me keep my work authentic.
One of the biggest challenges is terminology. Ballet has an entire language, most of it in French and my French is so rusty that if it were a nail, it would be back to its metallic beginnings and no longer resemble a nail. Thanks to a local dance studio, I'm getting help. A delightful young woman, Brittany, is offering to watch the YouTube ballet excerpts that show the choreography I want to include in my third book, Letters to Follow . That way I'll write smarter and able to use the appropriate terminology for the turns, lifts and such.
The next challenge is to explain the ballet moves in non-dancer terms within the story. I want to keep readers engaged without their needing to stop, look up the term and head back to the story so I'll be curious to find out if I succeed.
One idea I'm working on, is including a listing of YouTube channels where readers can observe the various dances and/or listen to the music. I've loved exploring the wealth of video information I've found. In fact, it's becoming an obsession to watch the YouTube ballets with lush costumes, detailed sets and flowing symphony music enhancing my experiences.
Curious? Go to YouTube and type in a composer or the name of a ballet. A listing will arise and you can get lost in the dance and music just as I do.
February 21, 2015
Capp’s Corner Store
As I grew up, the corner store played an important role in the neighborhood. Our last minute needs: coffee, butter, bread and cigarettes were purchased from the family-owned Capp’s Grocery. Parents sent kids to retrieve phoned-in orders or hand-scribbled lists. (Yes, we even picked up our parent's cigarettes.)
From age six to twelve I walked the two blocks: up a hill and across one semi-busy street. The wooden building had a small painted sign over the swinging doors and several half windows across the front. A single gas pump stood by a one-door garage on one side of the building. Out front, the gravel parking area held three to four cars.
The store had a hanging light fixtures, a low, messy counter and rows of shelves organized by product type: canned goods, bread, paper products, and such. It smelled of a mixture of dust, cardboard and ground meat. The wooden floor creaked in several places, especially along the route from the front door to the cooler in back which held milk, cream, butter, cheese and eggs.
Along side the cash register were the colorful packs of gum: yellow Juicy Fruit, green Wrigley’s Spearmint, blue Beman’s Pepsin, white Clove and blue Black Jack. Penny candy stood on the counter in open glass bowls. The ice cream treats filled a nearby free-standing freezer with a clear plastic top that let me see everything inside. To select a treat I’d slide open one side and reach in.
Mr. Capp, a short man with a receding hairline, wore a soiled butcher apron that covered his pants and shoes: one size did not fit all. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he tolerated kids pawing through the penny candy and opening the ice cream treats slider, letting the cold air escape..
When I arrived to pick up Mom’s order, he had it bagged on the counter. If I had permission, I bought a Dixie cup of orange sherbet and vanilla ice cream. Once every week or so, one of my parents walked up and settled the bill.
Mr. Capp’s fresh produce arrived in crates in open-backed trucks and consisted of carrots, yellow onions and potatoes grown locally or from nearby Seattle or Tacoma. Most shriveled before being purchased . Seasonal produce: apples from eastern Washington, oranges from California and bananas from South America disappeared on the day each arrived.
The canned food labels I remember are S&W, Campbell’s, Van de Camp, Del Monte and Hormel canned Spam. Milk and Coke came in glass bottles; the dreaded Vienna sausages peaked out from their small glass jars. There were no frozen or ethnic foods.
Bread arrived in small delivery trucks. Sunbeam used bright yellow trucks with the face of a smiling blonde girl painted on each side. The colorful Wonder bread trucks were painted to mimic the bread wrapped; red, yellow and blue circles over a white background. Both breads tasted like fluffy air and folded easily in small hands.
A small meat counter took up one wall. When we bought hamburger, Mr. Capp ground our order behind his glass-front his meat counter. He’d grab a handful of beef, push it through his grinder, weighed it and wrapped it in white butcher paper. Same for pork sausage.
We seldom bought Mr. Capps’ meats. Instead we picked up meat on our Saturday treks to the A&P (Atlantic and Pacific). Dad toted the heavier bags along the five-block walk leaving the lighter ones for Mom and me.
