Debate on IP, 1983: Wendy McElroy vs. J. Neil Schulman

[Brant Gaede]

One of my best friends at the time, who became enthusiastic about Rand at the same time I did, once told me that he would like to have a discussion about a "serious" problem he had. We had the discussion while sitting in my car at the parking lot of a 7-11 just a few blocks from my home (near Broadway and Swan, for the benefit of Brant).

I got close the other day when I went to my dentist, David Robb, near Rincon HS. He graduated from that school in 1968. They recently fired all the teachers and hired back half.

I'm sure your old home has been turned into a dope den, burnt down or gone into foreclosure, maybe all three.

--Brant

I was never there

Edited July 22, 2011 by Brant Gaede

[George H. Smith]

One of my best friends at the time, who became enthusiastic about Rand at the same time I did, once told me that he would like to have a discussion about a "serious" problem he had. We had the discussion while sitting in my car at the parking lot of a 7-11 just a few blocks from my home (near Broadway and Swan, for the benefit of Brant).

I got close the other day when I went to my dentist, David Robb, near Rincon HS. He graduated from that school in 1968. They recently fired all the teachers and hired back half.

I'm sure your old home has been turned into a dope den, burnt down or gone into foreclosure, maybe all three.

--Brant

I was never there

If you are ever in the neighborhood, please go by the house at 4527 E. 10th St. and tell me what it looks like. That was the 3-bedroom house that I lived in from the 7th grade through college. I haven't seen it since 1977.

Rincon was a highly regarded school during my years there. You could go virtually anywhere on campus without encountering locked gates, much less security guards.

The only warnings we ever got were when Rincon and Tucson High, traditional rivals, played football games. As a member of the marching band, I was told to be especially careful about taking instruments home if I walked home late at night (which I did). Tucson High, which was predominantly black, was very antagonistic toward Rincon, which was predominantly white. This racial tension was exacerbated if Rincon won the annual football game, which was a very big deal. Tucson High was a football powerhouse with a number of state championships to their credit. Rincon was usually pretty good in football, though we were much stronger in basketball.

I vividly recall one year when the Rincon and Tucson High football teams were both undefeated, so the final game of the season against one another would determine who went to the state championship playoffs. Rincon won by a few points, owing to the last minute 90-plus yard kickoff return by a player who couldn't usually run ten yards without tripping over his own feet. This fluke really pissed off the Tucson High students, so there were a lot of serious rumbles after the game.

Since I played in the band, I was bussed to all the games, whether I wanted to watch them or not. I was surprised when Rincon made it to the final championship game, but it proved an embarrassment. We were crushed in a walkover. The final score was something like 56 to 7.

Ghs

[caroljane]

One of my best friends at the time, who became enthusiastic about Rand at the same time I did, once told me that he would like to have a discussion about a "serious" problem he had. We had the discussion while sitting in my car at the parking lot of a 7-11 just a few blocks from my home (near Broadway and Swan, for the benefit of Brant).

I got close the other day when I went to my dentist, David Robb, near Rincon HS. He graduated from that school in 1968. They recently fired all the teachers and hired back half.

I'm sure your old home has been turned into a dope den, burnt down or gone into foreclosure, maybe all three.

--Brant

I was never there

If you are ever in the neighborhood, please go by the house at 4527 E. 10th St. and tell me what it looks like. That was the 3-bedroom house that I lived in from the 7th grade through college. I haven't seen it since 1977.

Rincon was a highly regarded school during my years there. You could go virtually anywhere on campus without encountering locked gates, much less security guards.

The only warnings we ever got were when Rincon and Tucson High, traditional rivals, played football games. As a member of the marching band, I was told to be especially careful about taking instruments home if I walked home late at night (which I did). Tucson High, which was predominantly black, was very antagonistic toward Rincon, which was predominantly white. This racial tension was exacerbated if Rincon won the annual football game, which was a very big deal. Tucson High was a football powerhouse with a number of state championships to their credit. Rincon was usually pretty good in football, though we were much stronger in basketball.

I vividly recall one year when the Rincon and Tucson High football teams were both undefeated, so the final game of the season against one another would determine who went to the state championship playoffs. Rincon won by a few points, owing to the last minute 90-plus yard kickoff return by a player who couldn't usually run ten yards without tripping over his own feet. This fluke really pissed off the Tucson High students, so there were a lot of serious rumbles after the game.

