Strolling through the famous train station at Leipzig, Germany, and experiencing delectable chocolate, ice cream, various shops, German bookstores, elderly people, young people, spiked hair, individual artwork, conservative attire, and liberal attire, and in thinking about the similarities between American culture and German culture, my often excessive over-indulgence in water caught up with me, and I felt a need to participate in a normal human function(please forgive me for discussing this somewhat indelicate topic in a blog, but there is a point to this essay!) which required the use of a public facility. So I began a somewhat urgent search for the necessary room.
Unfortunately, my quest was hampered by my limited German language skills and a marked lack of understanding of the visual signs pointing to the nearest facility. I soon became concerned with this problem and wondered about the possible solution when I looked up and recognized the universal sign for "men" and proceeded to the entry point. But, alas, I was without the 50 cents required for entry! Yet, all was not in vain, for a compassionate German lady perceived the difficult situation and handed me 50 cents, solving the problem and restoring my faith in human beings and the often forgotten practice of altruism.
But let's not discuss altruism and its ultimate self-serving benefits (as proposed by the philosophy of Objectivism), instead, let's talk about the condition of public restrooms in Germany as opposed to America. You see, they are immaculately clean. Unlike the restrooms often found in convenient stores in our country, German restrooms are not strewn with paper, discarded gum, water spots on a stainless steel mirror, acidic deterioration in the stalls, and layers of grime on the floors. I suppose some would claim to miss the philosophic wisdom usually found on the walls, but for me, I enjoyed the clean, blank walls, devoid of disgusting graffiti and suggestions that are usually impossible. To sum up, since I paid for it, I am glad it was a clean, nice environment.
Our commitment to having free, public facilities (this of course becomes a debatable topic since our tax dollars are actually paying for these accoutrements), such as parks and roads, makes us somewhat cavalier toward our sense of entitlement for these luxuries. When we have to reach into our wallets and our purses for money in order to use a necessary room, maybe it makes us appreciate the opportunity and the physical properties of the room, thus reminding us to maintain its fastidious facade. By not having to pay, our sense of ownership becomes negligible, with the recognition that anyone and everyone uses the same item. By its very nature of being available to all, the sense of personal pride becomes superfluous, resulting in a lack of care. Private property and ownership creates responsibility; whereas, free access for all results in an abdication of commitment and obligation.
The irony of free, public access is that ultimately it costs more to maintain the access than if individuals were forced to pay to use the facilities. Now I am not necessarily advocating that we insist on making all public facilities coin-operated. I am, however, insisting that we adopt a little more ownership with regard to the "free" necessary rooms, and treat these public places with more care and personal pride, without that feeling that someone else will clean up for us. Mostly, I think we should be more appreciative of the opportunities we have to use these facilities and work diligently to leave them in better condition than we found them. Perhaps, then, we could experience the cleanliness and order found in certain other countries.
Of course, there is always the possibility, that if we went to a pay system, there would be rampant use of nature for bodily functions, in addition to a disregard of personal modesty. So maybe, just maybe, we do have the right answers!
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
The haunting but not daunting specter of war
Touring through Berlin, experiencing the vitality of a thriving economy, talking with the people, and feeling the pulse of the German culture, I realized, with more than a touch of humility, how we Americans do not have the corner on the indomitable human spirit. The city of Berlin was ravaged by war, ripped apart at its core, experienced the desecration of monuments, churches, government buildings, and, mostly, was systemically destroyed by indiscriminate but perceived necessary bombing. The bombing and destruction contributed to the end of the war and stopped the evil tide of Nazi Germany as it deliberately attempted to take over surrounding countries, extending its tentacles and spreading horror throughout the world.
But this entry is not about the rights and wrongs of war, nor is it about defense, protection, or revenge. World War II has been studied, dissected, hashed, and rehashed and without question remains one of the most despicable and utterly shameful events in history, albeit certainly one of the most dramatic. When dealt with on a global scale, as well as a human scale, the level of pain and suffering becomes intolerable, leaving any compassionate person shaking and wanting to turn back time in some sort of vain attempt to rewrite history and pretend none of it happened. Yet, I choose to address the aftermath, the reaction, and the resonating goodness that can somehow grow out of adversity.
As a child, I recall learning about the amazing American spirit, and through a study of history going back to the American Revolution, there is no doubt that we have persevered and built a stunning country replete with opportunity for all. But are we the only country that can lay claim to surviving war and rebuilding for the future? Obviously not. As I strolled through the streets of Berlin and witnessed the remnants of the war, I heard the bell of truth that the people of Berlin have the same strong spirit as the people of America. In fact, I began to be embarrassed at our sense of arrogance and possibly misguided selfishness. Maybe it is possible that human beings have a built-in heartiness that seeks to overcome the challenges and obstacles that jump in the pathway of life? Maybe, just maybe, we are not the only country that has had to rebuild itself, applying determination and fortitude in the face of adversity.
