#ellie watches 1899 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aquariusxiv · 2 months ago

Text

Thinking about 1920s catholic lesbians in denial in the hopes it'll distract me. My half of the pair might be developing self-awareness about it despite all my effort to keep the bit going.

Sophie Jennings, originally Zofia Dzienkiewski before getting the Ellis Island special, is from an ethnically and culturally Polish family living in the Austrian city of Bielsko (what with Poland not existing/having been partitioned at the time. Born in 1899, her family crossed the ocean in 1911 before settling down in Arkham, Massachusetts, due to her father owning some land and a building suitable to run his garage out of. Both Tomasz/Thomas (Sr., her brother was also named Tomasz/Tommy) and Zofia/Sophia were naturally gifted with engines and mechanics, repairing both vehicles and whatever odd appliance was brought into their shop. The family adopted English names and send Tommy and youngest sister Kasia/Cassie to school. Despite goals of assimilation they fell back into the ease of speaking Polish at home, leaving all the children with conversational fluency and Zofi a thick accent untempered by an immersive English-speaking environment. Since making friends due to shared eldritch dreams she has gotten more comfortable insisting they call her the hybrid "Zofi", though strangers are still expected to use "Sophie." (Original non-lesbian core concept of the character was inspired by my own Babcia, Zofia, and the absolute *wrongness* I felt as a child hearing someone just casually insist on calling her Sophie when I was a ch

She's had first hand experience with lesbians working the factories during The War. Walked in on two women she didn't know kissing in the corner. Since she didn't see them again, she wasn't sure if they were deliberately avoiding her, of if they got caught and sacked. But that influenced primarily how she conceptualized it - women who kiss other women. Usually in the context of how much it seemed to align with her otherwise nebulous unexplained desires that since puberty she'd only had the words 'girls I like looking at' to describe it.

But also in the context that she wished she was one of those women. Regardless of how much the descriptor aligned with her desires she was lacking whatever officially made one a Woman Who Kissed Women and so she settled in for pining. Part of it was Catholic guilt as personified by 'what would my parents and Mary think if they saw me doing this from Heaven' which got partially alleviated in a somewhat unorthodox response to having your father's spirit brought back to life briefly and conveying that he was not, in fact, watching from Heaven. (She had deliberately avoided dwelling on the implications, whether this means he's unable to watch her from Heaven, or unable to watch her from Heaven.) As for Mary and the other saints, by now they've seen her involved in other blasphemous enough that a little sapphism probably wouldn't be a big deal, right?

The other is that she just feels generally undesirable. She was built with stats supporting her being naturally very intelligent and good at problem solving but with a low education level indicating that she's a first-generation immigrant and English is her second language. (If the system allowed for additional granularity in language skills she'd also just have piss poor reading skills regardless of language, ad a result of not going to public school in favour of helping her parents at the mechanic shop they ran while her younger siblings were seen as 'still potentially able to assimilate' and so got to go to school. (This is mostly a post-hoc justification for why her accent is still so thick tbh but it fits well and informs other parts of the character.)

So because of the language barrier and generally seen as either frumpy or too masculine because of her owning and operating a mechanic garage and general repair shop she just doesn't think Americans would be interested in her

She lucked out, being the oldest child outliving her brother, her mother, then her father so inheritance passed on to her (probably with some help by the family lawyer firmly in her corner, incidentally my backup char if she dies) so she is incentivized against getting married because then the garage would immediately go to him; so most of her old-fashioned regulars who prefer her skill and service have mostly dropped the 'a woman your age should be married' nagging.

She met a nice fellow immigrant boy due to shared eldritch dreams and mistook empathy and solidarity if potential attraction, turns out he's around as gay as she is (or would be if she ever admitted it to herself) so they stayed close friends (I don't play it as much as I should but she thinks of Theo as her closest non-family, non-Evelyn friend; and after that she's trying to warm up to Edith and Charlie in that order. Matteo is a bit intense still. (Though initial joke of lavender marriage with Zofi and Matteo would be funny to bring back in the future if they both live.)

Evelyn, just mentioned, is her long-time crush. She first saw her singing in the choir at church after first immigrating to Arkham and was one of the first girls to get the early conceptualization of 'like looking at.' They lost touch for a while, then were re-introduced by shared eldritch dreams but Zofi didn't recognize her because of a new haircut and dye and a recent marriage changing her last name (if Zofi even ever knew it) but the crush was back full force, now with firearm imagery and a new association of her crush with the smell of gunpowder.

In the interim teenage years Zofi played on a local girl's baseball team, the Mighty Mermaids, headed by team captain Asenath Marsh, originally of Innsmouth. Her needing to return home to participate in a traditional family ceremony was part of why the team fell apart, though the biggest reason was the girls getting old enough and getting married, usually moving away from town. Zofi nursed a crush born of admiration on Asenath, though her major atteaction was teammate Florence St. John. Originally from Newfoundland, she and Zofi found solidarity in a shared immigrant experience even if the circumstances were slightly different. Florence may have been mutually attracted, but Zofi's lack of self awareness would have made her ignorant to her friend and teammate's advances. Florence left one day, unannounced. She might have moved, might have died or disappeared mysteriously. (Another backup character ideal should he uhh not have died...)

With Evelyn back in her life Zofi found any excuse to be near her. This worked our well, Evelyn felt a need to make sure Zofi got to experience the nightlife, inviting her along to her and Theo's performances at nightclubs and speakeasies. After a month long absence dealing with a family emergency in Boston, Evelyn returned with the dye mostly gone and her natural hair growing back, both making Zofi recall her earlier admiration from afar and making her fall even more head over heels. (I don't remember if they ever talked about knowing each other from church that young, that should be a scene we do, Evkat)

Lately the two are even more unseperable. Zofi's more carefree attitude following her revelation about her father has led to some quasi-romantic flirting that Zofi consistently categorizes as "teasing", though her recent injury via impaled on the limb of an eldritch spiderman (of the Boston Spidermans) led to "Evka", Zofi's Polish familiar diminutive/nickname for her, to fret and comfort her via kissing her hand and a declaration of love - at the time Zofi had already been administered morphine so she chided Evka for teasing her again before rambling about always wanting to be the kind of woman who kisses... something unpronouncable before falling asleep. Will Zofi have the courage to bring this conversation up again or just do the tried and true Catholic strategy of pretending it didn't happen while Evka is visiting to help look after her during recovery (so her sister isn't the only one doing so).

Perhaps the third option of bringing up some of earlier teasing to get some actual flirting in. Go for it Zofi you are limited only by the points I put in your social skills. Oh. Shit. Quick, pivot to showing off your forklift certification via Use Heavy Machinery!

(One of these days I want to build a pulp/weird science mech to use with UHM but Zofi is too practical a character and would absolutely be the type to just go "but a tank would be better than making it walk")

TL;DR I live my awkward little Polish grease monkey with a collection of modified baseball bats for combat and her massive requited(?) crush on a redheaded Irish-American club singer/possible mob sniper and assassin (it's fine don't worry about it.) Despite call of cthulhu not really have mechanics for changing starting characteristics she's been lifting weights to build up her strength (in flavour anyway) and has been feeling more confident about ahowing off her newly toned/defined arms.

#call of cthuwu #gay mob #coc inspo #Tommy's Repair Shop #densest lesbian in Arkham

1 note · View note

queerasfact · 5 years ago

Photo

Ruth Ellis - Sources

Want to learn more about Ruth Ellis, the lesbian activist who lived in three centuries, and was out longer than most of us will be alive? Listen to our podcast, and check out these sources! (Normally we would use more academic/verifiable sources than some of these because we know people love to lie in online articles, but there aren’t many on Ruth, so you take what you can get.)

Ellis, Ruth (1899-2000), by Linda Rapp

First African-American mail carrier, Sagamon County History. An article about Ruth’s father Charles Ellis.

Honoring our Foremothers: Ruth Ellis: The Oldest "Out" Lesbian Known, by Yvonne Welbon. Yvonne knew Ruth in her 90s and 100s, and made a documentary about her.

Living with Pride, by Katie Vloet.

Living with Pride: Ruth Ellis @ 100, directed by Yvonne Welbon. I didn’t get a chance to watch this documentary, but it includes a lot of interview material with Ruth and I’d encourage you to watch it if you have the opportunity. You can check out a short preview here.

Reflecting on Ruth, by Jason A. Michael

Remembering Ruth Ellis, by Crystal A. Proxmire

Ruth Charlotte Ellis, Find a Grave. This site has info about Ruth’s final resting place as well as a little bio.

Ruth Ellis Centre. A centre for queer youth in Detroit, officially opened by Ruth in 2000.

Ruth Ellis, Kathleen Wilkinson.

Ruth Ellis: Lesbian activist, Sagamon County History.

The Ruth Ellis Story, by Neenah Ellis. Ellis (no relation) spent time with and interviewed many American centenarians to create a radio program, including this episode on Ruth. She also wrote a book, If I Live to be 100: Lessons from the Centenarians about her experiences on the project, with plenty more info about the days she spent with Ruth.

#ruth ellis #queer history #lgbt history #lgbtq #lesbian history #lesbians #wlw #lgbt

273 notes · View notes

sheliesshattered · 4 years ago

Text

This Isn’t A Ghost Story extras for Chapter 8: The Temple

The eighth and final chapter of This Isn’t A Ghost Story has been posted! You can find it here on AO3 and here on Tumblr. Below the cut are extras for this chapter and a few things for the story over all. I’ve had such fun writing this fic, and hope you’ve all enjoyed reading it and following along with the writing process here too!

Like the previous chapter, chapter 8 is named for the location where it takes place, in this case the Mortuary Temple of Hatshepsut, which is near the Valley of the Kings, Thebes, and modern Luxor, on the west bank of the Nile.

As mentioned in both this chapter and previous chapters, several sections of the temple have stars painted on a blue background on the ceilings:

The ‘towering statue’ Clara comments on is one of a line of statues depicting the pharaoh Hatshepsut as the god Osiris, only a few of which are still standing:

Here’s a short video showing both the exterior and interior of the temple from earlier this year.

I came across the Temple of Hatshepsut fairly early in my writing process, when I was looking into what archaeological dig sites were active in the 1910s and 1920s. This photo from the late 1920s shows the continuing work going on in the area (that’s the Temple at the back left), and served as part of the inspiration for Clara’s memory of finding the Doctor at a dig site in Thebes in 1921:

About a month into writing This Isn’t A Ghost Story, I was grappling with the detail of Clara’s wedding ring, based on the poll results you guys gave me. I had been toying with going with an emerald for her ring, since emeralds have some interesting ties to ancient Egypt, but I also really wanted to go the route of a TARDIS-blue sapphire, and in particular a star sapphire really appealed to me, for its look and its symbolism. The results of that little impromptu poll clearly pointed to a star sapphire -- but also suggested I tie it into the world-building somehow.

Those two elements came together in my head rather abruptly when I remembered the star ceiling at the Temple of Hatshepsut, and after digging into the history of Hatshepsut, I realized it worked almost too well. On 28 June this final epilogue chapter sprang into being in basically the form you see it in here, baring a few edits I’ve made to it in the three months (!!) since then.

As the Doctor says in this chapter, the Temple was designed and overseen by Hatshepsut’s head advisor Senenmut, and many modern Egyptologists do in fact believe that the two may have been lovers during Hatshepsut’s time as pharaoh. While there are many stylized statues of Senenmut (including a few of him with Hatshepsut’s daughter, to whom he served as primary tutor), archaeologists have also found ostracons, chips of limestone that ancient artists used as throw-away sketching surfaces, that depict Senenmut in what he more likely looked like in life:

Please tell me I’m not the only one who sees this resemblance:

And then there’s Hatshepsut herself, who is depicted in numerous different ways throughout art and statuary, sometimes shown as more typically male in her role as pharaoh, but more often shown in what Egyptologists believe she looked like in life -- large eyes, full cheeks, and a small chin:

I mean:

Once my brain made that connection, I really couldn’t let it go.

I had originally planned to end the story with the sequence in the Cairo museum that eventually became chapter 7, but the connection between Clara and the Doctor and the real historical Hatshepsut and Senenmut -- with the added parallel of Senenmut as tutor and guardian of Hatshepsut’s daughter corresponding to the Doctor watching over Margot in Ghost Story, even -- was just too good to pass up.

Senenmut’s tomb is as the Doctor described it, with the oldest known astronomical ceiling of any tomb or temple in Egypt:

His tomb is very near to the Mortuary Temple of Hatshepsut, and tunnels into the cliffside such that it is extremely close to Hatshepsut’s own tomb, which is entered from the Valley of the Kings, on other side of that mountainous area. This has only further fueled speculation that the two were very much in love -- as pharaoh, Hatshepsut had to have her tomb built in the Valley of the Kings, and as a commoner Senenmut couldn’t be buried there. But they could design their tombs such that they would be as close as possible to each other, even if the entrances are miles apart.

Part of my goal with this final chapter was to give a hint at a larger story that this version of Clara and the Doctor are just a part of. I left the possibility that they had once been Hatshepsut and Senenmut intentionally open-ended, so the reader can make their own decision. They might have been, they might not have been, but in the end what matters is that they are together and in love now.

Similarly I also wanted to make allusions to both Doctor Who canon -- Senenmut as an ancient astronomer, and Clara’s comments about travelling the stars together in their next life -- as well as the wide variety of fanfiction that exists for this ship. In a way there are thousands of versions of them scattered about out there, finding each other and falling in love over and over again. This Isn’t A Ghost Story doesn’t exist in a vacuum, it’s part of a much larger multi-layered story that is constantly being told and re-told. And in many ways, that’s what I love best about fanfiction versus any other genre of fiction.

The process of writing this story has been so interesting and rewarding, frustrating at times and huge amounts of fun at other points. With this final chapter posted, This Isn’t A Ghost Story is officially the first multi-chapter, non-series fanfic I have ever actually finished, in more than a decade of posting fanfiction online. This is the first time I’ve made myself wait to start posting a story until it’s nearly complete, and I documented more about my process thoughts here on Tumblr than I have for anything I’ve written previously.

It has been a fantastic nearly four month journey, and so much of that is down to the lovely interactions with those of you reading, both here and over on AO3. From the early interest many of you expressed way back at the beginning of June, to the comments and cheerleading on my #process thoughts posts throughout the summer, to all the many wonderful and humbling comments on the story on AO3, I could not have made this journey without you guys. With what a strange, stressful, and often depressing year 2020 has been, I know that when I look back on this year, this is what I’m going to remember the best, taking this journey along with all of you.