Since I played in the band, I was bussed to all the games, whether I wanted to watch them or not. I was surprised when Rincon made it to the final championship game, but it proved an embarrassment. We were crushed in a walkover. The final score was something like 56 to 7.

Ghs

What instrument did you play, Goerge? Let me guess - this is OL - must be the trombone!

[George H. Smith]

What instrument did you play, Goerge? Let me guess - this is OL - must be the trombone!

Nope. I played the alto sax from the 5th grade through college. I later got a tenor sax, clarinet, and flute, since I wanted to go professional, and professional players needed to be adept with all these woodwind instruments. I was considered very good on the alto sax. I won first chair all-city three years in a row, beginning in my sophomore year, in a high competitive and difficult audition. I was second chair all-state for my last two years, and I was the featured soloist during my last year for the Rincon concert band, which had won all all kinds of awards.

The Rincon band director, Paul Grimes, later became the music director at the University of Arizona. Grimes was a tough taskmaster; we were required to come to all kinds of after-school practices, especially before a concert, and a lot of kids didn't like this incursion into their spare time. But I never minded at all.

I often played solos for the Rincon jazz band, and I started my own jazz combo in my junior year, writing all of our arrangements. I scored dozens of tunes. I would purchase sheet music of popular tunes and then score them for the appropriate instruments. We were good enough to get paying gigs around Tucson, even though we were technically too young to be in establishments that served liquor.

Lastly, in my last year Grimes suggested that I audition for a semi-professional band that played every year in the Rose Parade. Known as the "Robin Hood Band," this outfit was not as corny as it sounds (not counting the embarrassing costumes we had to wear). The core band consisted of around 50 professionals. These were supplemented every year by two musicians from each state, along with two musicians from all of Canada -- i.e., 102 high school musicians total. Our auditions, which included the usual stuff -- scales, sight reading, a solo, etc. -- were recorded and then sent to the director in LA, a composer/arranger for 20th Century Fox who wrote original and quite difficult jazz/marching band numbers for each new Rose Bowl Parade.

I was selected as one of the two musicians from Arizona, which impressed the hell out of Grimes and others in my band, but there was a catch: When I got my acceptance letter, it stated that I was to play tenor sax, not alto, since the former was what was needed. It simply assumed that I had a tenor, which I did, fortunately, but I was never as comfortable with the tenor as I was with the alto. To makes matters worse, I was told that we would be marching without music, so I needed to memorize all my parts (well over a dozen sheets of handwritten scores) before getting to LA , since we would only have one week to practice before the parade. And boy was that practice grueling. We were out in a large parking lot for seven days straight for around ten hours per day. And there were always some assistants patrolling, sticking their heads close to your instrument to make sure that you were not "faking it." If you were caught fudging, you were rounded up with other miscreants and forced to play, usually alone or two at a time, in a "goon platoon" in front of everyone else.

I ended up in the goon platoon one time, but because of my marching style, not because of how I played. For over three years I been swinging the sax in the opposite direction of my raised foot, but the Robin Hood Band used the alternate style. That new (to me) style drove me nuts at first. I was okay so long as I didn't need to concentrate on the music too much; but once my memory failed and I needed to concentrate more, I would instinctively revert to my old habit.

Anyway, my technical abilities on the sax were the result of a lot of practice. I typically practiced for at least two hours each day, and more when I skipped school. But I was always aware that I had little if any talent for improvisation (I typically wrote out my supposed improvisations in advance). Regardless of how hard I worked, it was clear that I didn't have a natural feel or talent for this difficult style of music, so I sold all of my instruments -- including a valuable Selmer Mark VI, a top of the line model that is now highly prized by many musicians -- to finance my move to California. I sold the Selmer for considerably more than I had originally paid for it years earlier. That thing was a work of art, and I still dream about it from time to time. My feeling was that playing the sax had to be an all-or-nothing affair for me.

Ghs

[caroljane]

What instrument did you play, Goerge? Let me guess - this is OL - must be the trombone!

