LA di Duggan

Greetings:

It had been a couple of decades since we had explored the lower left coast. One of the things I remember from visiting our friend Dennis in Reseda was his being impressed with our lightning blitztour of Universal. This time our raison d’voyage was to see how Chip was surviving in East Hollywood. We did have some reason for concern when we were asked by Chip to view the following picture on Facebook. We were to figure it out from the visual context:



Yes, he is working his way through the opening in the “H” of the Hollywood sign. (You can take the boy out of Chicago…). The event was inspired by a visit from his Chicago ‘Urban Guide’ photographer. This seemed like ‘fun’.

So after a three hour delay at Logan and a nice dinner at Legal Sea Foods, we arrived at LAX at thirty four o’clock Pacific time. Chip was dutifully waiting and eager, as were we, to unite the family.

Now let it be said that there are many traffic nightmares in this country: the LIE (Long Island Expressway) and DC at rush hour immediately come to mind. There might even be something to marvel about the daytime density there also along with some other major urban areas in the US. LA however is a 24/7 stream of automotive angst and vehicular effluvia – YUK!

To each rapturous LA accolade and ambient vista there was the accompaniment of a traffic flashback. Should we decide to bring the retroment out west for a month or more there may need to begin a conscientiously applied program of damnitol and regularly applied psychiatric care.

Chip, our dutiful chauffeur, weathered it all. Of course he had the assistance of two iPhones and a manic navigator.

What a trip, however. We grabbed a few hours of sleep and then headed for Santa Monica. Brunch reminded us of the fact that we were in fresh fruit and vegetable land. We then made our way along the Third Street Promenade which reminded us a lot of Lincoln Road in Miami Beach.


It also allows an easy ramble along the ocean.



There was even a hint of deco:



In coordination with our preponderance of coincidence and kharma we then met with Chris’ Irish cousins who were on a more extensive tour of the western United States. These rendezvous have occurred in Avignon, Tuscany, Ireland, New England and now Santa Monica.

It was great to see them and catch up with news of family and just enjoy each other’s company. Dinner was a bit of a challenge on a Saturday night but Chip managed to find an Italian Restaurant that would serve us before midnight. But then we were reminded of some of the ‘charm’ of Southern California – the portion sizes. Though exquisite of taste and presentation, the allotment of food is parsimonious at best. Paedar firmly announced, after splitting the two scallop appetizer with Noreen, that he would not be ‘sharing’.

Entrees were also delicious but meretricious (Gini felt that hers was just enough – the male contingent was ready to pursue mastodon or sabertooth, Noreen kept her own counsel)

The price, of course, was inversely proportional to the portions (antiportional?)

None the less it did not deter us from sitting on the porch of their B&B into the night hours and conversing. Another coincidence is that this B&B was only a few blocks from where Chip works. Chip, who had been up for at least three hundred hours between work and chauffeur duties, finally called a timeout and we headed to his apartment.

Once again our fabulous son performed a work of mercy by giving up his bed and sleeping on an air mattress right next to us in his limited space residence.

Art has taken a back seat to his current employment. He works at a sober living residence for young men between 18-25. There are currently 8 clients. It is on the upscale side and the house includes chandeliers (Gini was very impressed), a pool, Jacuzzi, rec room and dorm-like suites. Of course Chip has introduced climbing into the routine of the household. Enthusiasm can readily be observed among these guys and, as many of us might know, people recovering from substance abuse and trying to stabilize their lives are not always described as ‘enthusiastic’. Yea Chip!

Though Chip is committed to this group we arrived in the midst of business negotiations. One of the residents had been asked to leave, as he had been from several other sober living situations. The young man’s parents, who love their son dearly but also are very wealthy, were negotiating with Chip to establish a team for another residence. This would have more structure and challenge the ‘clients’ much more seriously. We shall see over the next few weeks what becomes of this.

The weather was not behaving in a very California way so we headed for the Getty Museum. Actually the Museum is composed of two locations: the Getty Center and the Getty Villa. The Villa is dedicated to ancient Greek, Roman and Etruscan art and theater. Our destination was the Center.