Mr. Capp’s store and the A&P were vastly different. At Mr. Capp’s we gathered arm loads of items and placed them on the counter and he bagged them. The A&P had shopping baskets to gather up purchases and people bagged them for us. At Capp’s, we paid down our bill weekly; at A&P you paid for every item you bought on the day you bought it. Mr. Capp sat on a stool behind his counter where he tallied our purchases in scraps of paper. The A&P had a box near the front of the store where the manager stood to oversee the store as well as the cashiers who rang up purchases and handed us paper receipts.
Capp’s store stood on my school route. After school, many classmates bought treats on their way home. Since my Mom made my snacks, I never stopped in. But, sometimes, if I was sent to the store, I’d be allowed to spend five cents for a Dixie cup or I’d spend my own twelve cents and buy a deluxe Raspberry or Chocolate ice cream sundae. When I only had a penny, I brought a Lick’em-ade straw and sucked or coughed down the Jell-o-like powder.
When Mr. Capp sold his store to a convenience franchise, we stopped shopping there. The new owner wasn’t from the neighborhood so he didn’t talk with kids. Also, he wanted to be paid as each purchase was made. He brought in packaged meat and new counters. By then we owned a car, so going to the A&P or driving to the locally-owned T& M (Ted and Mel’s) was just as easy, plus it had a greater selection, lower prices and friendlier faces.
From age six to twelve I walked the two blocks: up a hill and across one semi-busy street. The wooden building had a small painted sign over the swinging doors and several half windows across the front. A single gas pump stood by a one-door garage on one side of the building. Out front, the gravel parking area held three to four cars.
The store had a hanging light fixtures, a low, messy counter and rows of shelves organized by product type: canned goods, bread, paper products, and such. It smelled of a mixture of dust, cardboard and ground meat. The wooden floor creaked in several places, especially along the route from the front door to the cooler in back which held milk, cream, butter, cheese and eggs.
Along side the cash register were the colorful packs of gum: yellow Juicy Fruit, green Wrigley’s Spearmint, blue Beman’s Pepsin, white Clove and blue Black Jack. Penny candy stood on the counter in open glass bowls. The ice cream treats filled a nearby free-standing freezer with a clear plastic top that let me see everything inside. To select a treat I’d slide open one side and reach in.
Mr. Capp, a short man with a receding hairline, wore a soiled butcher apron that covered his pants and shoes: one size did not fit all. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he tolerated kids pawing through the penny candy and opening the ice cream treats slider, letting the cold air escape..
When I arrived to pick up Mom’s order, he had it bagged on the counter. If I had permission, I bought a Dixie cup of orange sherbet and vanilla ice cream. Once every week or so, one of my parents walked up and settled the bill.
Mr. Capp’s fresh produce arrived in crates in open-backed trucks and consisted of carrots, yellow onions and potatoes grown locally or from nearby Seattle or Tacoma. Most shriveled before being purchased . Seasonal produce: apples from eastern Washington, oranges from California and bananas from South America disappeared on the day each arrived.
The canned food labels I remember are S&W, Campbell’s, Van de Camp, Del Monte and Hormel canned Spam. Milk and Coke came in glass bottles; the dreaded Vienna sausages peaked out from their small glass jars. There were no frozen or ethnic foods.
Bread arrived in small delivery trucks. Sunbeam used bright yellow trucks with the face of a smiling blonde girl painted on each side. The colorful Wonder bread trucks were painted to mimic the bread wrapped; red, yellow and blue circles over a white background. Both breads tasted like fluffy air and folded easily in small hands.
A small meat counter took up one wall. When we bought hamburger, Mr. Capp ground our order behind his glass-front his meat counter. He’d grab a handful of beef, push it through his grinder, weighed it and wrapped it in white butcher paper. Same for pork sausage.
We seldom bought Mr. Capps’ meats. Instead we picked up meat on our Saturday treks to the A&P (Atlantic and Pacific). Dad toted the heavier bags along the five-block walk leaving the lighter ones for Mom and me.
Mr. Capp’s store and the A&P were vastly different. At Mr. Capp’s we gathered arm loads of items and placed them on the counter and he bagged them. The A&P had shopping baskets to gather up purchases and people bagged them for us. At Capp’s, we paid down our bill weekly; at A&P you paid for every item you bought on the day you bought it. Mr. Capp sat on a stool behind his counter where he tallied our purchases in scraps of paper. The A&P had a box near the front of the store where the manager stood to oversee the store as well as the cashiers who rang up purchases and handed us paper receipts.