Nope. I played the alto sax from the 5th grade through college. I later got a tenor sax, clarinet, and flute, since I wanted to go professional, and professional players needed to be adept with all these woodwind instruments. I was considered very good on the alto sax. I won first chair all-city three years in a row, beginning in my sophomore year, in a high competitive and difficult audition. I was second chair all-state for my last two years, and I was the featured soloist during my last year for the Rincon concert band, which had won all all kinds of awards.

The Rincon band director, Paul Grimes, later became the music director at the University of Arizona. Grimes was a tough taskmaster; we were required to come to all kinds of after-school practices, especially before a concert, and a lot of kids didn't like this incursion into their spare time. But I never minded at all.

I often played solos for the Rincon jazz band, and I started my own jazz combo in my junior year, writing all of our arrangements. I scored dozens of tunes. I would purchase sheet music of popular tunes and then score them for the appropriate instruments. We were good enough to get paying gigs around Tucson, even though we were technically too young to be in establishments that served liquor.

Lastly, in my last year Grimes suggested that I audition for a semi-professional band that played every year in the Rose Parade. Known as the "Robin Hood Band," this outfit was not as corny as it sounds (not counting the embarrassing costumes we had to wear). The core band consisted of around 50 professionals. These were supplemented every year by two musicians from each state, along with two musicians from all of Canada -- i.e., 102 high school musicians total. Our auditions, which included the usual stuff -- scales, sight reading, a solo, etc. -- were recorded and then sent to the director in LA, a composer/arranger for 20th Century Fox who wrote original and quite difficult jazz/marching band numbers for each new Rose Bowl Parade.

I was selected as one of the two musicians from Arizona, which impressed the hell out of Grimes and others in my band, but there was a catch: When I got my acceptance letter, it stated that I was to play tenor sax, not alto, since the former was what was needed. It simply assumed that I had a tenor, which I did, fortunately, but I was never as comfortable with the tenor as I was with the alto. To makes matters worse, I was told that we would be marching without music, so I needed to memorize all my parts (well over a dozen sheets of handwritten scores) before getting to LA , since we would only have one week to practice before the parade. And boy was that practice grueling. We were out in a large parking lot for seven days straight for around ten hours per day. And there were always some assistants patrolling, sticking their heads close to your instrument to make sure that you were not "faking it." If you were caught fudging, you were rounded up with other miscreants and forced to play, typically alone or two at a time, in a "goon platoon" in front of everyone else.

I ended up in the goon platoon one time, but because of my marching style, not because of how I played. For over three years I been swinging the sax in the opposite direction of my raised foot, but the Robin Hood Band used the alternate style. That new (to me) style drove me nuts at first. I was okay so long as I didn't need to concentrate on the music too much; but once my memory failed and I needed to concentrate more, I would instinctively revert to my old habit.

Anyway, my technical abilities on the sax were the result of a lot of practice. I typically practiced for at least two hours each day, and more when I skipped school. But I was always aware that I had little if any talent for improvisation (I typically wrote out my supposed improvisations in advance). Regardless of how hard I worked, it was clear that I didn't have a natural feel or talent for this difficult style of music, so I sold all of my instruments -- including a valuable Selmer Mark VI, a top of the line model that is now highly prized by many musicians -- to finance my move to California. I sold the Selmer for considerably more than I had originally paid for it years earlier. That thing was a work of art, and I still dream about it from time to time. My feeling was that playing the sax had to be an all-or-nothing affair for me.

Ghs

That is fascinating. What an alternate career you might have had in an alternate universe. I can see how having mastered so much self-discipline in the service of art, you turned to philosophy.

[George H. Smith]

That is fascinating. What an alternate career you might have had in an alternate universe. I can see how having mastered so much self-discipline in the service of art, you turned to philosophy.

I have very little self-discipline, in one sense at least. I will devote myself to a project only so long as I find it personally rewarding, and find the project enjoyable. But then it is not self-discipline that motivates me. Rather, it is the satisfaction and feeling of accomplishment.

There was another factor involved here, one that I found very disturbing. This involved a feeling of envy towards other sax players my age who had far more talent than I did. And I found envy to be a very ugly emotion.

I first became aware of this in regard to an acquaintance of mine, a fellow altoist named Bob Love. Bob was a true natural in jazz.. He had that pure rich sound that I strived for years to achieve but never quite could, and he could improvise jazz solos with ease, even though he knew virtually nothing about chords.