A tram glides its way up a quintessential pacific hillside and deposits you at the entrance:



The exhibits, though good (we viewed photographs of Cuba through the years and illuminated manuscripts, for example, both very interesting) were outdone by the complex of buildings and the grounds. As you climb the steps up to the main level you can get an appreciable panorama:



Lovely gardens and lawns (yes a lawn in these brown hills) flow from the main area:




Later that evening we vicariously extended our experience by taking in the movie ‘Drive’ which takes place in Los Angeles. Violent and graphic so as not for all but we thought it was good (especially the scenes of places we had just been riding through for the past couple of days).

The next day we went to work with Chip and enjoyed downtown Pacific Palisades and the residence. After work Chip needed to do something physical so he cut us loose as he joined a fellow climber for ascents that, if viewed parentally, would create dissents. We went to the nearest mall.


For our last day we headed for Malibu where Chip hopes to rent a house for the new venture. We had a great ride, also, through Topanga Canyon and then a fabulous tour of Rick Leslie’s house, which is also near where Chip works in Pacific Palisades. The house was mind blowing. Built into a hillside, this friend of Tom and Michele’s has created an open concept of earth materials, solar assisted living and realized vision. Taking pictures while being given a tour just did not happen. I apologize. It was so engrossing.

However here are some views along the Pacific Coast Highway:





Finally, here are some proud parents and their son:















Our chauffeur wakened us at 5:30 AM, drove us to the airport and then headed for work. May the Force be with him.

What's The Verse That Could Happen?

Greetings:

August is a very active month for the Baron and Baroness. With the Newfound Lake area as a seductive backdrop, visitors and vacationers, friends and families flow assiduously. The intensity builds as Chris’ birthday on the 8th, Gini’s on the 11th, Dad’s on the 11th and our anniversary on the 11th make for a festive 72 hours.

This year was especially satisfying as all siblings were accounted for. Eileen rented a place on the lake, Tommy and Sandy stayed with us for a week and Bob also made the trek and stayed for several days. Versions of Mom’s tomato sauce, stuffed mushrooms, Chris’ spaghetti carbonara, pancakes, Walker corn were daily treats.

So with appreciable momentum, we headed for our old haunts in Cambridge, MA to rendezvous with Rich and Val. Their daughter, Simone, after many months of diligent strategy, travel and negotiations had, as The Director, organized the National Poetry Slam. Several venues, including the Middle East, the Cantab, the Brattle Theater, the Cambridge YMCA were garnered along with the finals at the Berklee Performance Center.

So, after synchronizing cell-phones, we headed for the Alewife parking garage and jumped on the Red Line. Central Square ho! Déjà vu all over again as we emerged onto Mass Ave. Our former pre-Chip home of six years (1978-1984) had been on the other side of Harvard Square.

We quickly found the ‘Y’ and headed upstairs for the ASL (American Sign Language) version of slam poetry. Richie was positioned on an isolated chair towards the back. He was one of the official photographers for the week-long event. I believe his status, according to one of the several passes pending from his neck, was “God minus two” (or something like that). Val joined us toward the end of the session. One of the interesting points of info is that to show a hearing impaired performer that you are clapping you raise both arms in the air and shake your hands with appropriate vigor.

Many of the audience were interpreters for the other competitions allowing the hearing impaired to take in the proceedings.

After this it was lunch at Asmara, an Ethiopian restaurant across the street. It was so much better than the Ethiopian restaurant in Bristol, NH (little joke – guess you had to be there). Food is served in a large bowl-topped table and scooped with the fingers. Great tastes! Richie managed to escape for some minutes to grab some fingerfuls. And then on to the Haiku competition back at the ‘Y’.

As you might know, a haiku is made up of 17 sounds. What you might not know is that, even traditionally, this short poem can be a wild and crude ride. My favorite from the competition (and I do apologize to the literati and the courteous among you):

“There once was a man from Nantucket…
Whose dick was too long for haiku.”

Arigatou gozaimasu.

8 Contestants were randomly paired competitively. Each one of the pair was given a red or ‘non-red’ medallion to wear. Three randomly picked-from-the-audience judges were given two flags each, a red and a non-red. One haiku was read by each of the two combatants and the judges vote. Rounds 1 and 2: 3 out of 5 wins; finals: 9 out of 17. It was a rock ‘em sock ‘em final with a brutal insulting ‘dis’ by the woman pregnant with twins proving to be the winning margin.