Staring at the Kaiser William Memorial Church and seeing the destruction on the steeple, and then entering the new chapel which sits proudly beside the old church, I was moved with the powerful emotion that comes from deep within the senses at witnessing a physical manifestation of the commitment to persevere and strengthen that which is right and good. One looks high and sees the old (http://berlin.barwick.de/sights/famous-places/kaiser-wilhelm-memorial-church.html) and looks over and sees the new (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Berlin_-_Kaiser_Wilhelm_Memorial_Church_-_inside_2.jpg) and realizes that the human capacity for progress is unlimited.
In addition, during my trip to Leipzig, I was brought to tears as I watched a video describing the pain and embarrassment of the Nazi regime, and was further inspired as I heard the commitment of the German people never to let such an event happen again. And I thought about our own country's history and recognized that we cannot claim historical innocence in causing pain on a given race. Yet, while we acknowledge it, we admit it, and we agonize over it, we are not debilitated by it. For like the German people, we work diligently, creatively, with absolute dedication to improving the human condition, learning from and not forgetting but also acting without allowing the chains of the past that have inflicted so much suffering on the world to bind us into further sterility.
So in Berlin, a city wrought full of controversy, a city resolved to overcome its own dark past and mostly, a city filled with hopes and dreams, we find yet another example of the strength of the human spirit as it refuses to be daunted by the haunting specter of a war many years gone by. It may hover over them but it serves as a reminder to avoid the mistakes of the past and press on to the future. And yes, we in America certainly embody the concept of overcoming adversity, but it is arrogant and wrong to assume we are the only ones.
But this entry is not about the rights and wrongs of war, nor is it about defense, protection, or revenge. World War II has been studied, dissected, hashed, and rehashed and without question remains one of the most despicable and utterly shameful events in history, albeit certainly one of the most dramatic. When dealt with on a global scale, as well as a human scale, the level of pain and suffering becomes intolerable, leaving any compassionate person shaking and wanting to turn back time in some sort of vain attempt to rewrite history and pretend none of it happened. Yet, I choose to address the aftermath, the reaction, and the resonating goodness that can somehow grow out of adversity.
As a child, I recall learning about the amazing American spirit, and through a study of history going back to the American Revolution, there is no doubt that we have persevered and built a stunning country replete with opportunity for all. But are we the only country that can lay claim to surviving war and rebuilding for the future? Obviously not. As I strolled through the streets of Berlin and witnessed the remnants of the war, I heard the bell of truth that the people of Berlin have the same strong spirit as the people of America. In fact, I began to be embarrassed at our sense of arrogance and possibly misguided selfishness. Maybe it is possible that human beings have a built-in heartiness that seeks to overcome the challenges and obstacles that jump in the pathway of life? Maybe, just maybe, we are not the only country that has had to rebuild itself, applying determination and fortitude in the face of adversity.
Staring at the Kaiser William Memorial Church and seeing the destruction on the steeple, and then entering the new chapel which sits proudly beside the old church, I was moved with the powerful emotion that comes from deep within the senses at witnessing a physical manifestation of the commitment to persevere and strengthen that which is right and good. One looks high and sees the old (http://berlin.barwick.de/sights/famous-places/kaiser-wilhelm-memorial-church.html) and looks over and sees the new (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Berlin_-_Kaiser_Wilhelm_Memorial_Church_-_inside_2.jpg) and realizes that the human capacity for progress is unlimited.
In addition, during my trip to Leipzig, I was brought to tears as I watched a video describing the pain and embarrassment of the Nazi regime, and was further inspired as I heard the commitment of the German people never to let such an event happen again. And I thought about our own country's history and recognized that we cannot claim historical innocence in causing pain on a given race. Yet, while we acknowledge it, we admit it, and we agonize over it, we are not debilitated by it. For like the German people, we work diligently, creatively, with absolute dedication to improving the human condition, learning from and not forgetting but also acting without allowing the chains of the past that have inflicted so much suffering on the world to bind us into further sterility.
So in Berlin, a city wrought full of controversy, a city resolved to overcome its own dark past and mostly, a city filled with hopes and dreams, we find yet another example of the strength of the human spirit as it refuses to be daunted by the haunting specter of a war many years gone by. It may hover over them but it serves as a reminder to avoid the mistakes of the past and press on to the future. And yes, we in America certainly embody the concept of overcoming adversity, but it is arrogant and wrong to assume we are the only ones.