And on that note -- do any of you have any questions about Ghost Story? Anything about the writing process or the world building or really anything at all, I am more than happy to answer in as much detail as you like. Feel free to ask here, or on AO3, or use my Tumblr askbox, now or at any point in the future. ❤️

@tounknowndestinations had asked about the timeline I worked out for the entire story, that I’ve been keeping under wraps for fear of spoilers. Originally this started as just a way to keep straight how many years had passed -- ‘do I say eighty-six years here, or eighty-seven??’ etc -- but eventually ballooned from there to cover the entire narrative, and even some of the timeline that is only hinted at in places. This is its final form in my working googledoc:

1875: the Doctor is born

1885: the House is built

February 1899: Clara the 1st is born

13 May 1921: the Doctor and Clara the 1st meet in Cairo, she is 22, he is 46

12 May 1923: the Doctor and Clara the 1st marry in Glasgow, she is 24, he is 48

June 1925: Clara and the Doctor return from Egypt

August 1925: purchase of the House

23 Nov 1927: the Doctor dies, age 52

21 August 1928: Margot is born

23 Nov 1928: Clara the 1st dies, age 29

8 April 1956: Ellie is born. Margot is 27

23 Nov 1986: Clara is born. Ellie is 30

1991: at 5 years old, Clara tells Ellie and Margot about the ghost

September 2000: Ellie dies of cancer, age 44. Clara is not quite 14

January 2010: Dave Oswald dies of a heart attack, age 56. Clara is 23

October 2014: Margot dies, age 86, leaving her house to Clara, who is nearly 28

16 Nov 2014: Clara has the nightmare that begins to unlock her past life memories

13 May 2021: Clara and the Doctor return to Cairo to mark 100 years since they met, the Doctor is restored to life

18 May 2021: Clara and the Doctor visit the Temple of Hatshepsut, which leads Clara to wonder if perhaps they have met and fallen in love before

Thank you so much to all of you who have followed along during the writing process, to everyone who has reblogged chapter posts here and commented on AO3, and everyone who has cheered me on during the past four months. You have made writing this such a joy, and I cannot wait to share my next project with you. ❤️

#This Isn't A Ghost Story #This Isn't A Ghost Story extras #process thoughts #my writing #Doctor Who #Doctor Who fanfic #Clara and the Doctor

51 notes · View notes

stilldani24 · 5 years ago

Text

Seize the Day - Newsie!Bucky x Journalist!Reader Chapter Two

Summary: The Newsie Strike of 1899 made the world stand still for two weeks. For one kid and his bum-legged best friend, it meant The World was watching and they needed to make a difference. Based on Disney’s Newsies.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3045

Warnings: Disabled character, fluff (cuz ow)

A/N: Chapter 2 is here bishes

PROLOGUE//CHAPTER ONE//MASTERLIST

“Mr. Pierce, the newspaper is running slow,” Tony Stark, the man who ran most of his company, told the head of the newspaper. “It has been for three weeks. We need an exciting headline.”

“Every newspaper is running slow, Stark,” Alexander Pierce replied. “I went down to the newsstands to see for myself if it was the newsies, but they’ve sold what they can for three weeks. As for a headline…what have you got?”

Tony looked between Mr. Pierce and his personal assistant, Wanda Maximoff. The team of the World Newspaper had been called in for an important meeting. Newspapers all over the city were slacking in sales and, to be on top, Pierce needed to think of a solution fast. If the newspapers sales dipped, the money dipped, and he couldn’t have that. He needed to provide for his daughter but, most importantly, his lavish lifestyle. The office was a modest one, looking over the busy streets of Time Square, but was decorated to the nines. His desk was custom made, carved from the finest oak, while his chairs were important from France. Tony would hate to disappoint a man like Alexander Pierce, for anyone would be happy to take his place.

“The trolley strike, sir,” Tony replied formally, swirling the glass of brandy he had been handed upon entry. “It’s going on its third week.”

“Well,” Mr. Pierce expressed as he stood, slamming his napkin on the desk as he did so. He had been enjoying a lovely lunch, after all. “That isn’t exciting at all.”

“It’s boring,” Wanda groaned from her seat across from Mr. Pierce, her pen and paper in her hands adding to the narrative as she made some hand gestures. “Folks wanna know: is the trolley comin’ or am I walkin’? No one cares why.”

“Well-Well, the strike is about to be settled!” Tony spoke up, raising his glass into the air as both Wanda and Mr. Pierce turned their heads to look at him. “Governor Ellis just put his support behind the workers.”

Mr. Pierce groaned at the mention of the governor’s name. The man went against everything Mr. Pierce believed in: Governor Ellis was a man of the people instead of a man of the government. Aren’t politicians supposed to just lie about what they would do if elected? Governor Ellis had fulfilled every promise he had made, which drove Pierce nuts. Fear was always a good tactic into getting what you wanted, so why was this man so powerful when all he did was give back? It made him sick.

“Do not mention his name in this office again,” Mr. Pierce warned Tony by wagging his finger in his face. “We need to get to the bottom line. What are we supposed to do to gain the money we’ve lost?”

The room fell silent as the three of them thought, before Tony snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! Newsies sell the papers, right? Right now, we charge them fifty cents for one hundred papers. To make up our loses, why don’t we charge them sixty cents? Every newsie would have to sell ten more papers to make the same amount as always.”

Wanda waved her hands a bit as she too stood up to join the men. “It’s going to be awfully rough on those children. Most of ‘em don’t have folks or a place to stay.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Pierce replied as he tightened his cufflinks. “I’m giving them a real-life lesson on economics. I couldn’t offer them a better education if they were my own. Stark, go tell all the vendors and the printers. The headline will read ‘Price for Newsies Raises by a Dime’.”

“Ey, Buck. Up and at ‘em,” Steve called to his best friend, who was snoring the morning away. “If ya sleep anymore, the nuns’ll be outta food.”

Steve made his way over to him now, hitting the bottom of his shoe with his crutch, which jarred Bucky awake. Their morning began like every other. Wake up, get down from the roof, stop by the church for their free breakfast, and then off to the World Plaza to get their papes. This morning, however, they spotted something new.

“Ey, look,” Barton, a kid who had been a newsie since he learned to read, nudged Bucky as the two of them walked into the plaza. “New kid. Says his name’s Sam.”

Bucky raised his eyebrow as he looked over the new kid. In all his days as a newsie, he hadn’t seen this before. All in the south, people of his colour were still getting out of illegal slave trade. They had been free for nearly forty years now but them racist white landowners weren’t giving them up so fast. Because of this, they had a bad reputation all over America. Many of them didn’t have jobs, and if they did, they were musicians. So seeing a black newsie was a first for Bucky. He, however, was never one to judge someone based on their colour, so he approached the kid.

“Ey, what’s ya story, huh?” he asked, nudging him. The boy seemed startled but regained himself as he looked Bucky up and down. He didn’t speak, however. “Not one for talkin’, ey? I get it. Name’s Bucky, this is Steve. Ya can stand behind us in line.”

“I don’t need your help,” Sam replied, trying to shove past Bucky but was stopped by Steve. “Look, I don’t care about your name or who you are, just let me past.”

“Ya mean ya don’t know da famous Bucky Barnes?” Clint called from the paper wagon the Dipstick Brothers were trying to unload. “He broke outta da Refuge by hidin’ in Governor Ellis’ carriage. Made headline all ova da city.”

“That’s right, and that means this is a blessin’ for ya, kid,” Bucky told Sam, slinging his arm over the kid’s shoulder. “Ya ride with me and ya get easy pickin’, ya got it? Ya sound very articulate. Sounds like ya went to school. That means you can read betta’ than any one of these here fools. Tell ya what. You ride wit’ me, maybe read some words I can’t, and we’ll split our profit seventy-thirty.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at the proposition, looking at the guy who had suddenly swindled him into a business proposition. “Fifty-fifty and you got a deal.”

Bucky let out a scoff, looking to Steve before turning back to the new kid. “Sixty-forty.”

Sam pondered the idea, before agreeing finally. Bucky, ever so delighted from this, spit in his hand and held it out for Sam to shake. The kid raised his eyebrows in shock before looking to the scraggly looking kid in disgust.

“That’s disgusting,” he told him, which caused Bucky to shrug.

“Ey, it’s business.”

Sam let out a sigh, looking to the kid with the crutch. Steve, he thought. Steve just nodded, raising his eyebrows as if to say, “there’s no other way”. With another deeper, heavier sigh, Sam spit into his hand and shook Bucky’s outstretched one. Bucky then gave the kid a clap on the shoulder, grinning at him before leading him to the front of the line. Behind Steve, of course.

“What’s da headline today?” Clint asked as they approached the papers, trying to lean forward to gather it from the stack of papes closest to him. “It says, um…wait… it says, ‘Price for Newsies Raises by a Dime: Sixty Cents per Hundred’.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed as he grabbed one right from Rumlow’s hands as the guy was about to put the single into a stack. “News ta me…this is garbage! We could eat two days on a dime!”

“I’ll be sleepin’ on da street!” Steve sighed, running his hand through his dirty blonde hair. Bucky then gave him a quizzical look; which Steve took as a nod to them already sleeping on the street. “In a worse neighbourhood, Buck. Like Hell’s Kitchen.”

Bucky shoved him at the stupid comment. “C’mon, fellas!” he called to the group of pissed off newsies, leading them to the now empty cart. “What do we do?”

“What can we do?” Sam replied, looking between them and the newsstand. “The price isn’t going to change. We need to make money. What can we do on such short notice?”

Bucky looked up at the new kid, sighing softly and looking at his comrades. He had sixty cents. Most of them carried a dollar or more, just in case they lost their money or, in this case, the prices were jacked up. “Ya right,” he sighed. “But in the mornin’, we doin’ something about dis. Just gimme the day to think, alright?”

The group of newsies nodded in agreement, before getting back in line and paying the jacked-up prices for their papes. Like always, business was slow. While this was a different headline than the trolley strike, New Yorkers didn’t care about the newsies selling their papes. By the end of the day, between Steve and Bucky, they had only managed to sell eighty. However, Sam sold his entire fifty pape bundle. Due to recent events, despite some bad reputation, Sam had gained some sympathy from some people. New York had been a state full of slave sympathizers, so it was easier for him to sell papes.

“Well, lookie here,” Bucky smirked as the three of them regrouped just down the block from the Refuge. It was a risky place to meet, but it had been a place that the three of them could easily navigate to. “Someone sold all their papes. Impressive.”

“It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be,” Sam shrugged, taking the money from his pocket and doing the math, handing Bucky his promised portion. Bucky snorted as he counted it up, placing it in his pocket.

“Don’t get so hopeful, huh?” he smirked, slapping Sam on the chest. “It’s good business for the first few days, but then…”

Bucky then made a squishing sound as he rubbed his hands together, causing Steve to laugh as he nudged him. As they were about to leave, the shrill call of a whistle blew from the fire escape. Upon looking up, they saw the man who ran the Refuge: Jack Snyder.

“Barnes!” he yelled as he began making his way down the fire escape.

“Oh shit, fuckin’ run!” he yelled to Sam, basically picking up Steve and throwing him over his shoulder as the two of them ran for their lives. Sam had grabbed Steve’s crutch, since it had dropped when Bucky picked him up. Snyder yelled at them as they ran, but since he was an older man, he definitely couldn’t keep up. With the foot traffic ahead getting thick, and with Steve on his shoulder, Bucky knew it wouldn’t be long before they would get caught. However, he knew the neighbourhood and knew exactly what was nearby. “This way!”

He took a sharp turn to the left, Sam cursing as he followed the kid into a dark alley way. Bucky then rammed his shoulder into the back door to a theatre, jamming it open and hurrying into it. Once Sam was inside, he slammed the door shut behind them. Once they heard the footsteps pass, Sam slid down the wall and onto the floor to catch his breath while Bucky put Steve back down and gave him his crutch.

“Who in the hell was that?” Sam demanded, looking between the two of them. Steve was fine, since he had run the entire way, but Bucky was red in the face and glistening with sweat.

“Snyder the Spider,” Bucky panted, pushing his hair back and wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “He’s a real sweetie. He runs the prison for kids. Fun place, I tell ya. They call it the Refuge. Broke outta there two years ago and he’s been on my tail ever since. The more kids he brings in, the more money the city pays him. ‘Cept all that money goes int’a his pockets.”

Heeled footsteps then began approaching, causing the boys to turn to see who it was. A thin, yet curvy silhouette approached from a doorway, soon emerging into the light. Bucky breathed a sigh of relief when he saw who it was, moving towards her.

“You could have just knocked on the front door, I would’a let ya in,” Natasha Romanoff told them with a smile. Dressed up to her nines, the performer looked gorgeous in her evening attire. Bucky hugged the woman, giving her cheek a kiss.

“Nev’a would’a gotten past ya guards, dearie,” Bucky replied before turning to Sam, letting Natasha go so Steve could give her a hug too. “Sam, this is Natasha Romanoff. She owns this theatre.”

“Don’t own a thing except the mortgage,” Natasha replied as she helped Sam to his feet, giving him a hug as well. “Let me guess…Snyder is after you again, huh? Wouldn’t be the first time he tried to catch ol’ Bucky Barnes. You three needn’t worry, y’all can hide in here until mornin’ if ya need. Lock the door, pull up a chair. You’re always welcome.”

“Natasha!” Bruce Banner, Natasha’s manager, called as he ran into the room. “You’re on!”

“Really?” Natasha asked as she turned to the man. “How am I doing?”

The woman then laughed at her own joke before waving Bruce away, straightening out her hair. “You boys can watch from the wings, the show’s about to start. And Bucky, thank you for the backdrop. Folks are lovin’ it.”

Natasha then left the back area, going out onstage as her song began. The three boys went to watch from the wings, Sam raising his eyebrows as he saw the backdrop that Natasha had mentioned. It was this beautiful forest scene, with bare trees and the sky looked as if the sun was either rising or setting.

“You painted that?” Sam asked in disbelief. Up until that moment, he didn’t think this guy had an educated bone in his body.

“Yeah, shuddup,” Bucky replied as he watched the performance. Something, however, caught his eye during it as he watched. In the private box above the stage, where reporters and journalists sat, there you were. With a notebook in hand, you were writing a review about that night’s performance. It was a new one, so the Sun had to have the latest. Bucky tried waving to you, but since he didn’t notice, he went up to the staircase leading up to the box. Finding the door unlocked, he slid in silently.

“Hello, again,” he said after a few seconds, causing you to jump a little and turn in surprise.