Capp’s store stood on my school route. After school, many classmates bought treats on their way home. Since my Mom made my snacks, I never stopped in. But, sometimes, if I was sent to the store, I’d be allowed to spend five cents for a Dixie cup or I’d spend my own twelve cents and buy a deluxe Raspberry or Chocolate ice cream sundae. When I only had a penny, I brought a Lick’em-ade straw and sucked or coughed down the Jell-o-like powder.
When Mr. Capp sold his store to a convenience franchise, we stopped shopping there. The new owner wasn’t from the neighborhood so he didn’t talk with kids. Also, he wanted to be paid as each purchase was made. He brought in packaged meat and new counters. By then we owned a car, so going to the A&P or driving to the locally-owned T& M (Ted and Mel’s) was just as easy, plus it had a greater selection, lower prices and friendlier faces.
February 7, 2015
"Your Biggest Fan!"
"Your Biggest Fan!"
This week I received a darling letter from a teenage ballet dancer. A friend of mine had given 84 Ribbons to her and she was writing to thank me for writing Marta's story.
"This books speaks to me in so many ways; one is injuries... Another thing I related to was, for lack of a better word, illness." She went on to explain how her friend and fellow dancer had suffered as Bartley did and how she ended up leaving dancing.
My young ballet friend also related to having an injury much as Marta did and how hard it was to regain her ankle strength. She also appreciated the bond Marta and her mother shared, saying she and her mom were also close.
It excited me to know that a young dancer enjoyed my story enough to take the time from her busy life of school and dancing at a ballet academy to write to me. Then, when I read her closing, I felt I'd truly succeeded. She said, "This novel truly filled my heart and soul with joy."
Thanks, Ryley. You made every moment I spent writing the book worthwhile.
This week I received a darling letter from a teenage ballet dancer. A friend of mine had given 84 Ribbons to her and she was writing to thank me for writing Marta's story.
"This books speaks to me in so many ways; one is injuries... Another thing I related to was, for lack of a better word, illness." She went on to explain how her friend and fellow dancer had suffered as Bartley did and how she ended up leaving dancing.
My young ballet friend also related to having an injury much as Marta did and how hard it was to regain her ankle strength. She also appreciated the bond Marta and her mother shared, saying she and her mom were also close.
It excited me to know that a young dancer enjoyed my story enough to take the time from her busy life of school and dancing at a ballet academy to write to me. Then, when I read her closing, I felt I'd truly succeeded. She said, "This novel truly filled my heart and soul with joy."
Thanks, Ryley. You made every moment I spent writing the book worthwhile.
January 26, 2015
Marta's Story Continues
Having the story of 84 Ribbons continue, is a mixed blessing. It gives me space to explore Marta's recovery from her ballet injury but it requires me to "grow the story" and not get too carried away.
When I 'met' Marta. she was a tiny whisper, an itch that wouldn't go away until I wrote about her. Of course I edited down her adventures to complete her book one, but I found she had more to say. That's where book two slid into my thinking. I couldn't leave her injured (but no one wants to carry around more than 350 pages!). When the Music Stops-Dance On, provided a way to continue her growing up struggles and give her a chance to dance in a new way. It also gave her time to date different guys, come to a closure with her diet pill problem and reconnect with her mother. It eased my mind since I didn't want readers to feel I hadn't completed my promise.
Next, Lynne stepped in and provided a way to share her dance and romantic adventures while giving me time to discover why Madame Cosper doesn't like Marta. That's remained an unsolved mystery to me. You may laugh, but Madame is not very communicative as a character; she keeps to herself and doesn't share her life even when I try poking my nose into her experiences. If it weren't for Herbert, she'd have stayed a mystery. Now, while writing book three, Letters to Follow, all the loose ends are getting tied up. Marta and Lynne and Steve and Madame will soon move on with their lives without my interruption and intervention.
Questions? Send me any questions about the trilogy, writing with stubborn characters or other questions that pop into your head related to my dancing stories. I'll answer you as directly as possible.
