P.S. A Column On Things

Funny Half-Century Old Picture / Epochal Moment

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Shelly Lowenthal ’74 was a shooter (photographer) for The Tech. Like most photographers, he saved every negative he ever shot (an option available to all of us now, thanks to digital photography and Google Photos).

While preparing a slide show for the 50^th reunion of the class of 1974, he ran across this photo, taken on March 5, 1971. Third from left was MIT’s new president, Jerry Weisner. On the far right, there is a boy radio reporter who apparently had never heard of a microphone stand.

Photo by Sheldon Lowenthal

I wasn’t sure it was me, but Google photo said it was my face. Then, like on any bad police procedural from decades ago, I just said “zoom in” and discovered that at the end of this guy’s perfectly shot cuff

was a familiar cufflink; 54 years later, I still have that cuff link. Some people save their negatives, some their high school cufflinks.

The five-shot above is not a picture of an epochal moment in my life, but it is epochal adjacent. Had Shelly stayed after the news conference, then walked into the next room, he would have seen this epochal moment (as described in a contemporaneous journal entry):

I asked Alex Makowski  and Lee Giguere (The Tech news editors), to stay.

We talked for about 45 minutes, and finally, I asked Alex: “Would you want me on The Tech? Would you let me keep doing my column?”

“I haven’t read it much. Let me look at it. My first reaction is, sure we want you. You work hard.”

I called Alex a week later and he invited me over to The Tech’s luxurious corner office. “We’ll be happy to have you and your column too, although you’ll have to write it more carefully.” The die was cast: I asked for a month to clear up my affairs at Ergo. But from then on, I was a Techman for good.

(See a luridly detailed description of the day I recruited myself to The Tech)

In 21 months I was editor-in-chief.

Public Speaking 1: In The Beginning

My career as a public speaker began in high school. One of my gigs was reciting the Gettysburg Address at Memorial Day Services. I also won a trophy for a patriotic speech I wrote and delivered to the Veterans Of Foreign Wars.  It was during the Vietnam War. I think I won as much for my short hair and lack of beard as for my speech.

But I most enjoyed announcing at Benson Polytechnic, my high school. I announced the annual talent show (wearing my first-ever rented tuxedo) for two years with my friend Harrison West, until a better announcer came along. We still did a joint reading of Dylan Thomas’ A Child’s Christmas in Wales at the Christmas assembly until we graduated.

I also delivered a half-dozen humorous monologues at “entertainment” assemblies. There’s something you’ll never see again: an entertainment assembly. George Carlin and Steve Martin had nothing to worry about. 

CONTINUED NEXT WEEK

Memes O’ The Week: Wonderful World of Color

  (Yes, 60s TV reference)

LinkedIn got its knickers in a twist about whether these are valid or not. They sound good to me. For more details, see Vance Packard’s The Hidden Persuaders, and oldie but goodie.

Things No One Will Ever Do Again: Set Type (3)

The IBM MT/ST (look it up) was the machine upon which Len Deighton wrote the first word-processed novel. It was large, expensive and heavy, and was built around the IBM Selectric (“golf ball”) typewriter.

At a newspaper, you printed text on coated paper, cut out the copy with an X-Acto knife, placed hot wax on the back, and affixed it to a cardboard form with a roller.

Thus it was that this clumsy soul was frequently advised, by John Hanzel and Bill Roberts, among others, “Don’t bleed on the copy.” My frequent finger cuts threatened the pristine text, which would have to be reprinted if bloodied.

Hot wax got on our tilted glass composing table; the only solvent that removed it was carbon tetrachloride. I loved the smell and would sniff it. Essentially, I was sniffing glue. Luckily I a) didn’t do it often, b) didn’t get hooked and c) apparently didn’t destroy my liver.

In today’s computerized world, text is never long or short because of computer layout. That wasn’t true in 1973. We used Wizard of Id panels to fill in when text (we called it copy) ran short. Professionals had other ways to fill the space, with bus plunges or Japanese earthquakes.

The whole series: Things No One Will Ever Do Again: Set Type.

Right Column Redux: Paul Schindler Quote Page

The column to the right on this blog contains permanent content, most of which has appeared at one time or another in the main body. I’ve decided to include a reminder.

Paul Schindler Quote Page.

Prepositions Redux

This shaggy dog story from Clark Smith:

My Dad liked to tell a story of a father whose son had a bedroom in the attic. He would come up each night to read his son a bedtime story. One evening, he brought a book that his son disliked. "Daddy," the son asked him, "Why did you bring that book that I don't like to be read to out of up for?"

This and That

AI Song Marches On
It took some effort, but The AI Song is on Spotify  now, headed for iTunes soon.
...
Maybe He Was Kidding
MIT Sloan School Dean William Pounds told me not to practice management. The first managing editor of Fortune magazine said the same thing happened to him. A friend of mine pointed out the obvious: maybe Pounds was kidding.
…
The End of Cuffinks And Suits
As a working class boy anxious to rise above my station, I started wearing cufflinks in 1970. See my 450 words about The End of Cufflinks and Suits, if you dare.
…
Another Tom Swifty
From regular contributor Daniel Dern: “I shall name this clever wordplay after myself,” said Tom eponymously.

End of April 22 Column (No. 926)

Start of April 15 Column. More or Less Continuous News Service since 1998

Grandson: Figures of Speech

I am having a great time teaching my grandson about figures of speech. One tool is the Gummi Bears TV series his mother and aunt watched decades ago when they were children.

The writers of the show revel in showing literal interpretations of figures of speech. “That should dampen his enthusiasm,” one character says of the bad guy, who is being doused.

“How about you go for a spin,” another says, as he spins a hapless character around. I feel sure that my grandson, 5, is getting the drift, as he now brings figures of speech to me, or points them out when he hears them in conversation or in a story.