“This is a private box,” you told him, kind of surprised he had even noticed you up there. It was dark, and the performance had been so extravagant, so you thought no one would pay attention to a lady there alone. Especially one who was writing.

“Ya think I should lock the door?” he joked, pointing to the door before sending a smirk your way. You stammered a bit, trying to find the words to say before he continued with, “seen each oth’a twice now. Think it’s fate?”

“Go away, I’m working,” is all you could say, turning back to your notepad and trying to ignore the handsome newsie standing close by.

“A working girl, ey?” Bucky asked with a little smirk, coming closer to you now and sitting in the empty seat next to you. “Doing what?”

“Reviewing the show for the New York Sun,” you replied, jutting your pen towards the stage. “Thought it would be obvious, since I told you last night, I was a journalist.”

“Ey, yeah, that’s funny,” he smirked, leaning his elbows on his knees to look at your face. “Don’t think this came up, but I work for the World.”

“Oh. Somewhere out there, someone cares,” you said with fake amusement, before letting out a (fake) delighted gasp, placing your hand over your brow as if to look over a horizon. “You should go find them and tell them for me.”

“The view’s betta here,” he replied, looking you up and down again as he stood back up, now leaning on the railing to look down at the stage. You sighed, closing your notebook now.

“Look, just go. What happened last night was me savin’ ya, that’s it. I’m not in the habit of speakin’ to strangers,” you replied as you looked up at him. Bucky then chuckled, looking back to you.

“Ya gonna make a lousy reporter then.”

“Bite me.”

Bucky laughed then, placing a hand on his stomach as he turned his back to the stage now, wanting to give you his full attention. “The name’s Bucky Barnes.”

“Is that what is says on your rap sheet?” you asked cheekily, making the guy laugh in a mock-offended tone.

“Smart girl, huh?” he smirked at you, tucking his hands into his front pockets. “I admire smart girls. Beautiful, smart, independent. Just like you, sweetheart.”

You gave a little scoff, crossing one leg over the other, giving your full attention to the show now so you could ignore him. Bucky leaned against the railing, taking the pape from his back pocket along with a pencil. From the corner of your eye, you saw him sketching something on the newspaper.

“What are you doing?” you asked, obviously amused. Bucky then shushed you, motioning to the stage before continuing to draw. “You are the most impossible boy ever.”

Bucky then just shushed you again, giving you a smile. Once he had finished, he set the paper down on the chair next to you, along with the pencil. He then went back to the staircase, tipping his cap at you before exiting the box. You stood up to go after him, to see what he had wanted, but something stopped you. On the paper was a drawing. You slowed your steps to a stop, picking up the paper and letting out a soft breath. It was you. Down to the very last detail. You let out a breathy laugh, taking the paper into your hands to admire it. Something about this boy was impossible. But maybe, just maybe, you could do impossible.

Tags: @morsmordrethings @captainscanadian @thingsthatkeepmeawakeeveryday @this-kitten-is-smitten @wtfisachoncexx @jllngls02 @abrilkatz123 @writeturnlove @buckysgirls-stuff @tomhollandenthusiast @sebastian-i-stan

36 notes · View notes

musicalhistory · 5 years ago

Text

Dressing Katherine Plumber

A comprehensive look at what (historically) Katherine would have likely been wearing on an average weekday.

Combination Underwear

First introduced in the 1870s, women’s combinations were a less bulky alternative to wearing a separate chemise (also known as a shift) and drawers. They are exactly what they sound like- a combination of those two garments.

Combinations had become extremely popular by the late 1890s/early 1900s (in part thanks to the Rational Dress Movement, which advocated for less constricting women’s clothing as well as fewer layers in general). In the late 19th century they were usually made of lightweight fine cotton or muslin, and by the early 20th century they were most often made of silk. Though combinations were not meant to be seen, they were still often decorated with lace and embroidery.

Stockings and Shoes

The first rule of getting dressed in the Victorian and Edwardian eras- put on stockings and shoes before the corset!

Stockings were typically made of silk in the 1890s, and everyday ones were almost always plain black. The only time white stockings were worn was for special occasions and with fancy evening gowns, and these stockings were often decorated as well. Stockings usually ended above the knee and a garter ribbon was often tied just below the knee to help keep them up.

In the late Victorian and Edwardian periods, two-toned cloth-topped button boots were popular everyday shoes. They closed at the side with buttons (zippers had yet to catch on and velcro had yet to be invented) and a button hook would have been used to get them on and off quickly and easily. (As a side note, button hooks were also used by medical inspectors on Ellis Island to flip the inside of a person’s eyelid up to check for eye disease.)

Corset & Corset Cover

We’ve arrived at everyone’s favorite item of historical clothing- the corset.

First, it is important to note that corsets were not meant to be the instruments of torture that they are so often portrayed as, and most women were not tight-lacing down to a 16 or 17-inch waist in their everyday lives. Rather, corsets were meant to be supportive garments which could also give women the classic Victorian and Edwardian silhouettes that were popular at the time. (I won’t go into insane amounts of detail about the history of corsetry in general, but if you’re interested in learning more about it I highly recommend watching this video.)

Katherine likely would have worn a late-Victorian era corset, giving her the hourglass-figure that was popular (if your story takes place more than two years after the events of Newsies, however, Katherine would have worn a more elongated Edwardian style corset).

Turn-of-the-century corsets were made of either flexible steel or whalebone and usually covered with either linen or cotton. They could also be embellished with embroidery or other decorations.

Corset covers were worn over the corset itself to protect both the corset and the dress or shirtwaist. They could be plain or decorated and were usually not meant to be seen.

Petticoat(s)

At least one petticoat was worn under the dress (or in the case of Katherine, skirt). They could be plain or decorated, much like all the other undergarments, and often had either added flounces or gores to provide more fullness. They could also be made of a variety of materials- cotton, silk, wool, muslin, etc. For an everyday dress or skirt, Katherine would have likely only worn one petticoat.

Shirtwaist

These next two pieces of clothing are the main outfit themselves and could vary wildly from day-to-day. For our purposes, let's assume that what Katherine wears in the musical is what she wears on a normal workday.

The blouse or shirtwaist was an extremely popular garment for women from all walks of life. They could be as plain or as fancy as a woman wanted. As a member of the upper class, Katherine's would have been more decorated and made of more expensive materials.

Shirtwaists in the 1890s often had the Leg-O'-Mutton sleeves which were popular at the time (think of the puffed sleeves which Anne Shirley longed for in Anne of Green Gables). However, those were becoming smaller and smaller and by 1912 had vanished almost completely in favor of straight sleeves with no pouf.

Shirtwaists were also often worn with stiff, detachable collars, and ties like the one Katherine wears in the show were also popular (especially for white-collar working women).

Walking Skirt

The walking skirt was an extremely popular garment in both the Victorian and Edwardian eras, so much so that it's still synonymous with them today.

Walking skirts, like shirtwaists, varied quite a lot in their fabric and patterns. They could be made of wool or cotton, and the fabric could be one solid color or patterned. Walking skirts also had gores, meaning triangles of fabric were inserted at the seams to give them extra fullness. Circle skirts (with no gores) were popular as well, but the skirt Katherine wears in the musical (and likely would have worn daily) is more similar in style to a walking skirt.

Jacket/Waistcoat

As can be seen in the show, Katherine often wears either a jacket or a waistcoat to complete her outfit. These were indeed popular at the turn of the century and looked quite similar to the ones in the show.

Waistcoats for women were very similar to those for men, although they could be boned to give them a more defined shape. They could be made of a contrasting fabric to the skirt, or a matching one (like Katherine's).

Small bolero jackets (like the one Katherine wears at the beginning of the show) were popular, as were longer jackets. They had the same puffed sleeves as shirtwaists and the bodices of dresses did, and like waistcoats could be made of a contrasting or matching fabric to the skirt or dress (more often matching, however).

Hair

Now for the final part of a woman's outfit- her hairdo.

Katherine's hair in the show would have been out of place in 1899 New York City, to say the least. Women usually wore their hair up in the classic Gibson Girl style, or if they wore it down they would have it in a braid down their back or tied back with a large ribbon. For evening wear and parties, especially, a classic Victorian updo was the way to go.

I hope you've all enjoyed this trip into historical clothing, and that it wasn’t too long or confusing (historical fashion is one of my favorite things to talk about, so I tend to ramble). I'm hoping to post more of these types of things for other characters in the future, and I'm also currently working on compiling a list of good databases of extant garments so that you can see even more examples of historical clothing, which will hopefully be helpful tools for all of you.

Sources:

https://blog.fidmmuseum.org/museum/2010/10/combination-undergarments.html

https://vintagedancer.com/victorian/victorian-stockings-socks-hosiery-tights/

https://fashionhistory.fitnyc.edu/shirtwaist/

#newsies #newsies fanfiction #1890s #history #historical fashion #katherine plumber #katherine pulitzer

61 notes · View notes

seanfknmacguire · 6 years ago

Text

Under the cut is the beginning to a project I’m doing, where I’m writing my OCs into the story of RDR2. The OCs I’m using are Hosea’s twins, Dutch’s daughter, my first OC and an OC of mine which is a rival of Sean’s. I might also add in my OC inspired from Ellie from The Last Of Us later. I have no confidence in this so any replies or tips are welcome :) I’ll probably do a whole post of OC introductions soon. Please let me know what you think <3

In the dead of night and the worst snowstorm 1899 had seen, Dutch Van Der Linde led the Van Der Linde gang through the snowy mountains, having only just gotten out of the small town of Blackwater after a robbery gone wrong. Sitting next to a Hosea Matthews, they looked on for some shelter, trying to keep their family warm.

Amelia Silverton was following on horseback, her oversized coat, a gift from Arthur, wrapped firmly around her shoulders as she shivered. The young 20 year old watched Abigail and Luna work on Davey, a member of their gang who had been fatally injured, and sighed. She wondered just how on earth they had gotten themselves in that situation. Moving her brown hair out of her face, she looked behind her to check on the twins.

The twins, Lily and Nick Matthews, were the spitting image of their mother Bessie who had unfortunately already passed. Their father Hosea was fiercely protective, always keeping a close eye as they always got themselves into mischief as 17 year olds should. The pair were inseparable, following the caravan closely in fear of getting lost.

Luna Van Der Linde was helping Abigail work on Davey in the medical wagon. The short 16 year old being a huge help in the medical field - almost as if it were a gift. She kept an eye on Davey’s wounds, keeping pressure on them as instructed by Abigail and Reverend Swanson.

Connor Kingston had kept his mouth shut for once and instead followed the caravan, keeping guard at the back alongside Javier. The mouthy 22 year old always had an opinion for everything, and didn’t exactly get along with a lot of the gang. He made up for it with fighting - he was a damn good fighter, and a valuable asset to the group, as much as Amelia or Luna didn’t want to admit it.

“Abigail says he’s dyin’, Dutch. We have to stop some place.” Reverend Swanson warned up at Dutch and Hosea, his hoarse voice no match for the loud wind.

“Okay, Arthur’s out looking - I sent him up ahead.” Dutch responded, not sure how on earth he could help apart from wait until Arthur got back. He had a hell of a lot on his plate - Sean and Mac missing, Davey on death’s door, and trying to find a place for the people relying on him to stay.

“If we don’t stop soon we’ll all be dying. This weather, it’s May… I’m just hoping the law got as lost as we did.” Hosea’s voice came from beside Dutch, the bitter cold biting at his face as he shivered. The cold wasn’t good for his bones. The two noticed a silhouette in front of them, and were on alert until they recognised it to be Arthur.

“Arthur! Any luck?” Dutch called forward, his voice hopeful. He was desperately praying that Arthur had found something useful.

Arthur dipped his hat, wiping the fresh snow from its hilts. "I found a place where we can get some shelter!" he shouted in response, the aggression of the blizzard rendering him difficult to hear. "Let Davey rest while he... You know." he added on, the gruffness of his voice growing stronger.

"Come on!" Dutch called to the rest of the group, speeding up the wagon he was steering. He was relieved, suddenly getting almost excited to get everyone inside near a warm fire. It only took them a little while to get to the little mining town, Dutch checking on each individual member as Hosea checked the building they were about to bring Davey into. Making sure there was no danger, he called back outside. “Bring him in here!” Amelia dismounted her horse, taking it into the building they were going to use as shelter for them and tried to keep herself as wrapped as possible. She helped Nick bring all of the horses in, having no time to talk as she focused. Patting him on the shoulder once they had finished, they made their way to the main building with everyone else. Lily and Luna followed the gang into the house, quickly taking a seat. It wasn’t warm yet, but hell, it was out of the wind. Luna looked around at everyone’s faces, and she couldn’t tell if they were full of hope or full of fear. Connor wandered in with Javier and Bill, putting his gun back into his holster now they were finally in and safe. He smiled at young Jack, walking over to the fire and placing some logs inside of the fireplace ready.

Abigail took a stand next to Davey, ready to patch him up properly now they were in shelter when she noticed he wasn't breathing. She looked at his chest - no movement. She put her head near his nostrils - no air coming out. "Davey's dead." She said sadly. Amelia sighed, looking down sadly. They'd lost a lot of people. They didn't even know if Mac and Sean were alive, and worry sat in the pit of her stomach as well as everyone else's. It was evident to Dutch spirits were low.

"There was... Nothing more you could've done," Reverend Swanson peered over to the brunette, dipping his head.

"What are we gonna do, we need supplies?" Hosea asked, closing Davey's eyes with two fingers and looking up at Dutch. He watched him move, nodding at the man.

"Well first of all you are gonna stay here, and you are gonna get yourself warm." Dutch looked at Hosea, a hand on his shoulder briefly. "Now I sent John and Micah scouting out ahead. Arthur and I, we're gonna ride out and see if we can find one of them."

"In this!?" Arthur waved to the outdoors, frowning a bit. He didn’t exactly want to go outside, it was a death trap.

"Just for a short bit. I don't see what other choice we have.” Dutch reassured, looking at the faces of his gang. They needed some motivation, fast. "Listen... Listen to me all of you, for a moment. Now we've had a bad couple of days. I loved Davey, and Jenny... Sean, Mac, they may be okay, we don't know."

Amelia looked down at the mention of Sean, but soon perked back up. She was worried. They weren’t exactly together, but there was definitely something there - the whole damn gang could see it. Luna listened to her father intently as well as the others.