Bob, who was first chair at a nearby high school, and I competed for three years. I always beat him in competitions, but always by a hair. During my three years as first chair all-city, Bob was second chair. During my two years as second chair all-state, Bob was third chair.

The reason I invariably beat Bob every year in competition, even though the points separating us might be no more than 5 out of 150, was because I practiced like a fiend to prepare myself for the auditions, whereas Bob practiced very little by comparison. And Bob, a very quiet and laid-back guy, didn't care about winning anything. He just liked to play, and he had a great deal of natural talent. Bob would always sit next to me when we played in the all-city and all-state bands, so I could always hear him. He never seemed to miss a note, even though he never practiced the music in advance.

Although Bob and I got along fairly well, though we never became good friends, I found that my initial admiration was turning sour with envy. I began to resent the fact that this guy could play so much better than I could on natural talent alone -- an accident of nature, in effect -- and that I would never be able to equal him in jazz, or even come close, regardless of how dedicated and determined I might be.

Bob and I would sometimes be called upon to play in the same pickup group, say, a jazz band formed for one concert. I would always play lead alto because of my better scores in competition, but I always felt that our positions should have been reversed on these occasions. I even said this to him the last time we played together. I was struggling with an eight bar solo -- the type with nothing but slashes and chord notations -- so during a break I asked Bob how he would play it. Bob knew zilch about chord progression, but he came up with an dandy improv on the spot, without even looking at the music. At this point I told Bob that he should be playing these solos, so would he mind if I asked the director if we could change places. Bob, a modest guy, said that this wasn't necessary, but I insisted and then asked if this would be okay. The director seemed surprised that I would voluntarily demote myself in this manner, but I bluntly said in front of everyone that Bob was much better at such things than I was, so this switch would result in a better performance overall.

Bob Love disappeared not long after this incident. I was told that he had quit school and moved to California to pursue a career in music. I never heard anything about him after that.

Perhaps my envy never became very serious, but what really bothered me is that I was often motivated by the desire to be better than others, not by the love of music for its own sake. I was never comfortable with this motivation, and I never experienced it in the realm of ideas. I have much more natural ability in the realms of writing and ideas than I ever had in music, and I have always been motivated by the enjoyment that comes from creativity, not by the desire to excel over anyone else. The self-confidence that flows from this attitude is much more satisfying.

When I went to see the movie "Amadeus" shortly after its release, I closely identified with the character of Salieri. In essence, that was I in embryo during my years in music, and I quite possibly could have developed into in my own version of Salieri had I stayed in music.

Wendy and I went to see "Amadeus" twice in Westwood, shortly after its initial release. I wanted to see it again because I was disturbed by the movie, but I didn't quite understand why. After we left the second performance, Wendy noticed that I was very quiet, so she asked what was wrong. I said that I was more disturbed by the Salieri character, especially by his envy, than any movie character I had ever seen. By then the reason for my reaction, as explained above, had become crystal clear.

Ghs

[caroljane]

That is fascinating. What an alternate career you might have had in an alternate universe. I can see how having mastered so much self-discipline in the service of art, you turned to philosophy.

I have very little self-discipline, in one sense at least. I will devote myself to a project only so long as I find it personally rewarding, and find the project enjoyable. But then it is not self-discipline that motivates me. Rather, it is the satisfaction and feeling of accomplishment.

There was another factor involved here, one that I found very disturbing. This involved a feeling of envy towards other sax players my age who had far more talent than I did. And I found envy to be a very ugly emotion.

I first became aware of this in regard to an acquaintance of mine, a fellow altoist named Bob Love. Bob was a true natural in jazz.. He had that pure rich sound that I strived for years to achieve but never quite could, and he could improvise jazz solos with ease, even though he knew virtually nothing about chords.

Bob, who was first chair at a nearby high school, and I competed for three years. I always beat him in competitions, but always by a hair. During my three years as first chair all-city, Bob was second chair. During my two years as second chair all-state, Bob was third chair.

The reason I invariably beat Bob every year in competition, even though the points separating us might be no more than 5 out of 150, was because I practiced like a fiend to prepare myself for the auditions, whereas Bob practiced very little by comparison. And Bob, a very quiet and laid-back guy, didn't care about winning anything. He just liked to play, and he had a great deal of natural talent. Bob would always sit next to me when we played in the all-city and all-state bands, so I could always hear him. He never seemed to miss a note, even though he never practiced the music in advance.