Paddy Eger
When I 'met' Marta. she was a tiny whisper, an itch that wouldn't go away until I wrote about her. Of course I edited down her adventures to complete her book one, but I found she had more to say. That's where book two slid into my thinking. I couldn't leave her injured (but no one wants to carry around more than 350 pages!). When the Music Stops-Dance On, provided a way to continue her growing up struggles and give her a chance to dance in a new way. It also gave her time to date different guys, come to a closure with her diet pill problem and reconnect with her mother. It eased my mind since I didn't want readers to feel I hadn't completed my promise.
Next, Lynne stepped in and provided a way to share her dance and romantic adventures while giving me time to discover why Madame Cosper doesn't like Marta. That's remained an unsolved mystery to me. You may laugh, but Madame is not very communicative as a character; she keeps to herself and doesn't share her life even when I try poking my nose into her experiences. If it weren't for Herbert, she'd have stayed a mystery. Now, while writing book three, Letters to Follow, all the loose ends are getting tied up. Marta and Lynne and Steve and Madame will soon move on with their lives without my interruption and intervention.
Questions? Send me any questions about the trilogy, writing with stubborn characters or other questions that pop into your head related to my dancing stories. I'll answer you as directly as possible.
Paddy Eger
January 2, 2015
Blizzard of 1950
Marta, the main character in my novel 84 Ribbons and I both grew up in Bremerton. This is my story that could have just as well been hers. Enjoy!
On a wintry January day in 1950, the snow became a blizzard. I was in Mrs. Walgren’s third grade class, looking out the window, watching the world outside disappear into the flurry of fast-moving snow. Recess was cancelled as the temperature dropped to freezing in a matter of minutes. Our parents were called and told we’d not be dismissed until an adult picked us up from the classroom.
Mrs. Walgren passed out extra graham crackers and milk while we waited. Our Rainier Avenue neighbor, Orville Anderson came to walk his son Dennis and me home. He arrived, covered in snow, but his warm smile remained intact as we hurried into our winter coats with mittens-on-a-string, grabbed our hats and boots and headed out the door.
The snow blasted our faces with frozen needles, blowing sideways. The one o’clock afternoon light faded to the duskiness of the hour before dark. We kept our chins tucked into our coat collars, held hands and started home.
The roadway was invisible. When a car passed, its headlights were dim as a fading flashlight. Mr. Anderson guided us home without once sending us into the deep ditches along the way. He didn’t speak; his words would have been lost in the whirling, stinging snow. We held hands and kept moving.
The blizzard became a record-setter. Over twenty inches of snow arrived in one day, shutting down the Puget Sound region for days. The twenty-five to forty mile an hour winds created snowdrifts that froze and lingered for weeks. It was over forty years before another blizzard shut down the region.
Each time a wintry storm arrives, I think back to that blizzard and walking home as though we moved through the flurry of a well-shaken snow globe.
What wintry remembrances pop up when/if you've experienced a snow storm?
Please LIKE and SHARE my story with others and add your own recollections. Many people never experience the icy wonder/excitement/scariness of a freezing day of snowflakes.
On a wintry January day in 1950, the snow became a blizzard. I was in Mrs. Walgren’s third grade class, looking out the window, watching the world outside disappear into the flurry of fast-moving snow. Recess was cancelled as the temperature dropped to freezing in a matter of minutes. Our parents were called and told we’d not be dismissed until an adult picked us up from the classroom.
Mrs. Walgren passed out extra graham crackers and milk while we waited. Our Rainier Avenue neighbor, Orville Anderson came to walk his son Dennis and me home. He arrived, covered in snow, but his warm smile remained intact as we hurried into our winter coats with mittens-on-a-string, grabbed our hats and boots and headed out the door.
The snow blasted our faces with frozen needles, blowing sideways. The one o’clock afternoon light faded to the duskiness of the hour before dark. We kept our chins tucked into our coat collars, held hands and started home.
The roadway was invisible. When a car passed, its headlights were dim as a fading flashlight. Mr. Anderson guided us home without once sending us into the deep ditches along the way. He didn’t speak; his words would have been lost in the whirling, stinging snow. We held hands and kept moving.
The blizzard became a record-setter. Over twenty inches of snow arrived in one day, shutting down the Puget Sound region for days. The twenty-five to forty mile an hour winds created snowdrifts that froze and lingered for weeks. It was over forty years before another blizzard shut down the region.
Each time a wintry storm arrives, I think back to that blizzard and walking home as though we moved through the flurry of a well-shaken snow globe.
What wintry remembrances pop up when/if you've experienced a snow storm?
Please LIKE and SHARE my story with others and add your own recollections. Many people never experience the icy wonder/excitement/scariness of a freezing day of snowflakes.
December 4, 2014
Christmas in the 1940s-1950s
As us old folks say, "those were simpler times". Around Christmastime that was especially true. For example:
Christmas Trees
Mid-December, we bundled up and put on our boots for the drive into the countryside to locate a tree. We drove slowly along, sizing up the fir trees along the road in hopes of finding the perfect tree. Sometimes we ventured into the woods or went out along a logging road to locate a tree. Either way, it was a family outing with an accompanying thermos of hot chocolate as we turned back home.
My Dad build an x-shaped stand and tacked the tree to it and we were set. First the bubble lights went on, then family ornaments and finally silver tinsel to make it sparkle day and night. The tiny manger sat front and center on the floor under the tree.
Christmas Socks
Since we didn't have a chimney, I remember hanging my Christmas stocking near the Christmas tree so Santa could sneak in the front door and fill it. In our home that stocking was one of my Dad's since mine were too small.
The next morning I knew most of what I'd find: walnuts, a peppermint candy cane and a red tissue wrapped Mandarin orange. Sometimes it also contained a surprise trinket like a small game where you slide the tiny balls around and try to sink them into slots or a jump-the-peg game intended to entertain me as we took the ferry from Bremerton to Seattle to join our relatives for Christmas Day.
Christmas Presents
Waiting for presents to appear under the tree was the greatest of excitement of all. No rattling or shaking allowed. I sit and look at the boxes, reading the tags, counting up my total, usually two or three gifts. I always knew one was clothing or pj's, but the others hopefully answered my Santa wishes. Usually they did.
What Christmas memories or stories have you heard about the 1940s to 1950s that you'd like to share?
Christmas Trees
Mid-December, we bundled up and put on our boots for the drive into the countryside to locate a tree. We drove slowly along, sizing up the fir trees along the road in hopes of finding the perfect tree. Sometimes we ventured into the woods or went out along a logging road to locate a tree. Either way, it was a family outing with an accompanying thermos of hot chocolate as we turned back home.
My Dad build an x-shaped stand and tacked the tree to it and we were set. First the bubble lights went on, then family ornaments and finally silver tinsel to make it sparkle day and night. The tiny manger sat front and center on the floor under the tree.
Christmas Socks
Since we didn't have a chimney, I remember hanging my Christmas stocking near the Christmas tree so Santa could sneak in the front door and fill it. In our home that stocking was one of my Dad's since mine were too small.
The next morning I knew most of what I'd find: walnuts, a peppermint candy cane and a red tissue wrapped Mandarin orange. Sometimes it also contained a surprise trinket like a small game where you slide the tiny balls around and try to sink them into slots or a jump-the-peg game intended to entertain me as we took the ferry from Bremerton to Seattle to join our relatives for Christmas Day.
Christmas Presents
Waiting for presents to appear under the tree was the greatest of excitement of all. No rattling or shaking allowed. I sit and look at the boxes, reading the tags, counting up my total, usually two or three gifts. I always knew one was clothing or pj's, but the others hopefully answered my Santa wishes. Usually they did.
What Christmas memories or stories have you heard about the 1940s to 1950s that you'd like to share?
October 13, 2014
My Playhouse
Back in the late 1940’s, few girls had life-size playhouses. My Dad built one for me using the wooden floor from my big wooden playpen as a base. I sat nearby on my willow-branch swing and watched it grow.
My lovely one-room space was about five feet tall, four feet wide and five feet deep. It had “real walls”, a shingled exterior walls and a pitched shake roof. The front door was a rescued six-pane window to which Dad added a small door knob. Out the front, I saw our backdoor steps and the sidewalk. Through the side windows I viewed my swing on one side and the back gate on the other. If anyone approached, I’d know.
The inside held my wooden table and its two matching chairs. They filled the space leaving just enough room for two little kids to move around.
I kept my china tea set on the tiny shelves in the side wall and used an old, square tin lunch pail for my plastic, everyday dishes. Mom made curtains from remnants and I hung a framed cloth picture of a Scotty dog my grandma had stitched alongside magazine photos to decorate the walls. My playhouse was as cozy as our real house.
I loved to play alone out there, coloring or drawing. When my little girl friends came to play, we had tea parties. We served imaginary tea and grass yanked from the nearby lawn. Mom’s real cookies and red Kool-Aid were tastier.
The playhouse provided years of fun as well as real and imagined adventures. Neighbor girls brought over their dolls and dress-up clothes. The neighbor boys threw pinecones and fought over who got to be inside and who had to wait. I hated it when they got inside and held the door closed. I was afraid they’d tear up my pictures or bust a window or the front door.
As it happened, a door window pane was broken. I swerved my tricycle wheel into the door as I tried to ride away from Junior, a neighbor boy. Dad fixed it the next weekend.
While I was small, I’d swing, imagining I could touch the edge of the playhouse roof with my shoe. No matter how high I pumped, the roof was beyond my reach. By the time I could tap the roof, I’d gotten too old for the playhouse; it became a storage space for folding lawn furniture.
When I began my ballet trilogy, I used many tidbit from my life, including the playhouse. It made my characters'lives more realistic. And, if you know me and where I grew up,you'll find lots of familair references; maybe even times we shared the playhouse, the swing or our neighborhood.
My lovely one-room space was about five feet tall, four feet wide and five feet deep. It had “real walls”, a shingled exterior walls and a pitched shake roof. The front door was a rescued six-pane window to which Dad added a small door knob. Out the front, I saw our backdoor steps and the sidewalk. Through the side windows I viewed my swing on one side and the back gate on the other. If anyone approached, I’d know.
The inside held my wooden table and its two matching chairs. They filled the space leaving just enough room for two little kids to move around.
I kept my china tea set on the tiny shelves in the side wall and used an old, square tin lunch pail for my plastic, everyday dishes. Mom made curtains from remnants and I hung a framed cloth picture of a Scotty dog my grandma had stitched alongside magazine photos to decorate the walls. My playhouse was as cozy as our real house.
I loved to play alone out there, coloring or drawing. When my little girl friends came to play, we had tea parties. We served imaginary tea and grass yanked from the nearby lawn. Mom’s real cookies and red Kool-Aid were tastier.
The playhouse provided years of fun as well as real and imagined adventures. Neighbor girls brought over their dolls and dress-up clothes. The neighbor boys threw pinecones and fought over who got to be inside and who had to wait. I hated it when they got inside and held the door closed. I was afraid they’d tear up my pictures or bust a window or the front door.
As it happened, a door window pane was broken. I swerved my tricycle wheel into the door as I tried to ride away from Junior, a neighbor boy. Dad fixed it the next weekend.
While I was small, I’d swing, imagining I could touch the edge of the playhouse roof with my shoe. No matter how high I pumped, the roof was beyond my reach. By the time I could tap the roof, I’d gotten too old for the playhouse; it became a storage space for folding lawn furniture.
When I began my ballet trilogy, I used many tidbit from my life, including the playhouse. It made my characters'lives more realistic. And, if you know me and where I grew up,you'll find lots of familair references; maybe even times we shared the playhouse, the swing or our neighborhood.
September 29, 2014
Charleston: Along Callow Avenue, Bremerton, WA
Author note: I grew up in Bremerton and am using it as a home base for Marta and her stories. In book two readers will get to know more about Callow and Marta's dance home. Holland Dance Studio. I used my wonderful instructor, Margie Speck, and her studio as a model for When the Music Stops.
Bremerton, like other small towns, had distinct neighborhoods: West Park, East Park, Navy Yard City and Charleston. Each had a collection of businesses and shops enough to allow residents to skip ‘going to town’ except when they wanted to shop Bremer’s or J.C. Penney, our two department stores or a movie in one of our three full-sized movie theatres.
Charleston was a typical shopping area that followed one long street, Callow Avenue. Since we had no car, we appreciated having our needs within waling distance. We made weekly treks to the A&P grocery store and McGavin’s Bakery. On occasion we went to Kitsap Radio, the cleaners, the bank, the drug store, Perone’s Shoe Repair and Double Dip, the ice cream parlor.