“But we lost some folk. Now if I could throw myself into the ground in their stead, I'd do it. Gladly. But we are gonna ride out, and we are gonna find some food. Everyone, we're safe now. There ain’t nobody following us in a storm like this. And by the time they get here we'll be long gone. We've been through worse than this before. Mr Pearson, Miss Grimshaw, I need you to turn this place into a camp. We may be here for a few days. Now all of you, all of you, stay strong. Stay with me. We ain't done yet." He said with a strong tone, nodding towards the door. “Come on Arthur.” He finished strongly, reaching and squeezing Luna’s hand quickly before walking out of the door with Arthur. The gang sat in silence for a few moments, before Connor decided to lift some spirits.

“So… Lovely weather we’re having.”

------------------------------

“So what’s the plan Dutch?”

Night had fallen on the gang’s makeshift camp, members eating the stew that Pearson made from the deer Arthur and Charles had caught the day before. John was also back- Luna cleaning the wound on his cheek before she ate. A lot had happened since they arrived, including rescuing a widow, Sadie, taking out a whole O’Driscoll camp and capturing a young O’Driscoll, Kieran. The gang had gathered in the main room, wondering just what on earth they could do and where they could go. They couldn’t stay in the mountains - they’d die within two weeks. Dutch racked his brain as he stared at a map, looking for possible places they could go. His eyes skimmed over the words Valentine, and nudged Arthur, pointing to the words.

“That’s a lotta civilisation, Dutch…” Arthur shook his head, glancing at the words on the map. They couldn’t go further north, or back west into Blackwater, and lord only knows what lurked direct south.

“I know, but I don’t see what other choice we have.” Dutch sighed. He turned to his tired family - all looking to him for some kind of idea. “We head West, into Valentine. I know a little spot we could use, for now, until we find a proper place.”

“What about Sean and Mac?” Amelia asked, leaning her arms on her knees as she sat on the floor next to Lily and Nick. She was worried mainly for Sean - not that she’d ever admit it.

“What about them? We can’t do nothin’, at least not right now.” Connor replied, a harsh tone in his voice. He and Amelia never really got along well - Amelia’s fiery personality and Connor’s always made them at loggerheads.

“We can’t just leave them.” She furrowed her eyebrows looking up at him.

“Look princess, I know you’re worried about the ginger, but let’s face it - he’s probably dead.” Connor shrugged, his Irish accent thick as he spoke. He and Sean never got along either.

“You take that back.” Amelia spat while standing up, her quick temper almost too quick in this situation.

“Both of you, stop it.” Hosea warned from beside Dutch. It wasn’t new to him to have to separate the two.

“This is the plan - We gather a few people to rob that damn train in the morning, while whoever stays behind packs up. We’ll get back and leave straight away, heading for that spot near Valentine.” Dutch spoke, his voice full of hope and confidence. Luna looked at her father with a smile - she wanted to be like him some day. She wanted nothing more than to go on the train robbery with them - but she knew Dutch would never allow it. Then again, what was the harm in asking?

“Now everyone - try and get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.” Dutch nodded to everyone. As everyone dispersed, Luna stuck around, getting up from her seat next to John and standing beside her father, Hosea and Arthur.

“You know, Pa… I was thinking.” She trailed off, looking up at Dutch with an innocent grin. She had him wrapped around her finger and she knew it. Dutch looked at her suspiciously before Arthur spoke.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” He joked, earning a small slap on the arm from Luna before turning back to Dutch.

“Ain’t it time I start coming on robberies with you fellers? You know I can shoot, and ain’t no-one gonna pick on a young girl.” She said hopefully. Dutch shook his head.

“Absolutely not. I can’t risk that darlin’, I’m sorry.”

“Hey hold on now Dutch, it might be a good idea.” Connor overheard the conversation and interjected, a hand on Luna’s shoulder. “She’s a bloody good shot and you kno’ it. What if she comes tomorrow? There’ll be plenty of us and you can see if she can handle it.”

“But-” He started, but stopped himself and sighed. It was a good idea.

“A simple train robbery, what can go wrong? After Blackwater I think we’ve used up all our bad luck. Besides, I’ll be fine, I got you guys if things go to chaos.” She looked up at Dutch hopefully, who sighed.

“Okay, fine. You stay back at all times, you’re never on your own and I don’t want you killin’ nobody, you hear?” Dutch pointed at her as she nodded. Luna was the spitting image of Dutch - the same curly, black hair, the same eyes and smile. “Now go get some sleep.” He smiled, kissing her on the forehead after nodding to the door. She smiled up at him, walking towards the door like everyone else, nerves bubbling in her stomach.

#dutch van der linde #rdr2 oc #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #hosea matthews #john marston #lenny summers #charles smith #sean macguire #micah bell #van der linde gang #oc #own character #this is dookie #red dead redemption

32 notes · View notes

serraphique · 2 years ago

Text

1899 is just *high-pitched mysterious tones playing* *amazing cinematography* *lonely strangers who dont speak the same language but are looking for human connection* *funky boat* *people haunted by their past* *magical roach* *boat talk* *we live in a simulation* *ominous music playing* *a fucking plot twist that i would never have seen coming*

#1899 #1899 spoilers #1899 netflix #ellie watches 1899 #insane!#mine

48 notes · View notes

sensei-aishitemasu · 6 years ago

Video

youtube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I67-1WmOOVw&t=19s

Hidden Figures: Ruth Ellis

Ruth Ellis (1899-2000) was a LGBT rights activist, known to host social gatherings in her home for black LGBT people to safely meet. During the 1930s and 1940s, not many spaces existed for this purpose. At 100 years old, Ellis was recognized as the oldest surviving open lesbian, and LGBT rights activist. Ellis moved to Detroit in the 1930s with her longtime partner, Ceciline “Babe” Franklin, and started a printing business. She became the first woman in Michigan to own and operate a printing company. Their home was also a refuge for the African American LGBT community, locally and nationally. In 2000, she helped dedicate the Ruth Ellis Center for lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgendered youth in Detroit. The city of Detroit recognises her contributions by celebrating Ruth Ellis Day in February during Black History Month.

Ellis and Franklin's house was also known in the African American community as the "gay spot". It was a central location for gay and lesbian parties, and also served as a refuge for African American gays and lesbians. Although Ellis and Franklin eventually separated, they were together for more than 30 years, and Franklin died in 1973. Throughout her life, Ellis was an advocate of the rights of gays and lesbians, and of African Americans. She died in her sleep at her home on October 5, 2000, at the age of 101.

The Ruth Ellis Center, a Detroit area social services agency that serves the needs of runaway, homeless and at-risk lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) youth, honors the life and work of Ruth Ellis, and is one of only four agencies in the United States dedicated to homeless LGBT youth and young adults. Among their services are a licensed foster care home, drop-in center, Street Outreach Program, transitional living programs, and emergency housing shelter. The center is named after Ellis in honor of her allowing her home to serve as a refuge for African American gays and lesbians as early as the 1930s.

In 2013, she was inducted into the Legacy Walk, an outdoor public display which celebrates LGBT history and people.

#RuthElliss #HiddenFigures

******************

Merchandise! MAKE SURE U GETTA SHIRT!! https://www.teepublic.com/user/sssseren

Follow me on social media!

Instagram: @sensei_aishitemasu Personal Tumblr: http://sensei-aishitemasu.tumblr.com Tumblr for my work: https://sssseren.tumblr.com Snapchat: sssseren

GoFundMe: https://www.gofundme.com/tc5wh7q

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/seren_sensei

******************

Did you know I wrote a book? ☺️ 'So, About That... A Year of Contemporary Essays on Race and Pop Culture'

Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/About-That-Contemporary-Essays-Culture-ebook/dp/B013V0CHK6

Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B013V0CHK6

Digital download (e-book): https://gumroad.com/l/IkUa

******************

Links:

Ruth Ellis: https://web.archive.org/web/20070927011321/http://www.curvemag.com/Detailed/70.html

Ruth Ellis Center: http://www.ruthelliscenter.org

Living With Pride: Ruth Ellis @ 100 (YouTube): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhgMpNP4B8U

Ruth Ellis – Everyday Hero: https://blog.aclupa.org/2014/02/12/ruth-ellis-everyday-hero/

Ruth Ellis – Activist: https://equal.org/2010/06/ruth-ellis-–-activist/

The Life of Ruth Ellis, America's Oldest Lesbian Rights Activist: https://www.utne.com/Politics/Ruth-Ellis-Americas-Oldest-Lesbian

Sisters In The Life: https://web.archive.org/web/20080219071433/http://www.sistersinthelife.com/1024index.html

Ruth Ellis NMAAHC post: https://www.instagram.com/p/BglsGl2H0EN/?hl=cs&taken-by=nmaahc

Ruth Ellis (Wikipedia): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ruth_Ellis_(activist)

Ruth Ellis Center (Wikipedia): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ruth_Ellis_Center

#ruth ellis #hidden figures #black women #my posts #my work

45 notes · View notes

esqreverblog · 7 years ago

Text

Over 100 Years Later, Photographer Alice Austen Is Finally Being Recognized as an LGBTQ Icon

“Alice had the means to pursue this craft,” Monger explains. “It wasn’t a profession, but she took it seriously and was very technically proficient—it was beyond a hobby.”

During a trip to the Catskills in 1899, Austen met Gertrude Tate, a kindergarten teacher who was recovering from typhoid at a hotel. A small photo album made by Austen documents the relationship that blossomed that summer. Tate, who lived in Brooklyn, began visiting Clear Comfort, accompanied Austen on holidays abroad, and in 1917, moved into the cottage. While Tate’s family objected to her “wrong devotion” to Austen, she lived there for three decades.

Personal photographs of Tate, Austen, and their female friends reveal further insight into Austen’s layered, playful personality. One iconic image, Trude & I (1891), features Austen and her childhood friend, Gertrude Eccleston, an Episcopalian minister’s daughter, wearing masks, corsets, and calf-length skirts, their arms intertwined. Both are smoking—an act women could be arrested for.

In The Darned Club (1891), taken in Clear Comfort’s garden, Austen and three female friends are framed as two embracing couples. Another photo, Julia Martin, Julia Bredt and Self Dressed Up as Men (1891), features exactly that—she and her friends dressed up as men—complete with phony mustaches and cigarettes. Another picture from this series depicts one of the women with a closed umbrella between her legs, suggesting a phallus.

“Alice probably felt she had the freedom to take those photos, because they weren’t necessarily for distribution,” Monger says. “She mocked Victorian society and the restrictions it put on women. At the same time, she was thinking about gender roles and exploring her identity.”

By all accounts, photographer Alice Austen was an extraordinary woman. Born into an affluent family on Staten Island in 1866, she challenged oppressive Victorian conventions by embracing individuality and independence.

Austen roamed around turn-of-the-century New York with camera in hand, capturing street vendors and immigrants. She worked from moving trains and sporting events, creating early action shots, and obsessively recorded the activities of friends and family, as well as her own life. Unafraid to climb a fence post (and risk exposing her ankles) to get the perfect shot, Austen produced roughly 8,000 photographs in her lifetime. In doing so, she helped to pioneer documentary photography.

But there’s an underrepresented part of her story: Austen’s 53-year-long relationship with a woman named Gertrude Tate. “There’s a history of not talking about Gertrude,” says Janice Monger, executive director of the Alice Austen House, the photographer’s Staten Island cottage-turned-institution. Even this place, dedicated to exploring Austen’s life and work since 1985, has promoted varying narratives of its former resident. The reasons why are as complex as the photographer herself.

Austen and her mother moved into the cottage, called Clear Comfort, after her father abandoned them around 1869. Austen’s uncle, a Danish sea captain, let her play around with a camera at age 10; another uncle, a chemistry professor, showed her how to develop the glass plates she exposed. An upstairs closet was converted into a darkroom for Austen, who took painstaking notes about the photo-making process. She was an experienced, exacting photographer by her 18th birthday, and spent the next 50 years perfecting her craft.

Clear Comfort served as Austen’s earliest muse: She photographed her home and the family events it played backdrop to. She shot visits to the beach, picnics in the mountains, and bowling parties at a friend’s mansion. An avid athlete, Austen documented the newly introduced sports of tennis and cycling—even collaborating with a friend on a book depicting the correct positions in which to turn, coast, and dismount a bike. In the 1890s, Austen and her photo equipment travelled around the East Coast and to Europe, where she spent entire summers exploring.

While traveling encouraged Austen’s boundless curiosity, at home, history was taking place in her backyard. She watched the building of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island’s new federal station. Before entering New York’s harbor, each incoming ship was inspected at a quarantine station south of the Austen cottage. The U.S. Public Health Service asked Austen to photograph the facility—an exercise that fascinated her so much, she returned every year for a decade, fervently documenting people and equipment.

Austen’s knack for photojournalism was perhaps most apparent when she ventured into New York City, making pictures of “street types”—street sweepers, bootblacks, fishmongers, organ grinders—that she had copyrighted at the Library of Congress. The nature of this work, and the fact that she never married or bore children, was hardly typical of a Victorian woman. But because she wasn’t paid for her photographs, Austen considered herself an amateur.

“Alice had the means to pursue this craft,” Monger explains. “It wasn’t a profession, but she took it seriously and was very technically proficient—it was beyond a hobby.”

Such photographs are often omitted in accounts of Austen’s legacy. Many articles I read didn’t even mention Tate, preferring to focus on Austen’s images of street types and Victorian society. The word “lesbian” barely appears on the Alice Austen House website, despite criticism it has received for not acknowledging the relationship to a fuller extent.

Monger, who assumed her role in 2013, has spent the past four years tackling the issue. But it’s difficult to put modern labels on historical relationships, she told me. “Even in the museum world, there’s differing opinions on this. I’m not afraid to call her a lesbian. But using that term would be over-simplifying things.”

Lillian Faderman, an internationally known scholar of lesbian and LGBTQ history, is part of an advisory team the Alice Austen House assembled to help bring Austen’s relationship with Tate to the fore. The word “lesbian,” Faderman told me, carries a connotation that Austen’s social class wouldn’t have identified with.

“Another term around at the time was ‘sexual invert,’ which probably would have horrified them as much as ‘lesbian,’” Faderman says. “It was coined by a sexologist, and suggested pathology.” Other available terms, like “romantic friendship” or a “Boston marriage,” inspired by Henry James’s 1886 novel, The Bostonians, may have been more attractive to Austen.

“Everyone wants ‘evidence,’” Monger says. “We don’t have anything explicitly written that says they were lesbians.”

Looking at Austen’s photographs and other documents, Faderman and others contend, there’s no question about it. “It’s hard to imagine the kind of willful ignorance about homosexuality that existed in earlier eras,” Faderman says. “I would think that if Alice’s family didn’t know, they’d tell themselves they wouldn’t want to ‘think ill’ of Alice and Gertrude. It’d be tarring them with this terrible allegation.”

Similarly, one of Austen’s biographers, Ann Novotny, offered two different versions of her life. Tate is referred to as Austen’s companion in Novotny’s 1976 biography, but as her lover in an article she wrote for Heresies, a feminist art magazine, the following year.

Since Monger’s arrival, she’s worked with the Alice Austen House’s board to incorporate Austen’s personal identity into the cottage museum. They’ve since updated its mission statement and received multiple grants to further contextualize Austen from a number of perspectives, including LGBTQ history. In 2019, the house will unveil a new permanent display, complete with new text panels in current language and photographs that make Tate more visible.

And on June 20th, the Alice Austen House was officially designated a national site of LGBTQ history by the National Park Service. It is the fourth site in New York City, and the first in the city and state devoted to a woman, to receive the honor.

During Monger’s remarks at the ceremony, she described Austen and Tate’s relationship as a story of love and acceptance, and emphasized the responsibility of representing a historical person. “What an incredible day,” she mused. “This moment is a long time coming.”

—Tiffany Jow

Source

ARTSY EDITORIALBY TIFFANY JOW

#lgbt #photography #alice austen

3 notes · View notes

muntadern-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Blog III: DDS Magazine

DDS is an online magazine that does corrective promotion of dark skinned black women. The magazine features beautiful young black women who do not conform to the Eurocentric beauty standards that are constantly portrayed in media. The creator of DDS noticed that the position of dark skinned black women in media was lacking positive representation, and this contributes to the social ideas that dark skinned women are lesser than or not as beautiful. DDS’ corrective promotion is effectively done through Facebook and Instagram posts of very beautiful natural black women, celebrating their natural features. The features that DDS focuses on promoting in these images are Afro-centric features, or features that are thought to be “black” features such as noses, fuller lips, and natural curly hair. These features are not celebrated in mainstream media and young dark skinned women have few role models or representation in the media through which they can appreciate their own features.

Colorism refers to the prejudice against those with a dark skin tone often by people from the same ethnic group. Colorism in the black community can be traced to slavery where lighter skinned slaves worked in the home and received preferential treatment while darker skinned slaves were relegated to the fields. DDS addresses colorism as it relates to black women due to the stereotypes attached to darker skin. Darker skin is attributed to masculine qualities in the black community, which negatively impacts the perception of dark skinned black women, where the alternative of lighter skin is thought of as inherently feminine. We see this in the jokes made about Drake during his career being “light-skinned and sensitive”, as shown in the image below. DDS works to correct these misconceptions and contribute to the feelings femininity and beauty of their readers through blog articles about beauty such as “Nail Trends & Colors for Dark Skin”, providing information to women about how to accentuate their beautiful features just as light and white skinned women use similar resources in magazines such as Cosmopolitan or Vogue. DDS focuses on the experience of dark skinned women the way other publications focus on the experience and esteem primarily white women. Another way in which DDS works to empower black women is by advertising black-owned fashion and beauty brands which encourages economic growth in the black community, providing black business power to expand and create even more opportunities for others outside of the institutionalized racism that impacts the opportunities and success of many in the black community. DDS publishes articles promoting travel and cultural education that will enrich the self-esteem and pride felt by black women by recommending places to go that make black women feel beautiful and accepted.The ability for groups to represent themselves and see themselves represented is discussed in Willis’ essay Picturing Us: African American Identity in Photography, where Willis discusses positive representation. Willis gives the example of Malcolm X sitting with his family reading as an example of positive representation for the black community. Similarly, we can view publications such as DDS as positive representation as a means of celebrating and re-framing perspectives of a group of people.

This website was compelling to read because growing up in Saudi Arabia I never considered that the pervasive skin bleaching advertisements I would see on billboards, social media and television - targeted to the women in my community - as racist or destructive. I didn’t consider the background of the choice to lighten a person’s skin or the impact that it had on the self-esteem of people in my community to see products such as “whitenicious” advertised so aggressively, as if there is something wrong with pigmented skin. Additionally, I didn’t consider how these advertisements impacted my conception of beautiful women, or my taste in women at all. Additionally to that, I always knew that I could be identified as a religious minority based on my features or last name, but it was never front of mind that a similar kind of profiling happens to women in my community. Instead of the appreciation or discrimination of certain features that are reminiscent of a minority group, women face Eurocentric beauty standards as well. This is pervasive enough that eye color alone is a characteristic that makes a woman desirable back home, green or blue eyes are heavily desired and many women wear contacts to conform to this standard. Reading through DDS and understanding more about black women and their experience with colorism in the US I was enlightened about the experience the women in my community have, where our beauty standards come from or what they say about us. I also recognized patterns in my own community that demonstrate the rife belief that European features are ideal - looking at the Arab superstars we idolize, or the influencers we watch, and especially the people that my sisters and cousins use as their facebook icons, such as Audrey Hepburn or Mandy Moore, to represent them to the world, demonstrate to me that we don’t consider our natural features as highly as we should and it affects those in our communities. Below is a photo of renowned artist and black activist Nina Simone, next to the actress chosen to portray her in the biopic “NINA”. Many criticized this casting choice because it was a lost opportunity to promote and celebrate a dark-skinned black woman who contributed so fully to both music and to black American discourse. The actress portraying her is a mixed-race woman, and received backlash for accepting the role, and darkening her skin to better resemble Simone.

"Light Skin VS Dark Skin. | Seraphictruth | Funny | Drake Meme, Drake Take Care Album, Funny." Pinterest. Web. 22 July 2019.

"Wilson, Ellis 1899–1977 | Encyclopedia.Com". Encyclopedia.Com, 2019, https://www.encyclopedia.com/education/news-wires-white-papers-and-books/wilson-ellis-1899-1977.

Maglio, Tony. "Nina Simone's Daughter Defends Zoe Saldana." The Wrap. N.p., 2016. Web. 22 July 2019.

0 notes

martinlawless · 5 years ago

Text

Tour of Malta 2019

Foreign National, General Classification Staged Race Masters E1234 10-13 April 2019

Extracts from my tour diary, to CC Ashwell’s club forum…

Tour registration day Wednesday 10 April 2019

Team CC Ashwell have arrived in Malta all safe and well. Mitchy - riding for Contour Cycles - had a nightmare getting over but he got here eventually. Me, Dave W and Jenny are representing the club. My dad and young Ellie Mitchinson are here in support. The Tour of Malta is a four stage GC race, registered as a Foreign Race with British Cycling, so hard to earn points for individual stages and overall GC are out there for the taking. But primarily, this is racing at its most enjoyable. It’s truly a friendly Tour, very much in the Maltese spirit. We are messing around on bikes in a warm country and drinking coffee in between: so we're all winners.

Among the registered riders, former multi GB national champ, Colin Sturgess, is in with me and Dave in the ‘Masters’ (40+) GC. A former stablemate of Bradley Wiggins, I fully expect to see Colin's wheel briefly before he rides off into the distance. Go get him Mitchy!

I’m staying in the official Tour hotel, so it's nice to bump into others, including Steve and Rachel from Verulam in St Albans. The weather forecast is pretty good. Around 16-20 degrees. Dry. Windy. It’s always windy on these small Mediterranean islands. Malta looks pretty in the Spring with lots of flowers and the grass not yet sun-baked brown. The drivers here are friendly. Just as well, as the major roads are quite busy and some of them are in poor quality.

The first stage is a 7 miles TT. I remember it from last year. It uses one of the National courses here, up and down the hill several times, besides the amazing ancient walled city of Mdina. It’s a nightmare to get any kind of TT rhythm and doesn’t play to whatever strengths I might have. But that’s the way it goes for us all. Fair enough. After that, there are three road race stages. The fourth of which is the one featuring the famous local climb of San Martin: Malta’s mini Alpe d’Huez. We’ll be hitting that seven times.

To check my bike over, I rode a few miles to Mosta this morning to buy a pump. Mosta is famous for its massive domed church, where in the Second World War a gigantic bomb landed through the roof but failed to explode. Sending an already ultra-religious nation into overdrive. Hopefully, this big failing bomb is not a metaphor for my performance on this tour. My objective is to simply enjoy it this time.

I spoke to an old boy outside his bicycle workshop in Mosta. Turns out it’s 78 years old John Magri. Maltese cycling legend, several times national champ and among other accolades finished 31st in the 1972 Olympics. Over an hour later, I’m getting nano-detail on some of his best races and cycling stories from this complete stranger. He’d make a great guest speaker for a Club social evening. He fixed his first bike in 1949. His gran opened the bike shop in 1899. I bought a pump from his son who now runs the shop who laughingly asked if his dad had been talking to me for a while...

In the afternoon, we all met up to ride gently over to Golden Bay for a coffee in the beachside cafe. Dave and Jenny had a swim in the sea and we tootled back. A leisurely way to spend an afternoon. The climb up San Martin has been partially resurfaced, but up top, the surface is not unlike Paris-Roubaix.This Stage 4 will have a bit of everything.

We register this evening and get briefed and find out out TT start times for tomorrow. Then a bit of local pasta and an evening of fettling with bike and kit. I’ve had a decent winter of training by my standards. It’s not at all scientific, but I gauge myself as being just about as fit as last year - so let’s see how we get on. The word is, the Masters field is tougher this year in general.

We'll be updating this thread as much as we can. Writing helps pass the time as we don't really want to ride or drink or eat too much to rest in between stages. And the messages of support give us a great boost. Racing day after day for four days is draining. Imagine the pros doing it for three weeks in a grand tour!

If there was ever a bike race to suit Ashwell, it would be this: it has the competitive element and camaraderie of our grass track events... But with sunshine. They drive on the left, use three-way plugs, Malta has it all. Stick it in your diary for 2020 and it will motivate you to train throughout the winter.

Tour of Malta, Stage 1 Individual Time Trial Mdina Bypass Thursday 11 April 2019 It’s warm and calm today. In fact, it’s the hottest day that I’ve raced here. It’s going to be a fast day. Certainly faster than this stage last year in the wind and rain. Luckily, it’s still quite early. All stages start at 10am.

The team muster on a side street off the TT course: which is a modern dual carriageway bypass road, bookended by roundabouts, by the side of the UNESCO World Heritage ancient walled city Mdina, which is not out of place if it were in Game of Thrones. The road is pretty much a straight line with quite a slope on it: think like the gentler part of the slope to Tadlow on our TT course, but around a half mile long. We have to repeat the loop five times for a 7 miles course.

The local teams always turn out in force and set up well: gazebos, pumping music, bottles and gels neatly laid out, rollers, their DSs do a great job. It gives each stage a festival-like feeling. We chat to various people. We spot (World Champ) Colin getting ready. He looks big and strong. We are friendly with Mosta Cycling Club mostly, so park ourselves there. We see our smiling Italian friend from last year. The Gibraltar team have good team branded kit: I note to up our tour kit game next time. We catch up with a few Brits. Everyone is pepped and excited, and a little nervous too of course and keen to get going.

With the road closed, we tootle around to warm up and familiarise ourselves with the loop and test our bikes. I’m delighted to see that last year’s dodgy eroded part of the road is well patched up. At the bottom corner, there is a lot of debris. Daryl, from CC london who we have adopted, asks the organisers to brush it, but I take the opportunity to remove the big bits while down there. I pick up a twig, then realise it’s a squashed giant centipede. As big as your big finger. I’m reminded that we’re not that far from Africa and Libya.

Team Ashwell and Contour prep well. Everything is easier when the weather is good. I've removed my bottle cage. Put on rubber aero socks. I’ve got tri-bars on which means I have no computer to look at, but actually don’t mind that: I intend to not use numbers - but riders - to gauge my effort and define my power exertions.

Jenny is the second rider off. Before you know it she is up and down the loop like a yo-yo. The start/finish is in the middle of the course and we get a good opportunity to cheer our team on twice a lap. Soon enough Dave is off, then Mitchy is off just in front of me and Daryl a few riders behind.

The good conditions mean we get the ramp start. Quite a nervous thing as there’ll be instant gravity in effect from the moment you’re released: you go hard instantly or you’ll slide off. “Watch this one, he’s Lawless. Breaking the law.” say the organisers in thick Maltese English, fascinated by the surname as I’m counted down. Three two one. Go. I’m off.

Despite the initial climb, months of stockpiled adrenaline from thinking about this start is released in an instant and I go off like a rocket to the top of the loop in what feels like three breaths. This course is technical in as much as gear selection is everything with no level section. I turn and go down in a high-ish gear not really knowing if I’m being optimal. The legs instantly hurt. To be expected. I can feel a soft wind in my face going downhill and think it will suit me as it will inhibit the power guys who can smash me on this section. I turn quite confidently in the good, bone-dry conditions and break the imminent uphill down into parts: an easier first bit until the fifth lamppost and then a hard gear on the steadier section in search of a good rhythm before nudging back a touch for the steeper peak and then turning for the downhill again. I count each lap out aloud to myself when going over the line. Without a computer I have a small fear that in the midst of the effort I’ll ride too few, or too many, laps.

I can’t yet see my minute-man, but on the second lap, Daryl goes past me on the downward section like a rocket. I know he’s good but all the same am impressed he’s caught me so soon. I’m delighted, all of a sudden I’ve got a perfect rabbit to chase after: someone better than me. It really focuses me. On the uphill, Daryl is surprised that I actually overtake him, such is the difference between my uphill and downhill power outputs. But I only serve to galvanise him and 20 seconds later he’s back in front. But this is good for me and I can sense I am pushing hard as I’ve got quite a stitch now and breathing hard. The air is hot. I move to my highest gear on the downhills to try and keep sight of him. It’s super hard and hurtful: but I know it’s short-term.

By lap 4, Daryl is too far ahead to be any use as a marker. I’m motivated by my team mates’ cheers and picking off the various riders on the course. Some are way off any TT form: but credit to them for turning up on a working day and having a go and enjoying themselves. Into the last lap and I spot my 2-minute man. He makes a good target, but eventually I catch him with three-quarters of a lap to go. It’s the downhill run and I’m like John Noakes in that Blue Peter episode when he’s training with the paratroopers in a plane in high-up thin air and he can’t remember his name or the name of Shep. I endeavour to glance at the big digital clock at the start line, on the other side of the road as I go past - because I start to doubt myself on how many laps I’ve done. It tells me I’ve got exactly two and half minutes to cross the line if I want to break 20 minutes. Righto: I’ve got one final thing to aim for to make me push hard in the final run in.