Monday, August 11, 2008
The Berlin Wall
On a recent visit to Berlin, I had the opportunity to visit what little remains of the Berlin Wall. It was with a myriad of emotions that I touched and even wrote on the wall (only to find out later that the practice is frowned on by many Germans) and stood at its base and thought about what freedom means, including the fear, sorrow, joy, and opportunities. As I studied Checkpoint Charlie, I gave thought to the famous John F. Kennedy speech “Ich bin ein Berliner” and of course the significant “tear down this wall, Mr. Gorbachev” speech from 1987.
I read of the nearly 200 who lost their lives trying to cross the wall, of the families divided, of a city polarized by governments, and of the pervading darkness that loomed for 96 miles throughout the city and country. I thought about the residences destroyed, the hatred of the obstacle, and the harboring fear that accompanied the monstrosity—a fear experienced by all sides and by all people. The wall was erected out of fear and possibly taken down out of a different kind of fear—the rising tide of a demand for freedom.
As the socialist government and the leaders designed the “perfect” world for their people, they recognized that restrictions would have to be imposed and blockades built in order to prevent access to the outside world. For if the people knew of the potential that existed, the freedoms that others enjoyed, they just might reject their current bonds and seek liberty. Yet the longer the people remain in darkness, the more comfortable they might become and in fact may prefer life apart from freedom; at least that is often the surmising of the enslaver. In Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, the people in chains believe that the shadows they see are the actual people and not the shadows. When free, they become frightened and return to the world of darkness and shadows. The Wall was erected to force people to live in a socialistic framework and to hide the benefits of capitalism. The Wall also instilled in the people a fear of authority.
To be sure, not all facets of socialism are necessarily negative. In its ideal form, socialism is simply about the individuals working for the good of the collective whole. In some ways, this concept is related to utilitarianism in that decisions are made for the moral good. But the fundamental difference lies in the area of freedom of choice. In a socialistic state, the choices are made by the governing bodies for the good of the whole apart from the individual requirements. With this doctrine goes the denouncing of privately owned materials including any property. In some ways, the argument is a solid one in that those who are less fortunate gain from the working efforts of those assigned to a particular duty or to produce a particular product. Unfortunately, the realistic result is the shackling of personal rights and the inevitable lack of production by individuals without incentive to reach for greater potential.
When freedom of choice is erased, and there is little reason for productivity, humans tend to produce less, hoping to gain from the effort of others. Forced collective effort under the guise of corporate gain deters individual creativity and work ethic. It is capitalism, even with its oft-touted social ills, that produces the greatest results—cities, roads, technology, and the myriad of great benefits enjoyed in our culture.
So back to the Berlin Wall. The nearly 30 years of division between West and East Germany ended in November of 1989 giving the people the right to make their own decisions on where to live and how to live. The result has been a marked improvement in economy, culture, and mostly individual creative effort, proving once again that the rising tide of the human spirit cannot be and should not be hindered.
This article also appears in Forte, The Magazine for Fort Worth and West Texas. For more information about Forte go to www.fortepublications.com.
I read of the nearly 200 who lost their lives trying to cross the wall, of the families divided, of a city polarized by governments, and of the pervading darkness that loomed for 96 miles throughout the city and country. I thought about the residences destroyed, the hatred of the obstacle, and the harboring fear that accompanied the monstrosity—a fear experienced by all sides and by all people. The wall was erected out of fear and possibly taken down out of a different kind of fear—the rising tide of a demand for freedom.
As the socialist government and the leaders designed the “perfect” world for their people, they recognized that restrictions would have to be imposed and blockades built in order to prevent access to the outside world. For if the people knew of the potential that existed, the freedoms that others enjoyed, they just might reject their current bonds and seek liberty. Yet the longer the people remain in darkness, the more comfortable they might become and in fact may prefer life apart from freedom; at least that is often the surmising of the enslaver. In Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, the people in chains believe that the shadows they see are the actual people and not the shadows. When free, they become frightened and return to the world of darkness and shadows. The Wall was erected to force people to live in a socialistic framework and to hide the benefits of capitalism. The Wall also instilled in the people a fear of authority.
To be sure, not all facets of socialism are necessarily negative. In its ideal form, socialism is simply about the individuals working for the good of the collective whole. In some ways, this concept is related to utilitarianism in that decisions are made for the moral good. But the fundamental difference lies in the area of freedom of choice. In a socialistic state, the choices are made by the governing bodies for the good of the whole apart from the individual requirements. With this doctrine goes the denouncing of privately owned materials including any property. In some ways, the argument is a solid one in that those who are less fortunate gain from the working efforts of those assigned to a particular duty or to produce a particular product. Unfortunately, the realistic result is the shackling of personal rights and the inevitable lack of production by individuals without incentive to reach for greater potential.