We frolicked and shopped our way down Mass Ave afterwards as we headed towards the Brattle Theater with hopes of viewing one of the semifinals of the main competition. However, as well-provided as Rich and Val were with passes, B&BVD were without tickets or passes. We hoped to purchase tickets at the door but upon arrival at the Brattle at 4:30 we saw the formation of lines and it did not look good for the 8PM performance.

Solution? Head for a pub – Andale! Arriba! Arriba! Here are the Baroness and Empress at tableside:


Logic, fuelled by a bottle of red wine, devised a one-prong attack on the ‘Y”, another site for the semis (there were 4). So at 6:45 we arrived to find a line of 80+ already assembled. Definitely less hostile than the ‘Group W’ bench we schmoozed with the ticketless masses.

Granted we were only, nominally, hours away from a full moon, little did we know that we knew so little.

A man with a clipboard was making his way along the line. He made eye contact with me but I was already married and looked away. He approached…”Have you ever been to one of these poetry slams before?”

“Not a competition, but we saw a showcase of poets last year at the Paradise”, was my attempt at accommodating his curiosity.

“Do you know any of the poets performing?”

That would be “No, I do not.”

“How would you both like to be judges?”

Time stood still, traffic noise faded, the organist was cued….

Gini pleaded to not be a judge, the nearby huddling masses begged us to reconsider…

“You can let him be the judge but you can advise him and give him your input” we heard coming from above the clipboard.

“Well, do you want to do this?” my bride queried.

And then we were being led from the line, brought through the front door and then upstairs to the auditorium – and seated in the front row. There was another couple, young, beautiful and black, who were also going the two-voice, one-vote route; a young robotics expert from Utah; a young Asian woman and a female couple from Jamaica Plains. Clipboard Guy (Eric) elaborately explained the 0.0 (get off the stage and out of our lives) to 10.0 (religious experience/multiple orgasms) scoring system as white boards and markers were distributed.

The auditorium then filled to capacity. It was astounding, time was fleeting…madness took its toll.

There were five teams from Providence, RI; Salt Lake City; Oakland, Santa Cruz and Berkeley, CA. There would be four rounds. Teams could send up one or more poets for each round. Order would be randomly chosen. Each poem could be no longer than 3 minutes.

Fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.

The judges were introduced and credentials examined. The Utah robot man had been rejected from two colleges. The black couple was introduced as 2Cute4TheRoom. We were introduced as Baron Von D’Lucci and that we were old and could see through all the bullshit. This was met by wild cheering and adulation.

Three nerd poets individually warmed up the crowd. There was a poem imploring a nerd woman to complete his life and a letter from Mrs. Vader (Darth’s better half). Then a ‘calibration poet’ was served up to help us learn how to score. It was a black poet descrying racism. We deliberated to a 7.6 but were feeling lost in context as we saw that the black couple had given him a 5.0. Oops!

The intensity was steady and increased. Soon another poet was mesmerizing us with a description of an ancient Chinese symbol. This elaboration expanded into other uses of the icon. When placed in its western context it became clear what that symbol was. The poem stirred distaste for the atrocities committed in its shadow. He began to simulate the swastika with his body. But the indictment was accompanied by a subtle modification of his posture and his words. Soon he was juxtaposing another icon that he held responsible for millions of deaths perpetrated under its cruciform image. Yikes! I want my Mommy!

There were articulate compositions vividly reliving drug addictions, abortions, racial abuse. To be honest, the passion and imagery were fantastic; the reality – jarring. Finally a gay poet used 2 microphones to alternately speak stereotypically with first a lisp and then a deep throated macho retort. The topic: you start mixing with those homos and then the next thing you know, you’re gay and so is everyone else. The humor used to deliver a very serious perspective was welcome.

Another fine poem had us convincingly in the Library where we could survive without politics, religion, hate or war and pick from an infinite variety of wonderful milieus. This was also a wonderful respite.