Out of nowhere, ‘Safety Dance’ by Men Without Hats pops into my head. It’s a song I know is very short and just over two and a half minutes long as it took a tiny amount of space on my Now That’s What I Call Music album. I hurtle down to the bottom of the course with ‘We can dance if we want to...’ going through my mind. I turn for the uphill and happily go into the red in the knowledge I can blow up over the line. ‘Am I in the second chorus bit?’ I think to myself as I see the finishing line coming up. ‘It’s the Safety Daaaaance’ I can hear as I make out Jenny urging me on on the line. Surely there’s still some of the song left? - I think as I blast over the line and glide to a stop where Mitchy is recovering by the side of the road.

We stumble back to the start, sweat is dribbling down my face and my uncomfortable TT helmet is about to get thrown into the cacti as I find out that I had broken 20 minutes with 19:46. Happy days!

There’s a short wait for all the Masters to complete their rides to find out I’d come 8th. I’m delighted. I’ve beaten local sports legend Fabio by 3 seconds, who has his own branded car with his face on it and ’Team Fabio’ written on it and everything. Dave W is 15th and Mitchy 6th. Jenny is 7th in her race, smashing the gap to the winner from over two minutes last year, to just 40 seconds. Wow. So, great results for us all considering the quality of the field. Of course, Colin Sturgess wins the Masters. Indeed, his time beats the winner of the Elites race. Wow. He will be hard to undo for the GC race in the next three road stages - that’s for sure. It will be great to be involved as things unfold. Daryl gets 3rd and takes the podium after we have a drink in the most delightful cafe nearby that’s utterly hidden away from anywhere.

So, we are now prepping for Stage 2. A hilly crit near the hotel, essentially. We’re all unsure as to how the dynamic of the peloton will work out: if it will break? More than once? Who’s where? How everyone will place and how it will affect GC? These are the thoughts I will take to my 10 euro buffet hotel dinner downstairs.

Tour of Malta, Stage 2 Road Race St Paul’s Bay Friday 12 April 2019 Last year, this stage got cancelled. It’s on top of a big hill really near where we are staying and totally exposed to the weather. It was so windy it wasn’t safe, and some club gazebos and the podium blew away.

This year: it’s much better. It’s a bit cooler this morning than yesterday. Mainly because of the stiff breeze coming in from the sea. But it’s fine. Sunny. This stage sends us up and over the road seven times. Each side is a bit like the climb up through the Weston Hills tunnel Baldock bypass road: about as long as it takes to get to the roundabout at the top and yes, pretty steep!

We make our base at the start/finish line at the top of the hill, sign on and prep. I realise I’ve left my aero socks behind, so will be racing in my bed socks that I left on all morning. Other than that, we’re all good. We are all thinking a one bottle strategy as this race is only 26 miles or so. I need to think carefully about this for the fourth stage as I drank much more than anticipated in the warmth and ran pretty low towards the end. We wonder what Colin will do who is in the Red Jersey following his win yesterday. The Elites start first. Then us in the Masters and Juniors races, then the Ladies race, with Jenny looking to improve on her last time here two years ago when she got dropped from the peloton.

We’re off. We take it fairly easy at the start, as to be expected. The first climb is almost like a warm-up. Everyone is settling in and it’s a bit cagey. The riding standard seems pretty high and there doesn’t seem to be any wild antics from anyone. Up, we crest the top and get cheers, then lurch down the steep winding west side of the hill into the wind. It’s a fairly tight turn on both sides. My new brake blocks squeak to let me know they’re working. We turn to climb back up east. This side is steeper. I resolve to keep it in the big ring all the way - but am in the granny ring at the back. The angle suits me and find it OK to stay at the spearhead of the peloton. All eyes are on Colin, waiting to see what he does. First lap done though and he keeps his cards to his chest as we descend to start the second lap.

It starts to crank up from here. Eventually, Colin shows a bit of his strength. The group respond. A few Maltesers have a go but are brought in. The big Gibraltarian who smashed the TT yesterday has a dig. I’m impressed, he’s a big powerful unit. He must have lungs the size of a blue whale. It’s great to have Steve from Veralum around whose wheel I can trust. He’s a very animated rider and nosing around at the front a lot. I’m just being careful and being really quite disciplined on positioning among the riders and tuning my position to shelter from the breeze.

The climb east is hurting some riders and I can hear it getting quieter at the back. I can see Dave W is over his bike in a way to suggest he’s in the red. There’s nothing I can do to stop the momentum of the front and eventually I catch Dave in the corner of my eye when he’s detached with a couple of other Brits who are forming up a second group.

Colin and co are doing that thing of putting the hammer down as we crest the hill so that there’s no respite. I’m holding on OK all the same, as are Mitchy and Daryl. We begin to tonk it down the long descent, comfortably holding 38mph until we squeak brakes, turn and generally take it easyish for the climb. The group puts in pulses of effort and I can see we are shelling riders. Soon, I see its down to twelve of us. Of which, I’m very much in the lower ranks! I ride alongside Colin. He’s a strong looking fella. I get the sense he could do us all if he wanted to. But hasn’t really done so yet.

In a lull, Daryl goes for it and pings off the front. On his wheel an Italian I’d not really noticed before. Daryl and the man from Milan quickly establish a gap of several seconds. The rest of us look to Colin who is watching his Red Jersey disappear. But there really isn’t a response. I can see Mitchy isn’t in the mood to chase his friend, or risk doing a lot of work on his own and blowing up. As we approach the last two laps, it’s clear that the break won’t be chased down and the two brave breakaways will get first and second. Well done to them for their bravery.

So, back in the bunch of ten, it’s going to be a bunch sprint for third place onwards. I really don’t want the last two places and be out of the BC points in eleventh or twelfth. I also want to preserve my GC position too if I can. It’s the bell lap. It’s laughably slow on the initial climb. I even find myself on the front for the first and only time here. Me: in front of this group. lol. I get a bit irritated after a while as no one will take the front off me, even though I'm doing that snakey whiplash thing across the road to shake the front. Then, Mitchy bursts through to ripple the group and I’m relieved of duty. We shoot down the other side and turn for the final climb. I look to see if somehow we’d dropped anyone, but alas, two people will miss on points here.

I’m feeling pretty good as we climb for the final time. I tell myself I can do all right and spin in a strongish gear near the front. We get down to the final 200 metres and there are several riders dropped from the Elites race in the way ahead of us. It’s a bit of a mess as we lurch into the gallop and I miss out on having a decent clean sprint. It’s eyeballs out. As we approach the line, I see Fabio in front who I have 3 seconds on in GC and focus on his wheel. Another 25 metres, I might have caught him, but he beats me by 0.5 second. In the cheering and melee, it’s hard to count my position, but I’m excited to think I got 10th. Mitchy beats Colin in the bunch sprint to get 3rd. Verulam Steve gets 7th. Daryl gets 1st by over 40 seconds and we work out he’s taken the Red Jersey off Colin by around 15 seconds or something (GC positions unconfirmed at the mo) I wander to the race HQ and see I’m confirmed as 9th. I’m delighted.

We gather and swap stories. Dave and Ellie go for a photo with Colin and he gives Ellie his cap! Jenny comes through for the Ladies race finish. She’s in the lead bunch and grabs 6th. This is proper amazing when you consider she got spat out on this same race two years ago. She has transformed herself in that time. Dave, working with the Brits, comes in 17th. I’ll be keen to see that he has kept or even improved on his GC position.

This afternoon, Jenny gets a massage. Mitchy and Ellie go to the beach. We catch up with Dave for a coffee, and then spend ages cleaning kit with hand wash in the bathroom sink. It’s Friday night. But all revelry is to be bottled for Sunday night. Stage 3 tomorrow is designed to give our climbing legs a rest: it’s a flat crit. Surely it will be a bunch sprint. Will it? Will it?? Or, will it? Tune in tomorrow for the continued adventures of Ashwell racing abroad.

Tour of Malta, Stage 3 Crit Zebbug bypass Saturday 13 April 2019 Today was a flat, super simple crit. It’s designed to give the legs a break after yesterday’s hilly road race - and in anticipation of the fourth and final stage: the San Martin road race stage with its steep climb. The course is quite far away from the hotel base and in the middle of the island.

In truth, the straight lined course does tilt. Gently so, but with a fierce headwind on top, today wouldn’t have the simple rhythm that could have been expected. It would swing from steady to bullet fast - depending on head or tailwind.

We would do 10 laps of the 2.6 miles course in the Masters race. As would Jenny in the Ladies race. The wind made the weather feel fresh. It was sunny, but there would be very light showers now and then all morning.

Most of this race went as predicted. Any idea of a break was impossible to imagine. Dave W was clearly loving his favourite course ever - and happily burning watts on the front during the fast tailwind side. There were silly solo attempts, including one by Fabio who I have to keep in check as I only have 3 seconds on him in GC. I think he just wanted to give the fans something to cheer for a little while. But we hauled him in soon enough. At one point it was all Hertfordshire and surrounding areas on the front, with me, Dave, Mitchy, Daryl and Steve from Verulam in a line. Indeed, we were always generally knocking around the front or thereabouts.

10 laps is hard to count accurately what with everything going on. What doesn’t help is when the lapboard gets out of sync which I’m fairly sure is what happened. We thought we were approaching one lap to go, when Colin’s team mate launched a late attack - in an obvious attempt to lure us and give Colin an opportunity to spring the trap. But we brought him in eventually quite easily as we had further to go than thought.

As we approach the final lap, I hear the sudden bang and hiss of a puncturing tyre. Sadly, it turns out to be our Dave. Rotten luck - especially when he’d animated the race so well. He’d hit a pothole at high speed. To his massive credit, he runs to the Start/finish line where young Ellie Mitchinson is waiting with a spare rear wheel. He’d lose a good couple of minutes from the rest of us, but finished and still holds on to a good chance of clawing back up the GC in Stage 4.

youtube

Meanwhile, back in the bunch, it’s all winding up to the big sprint finish we’d anticipated. This would be one for the sprinters. Without the ability to compete, my plan was to go long and build up momentum. Weeks and weeks of road race training all winter with all the talent down at Welwyn had taught me that if I can make the sprint over 20 seconds, I begin to compete and negate the power of the fast sprinters. As we turn the final corner, there’s a lot of hustle and bustle. A few shoulders to shoulders. Mitchy touches wheels with Colin - and quickly apologises. This bit is not for the faint-hearted. Some riders back off. But, I’m loving the rush. I’ve got my eye on Colin and Mitchy and plan to jump into the gap they will leave when they fire the afterburners. The line is fast approaching and I can hear the shouts of support. It cranks up early as I’d hoped and indeed I seize the gap. I’m clear on the right and have a delightfully clear dash to the line. I can’t hear riders huffing behind me but quickly running out of road to do more damage up front. I’m 8th. Mitchy: wins! Beating Colin by a handsome margin. Daryl in the Red Jersey is on my left in 6th. Verulam Steve is 10th. He’d have placed higher for sure but did way too much work on the front earlier on.

youtube

We cruise around and congratulate each other for a good race. I tell Colin how impressed I was by his racing style: so bullish and confident. We get back to see Jenny finish. She’s in the bunch chasing 2nd place downwards, and comes in 7th. She is frustrated as other riders lolling after their race got in her way and pegged her sprint. It’s a shame, but still a massive result. She’s got no team mates and fighting on her own all the way, all the time.

We reconvene and swap stories as we wait for the presentations. It’s great to see Mitchy get a win and pop the champagne on the podium: all in front of his daughter. Daryl retains the Red Jersey. It will be an exciting final stage as a final race, and in GC it will be a great game of chess. A lot can change. Friendships, pacts and allies will be made, then turn on each other. We will be doing calculations in our head to work out time gaps. There will be competitions within the competition. There’ll be heroes, villains, good fortune and cruel fate played out on the winding slope of San Martin hill, its vertiginous descent towards the sea and the crazy fast tailwind valley, repeated seven times. The French say ‘Allez!’, the Maltese say ‘Imshi!’.

Tour of Malta, Stage 4 Road race San Martin Saturday 13 April 2019 In GC terms, this final stage is the decider. Forget what has gone on before.

The San Martin race course is famous here. It has three parts: a vicious, long climb. With a much needed switchback. It varies from not very steep at all to out of the saddle steep for a mile or so. It levels off at the top for a flat fast section before turning for a fast descent on new tarmac. We then turn for a ridiculously fast flat road section through the valley until we start the climb again. For us Masters and Ladies races, we’d do this six times.

The day was pretty fresh, but very warm in the sun. A lot of riders were nervous about this race, though I was pretty calm. I was quite philosophical about everything. What will be will be.

Off we go and Dave hits the front for most of the first lap. It’s steady enough, though I feel my legs are tired. I’m a bit surprised by this and wish I’d done some massage work. We turn for the first climb of San Martin. One of the Italians, Gerloamo, pings off the front straight away. There’s an initial lull as we don’t think the guy is a contender. Then, there’s a surge. Led by another Italian, Tommaso. On reflection: this was a pre-planned Italian move. The weaker guy (not that weak) getting a head start before the stronger guy then stretches the group ensuring both make it.

It’s the first climb, and we are absolutely and suddenly in the red. We are attacking on a massive slope. This is outrageous riding. I know that we’ve instantly shed riders and the race hasn’t even done a lap. This is brutal. Like organ failingly brutal. Seeing stars. Can’t feel my hands. Can’t think. Breathing like a steam train. This is the fastest climb of the hill I’ve ever done, in the smallest group. I cling on as the climb stretches out and try and hold onto the selection at the top. I almost make it, but six guys make a few bike lengths of distance, including Mitchy, Daryl and Colin, while I’m with Verulam Steve and six others in group two. By the time we approach the descent, there’s not enough firepower into our group to bridge back and we have to work with what we’ve got.

That’s not to say things got easier. The GC factor kicks in. This second group is aggressive too. Derek from Gibraltar wants to keep his high place. Fabio wants to do me in. Steve knows he can climb the ranks. The second climb of San Martin is equally devastating. Steve, a rider considerably better than me, records his highest power 5 mins, 15 mins, 1hr and 90 minutes on this race. I mirror him so will have likely done the same stats.

We spin like mad to the top. I don’t know how I do it but I keep with the second group. I keep thinking that I've come all this way for this so am not going to give in. We drop big Derek, but he fights back. I really know we are burning watts: when we catch and pass the Elites race! They started two minutes ahead too. It’s a mess, but we get through them. This race is nuts.