Neighborhood residents could also access, two beauty parlors, two barber shops, Buster Brown shoes, two dress shops, Moellers’ Fine Jewelry, Baker’s Veterinary, the meat locker, a Chinese restaurant, a liquor store and a café. All we lacked was a library.
In daylight the main street, wasn’t spectacular; but, at night, it glowed like the famous lights of Hollywood. My uncle Marty (from Hollywood) tried to explain that I was wrong, but I’d have none of it; to my seven-year old eyes, the neons of Callow sparkled as bright as any big city.
Weekly, I walked to Callow with my parents to grocery shop at the A&P. From my house we crossed 15th, walked down Montgomery to 13th, cut over to Callow, passing Johnson’s Lumber and continued another three blocks. I knew the route well, but I wasn’t allowed to cross 15th or the busier 11th alone until I was twelve. By then, a traffic signal had been installed to cross the now-extended 11th which cut up the hill to the main road in and out of town.
When I reached junior high age, Margie Speck moved her dance studio to Callow and I walked to class alone. I headed straight down Montgomery, by-passing the shops along Callow. But, now I had to cross the dreaded 11th and 6th without the benefit of stop lights. Racing across those busy streets gave me a quick warm up before dance class.
Along my walk to dance class, I played a game of deciding which house I’d live in if I moved closer to Callow. My criteria included a front yard with flowers, a big backyard and nice neighbors like those around my home. I’d add a wide covered front porch and lots of neighborhood kids my age. The perfect home in the perfect location.
Callow remained our main shopping street long after we got a car. We walked there to buy canned vegetables, shoes, toothpaste, cakes or a two-by-four. When I worked at the cleaners during my two years at community college, I also banked and bought sundries along Callow. Even though it was officially ‘Charleston’, a small town neighboring Bremerton established more than a hundred years ago, to us it was always Callow.
FYI (an aside) C-H-A-R-L-E-S-T-O-N was used as a pricing code during the 1960-80’s for Pay-n-Save, a local drugstore chain. A mix of these letters appeared on the price stickers in small print above the price you’d pay to purchase an item. Those letters indicating their cost: C=1,H=2, etc. CHA meant their cost was $1.23 and CHNA= $12.03. If you knew the code, you’d know if the ‘sale’ price was truly a sale or a gimmick.
Bremerton, like other small towns, had distinct neighborhoods: West Park, East Park, Navy Yard City and Charleston. Each had a collection of businesses and shops enough to allow residents to skip ‘going to town’ except when they wanted to shop Bremer’s or J.C. Penney, our two department stores or a movie in one of our three full-sized movie theatres.
Charleston was a typical shopping area that followed one long street, Callow Avenue. Since we had no car, we appreciated having our needs within waling distance. We made weekly treks to the A&P grocery store and McGavin’s Bakery. On occasion we went to Kitsap Radio, the cleaners, the bank, the drug store, Perone’s Shoe Repair and Double Dip, the ice cream parlor.
Neighborhood residents could also access, two beauty parlors, two barber shops, Buster Brown shoes, two dress shops, Moellers’ Fine Jewelry, Baker’s Veterinary, the meat locker, a Chinese restaurant, a liquor store and a café. All we lacked was a library.
In daylight the main street, wasn’t spectacular; but, at night, it glowed like the famous lights of Hollywood. My uncle Marty (from Hollywood) tried to explain that I was wrong, but I’d have none of it; to my seven-year old eyes, the neons of Callow sparkled as bright as any big city.
Weekly, I walked to Callow with my parents to grocery shop at the A&P. From my house we crossed 15th, walked down Montgomery to 13th, cut over to Callow, passing Johnson’s Lumber and continued another three blocks. I knew the route well, but I wasn’t allowed to cross 15th or the busier 11th alone until I was twelve. By then, a traffic signal had been installed to cross the now-extended 11th which cut up the hill to the main road in and out of town.
When I reached junior high age, Margie Speck moved her dance studio to Callow and I walked to class alone. I headed straight down Montgomery, by-passing the shops along Callow. But, now I had to cross the dreaded 11th and 6th without the benefit of stop lights. Racing across those busy streets gave me a quick warm up before dance class.
