#so he went out in the rain and went straight to charles iii of all people to ask him to dissolve parliament. as you do

[fingertipsmp3]

This is the spiritual successor to Four Seasons Landscaping. To me.

[cecilspeaks]

166 - Delta

The stars tell us our future. They’re rarely correct, but yet there they are, blathering on night after night. Welcome to Night Vale.

At the foot of a sandy hill, a woman explains to her son what a flower is. She’s pointing at an orange starburst atop a squat bulbous cactus. She says: “Flowers are beautiful, aren’t they?” I cannot hear what her son says. She answers: “Because bees like beautiful things and flowers want the bees to take their pollen, that little bit of yellow powder, right down there inside, and give it to other plants, so they can grow up and be beautiful too.” There’s a long pause. Then she says: “Nature wants to make more and more beauty all the time. That’s all it wants to do. If it is not beautiful, it cannot live.” She’s upset at her son’s next question. “Humans wish to make beauty too, but not for nature,” she snaps. “They want computers and airplanes and factories, oh Benny, don’t touch.” She sighs. Then she says: “The cactus hurt you, didn’t it? The cactus knows you’re human and it does not want you to watch it, and now it has let you know that, you won’t touch it again, will you? No Benny, you won’t.”

Underneath the scant shade of a dilapidated wing of an MD-90 aircraft, a middle aged man tells another middle aged man about a time he went to New Orleans. He thought the French Quarter was too crowded and the jazz scene overrated, so he drove east along the upper neck of the Mississippi Delta to a Swapshack, where he paid a man 50 dollars to take him on a hovercraft to look at alligators. “Such majestic and hideous creatures,” the middle aged man says to the other. “You know, when I was little, I cried thinking about how I would never see a real live dinosaur. All the world had left were bones. But right there in southern Louisiana lay dozens of living dinosaurs. It’s an extraordinary world when you finally realize that all life is magic,” he says. The other middle aged man had heard the story dozens of times, but still he replies: “I hear you, I hear you.”

A young woman thinks about a job interview she never attended. She is happy without that job, yet she feels regret for what could have been. “I cannot imagine myself behind a desk making spreadsheets and memos,” she says to no one. “But I cannot imagine a 5-dimensional horse, nor the width of the void, nor the language of whales. I cannot imagine a lot of things but the pay, the pay would have been pretty good.”

Behind a blighted Palo Verde Tree, hidden between lush acacia shrubs, two teenaged boys kiss for the 50th time or so. It is brief, as one stops to look around, on alert for overbearing parents. They kiss for the 51st time or so and then laugh. Their fingers clumsily fumbling over each other, trying to decide on the perfect grip, the perfect touch. They melt like marshmallows in the flame of inexperienced joy. This moment in their lives is as pure and powerful as they have ever felt and may ever feel again.

My mind is crowded with voices, with people living their lives all day listeners. these are the stories, they are eating fruit and playing cards. They are arguing about who said what and when. They are meditating and conversing, retelling old shows and books they remember from when they had such things. A copy of Tina Fey’s memoir “Bossy Pants” was found in  a suitcase seven years ago, and everyone in the group has read it at least once. Someone mutters that they used to have a copy of Karen Russel’s “Swamplandia!”. It was in her purse when they landed here, but someone won’t own up to stealing it. another says the book might have been used to make a fire one night, because whoever made the fire might have thought the owner was done reading it, hypothetically.

It’s been several days since the voices came into my head, and at first it was new and interesting, but already I have grown tired of it. I do not know how Amelia Anna Alfaro lived her whole life with these sounds in her mind. It’s unceasing and I’ve not gotten much sleep. The teenage lovers sneak away each night to hold hands and talk big dreams underneath the moon. It’s sweet and romantic, but at 2 AM, give it a rest boys! I could try to talk back, but none of the voices can hear me. It’s like asking the rain to return to its cloud. But when I talk to Carlos, the voices go way. Thankfully I have my greatest peace when I’m with my favorite person. I can’t keep Carlos awake at all hours or have him skip work to be with me, so I have to learn to make peace with the voices, as they are noisy but permanent room mates in my brain now.

I do have news to report, but it’s mostly stuff you already know about. The high school basketball team has tryouts on Saturday. The library is doing open mic poetry nights on Tuesdays at 7, and we all know it’s a trap. Don’t do it unless you’re well armed. And the Opera House is extending its run of Verdi’s “2 Fast 2 Furious”, starring Renée Fleming, through the end of the month.

It’s hard to concentrate on reading these news stories with so much other language running through my head. Like this: there’s a guy who’s complaining about metal scraps that haven’t been cleaned, and the woman he’s talking to is explaining that they are conserving water for drinking and the guy is saying that it’s unsanitary to make dining utensils out of dirty metal, and she replies that they’re not making any more forks or spoons, they don’t need any more forks or spoons, they need knives but not for eating. What am I supposed to do with this information, it’s been going on nonstop for days? You cannot possibly understand what its’ like to listen to someone you don’t know, who you’ve never even met, who you can’t even see, ramble on and on about their boring personal life straight into your head, it’s awful. I can hear another person saying he’s found something. Good for you pal, way to find another rock or stick or lizard or whatever.

Wait. “Weeeee have founnnnnd ittt,” the voice says. I know this voice. It’s the first voice that’s been familiar to me, where do I know this voice, he is saying “first weeeeeeeee found you. You who are – no where – now weeeeeee have founnnnnnnd itt.” And other men are barking in agreement. Listeners, that voice is Doug Biondi from the asylum, and the voices around him are the agents from the National Safety and Transportation Bureau, all of whom escaped the Night Vale Asyulm two months ago. They are in nowhere, in an otherworld desert standing near a door attached to no building. Not far from a passenger set, long since rotted away. A jet that has been home to 143 passengers and crew members, one of those 143 – the pilot. Asylum warden Charles Rainier warned us of this. He had been a been a passenger on that plane, he became part of a small commune that grew into an angry cult under the leadership and telepathic influence of the pilot. Charles told us that the pilot would find those who could help him find Night Vale. Help him find the real world, and Doug Biondi knows the way back.

The pilot found Doug and Doug found the pilot. “Iii know the wayyy,” Doug Biondi says, laughing the laugh of a man whose smile is too big for his face. At the foot of a sandy hill, a mother tells her son it is time. “Stop crying, Benny. Stop crying so that there will be more flowers, more beauty.”

Underneath the scant shade of a dilapidated wing of an MD-90 air craft, two middle aged men argue over which hand made axe is sharper. At last, they agree that the one crafted from the rotor flap and held together with the hand belt is the better blade. “No you take it,” one says. “No, I insist you, I’m happy to use the smaller axe,” the other says, “because it is easier to manage what with my back spasms.”

And behind a blighted Paolo Verde Tree, hidden between lush acacia shrubs, two teenage boys kiss the way you kiss when you think it may be your last. They whisper impossible promises and raise high their rusty shovels, the spades’ tips having already been sharpened to deadly points. They race toward the gathering crowd.

A young woman who thinks often about the job interview she never attended shouts: “Nature is beauty!” “We are beauty!” replies antoher woman. They repeate these calls. “Nature is beauty! We are beauty!” And now every voice in my head is chanting the phrases, chanting and chanting and chanting, it’s too… it’s too much!

Silence. They’re silent suddenly. My head is clear. I can think my own thoughts.

Night Vale, I’m getting word that Sheriff Sam is barring all known passages into our town. This includes roads, trails, sewer grates, even the Dog Park which is not officially an entrance to the Desert Otherworld, but you know, let’s be honest here. We’re on lockdown, Night Vale. No one enters or leaves.

Good. This is good. If the voices can reach me, they can reach any of us. In fact, if the voices can enter my mind, then the pilot and passengers of flight 18713 may well already be here, or some of them anyway. Or maybe the voices come and go. This is the first moment of silence I’ve had alone in nearly a week. Maybe the voices aren’t always there like, like radio signals as you leave a city or, or a cell phone in an elevator, maybe the voices can’t permeate us under certain conditions or maybe… Or maybe… The voices are silent because… they are listening. Maybe they’re listening to their leader, their pilot who is giving instructions on what to do next, when and where to attack.

I don’t know. But I must use my moment of clarity to tell you some news. Nope, the voices are back. A single voice is back. I know, without knowing, that it is the voice of the pilot. He says: [in a neutral tone] “Uh, hi there, this is your pilot speaking. Just wanted to let you know that nature is beauty, we are beauty. We propagate our pollen, we spread our seeds, we grow new life over old life, we cleanse the toxins of technology. We depose the human king and return natural instinct to its rightful throne. If you can hear my voice, then you are chosen. You are chosen to join all who join our nature. All who join our beauty. All who refuse will be recycled into the earth, destroyed and dispersed to fertilize new more beautiful life. All those who are beautiful are chosen. All those who are not, are a cancer, blight, infection and disease. All who are not beautiful will be cut away, amputated, so that the Earth’s wounds may finally leave, so the Earth may grow beautiful once again.

We have been found and we will return. Open the gates to freedom, end the tyranny of artifice. That’s all for now, we’ll be arriving in just a few moments, Night Vale. There is going to be some turbulence.”

[distraught] I’m sorry, listeners! I did not meant to do that, I did not want to do that! The voice of the pilot overtook me and I, oh, I need to lock myself inside the studio, I have to protect you from me, but first the weather.

[“A Prayer for the Sane” by Danny Schmidt http://dannyschmidt.com]

I brought Carlos to the studio. When I talk to Carlos, I don’t hear the voices of the passengers from 18713. I don’t hear the voices even now as I look directly at Carlos while I’m speaking. Like Charles Rainier’s fishing hole or, or Amelia Anna Alfaro’s puzzles, Carlos grounds me, lets me be wholly me.

Thank you, Carlos.

Oh, I also had Carlos bring a pair of handcuffs with him that he bought at –Target on his way to the station, and used them to shackle me to my desk. If Charles Rainier is correct, then once the pilot can speak to you, he can control you. And if that should happen, it won’t happen but if it should, then now I won’t be able to leave here and do harm to anyone else.

From my window, I can see far down the street a spiral of black smoke. There are flashes of emergency sirens. Now I can see people coming up the road. They are long-haired, sun-scorched and nearly naked, wearing not much more than flat wide-brimmed hats and short tunics fashioned from seat upholstery. These people are carrying large blades, roughly honed from scrap metal. Some have widdled down pieces of plexiglass windows into sharp points and tied them to ends of long sticks. They’re deliberately walking up the hoods of parked cars and smashing windows and caving in the roofs with their bare feet.

It is no doubt that the passengers of 18713 are here, Night Vale. If you can hear me, sty inside and lock your doors. If you can her the pilot, then do as I have done. Secure your position so securely that not even your own mind can talk you out of it. Sheriff Sam has stubbornly kept up all roadblocks in and out of town, so we have no choice but to stay. The long unmoving lines of traffic at the edges of the city are easy prey now for the 18713. The pilot offered the choice of joining or refusing, but it is not a choice, not really. He either can control you or he cannot. Those whom he cannot control will be killed at the hands of those who can.

[anxiously] Carlos? You don’t hear the pilot voice, and thus cannot be controlled. But I do, and I can. I have been controlled. We’re in trouble, Carlos. I can’t stay chained to this desk forever, can I? And if the pilot means to destroy you, he might make – me do it myself. Just promise me you’ll run. Leave me behind if that happens, OK? OK. But for now, do not let me out of these cuffs, not even if I use a safe word, which I hear is something quite a few people use in healthy fun intimate relationships.

The people of 18713 are climbing up storefronts and tearing off signs. I can see about 10 or 15 in normal street clothes in the crowd now, which means the group is growing. They are recruiting quickly.

But something else is eating at me. In the asylum, in Doug Biondi’s journal and among the myriad voices in my mind, I still have not seen nor heard Amelia Anna Alfaro, the first person to make contact with the pilot. She disappeared in 2012 and no one has heard from her since. I need to find her. Somehow, if anyone can solve this, it might be her. She was always the best at everything.

Stay tuned next for the sound of me talking to Carlos forever and ever.

Good night, Night Vale. [creepily] Gooood night.

Today’s proverb: People who live in glass houses shouldn’t hire that realtor again.

[patsdrabbles]

Five Times Hawkeye and Charles Don’t Tell Each Other What They Think And One Time They Do

Fandom: M*A*S*H Pairing: Hawkeye Pierce/Charles Winchester III Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 2492 Summary: Five times Charles and Hawkeye don’t say what they’re thinking and one time they do- six scenes ranging from angst but developing toward fluff starting shortly after Charles’s arrival at the camp and ending several years post-canon. A/N: Prompted fic for the awesome @onekisstotakewithme! Thank you so, so much for this prompt (and getting me into this nice ship <3), I had lots of fun writing this! ♥ Feedback is, no matter how short, super appreciated and helpful! ♥ Enjoy <3   (AO3)

1) Pierce, I am scared.

They are already gathered inside of Colonel Potter’s office and Hawkeye just suggested drawing matchsticks, while the colonel himself is standing outside at the radio station, still trying to argue for only one of them having to go help out at Battalion Aid. In the end it’s no good though: The other camps either already sent surgeons themselves or can’t afford to send one of their staff either, and Hawkeye is very well aware BJ and the colonel were the ones who went to the front the last times. Charles has been stationed at their camp for a while already but hadn’t been to the front so far, so the honor will fall to the two of them.

Hawkeye takes a steadying breath when he climbs into the truck and he can see Charles trying not to let on the worry he feels. Hawkeye almost says something then but finds he can’t lie about it not being so bad. It’s always bad, just like this entire war.

It doesn’t take long once they have arrived for another attack to hit the area immediately before the bustling medical camp. They continue tending to the patients that have it worst, keeping the dust off them as best as they can. Charles looks like he is ready to pass out for the first two or three hours.

They get a short break when a surgeon from another camp arrives and takes over and move to an adjacent room where they won’t be in anyone’s way. Hawkeye lets himself slide down the wall tiredly, every bone in his body aching and the smell of blood still in his nose making it impossible to enjoy a breath of fresh air.

“Pierce, this is-“ Charles doesn’t get the chance to say Hell, because that very instant, a mortar shell goes off almost immediately behind the wall they’re both resting against.

Hawkeye ducks and doesn’t remember reaching out as he waits for the life to be drained from him, and neither does Charles, but they both do. The next seconds are filled with the sound of debris raining to the ground and people screaming outside, and against all odds, their wall is still standing, they are still alive.

Charles moves in Hawkeye’s arms. Under normal circumstances he would never have-

But this isn’t normal. And he’s never been this scared for his life before. Charles’s eyes are screaming in panic when he opens them and Hawkeye does the same, meeting his gaze from mere inches away.

Charles doesn’t need to say it, even if he could, if he weren’t trembling in their tight embrace. Hawkeye’s been here before. And he knows how the panic, the fear for one’s life, never gets less no matter how often you’ve come here before.

Pierce, I am scared.

2) You’re a good brother, Charles. And a better person than you want to let on.

Hawkeye must have found out somehow. Charles doesn’t know how, and for some reason it seems like he hasn’t even told Hunnicutt yet, no comment coming from the other man over the course of the following week, but when the other surgeon enters the swamp and heads straight for the distiller, Charles can see a faint smile playing around the corner of his lips. He finished recording his reply to Honoria a good minute before Pierce entered the tent, so surly he can’t have heard-

Did he wait outside for Charles to finish his recording? It doesn’t seem much like the man that is his constantly loud, annoying bunkmate, but maybe... Just maybe Hawkeye Pierce has some sense of consideration and decency after all.

When Hawkeye sits down on his cot with a tired groan, a martini in his hand, Charles looks up to meet his eye for a short instance. What he sees confuses him deeply. Pierce is wearing a visible smile on his lips now as he toasts to Charles. It almost looks like he means to say something to him, only to think better of it and keep quiet, drinking his martini in silence, his gaze now fixed on BJ’s empty cot.

He had seen Charles’s copy of Moby Dick on to the young private’s bed last month, had heard about how said private had been bullied at first and had put one and one together. He had also accidentally walked in on Charles recording replies to his sister two times already, stopping in his tracks today when he heard Charles speaking softly inside the swamp. This time he waited for him to finish recording his letter before going inside. He doesn’t know much about Honoria Winchester, but Charles seems to care deeply about her.

He takes another sip of his martini as he glances at the man on the cot opposite of his out of the corner of his eye.

You’re a good brother, Charles. And a better person than you want to let on.

3) I won’t tell a soul.

He doesn’t mean to walk in on Pierce and the unfamiliar corporal who are kissing each other frantically in the supply shed. He should have waited outside and knocked, long ago having learned the rule of the sock on the door handle. And still, he can’t help but keep staring for the split second it takes until Hawkeye finds his gaze and there’s panic in his eyes, then anger, then panic again and then a mix of both. Hawkeye is stammering and the corporal is winding out of his arms, ducking behind the high supply shelves and out of Charles’s field of view.

“You- Charles, please.” Hawkeye is struggling to get words – any, really – past his lips and Charles understands, understands so well, but he can’t do much more but give Hawkeye a court nod and a calm “I am not one to start gossip and I certainly shall not start with stories of your romances either, Pierce.” Then he turns and leaves the room, leaving a gaping Hawkeye and the nameless corporal behind.

He walks straight out of the front door, the supply check he’d been meant to do forgotten about. As he leans against the sidewalls of the building, half hidden by the shade, he lets the breath he’d been holding out. His hands and the clipboard he is holding are shaking, and he’s both embarrassed at what happened, for the most part, really, but also just the tiniest bit... delighted? Not at having caught Pierce and the corporal kissing quite intimately, but very much at the fact that he thinks... he understands him a bit better now. Charles doesn’t intend to give him any reason to be able to say the same, but... the thought that someone in the camp would be able understand his position is comforting nevertheless.

His thoughts travel back to the supply shed and Hawkeye’s fearful gaze. He clenches the nails of one hand into his palm as he considers what he truly had wanted to tell the other man that moment. How much he really meant it, wouldn’t tell anyone nor otherwise get him in trouble for it.

I won’t tell a soul.

4) Stay. Please.

Hawkeye is running his fingers in little circles over Charles’s chest, his head resting heavy against the very same. Every breath he takes is a bit of a challenge with the added weight half on top of him. He huffs, and the air he exhales makes the top of Hawkeye’s shock of black hair move slightly.

“Do you always do this when you’re nervous, Pierce?”

Hawkeye lets out a stifled laugh that vibrates right against Charles’s chest. “Who are you to speak? Mister ‘I call the guy I just kissed senselessly by his last name’?”

“Pierce, look-“ Charles lets out a groan that sends Hawkeye into a genuine fit of laughter. “Hawkeye! ... Hawk. Will you please look at me?” He places a hand under Hawkeye’s chin, gently directing the other man to look at him again. He has been avoiding meeting Charles’s eyes for the past five minutes now and, to be quite frank, it is making Charles antsy.

The view he receives takes his breath away for a moment. Hawkeye is still laughing when their gazes meet, his eyes sparkling mirthfully while also expressing an overwhelming fondness. Charles has to fight the urge to lean in and kiss him again.

Just a second later, however, the expression on Hawkeye’s face changes as a thought seems to pass through his mind. The one that had originally driven him from Charles’s reach, his face thereafter hidden in Charles’s chest.

Hawkeye turns his head away and Charles swears he understands what he mumbles next clearly. “I will only be the ruin of you.”

They haven’t talked about this yet. How they each feel about this... arrangement of theirs. What is going to happen when the war finally ends.

Charles has... an odd feeling deep down in his chest that tells him he already knows. Knows what he hopes for. Possibly understands that Hawkeye might just agree with his sentiments. But it is not time for that kind of talk yet.

Right now, it is 3am in Tokyo, and Hawkeye Pierce is busy reaching for his bathrobe, ready to wrap it around himself and his rumpled pajamas. With the added weight off his chest, Charles sits up as fast as he can. He reaches out for Hawkeye’s hand, catching three fingers only at first but holding onto them as if he were holding his entire hand. Startled by the shift of the bed and the sudden touch, Hawkeye freezes and carefully turns around. His other hand is still holding onto his bathrobe, as if his mind is made up, but the gaze Charles now is at the receiving end of is full of fear, past hurt and an odd amount of hope.

Charles’s voice carries the lightest tremble when he speaks up into the silence between them. “Don’t go yet.”

Stay. Please.

5) I won’t give up on you, no matter what happens.

The door lock breaks open a second after they had frantically closed the visible portions of their buttons again.

“Finally,” Hawkeye rasps out, then blames the scratchiness of his voice on the heat in the supply shed they allegedly have been stuck in for almost an hour now. He doesn’t even make a remark about the annoyance of being stuck with Charles of all people anymore. They’re long past that and Hawkeye doesn’t want to feign, doesn’t want to throw verbal stabs Charles’s way even when they both know they’re only lies.

They still don’t talk about it, but it’s there. They only changed their view on each other drastically half a year ago, but it’s enough to make their relationship something they won’t forget – don’t want to forget – for a lifetime. Something so strong that it almost makes them forget about the danger of a blue discharge at times.

Later, much later that day, Charles passes by Hawkeye as he enters Post-OP for his shift. Their hands brush for the briefest moment and Hawkeye takes hold of Charles’s hand as he passes him, squeezing it ever so shortly. He doesn’t stop for a short conversation, a talk that could only cover work-related issues or private ones that were of less importance than what had happened earlier, had been happening for a while now, but that’s alright.

Charles watches Hawkeye walk briskly toward the swamp before turning and going inside to look after their patients. His hand is still tingling from Hawkeye’s brief touch.

I won’t give up on you, no matter what happens.

+ 1) “Till later at the hospital. I love you, Charles.”

Hawkeye is practically draped over his shoulder and whining from the back of his throat. Charles doesn’t know if he should roll his eyes in annoyance or give in and laugh.

“Don’t go.” It’s mumbled into his shoulder and it sounds grumpy as only Hawk manages to be on occasion, said occasion being when he wakes up earlier than he has to and Charles is leaving for work already. Lord have mercy, Charles can even feel him pout through his suit jacket.

Two gangly arms wrap around him and for a moment, Charles is mentally back in Korea and they’re sitting in a jeep, Hawkeyes arms and a blanket wrapped around him comfortingly, with only the stars above them as witnesses. Then he turned around and raises an eyebrow at the man he came to love so many years ago, earlier than he’d allowed himself to admit it.

“Unlike you, I have work in the morning already, Hawkeye. Besides, I can’t afford to be late to my lecture. While my students are quite the eager sort when it comes to learning, they sadly appear to be just as curious about my private life at times. Especially when I’m late for class.” Charles pauses for emphasis, noting the grin that was slowly spreading on Hawkeye’s face. He finds himself returning the grin as he gently lifts Hawkeye’s hands off his shoulders. Hawkeye is quick to replace his hold on Charles, though, his arms now wrapped loosely around Charles’s middle. “Speaking of which, I shouldn’t have brought you for that guest lecture last semester. They keep asking about you all the time!”

“How bad can it be?” Hawkeye asks, seriously, before deciding that it’s time to say goodbye to Charles’s neck, peppering kisses all over his skin. Charles shudders under Hawkeye’s ministrations but makes sure to elaborate nevertheless.

“Well, while the occasional question about whether you will be looking for an apprentice in two years’ time seems quite genuine, I also received a few more personal inquiries the week after you held that lecture. All of them were concerned with the status of your... availability.”

Hawkeye merely hums as he keeps pressing kisses up Charles’s throat. When he reaches his chin, he pulls away. “Well, tell them I’m taken. Smitten. Utterly and foolishly in love for the rest of my life.” He puts his hands over his heart dramatically before pressing a kiss to Charles’s lips, lingering a moment longer than he knows Charles is bound to tolerate when under beginning time pressure.

“How about dinner at that new Italian place down the street this evening?”

Charles tsks. “Again? We only went there the other day. And the day before that.” “Can’t help it, they really know how to make a good pizza.” Hawkeye is grinning at him. “So- is it set?” Charles rolls his eyes at him fondly, but nods. “It is.”

“Now- go look dashing and go dazzle your students with your brilliance,” Hawkeye teases and, with a sweet final kiss, steps back so that Charles can finally leave.

“Till later at the hospital. I love you, Charles.”

Charles makes sure to meet his gaze before placing his hand over his heart.

“I love you, too- utterly and foolishly.”

[jo-shaneparis18]

Palais Garnier and Arc de Triomphe

30/04/2019: Last full day today but what to do. The weather was miserable and staying close to home seemed like a good idea. We had planned to visit Cimetière du Père-Lachaise, the famous Parisienne cemetery located in the 20th arrondissement, containing the remains, amongst others of Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison, Edith Piaf, Marcel Marceau, Chopin and so on. The heavy showers, wind and cold put paid to that idea. Thomas earlier on had shown an interest in the Opera House only a couple of blocks away so we planned to stay close to home in case the weather turned for the worst.

There was drama early on in the courtyard below when Jo went out to bring back some croissants. There were two tradies that had been working on the shopfronts putting in new doors since we had been here. The handy man was also hanging around and he seemed to do something to a large glass door that had exploded as Jo walked past. There was glass everywhere and she was lucky not to be injured. After getting over the shock, she headed up the lift with our breakfast and told us about her ordeal. There were two older workmen in the courtyard. They had the two large glass doors that formed the inner entrance open wide as well as the heavy wooden doors that were at the front of the building. It was very windy out today, a huge gust came through the doors at the same time Jo walked into the courtyard from the apartment building. One of the glass doors slammed shut and glass exploded everywhere as a result of the force. Big sheets flew into the courtyard hit the ground flew up again and shattered more. The two workmen looked on in horror as they realised someone was in the courtyard. One came running over to Jo and held her hand to help her negotiate the broken glass blocking the exit to the building. Jo went and bought herself a cup of tea and pastries for the others waiting back at the apartment who were oblivious to what just occurred until told all about it. They did hear the loud smash of breaking glass but assumed it was someone emptying bottles into the recycle bin. When Jo returned to the courtyard the workmen were nowhere to be seen but the broken glass was still everywhere. The apartment handyman was in the courtyard and seemed to be a bit miffed about the mess and damage. He started talking very fast in French. Jo shook her head and said " Je ne comprends pas. Je ne parle pas francais" he shook his head and commenced cleaning up the mess. It would appear the workman did a runner!

The cause of the commotion

After breakfast and rugging up we left the unit around ten, heading toward the statue of Jeanne d'Arc and turning left into Rue des Pyramides. Our next turn was into Avenue de l'Opéra and Palais Garnier was five hundred metres straight ahead.

Jeanne d'Arc in Place des Pyramides

The Paris Opéra kicked off during the early sixteen sixties with the founding of Académie royale de Danse by Louis XIV followed by Académie royale de Musique some eight years later. Over the next two hundred years the Académie d'Opéra, or Opéra, changed its venue eleven times, the last being Salle Le Peletier from 1821 until its demise by fire in 1873.

A turning point in the Opéra's history was the attempted assassination of Napoleon III in 1858 whilst arriving in his carriage to a performance at Salle Le Peletier. Eight died and nearly five hundred were injured in the attack but he and his wife survived. The following day he decided that a new opera house was required and during 1860, one hundred and seventy one architects from around the world were invited to compete in the design of the new opera house. The winner was an unknown Charles Garnier of which the new building still bears his name.

The new Opéra Garnier, and setting for "Phantom of the Opera", was completed a couple of years after the fire that destroyed Salle Le Peletier with Salle Ventadour filling the void between.

 Palais Garnier

Initially expecting to enter via the front door, we were soon directed to the visitors' entrance and ticket box down the Rue Auber side where the ramps and new entrance were probably well utilised by Napoleon after his earlier close shave with his Italian attackers. Twenty minutes after buying our tickets we were in the  joint and looking at the most magnificent staircase of several storeys allowing patrons to access their seats. Two sets of stairs led to the next floor, separated by Bassin de la Pythie, a grotto between the two with a statue of Pythia, (Oracle of Delphi?). We were at the bottom of the Grand Escalier. At the first landing there were doors leading to the amphitheatre (stalls), welcomed by a couple of female allegories holding torches to greet opera goers.

Boys with the "Oracle" behind

Grand Escalier

Welcome

The doors were shut but climbing to the next level allowed us to get a look inside, if we pushed enough.

Behind us was the Grand Foyer, before us the dancers practicing for the ballet, Anne Teresa de Keersmaeker, to be performed in a couple of night's time. As cosy as it was, we could get a very good perspective of the entire auditorium layout. Plenty of gold trim with red fabric. The auditorium was deliberately designed by Garnier in the tradition of an Italian theatre, that is, in the shape of a horseshoe. The stalls were overlooked by the boxes and balconies and gave the patrons the opportunity to be seen as well as see what was going on.

Grand Foyer

Entry to the balconies. 6 Places Rented

Part of the auditorium from the cramped balcony

Rehearsals for Anne Teresa de Keersmaeker

Then to the library, over near where we entered, a narrow place lined with bulging bookshelves that almost reached the ceiling (the lower sections caged). Sheet music and jewellery displays adorned the walls. It contained three hundred years of the opera house's history including a permanent exhibition of paintings, drawings, photographs and set models. Interesting place but cramped.

Before leaving we wandered around the Corridor de la Salle, the corridor surrounding the auditorium. There was an excellent display of current information on upcoming events mixed with some historical stuff, namely costumes and such from prior performances. It was then back to the apartment via the supermarket for some tucker and to see how Cecilia was getting on. The weather was still miserable but the rain had eased.

A tutu or two

She was still pottering around and nowhere near as advanced as she should have been given the time available.

After the dust had settled and we were in the throes of packing for Italy, Shane and Beau decided to head down Champs-Elysées for a look around, particularly the Arc de Triomphe. The rain had subdued and the weather was improving. Once there, a trip to the top was a must as the rain had frightened off most of the tourists and the queue was short.

Beau, front and centre

The climb to the top was uneventful bar possible cardiac issues but to everyone's delight, midway up a memorial and military displays gave a chance for us to catch our breath and to check out some militaria. There were poignant reminders of the past, agonising statues as well as defiant statues and images of Paris of the times.

Memorial within the arch

Part of French military display

Paris skyline 1910 (same year as the flood)

Once on top the view was as expected, fantastic. Luckily there were few up there so we moved around unhindered bar waiting for others to move on. In all directions the Parisienne streetscape was impressive. Boulevard after boulevard, tree lined streets in all directions.

With some time spent above, it was time to return to street level where a heavily guarded procession and memorial of the dead was underway. We didn't know what it was about but the dudes with the axes were pretty impressive.

Commemorating the dead

With the Arc de Triomphe behind us as well as the memorial, it was time to return back to the apartment to finish packing and have a feed. Beau also had university commitments. Our last night in Paris was finished off by final packing, Cecilia's asparagus, blanched with butter and pepper (delicious) and Trivial Pursuit.

Beau and uni work

Looking for another argument

Tomorrow we fly to Venice.

[twistofitalian]

Yesterday was magical in Paris.  The weather has been very unpredictable for the last 10 days or so.  One day it is hot and humid, with plenty of sunshine.  The next day it is cold and rainy and feels like winter.

So, with the welcome sun, I explored 2 Parisian gardens for the first time.  Both were extraordinary (of course they were! it’s Paris!) and will occupy my mind for a long time to come.

Today I write about the incredible Bois de Boulogne.  Wow!

Here’s its original outline:

  First of all, it’s huge! It’s larger than Central Park in NYC, for context.  The Bois de Boulogne has everything you might want in a large suburban park for the citizens of Paris: 2 lakes, 6 ponds, sports fields, bandstands, cafes, shooting galleries, riding stables, boating on the lakes, and amusement parks for children and families. And that is just the start!

  The Bois de Boulogne was the idea of Napoleon III, shortly after he staged a coup d’état and elevated himself from the President of the French Republic to Emperor of the French in 1852. When he became Emperor, Paris had only four public parks – the Tuileries Gardens, the Luxembourg Garden, the Palais-Royal, and the Jardin des Plantes – all more or less in the center of the city. There were no public parks in the rapidly growing east and west of the city.

During his exile in London, he had been particularly impressed by Hyde Park with its lakes and streams, including the Serpentine, and its popularity with Londoners of all social classes. Therefore, he decided to build two large public parks on the eastern and western edges of the Paris where both the rich and ordinary people could enjoy themselves.

Below: a feature of the park since its inception: the aviary.

  These parks became an important part of the plan for the reconstruction of Paris drawn up by Napoleon III and his new Prefect of the Seine, Baron Georges-Eugène Haussmann. The Haussmann plan called for improving the city’s traffic circulation by building new boulevards; improving the city’s health by building a new water distribution system and sewers; and creating green spaces and recreation for Paris’ rapidly growing population. In 1852, Napoleon donated the land for the Bois de Boulogne and for the Bois de Vincennes, which both belonged officially to him.

  Below a game within the wonderful amusement park within the Bois de Boulogne:

  Napoleon III purchased additional land in the plain of Longchamp, the site of the Chateau de Madrid, the Chateau de Bagatelle. Theses lands were attached to the Bois de Boulogne, so it could extend all the way to the Seine. State budget was used to construct the park, supplemented by selling lots along the north end of the Bois, in Neuilly.

Emperor Napoleon was personally involved in planning the new parks. He insisted that the Bois de Boulogne should have a stream and lakes, like Hyde Park in London.

  The aviary in background:

  The first plan for the Bois de Boulogne was drawn up by the architect Jacques Hittorff, who, under King Louis Philippe, had designed the Place de la Concorde, and the landscape architect Louis-Sulpice Varé, who had designed French landscape gardens at several famous châteaux. Their plan called for long straight alleys in patterns crisscrossing the park, and, as the Emperor had asked, lakes and a long stream similar to the Serpentine in Hyde Park.

Varé bungled the assignment and Haussmann dismissed both him and Hittorff, and designed the solution himself; an upper lake and a lower lake, divided by an elevated road, which serves as a dam, and a cascade which allows the water to flow between the lakes. This is the design still seen today.

In 1853, Haussmann hired an experienced engineer from the corps of Bridges and Highways, Jean-Charles Alphand, with whom he had worked in his previous assignment in Bordeaux, and made him the head of a new Service of Promenades and Plantations, in charge of all the parks in Paris.

  Alphand was charged to make a new plan for the Bois de Boulogne. Alphand’s plan was radically different from the Hittorff-Varé plan. While it still had two long straight boulevards, the Allée Reine Marguerite and the Avenue Longchamp, all the other paths and alleys curved and meandered. The flat Bois de Boulogne was to be turned into an undulating landscape of lakes, hills, islands, groves, lawns, and grassy slopes. It became the prototype for the other city parks of Paris and then for city parks around the world.

    Building this new park was an enormous engineering project which lasted for five years. The upper and lower lakes were dug, and the earth piled into islands and hills. Rocks were brought from Fontainbleau and combined with cement to make the cascade and an artificial grotto.

The pumps from the Seine could not provide enough water to fill the lakes and irrigate the park, so a new channel was created to bring the water of the Ourcq River, from Monceau to the upper lake in the Bois, but even this was not enough. An artesian well, 586 meters deep, was eventually dug in the plain of Passy which could produce 20,000 cubic meters of water a day. This well went into service in 1861.

The water then had to be distributed around the park to water the lawns and gardens; the traditional system of horse-drawn wagons with large barrels of water would not be enough. A system of 66 kilometers of pipes was laid, with a faucet every 30 or 40 meters, a total of 1600 faucets.

      Alphand also had to build a network of roads, paths, and trails to connect the sights of the park. The two long straight alleys from the old park were retained, and his workers built an additional 58 kilometers of roads paved with stones for carriages, 12 kilometers of sandy paths for horses, and 25 kilometers of dirt trails for walkers. As a result of Louis Napoléon’s exile in London and his memories of Hyde Park, all the new roads and paths were curved and meandering.

  The planting of the park was the task of the new chief gardener and landscape architect of the Service of Promenades and Plantations, Jean-Pierre Barillet-Deschamps, who had also worked with Haussmann and Alphand in Bordeaux. His gardeners planted 420,000 trees, including hornbeam, beech, linden, cedar, chestnut, and elm, and hardy exotic species, like redwoods. They planted 270 hectares of lawns, with 150 kilograms of seed per hectare, and thousands of flowers. To make the forest more natural, they brought 50 deer to live in and around the Pré-Catelan.

    The park was designed to be more than a collection of picturesque landscapes; it was meant as a place for amusement and recreation, with sports fields, bandstands, cafes, shooting galleries, riding stables, boating on the lakes, and other attractions. In 1855, Gabriel Davioud, a graduate of Ecole des Beaux-Arts, was named the chief architect of the new Service of Promenades and Plantations. He was commissioned to design 24 pavilions and chalets, plus cafes, gatehouses, boating docks, and kiosks.

      Davioud designed the gatehouses, where the guardians of the park lived, to look like rustic cottages. He had a real Swiss chalet built out of wood in Switzerland and transported to Paris, where it was reassembled on an island in the lake and became a restaurant. He built another restaurant next to the park’s most picturesque feature, the Grand Cascade. He designed artificial grottoes made of rocks and cement, and bridges and balustrades made of cement painted to look like wood. He also designed all the architectural details of the park, from cone-shaped shelters designed to protect horseback riders from the rain to the park benches and direction signs.

At the south end of the park, in the Plain of Longchamp, Davioud restored the ruined windmill which was the surviving vestige of the Abbey of Longchamp, and, working with the Jockey Club of Paris, constructed the grandstands of the Hippodrome of Longchamp, which opened in 1857.

At the northern end of the park, between the Sablons gate and Neuilly, a 20-hectare section of the park was given to the Societé Imperiale zoologique d’Acclimatation, to create a small zoo and botanical garden, with an aviary of rare birds and exotic plants and animals from around the world.

  In March 1855, an area in the center of the park, called the Pré-Catelan, was leased to a concessionaire for a garden and amusement park. It was built on the site of a quarry where the gravel and sand for the park’s roads and paths had been dug out. It included a large circular lawn surrounded by trees, grottos, rocks, paths, and flower beds. Davioud designed a buffet, a marionette theater, a photography pavilion, stables, a dairy, and other structures. The most original feature was the Théâtre des fleurs, an open-air theater in a setting of trees and flowers. Later, an ice skating rink and shooting gallery were added. The Pré-Catelan was popular for concerts and dances, but it had continual financial difficulties and eventually went bankrupt. The floral theater remained in business until the beginning of the First World War, in 1914.

The garden-building team assembled by Haussmann of Alphand, Barrillet-Deschamps and Davioud went on to build The Bois de Vincennes, Parc Monceau Parc Montsouris, and the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, using the experience and aesthetics they had developed in the Bois de Boulogne.

They also rebuilt the Luxembourg gardens and the gardens of the Champs- Elysees, created smaller squares and parks throughout the center of Paris, and planted thousands of trees along the new boulevards that Haussmann had created. In the 17 years of Napoleon III’s reign, they planted no less than 600,000 trees and created a total 1,835 hectares of green space in Paris, more than any other ruler of France before or since.

During the Franco-Prussian War (1870–71), which led to the downfall of Napoleon III and the long siege of Paris, the park suffered some damage from German artillery bombardment, the restaurant of the Grand Cascade was turned into a field hospital, and many of the park’s animals and wild fowl were eaten by the hungry population. In the years following, however, the park quickly recovered.

The Bois de Boulogne became a popular meeting place and promenade route for Parisians of all classes. The alleys were filled with carriages, coaches, and horseback riders, and later with men and women on bicycles, and then with automobiles. Families having picnics filled the woods and lawns, and Parisians rowed boats on the lake, while the upper classes were entertained in the cafes. The restaurant of the Pavillon de la Grand Cascade became a popular spot for Parisian weddings. During the winter, when the lakes were frozen, they were crowded with ice skaters.

The activities of Parisians in the Bois, particularly the long promenades in carriages around the lakes, were often portrayed in French literature and art in the second half of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th centuries. Scenes set in the park appeared in Nana by Émile Zola and in Education Sentimentale by Gustave Flaubert. In the last pages of Du côté de chez Swann in À la recherche du temps perdu (1914), Marcel Proust minutely described a walk around the lakes taken as a child. The life in the park was also the subject of the paintings of many artists, including Eduard Manet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, and Vincent van Gogh, and Mary Cassatt.

In 1860, Napoleon opened the Jardin d’Acclimatation, a separate concession of 20 hectares at the north end of the park; it included a zoo and a botanical garden, as well as an amusement park. Between 1877 and 1912, it also served as the home of what was called an ethnological garden, a place where groups of the inhabitants of faraway countries were put on display for weeks at a time in reconstructed villages from their homelands. They were mostly Sub-Saharan Africans, North Africans, or South American Indians, and came mostly from the French colonies in Africa and South America, but also included natives of Lapland and Cossacks from Russia. These exhibitions were extremely popular and took place not only in Paris, but also in Germany, England, and at the Chicago Exposition in the United States; but they were also criticized at the time and later as being a kind of “human zoo”. Twenty-two of these exhibits were held in the park in the last quarter of the 19th century. About ten more were held in the 20th century, with the last one taking place in 1931.

In 1905, a grand new restaurant in the classical style was built in the Pré-Catelan by architect Guillaume Tronchet. Like the cafe at the Grand Cascade, it became a popular promenade destination for the French upper classes.

At the 1900 Summer Olympics, the land hosted the croquet and tug of war events. During the 1924 Summer Olympics, the equestrian events took place in the Auteuil Hippodrome.

The Bois de Boulonge hosted all rowing teams participating in the Inter-Allied Games, held in Paris in 1919 following the end of World War One.

The Bois de Boulogne was officially annexed by the city of Paris in 1929 and incorporated into the 16th arrondissement.

Soon after World War II, the park began to come back to life. In 1945, it held its first motor race after the war: the Paris Cup. In 1953, a British group, Les Amis de la France, created the Shakespeare Garden on the site of the old floral theater in the Pré-Catelan.

From 1952 until 1986, the Duke of Windsor, the title granted to King Edward VIII after his abdication, and his wife, Wallis Simpson, the Duchess of Windsor, lived in the Villa Windsor, a house in the Bois de Boulogne behind the garden of the Bagatelle. The house was (and still is) owned by the City of Paris and was leased to the couple. The Duke died in this house in 1972, and the Duchess died there in 1986. The lease was purchased by Mohamed al-Fayed, the owner of the Ritz Hotel in Paris. The house was visited briefly by Diana, Princess of Wales and her companion, Dodi Fayed, on 31 August 1997, the day that they died in a traffic accident in the Alma tunnel.

The Bois de Boulogne contains two artificial lakes and eight artificial ponds, connected by three artificial streams. They receive their water from a canal drawn from Ourq River and from artesian wells in Passy. The water arrives in the Lac Superieur (Upper Lake), built in 1852 and located near the Hippodrome de Auteil, then flows by gravity to the Grand Cascade and then to the Lac Inferieur, or Lower Lake.

The Lac Inferieur (1853) is the largest lake in the park, near the large lawns of Muette. The area is very popular with joggers, and boats can be rented on the lower lake from 15 February to the end of October. The lake is the home to many swans and ducks. An island in the lake, accessible by boat, contains the city’s only monument to the Park’s builder, Napoleon III; a small wooden kiosk at the end of the island, called the Kiosk of the Emperor. The Grand Cascade (1856) was built out of four thousand cubic meters of rocks from Fontainebleau, and two thousand cubic meters of cement. In addition to the picturesque waterfall, it has two artificial grottoes, one over the other, which can be visited. The Etang de Reservoir holds the water before it falls in the Grand Cascade. The Ruisseau de Longchamp (1855) is the major artificial stream in the park. It flows through the Pré-Catelan, under the alley of Reine Marguerite, then to the Mare des Biches, one of the oldest natural ponds in the park, then to the Etang de Reservoir and the Grand Cascade. The Mare de Saint-James is located next to the Jardin d’Acclimatation, and was formerly a quarry for sand and gravel. It has two islands which are a sanctuary for birds and small animals. Within the Bois de Boulogne, there are several separate botanical and floral gardens, and gardens of amusement.

The Château de Bagatelle. Following the French Revolution, the miniature chateau and English landscape garden of the Bagatelle was restored to the Bourbon family. They sold it in 1835 to an English nobleman, Francis Seymour-Conway, 3rd Marquess of Hertford. It remained separate and outside the Bois de Boulogne until 1905, when it was purchased by the City of Paris and attached to the park. The garden was enlarged and redesigned by Jean-Claude Nicolas Forestier, the new Superintendent of Parks of Paris, a pupil of Alphand. He preserved many elements of the old garden, and added sections of botanical garden, including an iris garden and a pond for Nymphaeaceae, or water lilies, popularized at the time by the paintings of Claude Monet.

He also built one of the most popular features of the Bagatelle today, the rose garden. The rose garden today has more than nine thousand plants, and is the site of the Concours international de roses nouvelles de Bagatelle, held each June, one of the major competitions of new roses in the world. Since 1983, the Festival of Chopin in Paris is held in the Orangerie, next to the rose garden. The garden also hosts regular exhibits of sculpture and art. The Jardin d’Acclimatation, opened in 1860 as a zoo and pleasure garden, still has many of the traditional features of a children’s amusement park, including an archery range, a miniature train ride, pony ride and Guignol puppet theater, but it underwent several changes in its theme in the last decades. A science museum for children, the Exploradome, opened in 1999. It also now includes a section with an Asian theme, with a teahouse, a lacquered bridge, and a Korean garden. In October 2014, a major new museum opened, the Louis Vuitton Foundation, in a building designed by architect Frank Gehry. The Jardin des Serres d’Auteuil is a large complex of greenhouses in the southern part of the park. They stand on the site of a botanical garden founded in 1761 by King Louis XV. The present greenhouses were built in 1895-98, and now house about one hundred thousand plants.

In 1998 the greenhouses officially became part of the Botanical Garden in Paris, which also includes the Bagatelle in the Bois de Boulogne and the Parc Floral de Paris and the Arboretum de l’Ecole de Breuil in the Bois de Vincennes. The Pré-Catelan still has a few vestiges of its early days; a majestic copper beech planted in 1782; a giant sequoia tree planted in 1872; the old buffet built by Gabriel Davioud; the grand restaurant built by Guillaume Tronchet in 1905; and the Shakespeare Garden, created in 1953 on the site of the old floral theater. Five different natural settings contain all of the trees, bushes and flowers mentioned in Shakespeare’s plays. The Hippodrome de Longchamp, opened in 1857, was built on the site of the old Abbey of Longchamp. A restored windmill, the only building left of the Abbey, is located on the grounds of the track. The major annual racing event at the Hippodrome de Longchamp is the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe, held every October. The Auteuil Hippodrome, covering 33 hectares, opened in 1873. It is used exclusively for steeplechase racing. The Stade Roland Garros is a tennis complex which hosts the annual French Open tournament in early June. It was opened in 1928 for the first defense of the Davis Cup tennis tournament, and is named for the French aviator Roland Garros, who was the first pilot to fly solo across the Mediterranean and a First World War ace. The 8.5 hectare complex has twenty courts. The famous red clay courts are actually made of white limestone, dusted with a few millimeters of powdered red brick dust.

  A beautiful Parisian park: Bois de Boulogne Yesterday was magical in Paris.  The weather has been very unpredictable for the last 10 days or so.  

[itsworn]

Two Deaths Darken Nostalgia Drag Racing And Cackling Events In California

Scene: 26th NHRA California Hot Rod Reunion

Those fans and cackle-car teams who showed up for NHRA’s 26th “Bakersfield reunion” seemed glad to be there. Spectators found closer parking than usual, for starters, and could select a seat or fence spot anywhere, even at peak Saturday attendance. They had to be happy about the return of extracurricular activities that made this event so unique and irresistible since 1992, pulling people back year after year from all over the world. Some say they come just to hang over the fence while period-correct, 1950s and ’60s American push cars with big V8s accelerate nitro-burning race cars to life close enough to feel heat from fiery zoomies and weedburners. Folks were denied that luxury last time, among other things. (Read all about it in the Mar. ’17 HRD.) The resultant outcry must’ve gotten awfully loud before the museum board voted to spend 30 grand for a full-length Armco barrier that evidently satisfied the Mother Ship’s nannies.

The racers themselves just want to race, of course, immune from trash talk about boycotts and loyalties. As always, CHRR’s contestants came through with either the best or second-best nostalgia show on the planet (rivaled only by the independent March Meet here). Final determination of season champions in NHRA Hot Rod Heritage Series categories is a built-in bonus. Fans were further treated to Firebird Raceway’s rain-postponed pro finals, wherein Jim Murphy defeated Adam Sorokin in AA/FD, and Jason Rupert dropped Ryan Hodgson in AA/FC. Those outcomes helped secure points titles for both winners. Their fellow season champions are Kin Bates, A/Fuel; Don Enriquez, Jr. Fuel; Bobby Cottrell, 7.0 Pro; Dustin Lee, Nostalgia I; Dave Lawson, N-II; Ed DeStaute, N-III; Brendon Frye, A/Gas; Rich Harrison, B/G; Brian Smith, C/G; Mike Raberner, D/G; and Dale Hicks, Hot Rod.

CHRR’s jam-packed pits dictate fewer categories for this grand finale. Event winners were Jim Young, T/F (in the absence of runner-up Murphy, who’d brushed the wall past the finish line in the semis); Bobby Cottrell, F/C; darkhorse Englishman Nick Davis, AA/FA; Bates again, A/F; Gary Reinero, AA/G; John Marottek, J/F; Pete Peterson, 7.0; Lloyd Harden, Nostalgia; Terry Newton, A/G; Jeremy Hanger, Pro Mod; Bob Moreland, A/FX; and Bob Tingler, S/S.

The unavoidable elephant in the joint this year was last year. Despite ideal weather all but Friday morning and NHRA’s mighty promotional machine, revenue required to fund year-round museum operations suffered obvious hits in cackle-car entries (fewer than half of last year’s record 100-plus), attendance, souvenirs, even auction items. Nothing gets the attention of upper management like sudden revenue reduction. By reinstating the old attractions, NHRA’s directors gave hope that they’ve learned not to fix what ain’t broke. Only time—and their customers—will tell.

Fire Dancer: Amazingly, a dozen traditional AA/Fuel Altereds showed up (two more than AA/FDs) and stole the show during qualifying. The Bradford family’s Fiat got straightened out past the finish line, but Randy’s pedaling fractured four connecting rods. Veteran photographer Paul Sadler got the shot.

Iceman Returns: Leading Friday night’s honoree ceremony was grand marshal Rick Stewart (right, with emcee Bob Frey), whose 25 years working NHRA starting lines followed success in fuel and gas dragsters. “The Iceman” also starred—and crashed—in famed director Robert Abel’s first project, 1965’s Seven-Second Love Affair. Gene Adams’ slingshot was destroyed, but student photographer Les Blank’s onboard camera and microphone kept rolling along with the cockpit. Stewart went to the hospital, where he awoke to a bright-orange sky that he figured was hell, but proved to be the first night of the Watts riots. Cameraman Blank went on to become an award-winning documentarian. His color film may have been the earliest audio-visual footage ever shot from a crashing drag racer’s perspective.

High-Riser 302: Sean and Anna Clason’s freshly finished Model A is no stranger to the streets of Bakersfield, but it’d been a while; so long that nobody under 50 was alive the last time this car disturbed the peace. Sean’s late uncle, John DeWitt, drove it everywhere in the late 1950s (flathead-powered) and early ’60s (Chevy V8) before starting a restoration around 1965. Progress would be slowed by family obligations and health issues, then stopped by his 1998 passing. The chopped ’31 body, complete with original glass in all but one window opening, sat another eight years before the young couple scored a used rolling chassis. The rest has been accumulated or fabricated over the last decade. They rebuilt the 302 Ford—the first engine for both—in their kitchen. The biggest challenge turned out to be adapting not two, not three, but four reproduction Strombergs—inline, yet—to an early, carbureted engine plucked from a generous pal’s parts car (along with the C4 tranny that’s still behind it). The only affordable solution that occurred to Sean, Anna, and buddy Sean McDougall (whose Nov. ’16 HRD cover coupe is in the background) was mating a fuel-injected 5.0L Mustang’s manifold with a Speedway adapter plate designed to put four 97s atop a 6-71 blower. Anna made wood patterns for a sheet-metal power tower that merges induction technologies, topped off with irresistible stacks appeal. Flawless welding throughout illustrates years of oil-pipeline experience by both Seans. The cowl lights are now turn signals.

Muffler Magic: This 1959-vintage local fueler inspired applause just rolling through the pits. Oldtimers hadn’t seen the Scotty’s Muffler Service Special since Charles Scott replaced it with a super-light slingshot a half-century ago. The proud caretaker just happens to be named Scott and run a family muffler shop. HRD followed Scott and Kelly Cochran home to Washington and shot a full feature, coming soon.

Out To Pasture: It was hardly the brightest car driven into Famoso’s Grove, but the subtly shaved trim and expanded quarters sucked us in. Two tiny tow hooks, barely visible below the bumper, completed the impression of an old warrior. Rex Clifford lusted for it since the day that a straight-axled, tunnel-rammed ’55 first rumbled into his hometown of Mesa, Arizona. That guy sold it to one of Rex’s buddies, who eventually made a teenage dream come true. Forty years later, the old warhorse still runs a 327, tamed by a freeway-friendly combination of single quad, Turbo 400, and 2.73:1 teeth in its nine-inch rear.

Family Legacy: Thirty years since its last, disastrous local appearance in competition, one of Canada’s greatest AA/Gas Dragsters came to cackle with late builder-driver Jack Williams’ daughter under its signature canopy. Wendy Williams rescued Dad’s original trailer from nearly six decades of British Columbia winters. It easily won HRD’s unofficial Best Transporter award.

Flaky Character: A long-roofed shoebox might’ve been the brightest thing on either side of the pitside bleachers. Owner Rodney Lovato was quick to credit Sacramento’s Precision Frame for the stunning finish. A warmed-over 350 pulled his flaky 150 up and over the Grapevine from the San Fernando Valley.

Transport Service: Yes, you saw both local Fords in the last issue (Jan. ’18 HRD), but here’s a brighter view of Rick Davis’ rare AA roadster pickup and Tyler Weeks’ T retro racer. The Bakersfield buddies are members of what claims to be the founding chapter of the Model A Ford Club of America.

Farewell: Brett Henry, who traveled 1,200 miles from Wichita, Kansas, twice each year to challenge the world’s best traditional AA/Fuel Altereds, was seriously injured Saturday and died the next day. Top-end witnesses told us that the 50-year-old veteran completed the run normally and appeared to shut off, momentarily. The nitro-burning Chevy then accelerated through the shutdown area and into the wall before striking a berm along the property’s border. Photographer Kleet Norris captured the popular racer’s final burnout.

Cackling Comes Into Its Own

For his first 47 years of NHRA affiliation, respected racemaster Steve Gibbs never envisioned promoting events of his own. That all changed at the start of the 2016 California Hot Rod Reunion, shortly after Steve’s 48th NHRA anniversary, when the cofounder (with colleague Greg Sharp) of the original, since-trademarked Cacklefest® dramatically stepped down from his official’s role. At issue were unpopular new restrictions from NHRA headquarters on push starts, pit fire-ups, even the traditional Friday-night hotel cackle that gives the public free samples of nitromethane. Soon after, Gibbs resigned from the museum’s board and refused to sign a consultant’s contract that he considered “an insult.” Thus ended 48 years of faithful service, and started—originated, actually—a career. At age 77, together with cackle-car-owner Ron Johnson, Gibbs invented the Nitro Revival, the first commercial drag-racing event for real drag cars, held at a real drag strip, with no drag racing. Perhaps unavoidably, the rookie promoters scheduled it three weekends ahead of NHRA’s reunion. Perhaps coincidentally, NHRA ordered a big signboard for Barona Drag Strip’s starting line promoting the upcoming Bakersfield bash. (“I heard it cost them five grand,” said Gibbs, “and they’ve never bought a sign anywhere. A terrible sign; too much jammed in. You couldn’t read it from the stands.”)

As if the divided nostalgia community needed any additional drama, cosponsor Johnson, a two-time cancer victim, checked himself out of home hospice long enough to enjoy his back-to-back promotions in downtown Escondido (annual Nitro Night) and Barona, then died nine days later. Had he lived a little longer, Ron would’ve enjoyed the irony of accepting the Special Appreciation award that the NHRA Museum presented to his daughter and son at Bakersfield.

War Reenactors: With Ron Johnson watching, two of his tribute fuelers reenacted a routine that Tommy Ivo (seen in foreground) and Chris Karamesines experienced countless times in the mid-’60s’ match-race wars, before burnouts and electric starters eliminated push-down drama. Drivers Kol Johnson, Ron’s son, and Mark McCormick then staged and launched the cloned Chizler and Barnstormer, respectively, before idling downtrack. It was a fitting finale for both the event and cosponsor Johnson, a major player in the cackle movement.

Split Level: Soon to be southern California’s last surviving purpose-built facility, Barona reminds local oldtimers of long-gone San Diego County strips at Paradise Mesa and Ramona. The eighth-mile facility sits on Indian land near Lakeside. Clever carving of the surrounding hills created sufficient flat spaces for pitting and watching.

Royal Friendship: Rookie promoter Steve Gibbs and rookie booksigner Linda Vaughn took a break between autographs to visit with Linda’s sister, Sheila Ann Franklin, and Canadian speed merchant Brant “The Kid” Inglis, who was wrenching on the same 392 Chrysler that Jack Williams last ran in the Syndicate Scuderia. Looking on is Amber Greth, the gearhead granddaughter of Speed Sport legend Red Greth.

Pyromaniac: Retired firefighter Bill Pitts continues to put out flames. Nobody shoots them higher than the godfather of cackling, whose restored MagiCar inadvertently invented an entire exhibition category by lighting off in the Famoso Grove in 1993, during the second NHRA reunion. Golden Age star Jeep Hampshire is back behind the butterfly. Photographer Bob McClurg snapped the shot.

Thunder Lungs: Another reason for trekking to the southernmost part of the West Coast was a last chance—two chances, actually—to enjoy the Voice of Drag Racing. Jon Lundberg called the street action in downtown Escondido the night before Barona’s Nitro Revival. His sidekick here was NHRA Division Seven announcer Mike English.

Colorful Crowd: Barona’s crowd was small but colorful, consisting mostly of cackle-car teams and friends showing support for Steve Gibbs. The fan in the middle was fortunate to score an official shirt before souvenir items completely sold out. Enough money was made, according to Gibbs, to ensure another Nitro Revival on Sept. 29, 2018.

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