It was now the third round. The third of the five teams came out, it was a single poet, his name was Storm. He carefully gathered himself and began to describe his father, their relationship and his father’s message of what a ‘real man’ is. It seems that his father witnessed some man who was so foolish as to swish his hips in such a fashion that his dad beat the living crap out of that person. Perhaps to death. As the performer continued, he emphasized that ‘how to be a man’ was always uppermost when he thought of his father and purpose in life. I had to grip my chair as he intimated that it may have been he that found himself with his own two hands gripped violently around someone’s throat…knowing that this is what it feels like to truly be a man. ………….Judges can we have your score please….can someone see if the judge from NH is okay?

Gini and I arrived at 9.0 (our highest to that point).

The next artist began his telling… now where is he heading with this? He’s talking about something intense…but, wait a minute…

Lights start flashing, alarms are happening… are we supposed to keep on judging? No one is moving, keeping a stiff upper, you know.

The poet crescendos with a description of a fire… is he responsible for this?

Authoritative figures appear and announce we must clear the building. Several audience members say they can smell smoke. We reach the street to be greeted by several fire trucks, police cars, emergency vehicles…all kinds of lights flashing! Colors ….cats and dogs sleeping together!

We call Chip. We figure if he can call us from Grant Park in Chicago when Obama got elected this is about the best we can do back. He is hysterical with laughter. He can barely hear us over the brouhaha. We try to explain it all from judging to uberangst.

The Director appears (Simone, Rich and Val’s daughter). She and the other event organizers try to figure out what comes next and will it be fair to the teams and the other semifinal sites. There is talk of going across the street to the lawn in front of the library. There is talk of waiting two hours for the fire inspection procedure to finish. Finally it is decided that, yes, there was a fire and it is under control and..and…yes, the judges may re-enter the building first.

Simone sees us; realizes we are judges…as the front door is closing behind us we hear her yell, “They can’t be judges. They’re from New Hampshire!!” (The very idea)

We try to settle in as the rest of the crowd returns. It is now 10:30. According to the rental agreement the contest was to be finished by 10:15 because there are residents here in the ‘Y’ and they want some quiet. It is decided that the audience will not be allowed to talk, clap or snap. The applause from the hearing impaired session is revisited and an ovation of shaking hands ‘applauds’ the decision.

The third round will be started anew. All third round scores will be erased and poets can choose a new poem. The team order will remain the same…..o-o-o-o-kay.

Again we are warmed up by a nerd poet to try and get the momentum going…in a silent room. It is admittedly different. We listen and rate the first two new poems. The third person returns. He emotionally announces he will do the same poem that he had done previously. He will repeat what his father taught him about being a man. OMG!! appears in a thought bubble above my head since I can’t cry out. I grip my seat.

He begins…word for word the same… it is a bit strained…he is being caught by the undertow of emotion…he is having difficulty…speaking…breathing…..

He falls to the stage. His teammates rush up and gather ‘round’. “Give him air!” An electric fan is brought to the stage. Finally he moves with a violent lurch. It has been a seizure. He is eventually brought to his feet and led off stage.

Continue? You gotta be kiddin’ me! Give the same score as last time? Can we talk about this or at least use sign language? We wait again.

No, it will be re-done tomorrow. We quickly admit we cannot make it (wedding in Plymouth, NH). They take our info. We regroup and head for Finale in Harvard Square - cappucino and butterscotch pudding and boston cream cake. Ah-h-h-h.

It really is a full moon isn’t it? More sirens and lights go by.

Let’s go home.

The Kidz R Not AlRite

Greetings:

As the child of immigrants (Okay, Mom was conceived in Italy but born here) the concept of a dream is an integral part of the ‘New World’. I presume this to be true regardless of where you came from or to what shores you entranced. To a geekish mind it might associate with the kind of decision that ‘starts things in motion’. The idea being that to get to a point where you are leaving your native land and embarking on a new one, there must be some serious motivation. This could range from ‘Feet don’t fail me now’ to a prospect of business and employment.


It could be cited as an example of Newton’s First Law of Motion:

I. Every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it.


Extending the analogy on both ends the initial external force could be tyranny, poverty, a collective vision or you’ve just been traded from the Yomiuri Giants. Dare I say that upon accepting the new vector your imagination begins to build and anticipate your new milieu. Fostering children in this situation usually provides the justification for the move in allowing them the opportunity to hopefully flourish.