Again and again we go up. It’s super hard. The Elites peloton eventually passes us on the climb. Fabio jumps on to the back of their bunch. A probable DQ in Britain, but acceptable here. He disappears out of view and I know I’ve slipped down a place in GC. At the top Derek puts in a great effort. I can’t believe his power: he’s a proper unit but can do the climbs too. Amazingly, he solos off the front and he too consolidates his GC position when I least expected him to do so.

So six riders up front, plus Fabio and Derek in between us in the second group, means we’re fighting for 9th place down.

We enter the last lap, I lob one bidon and squirt all but a swig of liquid from the other. Grammage counts now. As we climb San Martin for the final time, I actually feel pretty good. I take to the front with Steve and get into a rhythm. I can tell somehow that i’m hurting the others. No one is coming through and it’s very quiet behind me. We approach the line and Steve takes a lead. I hold his wheel but I can’t get past it and to be fair: he’d done so much work on the front, I'd feel bad if I nicked him on the line. Steve gets 9th and I get 10th. Despite the pain: a single BC point for my efforts. All good.

We are all breathing hard, but soon recover to chat. Fabio gives us all respect for holding on to the second group, and my nemesis Ivan from last year is very friendly and kind and says he remembers me from last year and is impressed with my improvements. I was in awe of everyone: this race was a brute to take on.

Mitchy gets 5th from the front group. Colin wins the stage, but Daryl preserves his Red Jersey and we get to see him on the podium to celebrate his GC win.

All of a sudden, it’s all done. The trophies are handed out and we make plans to watch Paris-Roubaix in the hotel bar with everyone. Johnnie, the MCF president and main organiser, has a tearful moment while wrapping everything up, having had the chance to meet the Pope recently for all his efforts to promote cycling in Malta. It’s a big deal to this highly Catholic country.

Jenny comes in 7th on her race. Another great performance on the front bunch. She really has had a strong Tour: up there and in the mix at the tip of each race. Dave comes in around 20th in a third group, along with a couple of friendly Colchester lads who thought Malta would be a bit like Majorca.

10th place today, and 10th in GC for me in end. A very successful trip, especially when the quality of the field is accounted for. The Tour of Malta has awarded me I think 12 BC points. Half the total required for preservation of 2nd Category status. I can’t wait to hit the grass track and score more.

:-)

0 notes

allbestnet · 8 years ago

Text

The Big Meta Book List

9.5 | Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949) by George Orwell 9 | Lolita (1955) by Vladimir Nabokov 9 | Ulysses (1922) by James Joyce 9 | The Great Gatsby (1925) by F. Scott Fitzgerald 9 | Midnight’s Children (1981) by Salman Rushdie 8.9 | Brave New World (1932) by Aldous Huxley 8.9 | The Sound and the Fury (1929) by William Faulkner 8.8 | The Lord of the Rings (1954) by J.R.R. Tolkien 8.8 | The Grapes of Wrath (1939) by John Steinbeck 8.8 | Pride and Prejudice (1813) by Jane Austen 8.6 | Anna Karenina (1877) by Leo Tolstoy 8.6 | Invisible Man (1952) by Ralph Ellison 8.6 | The Catcher in the Rye (1951) by J.D. Salinger 8.6 | Catch-22 (1961) by Joseph Heller 8.6 | One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967) by Gabriel Garcia Marquez 8.6 | Gone with the Wind (1936) by Margaret Mitchell 8.5 | Clockwork Orange (1962) by Anthony Burgess 8.5 | To Kill a Mockingbird (1960) by Harper Lee 8.5 | The Hobbit (1937) by J.R.R. Tolkien 8.5 | Crime and Punishment (1866) by Fyodor Dostoyevsky 8.5 | The Little Prince (1943) by Antoine de Saint-Exupery 8.5 | Les Miserables (1862) by Victor Hugo 8.4 | To the Lighthouse (1927) by Virginia Woolf 8.4 | On the Road (1957) by Jack Kerouac 8.4 | War and Peace (1869) by Leo Tolstoy 8.4 | Beloved (1987) by Toni Morrison

8.3 | The Trial (1925) by Franz Kafka 8.3 | Animal Farm (1945) by George Orwell 8.3 | The Brothers Karamazov (1880) by Fyodor Dostoyevsky 8.3 | Wuthering Heights (1847) by Emily Bronte 8.3 | Lord of the Flies (1954) by William Golding 8.2 | Slaughterhouse Five (1969) by Kurt Vonnegut 8.2 | Great Expectations (1861) by Charles Dickens 8.2 | The Master and Margarita (1973) by Mikhail Bulgakov 8.2 | The Stranger (1942) by Albert Camus 8.2 | Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865) by Lewis Carroll 8.2 | Heart of Darkness (1899) by Joseph Conrad 8.2 | Love in the Time of Cholera (1985) by Gabriel Garcia Marquez 8.2 | The Count of Monte Cristo (1845) by Alexandre Dumas 8.2 | Hamlet by William Shakespeare 8.2 | Don Quixote (1605) by Miguel de Cervantes 8.2 | Jane Eyre (1847) by Charlotte Bronte 8.2 | East of Eden (1952) by John Steinbeck 8.2 | One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1962) by Ken Kesey 8.1 | The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890) by Oscar Wilde 8.1 | The Name of the Rose (1980) by Umberto Eco 8.1 | The Handmaid’s Tale (1985) by Margaret Atwood 8.1 | Middlemarch (1874) by George Eliot 8.1 | The Idiot (1869) by Fyodor Dostoyevsky 8.1 | The Magic Mountain (1924) by Thomas Mann 8.1 | The Old Man and the Sea (1952) by Ernest Hemingway 8.1 | The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (1979) by Douglas Adams 8.1 | The Color Purple (1982) by Alice Walker 8.1 | Dracula (1897) by Bram Stoker 8.1 | Fahrenheit 451 (1953) by Ray Bradbury 8 | Fairy Tales (1812) by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm 8 | Native Son (1940) by Richard Wright 8 | Infinite Jest (1996) by David Foster Wallace 8 | American Psycho (1991) by Bret Easton Ellis 8 | For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940) by Ernest Hemingway 8 | The Fault in Our Stars (2012) by John Green 8 | And Then There Were None (1939) by Agatha Christie 8 | Persuasion (1818) by Jane Austen 8 | Rebecca (1938) by Daphne du Maurier 8 | The War of the Worlds (1898) by H.G. Wells 8 | The Kite Runner (2003) by Khaled Hosseini 8 | House of Mirth (1905) by Edith Wharton 8 | Journey to the End of the Night (1932) by Louis-Ferdinand Celine 8 | Of Mice and Men (1937) by John Steinbeck 8 | Lonesome Dove (1985) by Larry McMurtry 8 | Three Musketeers (1844) by Alexandre Dumas 8 | Pale Fire (1989) by Vladimir Nabokov 8 | Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1915) by James Joyce 8 | The Hunger Games (2008) by Suzanne Collins 8 | Emma (1815) by Jane Austen 8 | The Godfather (1969) by Mario Puzo 7.9 | Call of the Wild (1903) by Jack London 7.9 | Sons and Lovers (1913) by D.H. Lawrence 7.9 | A Prayer for Owen Meany (1989) by John Irving 7.9 | The Stand (1978) by Stephen King 7.9 | Little Women (1868) by Louisa May Alcott 7.9 | Brideshead Revisited (1945) by Evelyn Waugh 7.9 | Cloud Atlas (2004) by David Mitchell 7.9 | Sense and Sensibility (1811) by Jane Austen 7.9 | Mrs Dalloway (1925) by Virginia Woolf 7.9 | Diary of a Young Girl (1947) by Anne Frank 7.9 | Othello by William Shakespeare 7.9 | Maus by Art Spiegelman 7.9 | Absalom, Absalom! (1936) by William Faulkner 7.9 | King Lear by William Shakespeare 7.9 | Of Human Bondage (1915) by W. Somerset Maugham 7.9 | Madame Bovary (1857) by Gustave Flaubert 7.9 | Leaves of Grass (1855) by Walt Whitman 7.9 | A Tale of Two Cities (1859) by Charles Dickens 7.9 | As I Lay Dying (1930) by William Faulkner 7.9 | Odyssey by Homer 7.9 | Gulliver’s Travels (1726) by Jonathan Swift 7.9 | Frankenstein (1818) by Mary Shelley 7.9 | Things Fall Apart (1958) by Chinua Achebe 7.9 | Age of Innocence (1920) by Edith Wharton

7.9 | Heart Is a Lonely Hunter (1940) by Carson McCullers 7.9 | Harry Potter (1997) by J.K. Rowling 7.9 | Tropic of Cancer (1934) by Henry Miller 7.8 | Iliad by Homer 7.8 | Watership Down by Richard Adams 7.8 | Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937) by Zora Neale Hurston 7.8 | Where the Wild Things Are (1963) by Maurice Sendak 7.8 | Room With a View (1908) by E.M. Forster 7.8 | Charlotte’s Web (1952) by E.B. White 7.8 | Green Eggs and Ham (1988) by Dr. Seuss 7.8 | Under the Volcano by Malcolm Lowry 7.8 | A Song of Ice and Fire (1996) by George R.R. Martin 7.8 | Oliver Twist (1837) by Charles Dickens 7.8 | Blindness (1995) by Jose Saramago 7.8 | In Search of Lost Time (1927) by Marcel Proust 7.8 | Passage to India (1924) by E.M. Forster 7.8 | The Perks of Being a Wallflower (1999) by Stephen Chbosky 7.8 | The Secret Garden (1911) by Frances Hodgson Burnett 7.8 | The Lorax (1971) by Dr. Seuss 7.8 | The Pillars of the Earth (1989) by Ken Follett 7.8 | The Wind in the Willows (1908) by Kenneth Grahame 7.8 | The Unbearable Lightness of Being (1984) by Milan Kundera 7.8 | The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis 7.8 | The Help (2009) by Kathryn Stockett 7.8 | Matilda (1988) by Roald Dahl 7.8 | Black Beauty (1877) by Anna Sewell 7.8 | House of Leaves (2000) by Mark Z. Danielewski 7.8 | Bell Jar (1963) by Sylvia Plath 7.8 | Watchmen (1987) by Alan Moore 7.8 | Gravity’s Rainbow (1973) by Thomas Pynchon 7.8 | Treasure Island (1883) by Robert Louis Stevenson 7.8 | Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (1964) by Roald Dahl 7.8 | The Hound of the Baskervilles (1902) by Arthur Conan Doyle 7.8 | American Gods (2001) by Neil Gaiman 7.8 | Sophie’s Choice (1979) by William Styron 7.8 | The Magus (1977) by John Fowles 7.8 | Flowers for Algernon (1959) by Daniel Keyes 7.8 | Schindler’s List (1982) by Thomas Keneally 7.8 | Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie 7.8 | It (1986) by Stephen King 7.8 | Tender Is the Night (1934) by F. Scott Fitzgerald 7.8 | World War Z (2006) by Max Brooks 7.8 | Life of Pi (2001) by Yann Martel 7.8 | Stranger in a Strange Land (1961) by Robert A. Heinlein 7.8 | Dead Souls by Nikolai Gogol 7.8 | Book of Mormon by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints 7.8 | American Tragedy (1925) by Theodore Dreiser 7.8 | Moby-Dick (1851) by Herman Melville 7.8 | Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa 7.8 | A Christmas Carol (1843) by Charles Dickens 7.8 | The Kingkiller Chronicle (2007) by Patrick Rothfuss 7.8 | All Quiet on the Western Front (1929) by Erich Maria Remarque 7.7 | A Fine Balance (1995) by Rohinton Mistry 7.7 | Scarlet Pimpernel (1905) by Baroness Orczy 7.7 | The Very Hungry Caterpillar (1969) by Eric Carle 7.7 | Bleak House (1853) by Charles Dickens 7.7 | The Giving Tree (1964) by Shel Silverstein 7.7 | Howards End (1910) by E.M. Forster 7.7 | Winnie-the-Pooh (1926) by A.A. Milne 7.7 | Anne of Green Gables (1908) by Lucy Maud Montgomery 7.7 | The Heroes of Olympus (2010) by Rick Riordan 7.7 | His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman 7.7 | Fight Club (1996) by Chuck Palahniuk 7.7 | The Road (2006) by Cormac McCarthy 7.7 | Metamorphoses by Ovid 7.7 | Giver (1993) by Lois Lowry 7.7 | Looking for Alaska (2005) by John Green 7.7 | The Day of the Jackal (1971) by Frederick Forsyth 7.7 | Roots (1976) by Alex Haley 7.7 | Tess of the d’Urbervilles (1891) by Thomas Hardy 7.7 | The Sheltering Sky (1949) by Paul Bowles 7.7 | Dune (1965) by Frank Herbert 7.7 | Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett 7.7 | Faust by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 7.7 | The Thorn Birds (1977) by Colleen McCullough 7.7 | Good Omens (1990) by Terry Pratchett 7.7 | Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886) by Robert Louis Stevenson 7.7 | Fifty Shades of Grey (2011) by E.L. James 7.7 | The Red and the Black (1830) by Stendhal 7.7 | The Book Thief (2006) by Markus Zusak 7.7 | The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri 7.7 | Finnegans Wake (1939) by James Joyce 7.7 | Ficciones (1956) by Jorge Luis Borges 7.7 | Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare 7.7 | Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1852) by Harriet Beecher Stowe 7.7 | The God of Small Things (1997) by Arundhati Roy 7.7 | I, Claudius (1934) by Robert Graves 7.7 | Atlas Shrugged (1957) by Ayn Rand 7.7 | Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (1968) by Philip K. Dick 7.7 | The Green Mile (1996) by Stephen King 7.7 | The Shining (1977) by Stephen King 7.7 | Aeneid by Virgil 7.7 | The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (1994) by Haruki Murakami 7.7 | Mansfield Park (1814) by Jane Austen 7.7 | Women in Love (1920) by D.H. Lawrence 7.7 | Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (1974) by Robert M. Pirsig 7.7 | A Thousand Splendid Suns (2007) by Khaled Hosseini 7.7 | Cat in the Hat (1985) by Dr. Seuss 7.7 | Outsiders (1967) by S.E. Hinton 7.6 | Zorba the Greek (1946) by Nikos Kazantzakis