Although Bob and I got along fairly well, though we never became good friends, I found that my initial admiration was turning sour with envy. I began to resent the fact that this guy could play so much better than I could on natural talent alone, and that I would never be able to equal him in jazz, or even come close, regardless of how dedicated and determined I might be.

Bob and I would sometimes be called upon to play in the same pickup group, say, a jazz band formed for one concert. I would always play lead alto because of my better scores in competition, but I always felt that our positions should have been reversed on these occasions. I even said this to him the last time we played together. I was struggling with an eight bar solo -- the type with nothing but slashes and chord notations -- so during a break I asked Bob how he would play it. Bob knew zilch about chord progression, but he came up with an dandy improv on the spot, without even looking at the music. At this point I told Bob that he should be playing these solos, so would he mind if I asked the director if we could change places. Bob, a modest guy, said that this wasn't necessary, but I insisted and then asked if this would be okay. The director seemed surprised that I would voluntarily demote myself in this manner, but I bluntly said in front of everyone that Bob was much better at such things than I was, so this switch would result in a better performance overall.

Bob Love disappeared not long after this incident. I was told that he had quit school and moved to California to pursue a career in music. I never heard anything about him after that.

Perhaps my envy never became very serious, but what really bothered me is that I was often motivated by the desire to be better than others, not by the love of music for its own sake. I was never comfortable with this motivation, and I never experienced it in the realm of ideas. I have much more natural ability in the realms of writing and ideas than I ever had in music, and I have always been motivated by the enjoyment that comes from creativity, not by the desire to excel over anyone else. The self-confidence that flows from this attitude is much more satisfying.

When I went to see the movie "Amadeus" shortly after its release, I closely identified with the character of Salieri. In essence, that was I in embryo during my years in music, and I quite possibly could have developed into in my own version of Salieri had I stayed in music.

Wendy and I went to see "Amadeus" twice in Westwood, shortly after its initial release. I wanted to see it again because I was disturbed by the movie, but I didn't quite understand why. After we left the second performance, Wendy noticed that I was very quiet, so she asked what was wrong. I said that I was more disturbed by the Salieri character, especially by his envy, than any movie character I had ever seen. By then the reason for my reaction, as explained above, had become crystal clear.

Ghs

Your introspective honesty makes my initial comments seem thoughtless. But not really so. It is just that my own early life (indeed the rest of it) was so less focused than what you described. I pursued the activities I liked and quit the ones I didn't (like piano lessons) and I can't remember ever feeling the kind of envy you felt. I certainly felt inferior to many of my peers in many ways, but if they got better grades it was because they studied harder; if they were more popular, they just had better personalities (born that way!) - I guess I was a rationalist/fatalist from an early age. I lived in the world of Me..and in a pretty small town.

PS just listened to last mvt of the Mozart clarinet concerto by Benny Goodman!

Edited July 23, 2011 by daunce lynam

[Brant Gaede]

If you are ever in the neighborhood, please go by the house at 4527 E. 10th St. and tell me what it looks like. That was the 3-bedroom house that I lived in from the 7th grade through college. I haven't seen it since 1977.

Rincon was a highly regarded school during my years there. You could go virtually anywhere on campus without encountering locked gates, much less security guards.

The only warnings we ever got were when Rincon and Tucson High, traditional rivals, played football games. As a member of the marching band, I was told to be especially careful about taking instruments home if I walked home late at night (which I did). Tucson High, which was predominantly black, was very antagonistic toward Rincon, which was predominantly white. This racial tension was exacerbated if Rincon won the annual football game, which was a very big deal. Tucson High was a football powerhouse with a number of state championships to their credit. Rincon was usually pretty good in football, though we were much stronger in basketball.

I vividly recall one year when the Rincon and Tucson High football teams were both undefeated, so the final game of the season against one another would determine who went to the state championship playoffs. Rincon won by a few points, owing to the last minute 90-plus yard kickoff return by a player who couldn't usually run ten yards without tripping over his own feet. This fluke really pissed off the Tucson High students, so there were a lot of serious rumbles after the game.

Since I played in the band, I was bussed to all the games, whether I wanted to watch them or not. I was surprised when Rincon made it to the final championship game, but it proved an embarrassment. We were crushed in a walkover. The final score was something like 56 to 7.