In fact that is the hope of each generation whether their resume contains mobility or not. The ‘state of uniform motion’ to most of us has been labeled many things including the American Dream. Succeeding generations have been swept up in this motion or generated their own external force to divert or reshape it.

However there is entropy and friction. Things wind down. That swinging child needs another boost; the struggling student needs encouragement; the hopeless and desperate need hope and opportunity. Today the New York Times printed:

“One of the greatest casualties of the great recession may well be a decade of lost children.”

This struck an issue that has been festering with me for quite a while. How do we continue our ‘motion’ of the quality of life if we do not inspire or really piss off our kids? And if we really do annoy them, are they capable of retaliating? Debt reeks from their legacy.

At one time there was an incentive to become a teacher in exchange for expunging significant debt. If there was no money then agencies like the Civilian Conservation Corps focused youthful energy and reinforced environmental stewardship.






So what are we doing now to inspire our youth? Our political infighting and religious fervor has made it all about the selfish adults with the lovely byproduct of polarizing with laser-like efficiency. At one time we were totally enthralled with youth, its prospects, potential and potency. Behold the cover of Time Magazine on July 7, 1967:




Arab youth seem to be making their own mark in taking up the aegis of youth and promise. Our media is quite selective in romanticizing this in a world where suicide bombers and government oppression serve as ambiance.

Our youth need a purpose to either support or adamantly reject but whose product serves as a dynamic external force to the culture. We desperately need them. We do not need them cowering resentfully and impotently while their future becmes more and more subject to myopia.

Children are resilient and certainly no more stupid than we. They are talented. However they are maturing later and have much less opportunity to express themselves or realize themselves.

I have always liked the idea of the Civilian Conservation Corps. It removes politics and religion from an activity that benefits us all. The corps men and women were physically engaged and at least helping our environment.

So I love the radical idea that since these kids are maturing later (personal opinion) – like 25, 26 or 27 years old, let us resurrect the CCC. Enlist these youth in energy and environmental programs. Then tell the baby boomers that mentors are needed. Supervision and dialog become the themes. We are going to need something to do since the only other developing choice is to be set adrift on ice floes. Inspire these kids, give them meaningful work. Stop claiming partisan politics or divine guidance as exclusionary paths for the traitors and the heathens. Let’s change the subject.

A culture that does not have a youth ‘in motion’ is in serious danger. It is the wrong kind of inertia.

The Kidz R Not AlRite

The Latest Buzz

Sometimes you want to travel because you have always wanted to see the Great Wall of China and you know it is once in a lifetime; sometimes you are sick of winter and you want to get warm; other times it is because of curiosity…and sometimes it is to see somebody..for a once in a lifetime party.

Maurice ‘Buzz’ Beaulieu was going to celebrate his 90th birthday in Norfolk, VA on May 8, 2011. As far as the family tree grows, we begin with the lovely Landry sisters: Gini, Janice and Linda. Their father, Charles, had two sisters. They grew up in Lowell, MA. The elder sister Janet found the love of her life in Lowell and that would be Buzz. He would become a career Naval officer, a pilot. And not just any ol’ pilot, he was a fighter pilot in WWII and the Korean War. Interestingly enough, he attended Lowell High School with Jack Kerouac. They both played football for LHS.

Their family, which eventually would include two sons and a daughter (Mike, Michele and Marc chronologically), would move 30 times across oceans and continents. His decorations included the Silver Star and the Distinguished Flying Cross. Aircraft carriers were his welcome mats and launching pads. His favorite was the USS Enterprise (“The Big E”):



My first encounter with the esteemed aviator was with his wife Janet at a lobster bake in New Hampshire celebrating our wedding:



Always a proper and respectful guest, he never once mentioned my ‘Mao’ hat with its red star and the ‘flower children’ abundantly present. In fact I would say he immediately was in the spirit and made sure he was going to enjoy his ‘lobstah’.

Over the years we developed a fine relationship. He and Janet had settled in Winter Park for his retirement, the same city as Gini’s parents. This allowed for the exchange of many visits, stories and the building of our own memories of Buzz.