Along my walk to dance class, I played a game of deciding which house I’d live in if I moved closer to Callow. My criteria included a front yard with flowers, a big backyard and nice neighbors like those around my home. I’d add a wide covered front porch and lots of neighborhood kids my age. The perfect home in the perfect location.
Callow remained our main shopping street long after we got a car. We walked there to buy canned vegetables, shoes, toothpaste, cakes or a two-by-four. When I worked at the cleaners during my two years at community college, I also banked and bought sundries along Callow. Even though it was officially ‘Charleston’, a small town neighboring Bremerton established more than a hundred years ago, to us it was always Callow.
FYI (an aside) C-H-A-R-L-E-S-T-O-N was used as a pricing code during the 1960-80’s for Pay-n-Save, a local drugstore chain. A mix of these letters appeared on the price stickers in small print above the price you’d pay to purchase an item. Those letters indicating their cost: C=1,H=2, etc. CHA meant their cost was $1.23 and CHNA= $12.03. If you knew the code, you’d know if the ‘sale’ price was truly a sale or a gimmick.
September 6, 2014
Marta's TV Choices in 1959
Looking back, technology has progressed rapidly in a relatively short period of time. The ten-inch to twenty-inch black and white TV screens in the 50s and 60s were controlled manually. Usually the youngest member of the family had channel-changing duties. The shades of gray we watched left the colors up to our imaginations so we focused on the content, which is Marta's case was watching humor, family situational programs, westerns and game shows.
Sid Ceasar and Imogene Coca, Red Skeleton, Danny Thomas, Jack Benny, Our Miss Brooks and I Love Lucy commanded your attention for comedy. Lots of slapstick with long pauses while the live studio audiences reacted (no laugh tracks) and sound technicians provided the sound of storms, closing doors and doorbells.
Family programs like Father Knows Best and Lassie had the perfect family of 2 parents who slept in twin beds, two kids, maybe a pet, and pressing problems like telling lies or treating a friend badly. We watched as each problem was solved with a moral implied or often stated, just to insure we got the message.
For westerns, the largest share of the TV Land audiences watched Wagon Train, Maverick, The Lone Ranger and Death Valley Days where the good guys wore white hats and always won the battles. If you ever watch any of these, you'll notice the same rock formations in the background: Vasquez Rocks east of Hollywood.
Game shows are not a new TV idea. What's my Line, I've Got A Secret, You Bet Your Life and Beat the Clock kept us on the edges of our seats as contestants tried to stump celebrities of the day. I don't remember that they received money as rewards for their winning. More than likely they received household appliances as prizes.
That era has been called the golden age of television but I don't know why. Perhaps, if you know the answer, you'll share it with the rest of us. All I know is that we watched, enjoyed out programs and adjusted the antennae or the rabbit ears when the picture got fuzzy.
Sid Ceasar and Imogene Coca, Red Skeleton, Danny Thomas, Jack Benny, Our Miss Brooks and I Love Lucy commanded your attention for comedy. Lots of slapstick with long pauses while the live studio audiences reacted (no laugh tracks) and sound technicians provided the sound of storms, closing doors and doorbells.
Family programs like Father Knows Best and Lassie had the perfect family of 2 parents who slept in twin beds, two kids, maybe a pet, and pressing problems like telling lies or treating a friend badly. We watched as each problem was solved with a moral implied or often stated, just to insure we got the message.
For westerns, the largest share of the TV Land audiences watched Wagon Train, Maverick, The Lone Ranger and Death Valley Days where the good guys wore white hats and always won the battles. If you ever watch any of these, you'll notice the same rock formations in the background: Vasquez Rocks east of Hollywood.
Game shows are not a new TV idea. What's my Line, I've Got A Secret, You Bet Your Life and Beat the Clock kept us on the edges of our seats as contestants tried to stump celebrities of the day. I don't remember that they received money as rewards for their winning. More than likely they received household appliances as prizes.
That era has been called the golden age of television but I don't know why. Perhaps, if you know the answer, you'll share it with the rest of us. All I know is that we watched, enjoyed out programs and adjusted the antennae or the rabbit ears when the picture got fuzzy.