When freedom of choice is erased, and there is little reason for productivity, humans tend to produce less, hoping to gain from the effort of others. Forced collective effort under the guise of corporate gain deters individual creativity and work ethic. It is capitalism, even with its oft-touted social ills, that produces the greatest results—cities, roads, technology, and the myriad of great benefits enjoyed in our culture.
So back to the Berlin Wall. The nearly 30 years of division between West and East Germany ended in November of 1989 giving the people the right to make their own decisions on where to live and how to live. The result has been a marked improvement in economy, culture, and mostly individual creative effort, proving once again that the rising tide of the human spirit cannot be and should not be hindered.
This article also appears in Forte, The Magazine for Fort Worth and West Texas. For more information about Forte go to www.fortepublications.com.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Retirement of Dr. Mary Jeanne van Appledorn
The recent announcement of Dr. Mary Jeanne van Appledorn brought back a flood of memories going back many years to when I was an undergraduate and onto graduate school. As an undergraduate taking summer classes at Texas Tech in 1980, I signed up for composition with Dr. van Appledorn, only later to discover that I was the 2nd generation Tucker taking a class from her. My mother had her for music theory many years before! Being young, skinny, with more hair than wisdom, I was taken aback by her shining and unique personality, her musical brilliance and insights, and her robust passion for sound and all things musical, but found myself initially frightened to express my insidious opinions of music in front of this amazing woman. It was only later I learned she always honored other people and respected all of us in spite of our many flaws.
Each lecture that summer was an adventure into the unknown as she examined the beauty of Debussy or Machaut or Mozart, discussed bird calls, related color to sound, and demystified the elements that go into a composition or a musical event. Her wide range of emotions would often turn on a dime as we explored register changes, melody, harmony, rhythm, folk songs, modes, jazz, and popular styles. One minute would be a discussion of the micro-elements of a composition including articulation, dynamics, and subtle rhythmic alterations, only to be thrown across the universe to a new discussion on philosophy of sound or what formal organization can do for a piece.
I recall, one day, laughing with near abandon and with our teacher as she experimented with fun and unusual sounds on the piano. The next day, I rushed to class anxiously anticipating more frivolity only to find a darker personality in front of me. Clouds had rolled in that morning as a West Texas storm gathered forces for an inevitable thunderous clap of lightning and torrential but brief rain. The music from her hands that morning was ominous, dark, and foreboding, and we learned that music can represent a remarkably diverse display of experiences. We left class early that day due to the storm and the pervading darkness of the day but only after hearing a sad story of the death of Dr. van Appledorn's parakeet.
Her teaching style of examining the details, being relentless on expectations, comprehensive in her presentations, and constantly inspirational in her delivery is manifested in her devotion to students. Although she absolutely insisted on accuracy of assignments, she never let the minutiae interfere with the overall product of making music. Applying this practice to life, I learned to be fastidious with the details of my job, my family, and my projects without ever sacrificing the higher goals and purpose. From her I know to think long-range but take the small steps necessary toward the final outcome.
Years later as a doctoral student, I once again was privileged to take classes with Dr. van Appledorn, and once again I was drawn into her musical world, leaving the class a better musician and a better person. We cried with her as she wept with sorrow at the loss of great musicians such as Howard Hanson and James Sudduth. We rejoiced with her over the magnitude and beauty of Liebestod from Tristan and Isolde. We laughed with her at the musical antics of Mussourgsky, and mostly, we joined her in her musical jet and found ourselves working and composing at breakneck speed with greater expression and power than anytime previously. I recall the day being enthralled as she described herself as an Eastman student sitting outside Howard Hanson's office listening to him compose his 2nd Symphony. Ironically, and without her knowledge, realized I had done the same with her.
Her unique style, creative spirit (how can I forget the day I entered her office to ask about a piece she had written, only to have her scatter tapes and music everywhere as she searched for a recording and a score. We somehow found a space on the floor and listened to the piece, pointing out fascinating spots in the music, with the constant crackling energy she applied to everything she did), emotional depth, and unpredictable reactions only made her that much more charming, giving the students something to discuss and admire. And, for her, it was about the students. She loved her students and gave of her time, energy, and knowledge to help her students be successful.
While I am not the gifted musician nor composer that Dr. van Appledorn is, and am certainly not the teacher, I am, like hundreds or thousands, a product of her genius. Although she never gave herself credit as a pianist (she frequently disparaged her small hands), she was an exquisite performer with unusual attention to detail serving the greater musical goals.
In composition, it is difficult to find a more varied and prolific composer alive today. Each piece of hers is new, challenging, expressive, well-crafted, and emotionally powerful. Seeing her in the hallway one day, I asked her what she was holding and she showed me her latest composition. I looked at it and asked her if it were a tonal piece. With a twinkle in her eye, she lowered her voice and leaned toward me saying, "I'm not sure, but it does have a lot of tones!"
But while her music, her performing, and her teaching are of the highest order, it is her passion and inspiration of students that has made the most significant impact on those of us privileged to study with her. A small lady in stature, yet a giant in gifts and musical strength, she may be retiring but she will never be forgotten. On behalf of everyone, I say thanks, Dr. van Appledorn for your devotion to us and your belief in us. You have made a profound difference in our lives.
Each lecture that summer was an adventure into the unknown as she examined the beauty of Debussy or Machaut or Mozart, discussed bird calls, related color to sound, and demystified the elements that go into a composition or a musical event. Her wide range of emotions would often turn on a dime as we explored register changes, melody, harmony, rhythm, folk songs, modes, jazz, and popular styles. One minute would be a discussion of the micro-elements of a composition including articulation, dynamics, and subtle rhythmic alterations, only to be thrown across the universe to a new discussion on philosophy of sound or what formal organization can do for a piece.
I recall, one day, laughing with near abandon and with our teacher as she experimented with fun and unusual sounds on the piano. The next day, I rushed to class anxiously anticipating more frivolity only to find a darker personality in front of me. Clouds had rolled in that morning as a West Texas storm gathered forces for an inevitable thunderous clap of lightning and torrential but brief rain. The music from her hands that morning was ominous, dark, and foreboding, and we learned that music can represent a remarkably diverse display of experiences. We left class early that day due to the storm and the pervading darkness of the day but only after hearing a sad story of the death of Dr. van Appledorn's parakeet.
Her teaching style of examining the details, being relentless on expectations, comprehensive in her presentations, and constantly inspirational in her delivery is manifested in her devotion to students. Although she absolutely insisted on accuracy of assignments, she never let the minutiae interfere with the overall product of making music. Applying this practice to life, I learned to be fastidious with the details of my job, my family, and my projects without ever sacrificing the higher goals and purpose. From her I know to think long-range but take the small steps necessary toward the final outcome.
Years later as a doctoral student, I once again was privileged to take classes with Dr. van Appledorn, and once again I was drawn into her musical world, leaving the class a better musician and a better person. We cried with her as she wept with sorrow at the loss of great musicians such as Howard Hanson and James Sudduth. We rejoiced with her over the magnitude and beauty of Liebestod from Tristan and Isolde. We laughed with her at the musical antics of Mussourgsky, and mostly, we joined her in her musical jet and found ourselves working and composing at breakneck speed with greater expression and power than anytime previously. I recall the day being enthralled as she described herself as an Eastman student sitting outside Howard Hanson's office listening to him compose his 2nd Symphony. Ironically, and without her knowledge, realized I had done the same with her.
Her unique style, creative spirit (how can I forget the day I entered her office to ask about a piece she had written, only to have her scatter tapes and music everywhere as she searched for a recording and a score. We somehow found a space on the floor and listened to the piece, pointing out fascinating spots in the music, with the constant crackling energy she applied to everything she did), emotional depth, and unpredictable reactions only made her that much more charming, giving the students something to discuss and admire. And, for her, it was about the students. She loved her students and gave of her time, energy, and knowledge to help her students be successful.
While I am not the gifted musician nor composer that Dr. van Appledorn is, and am certainly not the teacher, I am, like hundreds or thousands, a product of her genius. Although she never gave herself credit as a pianist (she frequently disparaged her small hands), she was an exquisite performer with unusual attention to detail serving the greater musical goals.
In composition, it is difficult to find a more varied and prolific composer alive today. Each piece of hers is new, challenging, expressive, well-crafted, and emotionally powerful. Seeing her in the hallway one day, I asked her what she was holding and she showed me her latest composition. I looked at it and asked her if it were a tonal piece. With a twinkle in her eye, she lowered her voice and leaned toward me saying, "I'm not sure, but it does have a lot of tones!"
But while her music, her performing, and her teaching are of the highest order, it is her passion and inspiration of students that has made the most significant impact on those of us privileged to study with her. A small lady in stature, yet a giant in gifts and musical strength, she may be retiring but she will never be forgotten. On behalf of everyone, I say thanks, Dr. van Appledorn for your devotion to us and your belief in us. You have made a profound difference in our lives.
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