Sadly, several years ago we lost Janet. and Buzz finally left his home in the Orlando area to live in the same community as his oldest son Mike. You might remember our visit there last year on our way to Miami Beach (“We’re Off” – December 30, 2009). Buzz was gracious enough to share his apartment with us for a couple of nights.

So the Landry contingent eagerly gathered to begin their voyage of homage. Parking was our first challenge at Logan Airport. This included commandeering and surviving an elevator:



After a brief stay in Philly to connect to Norfolk we gathered at Fellini’s courtesy of Mike Baloo Limousine servce. Twenty four celebrants gathered to ‘mangia a la italiana’.



Buzz is fourth from the right and busily engaged. However, though he had an ear for everyone who would sit next to him to share memories and receive accolades, he would inevitably search out the youngest and follow their antics:



Ava and Christa were more than glad to oblige in their mutual enjoyment of the party and being four years old.

The next day was the actual birthday. With an early start, decorating began at the activity room in the independent living community that is home for Buzz. Michele had filled a van for their drive from St Louis containing party materials and mementos lovingly prepared and researched.

The activity room quickly lived up to its name:



The honored guest arrived and the girls grabbed their uncle for pictures:



The theme was tropical and, yes, those are flamingoes on top of Janice’s head.

It is impossible to describe in detail the books thoroughly encompassing Buzz’ military career and the organization of the memorabilia pages prepared by many, many family members and friends. Here is the one from Gini:


Each person had taken the time to express why they thought this day and the guest of honor were worthy of their love, respect and admiration.

Though feeling very emotional themselves, Mike, Michele and Marc each read excerpts that they felt were of note. This included anecdotes from Buzz’ brother, advice for aging and George Carlin’s take on getting old. We enjoyed it all.

Four generations are always impressive especially when there is so much ‘beaming’:



Dutifully playing the honored guest, Commander Beaulieu played his part with ease. The formal act of honoring his attainment of nine decades was a ‘piece of cake’:



He thanked one and all with his love and emotion stirring the scene. Thank you sir!

Chicago Bound

Alright, clear your calendar, go to the bathroom, get some water and take a deep breath…

Greetings – let me introduce you to the ArtistFormerlyKnownAsSpeedyVonDLucci:



This man has recently earned his MFA (Masters of Fine Arts) from Columbia College of Chicago in the Interdisciplinary Arts Department. He has been the subject of the Chicago Journal, the school magazine…. security guard alerts…..academic probation….proud parents….gris gris magnet and all-round bon vivant.

The path has been anything but dull. Overlapping experiences with his parents involved high school acting awards, medal-winning track runs, travel and wayward experiments. College brought about geodesic domes, illegality, a fecundity of art, love, heartbreak and a self-defined major/degree.

He is a man in motion: traipsing and camping in the Grand Canyon, roaming the Appalachian Trail, living off the land in the Boundary Waters of Minnesota and learning to deal with the urban dynamics of Chicago.

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Our most recent trip (Gini and I) was a drive to Chicago to be there for Chip’s presentation of his thesis along with several of his fellow degree candidates. It’s never quite that simple. By the time we actually left we had set up a night in Erie, PA at the Glass House Inn (recommended), a visit with our nephew Sam (another graduate this month of the Bachelor kind) at Oberlin College, the transference of title of our Toyota Camry with 250,00 miles that Chip had been driving but was now jettisoning as he prepared for his departure to LA, and a scheduled stop on the return to visit with Rick and Hanna. Gini would then fly from Syracuse to Miami to have her root canal finished because, even with the plane fare, it was hundreds of dollars cheaper than having it done by her regular dentist in Plymouth, NH!

Sam was very glad to see us, as we were to see him:



He gave us the quickie tour of the campus and the ritual eating of burgers at The Feve. Somehow he has to muster enough interest to finish his courses even though he has already procured a lucrative software engineering job in Boston. His father, Geoff, is amazed at his starting salary and wonders where he went wrong with his life – well, that’s another story.

Then… on to the Windy City. Boy is it flat out there. After a while life is just a stream of Americana and agrikharma. By the time we entered the city limits our eyes were victims of some kind of visual Doppler effect:



Eventually we were swallowed up by an exit on the Kennedy expressway and found our way to Chip’s apartment in Lincoln Park. We delivered the title of the Camry just in time for the arranged sale. One thousand dollars seemed like a deal since the engine light was on and his future home of California would treat it like 8oz of water on a domestic flight should he be so foolish as to arrive in it.

