P.S. A Column On Things

Start of July 1 Column. More or Less Continuous News Service since 1998

My Pal Doug Baker

Here is everything I have ever written about one of my childhood idols, Oregon Journal city columnist Doug Baker.

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This column/blog has evolved into a combination of diary for my family and me and bulletin board for my clever friends--in short, a personal column. Like, but not as good as, former San Francisco Chronicle columnists Adair Lara or Jon Carroll. Or Doug Baker of the Oregon Journal.  Or, to take a national example, former New York Times columnist Anna Quindlen, considered the mother of the personal column concept (even though Stanton Delaplane and Charles McCabe of the San Francisco Chronicle actually beat her to it--but of course, if it hasn't happened in New York, it hasn't happened)

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Jon Carroll of the SF Chronicle (now retired) was the finest daily column writer ever to grace an American newspaper, although Adair Lara of the Chronicle and Doug Baker of the Oregon Journal were almost as good.  He regularly wrote columns about his cats, which I have mentioned frequently in this column.

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Doug Baker invited me into the Feinschmecker Society, a black-tie dining club. At that point, I bought a used tuxedo at Goodwill. Doug wore a 30-year-old tuxedo to the dinners. At the time I thought it was eccentric.

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In his later years, Doug let his legman, Spencer Heinz, fill in for him while Doug took off for a cabin in Kalama, Wash. he called “The River Place” for a long weekend. That also meant he missed his daily talk show, which originated in the lobby of Portland’s Heathman Hotel. He had me fill in for him, which was a delight, because Dave Jack, the manager of KLIQ, had to swallow and take it… a few years after he had unceremoniously booted me off his air.

Unpacking College

For my 50^th reunion class book, I was asked about my college friends. I answered the question briefly. With the exception of David Tenenbaum, most weren’t class of 74.

The Tech was my alpha and omega, but specifically, my friends to this day came from the newspaper, the radio station, and the co-ed co-op where I lived, Student House.

At The Tech, I joined the late Norman Sander (my best man), Barb Moore and John Hanzel to form the UGI (The Usual Gang Of Idiots, a term from the masthead of Mad Magazine). Mike McNamee was an adjunct member. Dave Tenenbaum was my friend, my chairman and my roommate. I think I was friends with everyone else who worked there, but not as close. I am still in regular touch with all my living Tech mates.

At WTBS my close friends were Harry (now Harrison Klein still in touch, reads PSACOT), Ken Pogran (occasional contact) and John Taylor (disappeared off the face of the Earth). Student House provided my first two lovers, Sherry and Beth, as well as my exemplar of creativity, Michael Wildermuth, my freshman roommate Werner Poersch, Kevin Sullivan (a reader) and the man for all seasons, who tries to remember the joys of September, Clark Smith, who gave me my first Irish Mist, attempted to teach me to fence, taught me to cook, and has  been a good friend ever since.

My face is already red about the people I have left off.

The Idea Of You *****

Ann Hathaway. Need I say more? An older woman and a younger man fall in love with each other. Not a romcom because they kiss and have sex early. More a parable of the price of fame, and a story that holds out hope for May/December relationships.

It reminded me of other “Fame is a bitch” movies. I found a partial list on Screen Rant. Dream Scenario was the most recent and blatant, but other films that sip from the poisoned chalice of fame include: Blonde (2022), Sunset Boulevard (1950), Birdman (2014) and A Star Is Born (2018).

 Now these would comprise one hell of a binge watch. I’ve seen them all (just not at once) and they didn’t dampen my desire for fame (I am better than all these characters), but they might have that effect on someone who is less ceaselessly self-promotional.

Fourth Of July: Fates Of The Signers

(see my more detailed version).

Five signers of the Declaration of Independence were captured by the British. However, none of them died while a prisoner.

Richard Stockton of New Jersey was the only signer taken prisoner specifically because of his status as a signatory to the Declaration, "dragged from his bed by night,” and imprisoned in Provost Jail like a common criminal.

John Witherspoon of New Jersey saw his eldest son, James, killed in the Battle of Germantown in October 1777.

Nine signers died during the course of the Revolutionary War, but none of them died from wounds or hardships inflicted on them by the British. 

Carter Braxton suffered financial reverses because his ships were a prime target for the British. He did not "die in rags."

Was Thomas McKean "hounded" by the British during the Revolutionary War? He wasn’t chased for being a signer: it was probably because he served as a militia leader. He did end up in "poverty.”

Several signers’ homes were looted. Many signers lived in occupied areas, yet those homes were not looted or vandalized, so it's hard to make the case that signers were specifically targeted for vengeance by the British.

Did Thomas Nelson urge the bombardment of his own house? The story is probably a conflation of two events: an order to fire on his uncle's home and a friendly bet with the French as to whether they could hit his home.

This and That

 [crickets]🦗🦗

Meme O’ the Week: AI Conversation

End of July 1 Column (No. 936)

Supreme Court Meme

Martin Mull, Dead At 80

Attorneys: please skip this item.

The multi-talented star of stage, screen, vinyl and LA-area coffee shops Martin Mull died last week. I can think of no better way to pay  tribute to him than to post the songs which I paid for on vinyl and am, therefore, in my own mind, able to post on the Internet. Only one of them is available in any online store to buy. You can listen on Amazon Music. The funniest man ever to sing his own funny songs while accompanying himself.