Ghs

You can see your old home right now. Simply type the address into the GOOGLE toolbar. You can also go to Zillow.com

The year I was at Tucson High, 1959-1960, it wasn't so black and there were a lot of Mexican-Americans.

--Brant

edit: You can also put Pima County Parcel Search into the toolbar and go to that site. Put 4527 into the little box and your old house is the first to pop up. Click on it and then click on Assessor Parcel Detail for the legal description.

Edited July 23, 2011 by Brant Gaede

[George H. Smith]

If you are ever in the neighborhood, please go by the house at 4527 E. 10th St. and tell me what it looks like. That was the 3-bedroom house that I lived in from the 7th grade through college. I haven't seen it since 1977.

Rincon was a highly regarded school during my years there. You could go virtually anywhere on campus without encountering locked gates, much less security guards.

The only warnings we ever got were when Rincon and Tucson High, traditional rivals, played football games. As a member of the marching band, I was told to be especially careful about taking instruments home if I walked home late at night (which I did). Tucson High, which was predominantly black, was very antagonistic toward Rincon, which was predominantly white. This racial tension was exacerbated if Rincon won the annual football game, which was a very big deal. Tucson High was a football powerhouse with a number of state championships to their credit. Rincon was usually pretty good in football, though we were much stronger in basketball.

I vividly recall one year when the Rincon and Tucson High football teams were both undefeated, so the final game of the season against one another would determine who went to the state championship playoffs. Rincon won by a few points, owing to the last minute 90-plus yard kickoff return by a player who couldn't usually run ten yards without tripping over his own feet. This fluke really pissed off the Tucson High students, so there were a lot of serious rumbles after the game.

Since I played in the band, I was bussed to all the games, whether I wanted to watch them or not. I was surprised when Rincon made it to the final championship game, but it proved an embarrassment. We were crushed in a walkover. The final score was something like 56 to 7.

Ghs

You can see your old home right now. Simply type the address into the GOOGLE toolbar. You can also go to Zillow.com

The year I was at Tucson High, 1959-1960, it wasn't so black and there were a lot of Mexican-Americans.

--Brant

edit: You can also put Pima County Parcel Search into the toolbar and go to that site. Put 4527 into the little box and your old house is the first to pop up. Click on it and then click on Assessor Parcel Detail for the legal description.

Wow! I knew you could pinpoint a location with Google, but I didn't know you could actually view a photo of a house.

That's definitely the house. It has been repainted, and the two large trees that blocked the front living room window have been removed, along with the hedge that fenced in the front yard. And we didn't use the yard as a second driveway, even though we usually had two or more cars around.

The photo can be viewed here . Click on the photo to enlarge it.

Thanks for the tip. I never would have thought of it on my own.

Ghs

[Brant Gaede]

If you are ever in the neighborhood, please go by the house at 4527 E. 10th St. and tell me what it looks like. That was the 3-bedroom house that I lived in from the 7th grade through college. I haven't seen it since 1977.

Rincon was a highly regarded school during my years there. You could go virtually anywhere on campus without encountering locked gates, much less security guards.

The only warnings we ever got were when Rincon and Tucson High, traditional rivals, played football games. As a member of the marching band, I was told to be especially careful about taking instruments home if I walked home late at night (which I did). Tucson High, which was predominantly black, was very antagonistic toward Rincon, which was predominantly white. This racial tension was exacerbated if Rincon won the annual football game, which was a very big deal. Tucson High was a football powerhouse with a number of state championships to their credit. Rincon was usually pretty good in football, though we were much stronger in basketball.

I vividly recall one year when the Rincon and Tucson High football teams were both undefeated, so the final game of the season against one another would determine who went to the state championship playoffs. Rincon won by a few points, owing to the last minute 90-plus yard kickoff return by a player who couldn't usually run ten yards without tripping over his own feet. This fluke really pissed off the Tucson High students, so there were a lot of serious rumbles after the game.

Since I played in the band, I was bussed to all the games, whether I wanted to watch them or not. I was surprised when Rincon made it to the final championship game, but it proved an embarrassment. We were crushed in a walkover. The final score was something like 56 to 7.