7.6 | Trainspotting (1993) by Irvine Welsh 7.6 | Time Machine (1895) by H.G. Wells 7.6 | We Need to Talk About Kevin (2003) by Lionel Shriver 7.6 | Macbeth by William Shakespeare 7.6 | The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien 7.6 | The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time (2003) by Mark Haddon 7.6 | The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (2000) by Michael Chabon 7.6 | Night (1956) by Elie Wiesel 7.6 | The Woman in White (1860) by Wilkie Collins 7.6 | Much Ado about Nothing by William Shakespeare 7.6 | The Time Traveler’s Wife (2003) by Audrey Niffenegger 7.6 | Man’s Search for Meaning (1946) by Viktor Emil Frankl 7.6 | Atonement (2001) by Ian McEwan 7.6 | In Cold Blood (1966) by Truman Capote 7.6 | Breakfast of Champions (1973) by Kurt Vonnegut 7.6 | Fairy tales by Hans Christian Andersen 7.6 | Perfume (1985) by Patrick Suskind 7.6 | V for Vendetta (1989) by 7.6 | Around the World in Eighty Days (1873) by Jules Verne 7.6 | Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain 7.6 | The Tin Drum (1959) by Gunter Grass 7.6 | The BFG (1982) by Roald Dahl 7.6 | How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1985) by Dr. Seuss 7.6 | Candide (1759) by Voltaire 7.6 | Lady Chatterley’s Lover (1928) by D.H. Lawrence 7.6 | Fountainhead (1943) by Ayn Rand 7.6 | Nostromo (1904) by Joseph Conrad 7.6 | Little Princess (1905) by Frances Hodgson Burnett 7.6 | Holes (1998) by Louis Sachar 7.6 | Mere Christianity (1952) by C.S. Lewis 7.6 | Phantom Tollbooth (1961) by Norton Juster 7.6 | David Copperfield (1850) by Charles Dickens 7.6 | Goodnight Moon (1947) by Margaret Wise Brown 7.6 | The Man in the High Castle (1962) by Philip K. Dick 7.6 | Time to Kill (1989) by John Grisham 7.6 | Steppenwolf (1927) by Hermann Hesse 7.6 | Cryptonomicon (1999) by Neil Stephenson 7.6 | The Remains of the Day (1989) by Kazuo Ishiguro 7.6 | Norwegian Wood (1987) by Haruki Murakami 7.6 | The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer 7.6 | James and the Giant Peach (1961) by Roald Dahl 7.6 | Dubliners (1914) by James Joyce 7.6 | Doctor Zhivago (1957) by Boris Pasternak 7.6 | Tree Grows in Brooklyn (1943) by Betty Smith 7.6 | Memoirs of a Geisha (1997) by Arthur Golden 7.6 | Essential Rumi by Rumi 7.6 | Buddenbrooks (1901) by Thomas Mann 7.6 | Far from the Madding Crowd (1874) by Thomas Hardy 7.6 | Hiding Place (1971) by Corrie Ten Boom 7.6 | The Princess Bride (1973) by William Goldman 7.6 | All the King’s Men (1946) by Robert Penn Warren 7.6 | The Maltese Falcon (1930) by Dashiell Hammett 7.6 | The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876) by Mark Twain 7.6 | Ouran High School Host Club by Bisco Hatori 7.6 | Plague (1947) by Albert Camus 7.6 | Jurassic Park (1990) by Michael Crichton 7.6 | The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson 7.6 | Shogun (1975) by James Clavell 7.6 | A Town Like Alice (1950) by Nevil Shute 7.6 | Ambassadors (1903) by Henry James 7.6 | Blood Meridian (1985) by Cormac McCarthy 7.6 | No Country for Old Men (2005) by Cormac McCarthy 7.6 | The Castle (1926) by Franz Kafka 7.6 | Phantom of the Opera (1910) by Gaston Leroux 7.6 | Middlesex (2002) by Jeffrey Eugenides 7.6 | The Book of the New Sun (1994) by Gene Wolfe 7.6 | Vanity Fair (1848) by William Makepeace Thackeray 7.6 | Heidi by Johanna Spyri 7.6 | Bluest Eye (1970) by Toni Morrison 7.6 | Seabiscuit by Laura Hillenbrand 7.6 | Pippi Longstocking (1945) by Astrid Lindgren 7.6 | The French Lieutenant’s Woman (1969) by John Fowles 7.6 | North and South (1855) by Elizabeth Gaskell 7.6 | Percy Jackson & the Olympians (2005) by Rick Riordan 7.6 | Gilgamesh by 7.6 | The Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare 7.6 | Millennium series by Stieg Larsson 7.6 | Cat’s Cradle (1963) by Kurt Vonnegut 7.6 | Northanger Abbey (1817) by Jane Austen 7.6 | The Secret History (1992) by Donna Tartt 7.5 | Screwtape Letters (1942) by C.S. Lewis 7.5 | Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare 7.5 | The World According to Garp (1978) by John Irving 7.5 | A Confederacy of Dunces (1980) by John Kennedy Toole 7.5 | Birdsong (1993) by Sebastian Faulks 7.5 | Dandelion Wine (1957) by Ray Bradbury 7.5 | Light in August (1932) by William Faulkner 7.5 | The Glass Castle (2005) by Jeannette Walls 7.5 | People’s History of the United States (2010) by Howard Zinn 7.5 | Lamb by Christopher Moore 7.5 | Water for Elephants (2006) by Sara Gruen 7.5 | Moneyball (2003) by Michael Lewis 7.5 | Three Men in a Boat (1889) by Jerome K. Jerome 7.5 | Jungle (1906) by Upton Sinclair 7.5 | The Forever War (1974) by Joe Haldeman 7.5 | Le Pere Goriot by Honore de Balzac 7.5 | Number the Stars (1989) by Lois Lowry 7.5 | Siddhartha (1951) by Hermann Hesse 7.5 | Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams 7.5 | Misery (1987) by Stephen King

28 notes · View notes

ultrasfcb-blog · 6 years ago

Text

The Open 2018: The Smiths - Carnoustie pioneers who took golf to America

The Open 2018: The Smiths – Carnoustie pioneers who took golf to America

‘Carnoustie did more than any other place to develop golf’

The Open Championship Venue: Carnoustie Date: 19-22 July Coverage: Daily highlights on BBC Two, live commentary on BBC Radio 5 Live, text commentary & reports on BBC Sport website

For the longest time the medals lay in a paper-thin glass cabinet just inside the door of Carnoustie golf club, an iffy alarm held together by Blu Tack the only thing protecting them from damage or theft.

For sure, this was a shrine to the remarkable Smith family, the mum and dad and the five sons who left the Angus coast in the late 1800s and early 1900s and became some of the most important characters in the early story of golf in America. But it was an unloved shrine. Truth be told, very few members knew the significance of what they had in their midst.

The medals were pinned to old boards, dozens of them from tournaments up and down America. At the heart of the collection were two gems – Alex Smith’s US Open winners medal from Onwentsia in Illinois in 1906 (his brother Willie was second) and his second US Open winners medal from the Philadelphia Cricket Club in 1910 (he beat his youngest brother Macdonald in a play-off).

Four years ago, a man walked in the door of Carnoustie golf club (right across the road from the Carnoustie hotel), sized up the collection and made them an offer for those two US Open medals that he thought they wouldn’t refuse.

Alex Smith’s two US Open winners medals are displayed at Carnoustie

The offer was in the hundreds of thousands of pounds. They said no, it wasn’t their place to sell them. The family had bequeathed them upon Alex’s death and Macdonald had personally delivered them home. They weren’t for sale, but it was a wake-up call to what they had. The first one, at any rate.

The second moment of awakening came a week later when a man called David Mackesey appeared. Mackesey introduced himself as president of Diablo Golf and Country Club – “the Californian home of Carnoustie golf club”. Mackesey had done well in life. If business once consumed him, now it was the heritage of golf and the part the Smiths played in it that fascinated him.

The locals were stunned. The Californian home of Carnoustie golf club? What was going on here? None of them had ever heard of Diablo Golf and Country Club. The story of what happened next is a compelling one, and we’ll get to it, but first a journey through the life and times of the Smiths.

John and Joan Smith knew the meaning of tragedy. They had 10 children, but five of them – two boys and three girls – never survived infancy. Their surviving sons worked with their father, a green-keeper at Carnoustie, caddying, golf club-making, doing whatever they could to make a living. Alex was the first of the boys to emigrate and, says Bill Thompson, the current captain of Carnoustie Golf Club, he became a golfing pied piper for the young men of the town.

“As golf clubs sprung up over America, it would be Alex that these clubs would turn to in order to find a golf pro,” says Thompson.

Carnoustie’s Macdonald Smith was a highly respected golfer, though he never won a major

“Alex was a very respected figure. A champion golfer, a big and charismatic man. Invariably, when asked to recommend a professional for a newly formed club, he’d sing the praises of a Carnoustie boy. These lads all knew how to play, knew how to make clubs, knew what was required. Alex was hugely significant.”

All told, around 300 of them left in search of a better life in the burgeoning world of golf. Most, if not all of them, were given their chance thanks to Alex, one of the first Carnoustie pioneers.

He left Carnoustie in 1898, spent 12 days on a steamboat to Ellis Island, New York, and then went 100 miles on a horse and cart at the other end. He was followed to America a year later, by his brothers Willie and then George. Willie won the US Open in 1899, Alex won it in 1906 and 1910. The Smiths were in the vanguard of bringing the game to America and showing the new world how to play.

Russell Knox will be among the home favourites flying the flag for Scotland at this year’s Open

“During that period a set of railway barons purchased an estate from the government called Mount Diablo in California and they made a recreational home for their families there,” says Thompson.

“They built a golf course and John Smith, the dad, was sent for as green-keeper. That’s how the last of the Smiths arrived in America – mum and dad and the other sons, including Macdonald, or Mac, as he was known, all departed at that point.

“Diablo gave the Smiths a home and nurtured them for over 30 years. John and Joan, George and the other son, Jimmy, are buried in a cemetery just a few miles away. When a burial plot was picked for them the club deliberately found one that had a sight line facing Diablo and Carnoustie.”

Many decades after the last of the Smiths died – remarkably, Joan outlived her husband and all 10 of her children – the family has brought Carnoustie and Diablo together. That was when Mackesey entered the picture with his passion and his obsession for bringing the Smith name back to life.

Mac Smith attracted large crowds when he played in Scotland, here at Prestwick Golf Club during the 1925 Open

With Thompson now energised by the scale of the Smith story, the old glass cabinet with the dodgy alarm was ripped out and the whole clubhouse was redone. Everything is still on display for all-comers but it’s infinitely more secure now. Extra material is getting added all the time. The archive of the Smiths has now turned into an official body, the Smith Society.

“People come in and are in tears when they read about the boys,” says Thompson.

Thompson and Mackesey and their respective teams have gone on an adventure here. They talk all the time about their own discoveries; a piece of new information they’ve found out about the family, a new photograph they’ve unearthed, an old club that Mac used, a putter that once belonged to Alex.

“Every time you peel back a layer of this story you find something else,” says Thompson. “Mac was, arguably, the best of them all. Bobby Jones, Tommy Armour, Gene Sarazen all spoke about what a great player he was. He never won a major, but he came incredibly close a number of times.

Gene Sarazen, Bobby Jones, Walter Hagen and Tommy Armour (left to right) were contemporaries of Mac Smith

“His own story is extraordinary. He won a lot of tournaments in the early years in America, then went to war and came back profoundly deaf. His older brother, Willie, died in Mexico in the early weeks of the Revolution in 1915.

“He was the professional at Mexico City by then and Zapata’s forces attacked his clubhouse and the roof came in on top of him. He died shortly after because of complications.

“That was a blow for young Mac and he kind of went missing for years afterwards. He withdrew from golf and and became a raging alcoholic for about 10 years.

“Then he met and married a rich widow, a very pious woman. He had no money and had lost all his teeth. He had wooden teeth and was working in an iron works shipyard in San Francisco and this lady (a socialite called Louise Cahill Harvey) got him off the drink, got him new teeth and got him back playing again. They lived in opulence in Long Island. Mac had the best years of his life after he met her.”

Harry Vardon once said that Mac Smith was the greatest golfer in America – and Vardon wasn’t alone in thinking it. Even after his guiding light, Alex, died of cancer in 1930 in his mid 40s – for years Alex was sponsored by Lucky Strike cigarettes – Mac pressed on, winning tournaments and friends everywhere he went, Bing Crosby among them.

Armour once wrote of Mac: “He had the firm features of an Inquisition fanatic, but inside he was gentler and kinder than Santa Claus. His swing is as graceful, as smooth and as apparently effortless as the swooping glide of a gull through the blue sky. He has the cleanest 21-jewel stroke in golf. He treats the grass of a golf course as though it were an altar.”

Mac could have won multiple majors, but luck went against him. In 1925 at the Open at Prestwick he led by five shots going into the final round. He looked unbeatable. That’s what the locals thought in any event.

Supporters flocked to watch Mac Smith play in the 1925 Open Championship at Prestwick

They turned out in vast numbers to support the returning hero. They crowded around him – and suffocated him. So huge were the galleries that they spilled across fairways and Mac had to fire over their heads at times. It was hopeless.

“Never before – or since – in golf has there been such a gallery,” wrote Armour. “It was a stampeding, shoving, frantically partisan throng that came to witness Mac’s life’s ambition.

“Instead it saw and sensed the drama of a noble man with the hand of fate tearing out his heart. Mac Smith took an 82. It’s still unbelievable to me.”

One magazine called it “Death By Love at Prestwick”. In 1930, Mac contended strongly at the US Open at Interlachen and at the Open at Hoylake but finished second to Grand Slam Bobby Jones both times.

Mac could have won in 1931 when the Open came to Carnoustie for the first time. Again he had the lead, again he let it slip. Armour won instead and felt for his friend.

“Here I am sympathising with Mac Smith when he’s really one of mankind most to be envied,” he said.

Tommy Armour paid tribute to Mac Smith after clinching the Claret Jug in 1931

“Mac has peace in his heart. He has triumphed over ill-health and over Mac Smith. He is no Caledonian tragedy even though he often has been batted back a step away from golf’s heights. Open champion or not, he has the dignity of a true champion, the mien of a monarch.”

Sitting among the story of the Smiths, Thompson says that Carnoustie Golf Club’s past is its future – “and our past is what it is because the Smiths have left it to us. The family could have sold all these medals, but they didn’t. They donated it all back to the town and we’re doing everything we can to let people know what they did in life. Anybody can come in and see it.”

Anybody who cares about golf history should. It’s a story of a unique family that deserves to live on, down through the ages.

BBC Sport – Golf ultras_FC_Barcelona

ultras FC Barcelona - https://ultrasfcb.com/golf/8596/

#Barcelona

#Golf

0 notes