Dinner was at a fine Italian restaurant and we thoroughly enjoyed the company of his close friend Frank who was doing graduate work at the University of Chicago in urban environment education. Chris, of course, pontificated on many aspects of his own educator experience and his dream of a ‘puberty-ometer’ that would replace metal detectors in schools.

This was a fitting group to confer on Chip his present for his accomplishments. He had a knowing smile on his face as he unwrapped a gold track baton with the words ‘The Human Race” laser-etched on its surface. Long may he run (some of us need a break!).

The next day was movie day (Lincoln Lawyer – we liked it) and more friends o’Chip at the IO Theater where improv rules. The introductions included a couple of the performers. Dave Pasquesi and TJ Jagodowski were mind blowing in their 50 minute-made-up-on-the-spot skit. They are nationally known and Dave had agreed to be an outside evaluator for Chip’s thesis presentation. Very cool.

The theme of the day also included getting the gallery ready for the show. Chip had already shown us the book he had designed and published:



The pages were arranged to give the reader a feel for the image, feel and location for some of the more significant climbs in Chicago.



Yes, for those of you who may not be aware, Chip’s thesis is The Urban Quiet. It is his experience of confronting the metropolitan dynamo of Chicago head on. He would climb the facades of buildings and understructures of bridges (with the L train pounding overhead) and have a photographing team capture the experience. A head cam would bring some of the ascents visually closer, offering vicarious vertigo.

As he free-climbed he would produce globs of clay to impress upon the rugged hand-holding features of the building. Later he would cast them and produce concrete versions of these ‘holds’. In the gallery he built a faux façade and bridge arch to attach these holds in a sculptural climbing wall of these gotham golems.



Vinyl lettering indicated the source location.



One video screen was placed below the climbing wall to show footage of the obtaining of the impressions during the climbs. Another video was tucked back in the corner but placed in the ceiling of the space about a foot or two above your head with a sound track of Chip’s breathing that recalled the effort necessary for these feats. The Urban Guides of the Urban Quiet were on display on glass shelves opposite these walls.

“…The city has been a stressful loud place for my mind and I get overwhelmed with my resentments of the past and fears of the future, I’m never in the present. Challenging my body physically is immediate relief. I am documenting by photography and video, making a compilation of my failures and successes. Sharing this documentation is a way for me to share this experience to an audience. Also I am taking small impressions of some of the buildings I climb to create an urban climbing hold. This is similar to a climbing hold in an indoor wall but it takes the shape of the holds in the urban landscape; bricks, concrete, metal, etc. This is something to ‘hold’ onto from my experience…” (Artist currently known as Prince Von D’Lucci)

And he even did it under the careful guidance of his mother:



We hooked up with Bill and Janice the next day. Janice is Gini’s sister, Bill her loving and stalwart husband. They were able to take some time and travel out by car, staying with some friends in the burbs of Chicago for the festivities. Though both have been very supporting (along with Linda and Geoff and many other Von D’Luccis) Bill has been prominent with his presence, labor and communication. Chip has been quite fortunate with this.

The next day brought our scheduled, bought-and-paid-for tour of the architecture of Chicago along the Chicago river…in 40 degree dank, wet and gray conditions. However the group seems to have gotten on quite well:



And now I will over/underwhelm you with highlights of the tour (click on picture for better view):














Here is a perspective on Millenium Park:




Grant Park:




This massive display was the urban entity whose immenseness made monumental ‘noise’ to Chip. His response was to immerse and ascend, depend and conquer.

The evening of the show arrived. We entered the building one more time. This time there was a more formal tone:



We headed for a particular section first:


(minus the blue tape)

CBS 2 of Chicago will be interviewing him this Thursday at the gallery and then they will watch Chip climb a column from one of his photos (right middle):



May the universe continue to keep him safe.

So the night was successful. We had a wonderful dinner at Rhapsody and Gini managed to make it to Miami and Chris made it home.

If you have made it this far, you are a victim of Pride and Prejudice, forgive us: