1901: Disgruntled laborer shoots, kills President

Assassination of President McKinley by T. Dart Walker, c. 1905
Library of Congress

In Buffalo, New York, this week, I felt obliged by recent events to seek out the place where Leon Czolgosz fatally shot President William McKinley in 1901.

Contemplating Thomas Crooks's still unknown motive for shooting President Donald Trump in Pennsylvania on July 13, I thought about something Bill O'Reilly told Jon Stewart on The Daily Show last week: that every U.S. presidential assassin has been mentally ill.

I wasn't sure about that. After some looking into it, I suppose the accuracy of the assertion depends on what one means by mentally ill.

One could argue that anyone with ambiguous motive to murder a President is mentally unwell. Indeed, an "insanity" argument was made in the criminal defense of Czolgosz for the 1901 shooting of McKinley. The defense hardly slowed the conviction. Inside of two months from the shooting, Czolgosz was executed.

Site of President McKinley assassination, Buffalo, N.Y., 2024
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

So in informal terms, O'Reilly probably is right. In clinical terms, we don't have enough data to be sure of the mental state or diagnosis of past assassins. Experts have disagreed about Czolgosz. Then there's the legal concept of "insanity," having to do with capacity to differentiate right from wrong. Czolgosz knew what he was doing; I don't think O'Reilly meant to say otherwise.

Czolgosz was attracted to radical socialism and then anarchism because he lost his job in an economic crash when he was 20—the same age as Crooks when his life ended. Czolgosz couldn't find consistent work amid the labor turmoil of the ensuing depression in the 1890s. Born into a Polish-immigrant family, he became convinced that the American economic system was rigged to favor the establishment over the working class. Hm.

Czolgosz learned that socialists and anarchists in Europe were struggling with similarly entrenched economic inequality as royals endeavored to maintain their traditional grip on social order. European anarchists had resorted to assassination as a means to express their displeasure and spark reform. However, bolstering O'Reilly's theory on Czolgosz's mental state, even American socialists and anarchists raised, no pun intended, red flags over Czolgosz.

Pan-American Exposition, by Oscar A. Simon & Bro., 1901
Library of Congress

In his second term as President, McKinley was in Buffalo for the Pan-American Exposition, a kind of world's fair. He was riding a wave of national optimism upon consolidation of American power in the hemisphere. It was in McKinley's first term that the United States seized Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines from Spain after substantially prevailing in the Spanish-American War. 

McKinley was keen to attend the exposition, because he saw political promise in associating himself with American prosperity and invention. The 342-acre exposition featured the latest engines, the hydroelectric power of nearby Niagara Falls, and an "Electric Tower" framed by the newly proliferating magic of light bulbs. 

No doubt McKinley's exposition strategy galled Czolgosz. In a morbid irony, when Czolgosz was executed in October 1901, it was by electric chair.

Reenactment in Porter's Execution of Czolgosz (1901).
Library of Congress

Like President Trump, McKinley liked being up close and in person with his public, despite the exposure to risk. McKinley's security staff, of course, knew of the anarchist assassinations in Europe and the organization of anarchism in the United States. McKinley's top adviser twice canceled the appearance of the President at the exposition's Temple of Music, for fear he could not be protected there. McKinley overruled the cancellations. That's where he was shot.

Like Crooks, Czolgosz intended to shoot the President while he was giving a speech, the day before the Temple of Music event. But the crowd at the speech was too dense, and Czolgosz didn't think he could make the shot. So instead, he approached the President in a receiving line at the Temple of Music and shot him at close range. Czolgosz's first shot only grazed the President. The second struck McKinley in the abdomen and resulted in death two days later.

Fordham Drive, Buffalo, N.Y., 2024
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Like Crooks, Czolgosz was recognized as a potential threat. But security blunders—for example, he should not have been permitted in the receiving line with the closed and covered hand that concealed a gun—let him reach the President. After the shooting, he was tackled by a heroic but later undersung African-American man standing nearby, then pummeled by security staff. Czolgosz might have been killed right then, but McKinley himself called off the beating.

Many Americans no doubt saw the assassination of McKinley as signaling a tragic inevitability of the times. President Lincoln had been assassinated in 1865, and President Garfield in 1881. Director Edwin S. Porter made a creepy, one-minute silent film for the Thomas Edison company in 1901 about the assassinations; The Martyred Presidents is available online at the Library of Congress. Present in Buffalo to film the exposition and yet early in his prolific career, Porter also made a four-minute film featuring a reenactment of Czolgosz's execution.

President Roosevelt at the Wilcox House, 2024.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Another assassination attempt did follow, injuring President Theodore Roosevelt in 1912. Roosevelt had been inaugurated in Buffalo in succession of McKinley in 1901. The location of the hasty inauguration, the then-private Ansley Wilcox House, is now a National Historic Site in Buffalo; I stopped by there, too.

Me'n'T.R. meet inside the Wilcox House.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Roosevelt's survival seemed to break the generational cycle, at least until the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in 1963. A more entertaining explanation for the abatement of presidential assassinations is featured in Sarah Vowell's characteristically superb book Assassination Vacation (2006): the Robert Todd Lincoln "jinx." The eldest son of President Abraham Lincoln was present at the assassinations of his father, President James Garfield, and President McKinley, but not for the attack on T.R.

The Pan-American Exposition is long gone. The land where the incident occurred became a residential development. A small plaque and garden, and a flagpole and flag in the roadway median of Fordham Drive in Buffalo mark the approximate location of the fatal shooting in 1901.

A nearby high school is named for McKinley. Buffalo, N.Y., 2024.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Greenland celebrates 'National Day,' ever growing autonomy, but dependence on Danish aid persists

Greenland flags celebrate National Day, Qaqortoq.

Yesterday I was in Qaqortoq, Greenland, for Greenland National Day, June 21. (All photos by RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0.)

Greenland is a territory of the Kingdom of Denmark. But a visitor might miss that: Greenland flags fly in all parts, and Danish ones are few. Signs increasingly employ the Greenlandic language—which Google Translate does not yet have—without a Danish translation. And though the currency remains the Danish krone, electronic transactions render notes seldom seen.

Americans built a radio station at Narsaq Point. The pictured building
is long abandoned, but the station still broadcasts.

From 1814 to World War II, Greenland was under Danish control, but not formally a part of the kingdom. When Denmark was occupied by the Nazis in World War II, the displaced Danish government signed Greenland over to the protection of the United States. Disused U.S. military installations still dot landscapes. With a new constitution for Denmark after the war, in 1953, Greenland formally became part of the kingdom.

A home rule initiative in 1979 afforded Greenland greater autonomy, but left Denmark in control of foreign affairs, banking, and the legal system. With 75% approval in a 2008 referendum, Greenland claimed further autonomy over its legal system and law enforcement. On National Day in 2009, the official language of Greenland was changed from Danish to Greenlandic.

Qaqortoq

The self-rule law of 2009 allows Greenlanders to declare full independence upon another referendum. And the Danish government has suggested that Greenlanders ought to decide one way or the other. Polls consistently suggest a comfortable majority of Greenlandic support for independence. However, it depends how one asks the question. 

As a county of Denmark, Greenland receives an annual block grant of about US$511 million, which, according to the International Trade Administration, accounts for more than half of Greenland's public budget and 20% of GDP. Greenlandic support for autonomy polls poorly if the question is qualified by a risk to the standard of living. It seems doubtful that the presently leading industries of fisheries and tourism can sustain Greenland's economy without Danish aid.

Qaqortoq "then and now" (image at left from Qaqortoq Museum)

National Day musicians at Hotel Qaqortoq

"Loading," a Nuuk mural by Greenlander Inuk Højgaard,
comments on economic migration from villages to city.

Tourism in the Nuuk fjords, aboard the ferry Sarfaq Ittuk

Entrepreneur Jones develops one-stop tour site

A new website, Flaming Travel aims to fill a market gap in tour and adventure searching, giving world travelers a one-stop shop to search multiple providers.

Flaming Travel is the brainchild of my friend and aptly self-described serial entrepreneur Ben Jones. The multi-talented and polyglot Jones is head of OutStride, where he is a founder coach for other and would-be entrepreneurs. Read about Ben's story at Medium, read his writing at Medium, and follow his adventures on Instragram.

Ben and I hike the Tian Shan, Kyrgyzstan, 2023.
© Justin Cohen

At present, Flaming Travel lists tours by UK-based Lupine Travel and expat-China-founded Young Pioneer Tours. Further development will see the addition of more providers. The idea is to make it faster and easier especially for frequent travelers to identify opportunities to visit new destinations.

Besides a search interface, Flaming Travel allows users to sort data by date, duration, company, country, and the number of countries on an itinerary. So at minimum, Flaming Travel will save users time over visiting multiple websites.

Most travel company websites (notably excepting Lupine: shout out to Megan & co.) list tours by destination or region and have no comprehensive list by date. But frequent travelers might be more concerned about fitting opportunities into available windows of time off work, than concerned about destination. Ability to sort market data chronologically will be a boon to getaway planners.

This post is not an ad, by the way. I'm eager to share Ben's innovation and stimulate interest in world travel.

Gunshots are the soundtrack of America

A shooting range features at Elvis's Graceland.
Adam Fagen via Flickr CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

'Tis the season for gunshots and sirens.

The last weekend in October, I spent the night at a Memphis hotel near the airport to catch a 5 a.m. flight homeward. I pulled up to the hotel on Elvis Presley Boulevard in the Whitehaven neighborhood to see people running and chaos at the restaurant across the street, Tha Table. Before long, police came streaming in, sirens blaring. A fire engine and an ambulance followed.

Two men were shot and killed. One was the owner of Tha Table; it looks like he came out into the parking lot to confront would-be car thieves, one of whom shot him with an automatic weapon. The other person killed was a bystander "in the wrong place at the wrong time," Fox 13 Memphis said, merely driving by with his three young children in the car on the way to a park.

A man arrested in the shooting, police say found with weapons including an AR-15 and a Glock with switch (converting the pistol into an automatic weapon), blames his companions for firing the fatal shots, Fox 13 reported.

When I left the hotel later that night, to go to a gym in West Memphis, I had to ask police to let me drive out and back under yellow tape that had cordoned off the block.

That shooting occurred as I arrived at the Red Roof Inn at about 3:30 p.m.  Just eight minutes later, two-and-a-half miles down the same road, a 15-year-old was shot at an Exxon station. According to WREG, he was selling water at the side of the road at the time. He was transported by a private car to the hospital and reported in critical condition.

When I came back from the gym, I fueled up at that Exxon, to return my rental car full the next morning. I didn't know about the second shooting until I got back to my room and checked the news about the first shooting.

About 60 hours later, a 19-year-old sitting in his car at a gas station in West Memphis was fatally shot multiple times by another customer, KARK reported. I was long gone, but that shooting took place 500 feet from the gym I had gone to, just around a corner. I learned of that third shooting when I checked the news to see if anyone had been arrested in the earlier two.

It happens that while I was in Memphis and Arkansas, I visited an old friend and mentor I had not seen in many years. He retired in recent years from work in Memphis and told me he wants to move away. He's tired, he said, of having to worry every day about being car-jacked.

I also visited my aunt and uncle at their home in south Little Rock. They've been renovating, and their place looks great, homey. They're very happy there, my uncle said, except only for the unwelcome ring of gunshots at night. Sometimes the shots ring so close to the house that they fear they're being targeted. My uncle, a Vietnam vet, lamented of the contemporary life of youth in the Little Rock neighborhood: "I'd rather be judged by twelve than carried by six."

When I boarded my plane home from Memphis, I overheard one flight attendant telling another that she's looking for a new apartment. She was working through the calculation of finding lower rent, but having to hear gunshots at night.

As I rejoined the world that Monday, I learned about the Lewiston, Maine, shootings, and that the suspect was found dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. He had killed 18 people and injured 13 just before I left home for Memphis. Ensconced as I was in my business away, I had not known the details. It was a kind of blessing, I figured, that I didn't know what was happening. While the suspect was at large, I did not know to worry about my wife in Rhode Island or a friend's son at university in Vermont.

I'm not a gun control advocate. I believe the Supreme Court got it right when it said that the Second Amendment protects an individual right to bear arms. I'm informed by the Second Amendment analysis of my constitutional law professor, William Van Alstyne. I believe that the Second Amendment anticipated the possibility that revolution might one day again be necessary.

At the same time, I don't want life cut short for me, my family, or my friends just because I drove to the park at the wrong time, or a stray bullet pierced the walls of my home. The price of the Second Amendment cannot be that gunshots and sirens are the soundtrack of American life.

Sorry, if you read this far thinking I'd have the answer; I don't. 

I want to be prepared to revolt when the time comes, because I think that corrupt politicians already have aggrandized an excess of power; that they now represent corporations, not constituents; and that the federal legislature has become perhaps irretrievably dysfunctional.

I also want the people I love to be safe against meaningless violence. I don't want to live in the Wild West of the movies.

I want my tres leches and to eat it too.

Bahamian development, identity stall between Columbus, Atlantis; tourist dollars seem not to land

Columbus is absent from Government House, Nassau.

Bowen Yang's amusing portrayal of Christopher Columbus on the Saturday Night Live "Weekend Edition" season premiere in mid-October reminded me of an empty pedestal I saw in Nassau, Bahamas, recently: a sight sadly symbolic of stalled development. 

(All photos and video by RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0.)

I was in Bahamas on the country's National Heroes Day on October 9. Bahamas replaced its Discovery Day, recognizing Christopher Columbus, with Heroes Day in 2013. The idea is to honor homegrown Bahamian heroes and shed the cultural domination of the islands' colonial past.

I've written before on my conflicted feelings about Columbus Day. So I was curious when my Lonely Planet told me that I would find a Columbus statue presiding over the capital at Government House in Nassau. Indeed, my pre-pandemic Planet was outdated. The statue was vandalized just in advance of Heroes Day in 2021 and moved into storage in October 2022. 

I found not only an empty pedestal with a crumbling top, but closed gates at Government House. Neglected surroundings, outside the gates, unfortunately spoke to my overall impression of economic development in the Bahamas.

Two bridges connect Nassau to Paradise Island.

Infrastructure is in a sorry state. Roads are a mess, and signage is almost non-existent. Business outside Nassau and island resorts is minimal. I tried walking to a purported national park on New Providence, and I gave up the effort halfway for the lack of walkways alongside merciless speeding traffic. Later, I drove to the park to find little more than a set-aside green parcel walled by chain link.

K9 Harbour Island Green School subsidizes most students' tuition.

Besides the country's relentlessly cheerful people, little thrives on the islands, economically. There is the tourism sector, the stunning natural beauty of the islands, and expat enclaves such as Harbour Island and Spanish Wells. To walk from grimy downtown Nassau across either bridge to the touristic sector known as "Paradise Island," where the famous Atlantis development is located, is to transport oneself between worlds. 

A Disney ship departs Nassau before dusk.

I wondered what shop workers on Paradise Island think when they leave the artificiality of the plaster-and-paint retail village, with its Ben & Jerry's and Kay's Fine Jewelry, for dilapidated, rat-infested residential buildings in the city's corners. I wondered whether tourists see the contrast when they are whisked through downtown en route from the airport to Paradise.

The heart of the city undergoes an equally striking transformation almost daily. Cruise ships pull into the port and unleash a legion of passengers into the downtown district. Western stores such as Starbucks and Havianas open up alongside overpriced jewelers and T-shirt purveyors.

(Video below: A funeral procession for Obie Wilchombe, Parliamentarian, cabinet minister, and tourism executive, proceeded through the heart of the tourist district while cruise passengers were in port on October 11. I watched, I admit, from the balcony at Starbucks. Tourists who didn't see the coffin must be forgiven for assuming the lively music signified joyful festivity. Embodiment of the tourism-government complex himself, Wilchombe likely would have approved.)

Bahamas declared independence from Britain in 1973.

Then in the late afternoon, the passengers return to their ships, and the downtown becomes a ghost town. I walked the streets at dusk and came across a few port workers commuting by foot, a few teens joking about, and a scarily ranting homeless man who caused me to cross the street. Every business was shuttered. It was hard to believe the same space had been dense with vacationers only hours earlier.

A night street party in Nassau reverberates.

Walking Nassau at night, the relative silence was punctured by a raging street party. A man told me that it was an anniversary celebration of the most popular local radio station, and entry, food, and drink were free. He invited me to join, and I did. It was a raucous party inside with a rapper dancing wildly on a stage, flashing lights, and, he was right, free drinks and heaps of homemade local eats. I felt like I was crashing an after-hours cast party at a Caribbean Disney World. I was having fun, but I must have looked out of place—I couldn't help but attract attention as the only person not of color—as a couple of well meaning partygoers asked if I was all right or needed help finding my way.

Signs all over Eleuthera Island promise happy Disney jobs to come.

Determined as it purports to be to carve out a national identity free of colonialism, there is a painful dearth of evidence that the Bahamanian government is accomplishing that. The government imposes a hefty 12% VAT on goods and services, and I'm sure the port fees are substantial. Where is the money going?

The International Trade Association (ITA) well described what I saw: "The World Bank recognizes The Bahamas as a high-income, developed country with a GDP per capita of $25,194 (2020) and a Gross National Income per capita of $26,070 (2020).  However, the designation belies the country’s extreme income inequality, as statistics are driven by a small percentage of high-net-worth individuals, while most Bahamians earn far less." The only evidence of infrastructure investment I saw was that which directly benefited tourists and expats.

True to form, on a ferry between Eleuthera and Harbour Island, I overheard a couple of Americans in golf outfits discussing the plusses and minuses of potential investment in an island hotel. They seemed oblivious to the fact that the hotel name they bandied about was sewn into the breast of the short-sleeve work shirt of a local commuter sitting right beside them.

The historic "British Colonial" hotel, Nassau, lost its Hilton affiliation,
but is under renovation with plans to reopen under independent operation.

 

The one-two punch of Hurricane Dorian and COVID took a heavy toll, to be sure. And tourism income is not yet back to pre-pandemic levels. Still, that can't fully explain the development stagnancy I saw in and among local communities.

Perhaps naively, I expected to find the Bahamas more a reflection of the western sphere of influence than of the developing world. It's only a 30-minute flight from Miami to Bahamas, and 85% of imports come from the United States. But on the ground on New Providence and Eleuthera Islands, the Bahamas reminded me less of Florida and more of Guinea-Bissau—a country plunged into darkness last week for failure to pay a $17m debt to its exclusive power provider, the offshore ship of a Turkish corporation.

Two years since Columbus was vandalized and one year since he was packed away, the solution to native identity at Government House is a rubble-topped pedestal and closed grounds. The people outside the gates have embraced National Heroes Day. But there is little information in circulation about who the Bahamian heroes are or why they should be celebrated. 

The government owes its people better. And I wouldn't mind seeing American- and British-owned tourism companies taking some corporate social responsibility—if that's still a thing—to ensure that something of what they pay into the country is reaching the people and lands that truly give life to today's Bahamas.

War rages in Sudan; lives lost top 14,000 in North Africa

The sad news just keeps coming from the African continent: this morning, heartbreaking images of Khartoum's Greater Nile Petroleum (GNP) Tower engulfed in flames (embed below from Al Arabiya English on X; left: my photo of the tower in 2020, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0).

I've written previously about Sudan: before civil war erupted, its promising economic prosperity and a friend's nascent tourism business. At last check, that friend at least was safe with family away from Khartoum.

Watch: Sudan’s iconic Greater Nile Petroleum tower in Khartoum is engulfed in flames as the war between rival forces enters sixth month. It is yet unclear what caused the fire through the tower.#Sudan #Khartoum

Read more: https://t.co/Kmbnzv4YI8 pic.twitter.com/iAt8x62fez

— Al Arabiya English (@AlArabiya_Eng) September 18, 2023

The location of the GNP Tower makes its loss all the more troubling. The tower sits on a small peninsula, jutting out into the confluence of the Blue Nile and White Nile Rivers. The peninsula is the site of office buildings for oil companies, banks, and the government's Ministry of Investment. Those aren't military targets. The area, which I walked through in 2020 (right: my photo from the water, at the river confluence, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0), had been under the control of the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF, which is fighting the Rapid Support Forces, RSF).

The two sides blame each other for starting the tower fire. Either way, extension of the destruction into this finance zone is yet another sign that little of Khartoum's civilian infrastructure will survive the war. Observers have said that the city will not be fit to remain the capital when the conflict ends. The SAF already has indicated its intention to relocate the government to Port Sudan, on the Red Sea. Accordingly, and alarmingly, the war is reaching out to both ends of the country.

Meanwhile, in North Africa, Libya and Morocco continue to cope with the devastation of natural disasters.

I've not been to Libya; ABC's Ian Pannell is there now. I have seen Morocco's scenic Ourika River valley, which is in the earthquake zone (N.Y. Times). Homes perched on hillsides and single-path footbridges suspended across the river ordinarily are what makes the area picturesque. But those conditions are not primed for earthquake resistance.

Here are some photos from the Ourika River valley in better times (all 2016, RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0; latter, me with travel mates from Mauritius).

My prayers are for all of the people suffering in these disaster zones.

Russians travel in Asia despite, or because of, war

An Aeroflot plane awaits departure in Almaty, Kazakhstan,
earlier this month. EU and U.S. sanctions banned the airline in 2022.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

A joke, belatedly to honor Ukraine Independence Day, August 24.

This summer, traveling in the Caucasus and Central Asia, I crossed a lot of borders. Sometimes back and across again.

I also met a lot of Russians. Most often, we exchanged pleasantries, as if there were nothing going on in the wider world. I didn't want to ask, and they seemed content not to talk about it.

I did meet a number of Russian men who had fled conscription. One fellow, late 20s I estimate, in a craft-beer bar in Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan, was especially warm company. We never talked directly about Putin's position on Ukraine. But he made clear that he believed Russia's war adventure is socially and economically disastrous for ordinary Russians at home.

Anyway, my friends and I grew accustomed to the questions asked by immigration officials with limited English.

Usually, the border officer asked,

"Occupation?"

"No," a Russian traveler answered.

"Just visiting."

Event celebrates hostelling, honors firefighters

Fire Station 2 today, a hostel and museum.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

The extended family of the Firehouse Hostel & Museum in Little Rock, Arkansas, came together last week to celebrate accomplishment, to honor firefighters, and to raise funds for a new annex in support of fire safety education.

The event featured Razorback college football veterans David Bazzel, now a radio personality, who emceed, and Gary Robinson, 1964 national champion (then, now), who keynoted.

Gary Robinson is the younger brother of legendary Major League Baseball third baseman Brooks Robinson, a retiree of the Baltimore Orioles, who had planned to attend but could not. 

Gary Robinson and me.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

The Robinson brothers graduated from Central High School (National Historic Site) in Little Rock. As kids, they spent time at Fire Station 2, where their father was a career firefighter. In a prerecorded video interview, Gary and Brooks reminisced over the firehouse, their father, and his co-workers.

The sporting legacy of the Robinson family is of course especially meaningful in Arkansas and in Maryland. As I lived in those states between 10 and 20 years each, I've felt a special connection to the Robinsons. My father is a big fan of Brooks, and I was a childhood supporter of the Orioles. Brooks retired in 1977, when I was six.

Linda Fordyce stirs up the crowd.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Long out of service and after years of neglect, Fire Station 2 provided the building that the city of Little Rock and an army of volunteers rehabilitated to serve as the hostel and museum, which opened in 2016. I worked on the firehouse hostel project as one of those volunteers until I left Arkansas for New England in 2011. I took (dubious) honors for having traveled the farthest for the event, edging out a charitable soul from Colorado who contributed more valiantly by populating two tables with local friends.

The Firehouse Hostel and Museum has been the brainchild and passion project of two extraordinary people, Linda and John Fordyce. They conceived of the hostel more than 10 years before the hostel opened in 2016, and they have shepherded the project with nothing short of parental love since. Last week they were in attendance as leaders and coordinators. With characteristic tirelessness, they now are spearheading the drive to develop the annex.

Reep introduces Benton; Bazzel looks on.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

The Fordyces' passion for travel as cultural education, hostelling as social learning, and the merits of the firehouse as an urban redevelopment project in particular are famously contagious. I could not resist signing on and served in roles as varied as bathroom cleaning and representative to a national meeting of Hostelling International USA.  At the event last week, the enthusiasm the Fordyces still exude was palpable. Many faces I remembered from the 2010s were there and still are vitally involved, importantly including Greg Hart, who lends his accounting wizardry, and Johnny Reep, a retired fire captain of legendarily large personality.

Other presenters and honored guests included Tanya Hooks and Marvin L. Benton. Another Central High alum and a major mover in the Little Rock non-profit sector, Hooks is a board leader for the hostel and museum. Another retired firefighter, Benton is an inspiring advocate for fire safety education, especially for children, and author of a book in that vein, Unfallen Hero.

In Unfallen Hero, Benton tells the near-death, line-of-duty story of having suffered agonizing burns over 39 percent of his body. When doctors said he could never fight fire again, he told the audience last week, he lobbied his superiors for a job in fire safety education. When they questioned whether he would be comfortable appearing before audiences with his disfiguring scars, he said, he answered: "If these scars on me would save just one child, ... it will all have been worth it."

After the example of the Memphis Fire Museum, Linda Fordyce said, the Little Rock museum, with Benton in the lead, hopes to make fire safety education accessible to all children in Arkansas. Fordyce and Benton said that fires and the horrific injuries they inflict are too often easily preventable.

You can support and read more online about the Little Rock Firehouse Hostel and Museum.

Tortfeasor Parking Only

I'm not sure what's happening in the illustration on this sign, but it sure looks like a tort.

Photo near Vista do Rei, São Miguel, Azores, by RJ Peltz-Steele, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0. HT @ Chris Becker.

Rats reveal human history, sometimes set its course

RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

A rat extermination program is well signed on the islands of the Azores.

As a tort lawyer, I can be a little obsessed with signs, especially warnings. So I was struck by the abundance of these signs on the islands of the Azores, specifically São Miguel, Terceira, and Pico, where I spent some time this month. The signs warn not to remove bait traps loaded with lethal rodenticide and not to litter, such as might provide food for rats.

Being a key port in the European age of discovery, the Azores are inextricably bound up with the history of human exploration and expansion. A remarkably successful species, rats are a part of that history, because they go where we go. The Azorean bat is the only native land mammal of the Azores. But people long ago brought more, including hedgehogs, rabbits, cats, and the islands' iconic cows, all besides, of course, rats.

The Azorean bat is found in dry forests. In contrast,
I am found here in the much wetter Reserva Florestal
Natural Parcial do Biscoito da Ferraria, on Terceira.
(Photo © Emma Falk, licensed exclusively.)

Unfortunately, the rats are now spreading a potentially fatal pathogen, leptospira, which threatens people and animals in the Azores. So officials have set about efforts to reduce the rat population.

There's been an abundance of research sequencing rat DNA to study the history of human exploration. For example, Gabriel, Mathias, & Searle (2014) studied rats in the Azores specifically. There are books on the history that rats and people share: Anthony Barnett's The Story of Rats (2002) and the New York City-focused Rats (2005) by New Yorker contributor Robert Sullivan. As the latter book suggests, rat research also informs contemporary urban development. Canadian "rat detective" Kaylee Byers wrote a fun first-person narrative for The Conversation (2019) on the value of "23andme" for rats.

Rats have a fan club.

The signs in the Azores reminded me in particular of a superb episode of the Throughline podcast in the spring, "Of Rats and Men," which well summarized the subject.

Burgundian Liège Belgian waffles melt in mouth

The Burgundian, Attleboro, Mass.
(All photos RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0.)

Following up my post last week about an IP/contract battle between Massachusetts makers of Belgian waffles, I felt I should—nay, I felt I must, as an objective researcher in the savory social sciences—travel to the Burgundian of Attleboro, Mass., and sample the waffle products myself. I did so yesterday.

Burgundian's classy, European-esque interior

Alas, my investigation did little to draw me toward one conclusion or another on the merits of the case. But I can confirm that Shane Matlock's Burgundian waffles are the most scrumptious morsels of doughy goodness that ever have crossed my lips.

Chicken and waffles, the southern classic that I didn't know about before I married a Louisianan.
Yet I've never had it better, now, than here in New England.
Not pictured: my wife's burger and fries and a couple of local beers on draft.

 

"Banana churros" dessert at the Burgundian.
Yeah, that happened. I'm not proud.

As long as I'm confessing my sin of gluttony today, a shout out to a post-pandemic-new and exceptional establishment in my home state of Rhode Island, Hunky Dory in Warren. My wife confirms that this "southern-influenced celebration of New England" from dachshund Sherbert's parents Sam—himself of "southern mama and Appalachian dad"—and Bay Stater Joanna delivers on its promise.

The "veggie and sweet potato hash" feat. "smoked poblano crema,"
and a "basic brunch" at Hunky Dory, Warren, R.I.
We devoured "Mom's zucchini bread" before I could snap a picture.

The outdoor patio at Hunky Dory with its thriving vegetable garden

We can't wait to go back for dinner. Bon appétit.