Ghs

You can see your old home right now. Simply type the address into the GOOGLE toolbar. You can also go to Zillow.com

The year I was at Tucson High, 1959-1960, it wasn't so black and there were a lot of Mexican-Americans.

--Brant

edit: You can also put Pima County Parcel Search into the toolbar and go to that site. Put 4527 into the little box and your old house is the first to pop up. Click on it and then click on Assessor Parcel Detail for the legal description.

Wow! I knew you could pinpoint a location with Google, but I didn't know you could actually view a photo of a house.

That's definitely the house. It has been repainted, and the two large trees that blocked the front living room window have been removed, along with the hedge that fenced in the front yard. And we didn't use the yard as a second driveway, even though we usually had two or more cars around.

The photo can be viewed here . Click on the photo to enlarge it.

Thanks for the tip. I never would have thought of it on my own.

Ghs

Did you zoom all the way in? More photos.

--Brant

[George H. Smith]

If you are ever in the neighborhood, please go by the house at 4527 E. 10th St. and tell me what it looks like. That was the 3-bedroom house that I lived in from the 7th grade through college. I haven't seen it since 1977.

Rincon was a highly regarded school during my years there. You could go virtually anywhere on campus without encountering locked gates, much less security guards.

The only warnings we ever got were when Rincon and Tucson High, traditional rivals, played football games. As a member of the marching band, I was told to be especially careful about taking instruments home if I walked home late at night (which I did). Tucson High, which was predominantly black, was very antagonistic toward Rincon, which was predominantly white. This racial tension was exacerbated if Rincon won the annual football game, which was a very big deal. Tucson High was a football powerhouse with a number of state championships to their credit. Rincon was usually pretty good in football, though we were much stronger in basketball.

I vividly recall one year when the Rincon and Tucson High football teams were both undefeated, so the final game of the season against one another would determine who went to the state championship playoffs. Rincon won by a few points, owing to the last minute 90-plus yard kickoff return by a player who couldn't usually run ten yards without tripping over his own feet. This fluke really pissed off the Tucson High students, so there were a lot of serious rumbles after the game.

Since I played in the band, I was bussed to all the games, whether I wanted to watch them or not. I was surprised when Rincon made it to the final championship game, but it proved an embarrassment. We were crushed in a walkover. The final score was something like 56 to 7.

Ghs

You can see your old home right now. Simply type the address into the GOOGLE toolbar. You can also go to Zillow.com

The year I was at Tucson High, 1959-1960, it wasn't so black and there were a lot of Mexican-Americans.

--Brant

edit: You can also put Pima County Parcel Search into the toolbar and go to that site. Put 4527 into the little box and your old house is the first to pop up. Click on it and then click on Assessor Parcel Detail for the legal description.

Wow! I knew you could pinpoint a location with Google, but I didn't know you could actually view a photo of a house.

That's definitely the house. It has been repainted, and the two large trees that blocked the front living room window have been removed, along with the hedge that fenced in the front yard. And we didn't use the yard as a second driveway, even though we usually had two or more cars around.

The photo can be viewed here . Click on the photo to enlarge it.

Thanks for the tip. I never would have thought of it on my own.

Ghs

Did you zoom all the way in? More photos.

--Brant

I don't know what enlargement has to do with anything. One can get different perspectives by using the directional arrows, but I cannot find additional photos of the house per se.

This is remarkable. I can easily trace the route that I used thousands of times when I walked to Rincon. I can also stop and look around at various points in my virtual journey. Almost nothing except the school is easily recognizable -- hardly surprising considering that nearly 35 years have passed since my last visit.

It's funny how the mind can play tricks after so many years. I thought that Rincon was closer to my former home than it actually is.. It seemed to take only a few minutes to walk. The only time it seemed longer was when I had to hop home on one leg, after I fractured my foot during a pickup basketball game.

I seem to have gotten sidetracked while strolling down memory lane. God help us all.

Ghs

[George H. Smith]

I seem to have gotten sidetracked while strolling down memory lane. God help us all.

Ghs

Anyone interested in the house which I have rented for the past 11 years can find a photo here .

The house is very old (circa 1910) and somewhat run down, but it is in a decent neighborhood, very spacious (large rooms and high ceilings), and the rent is very reasonable.

If you use the right or left arrow to "turn around," you will see a BP gas station and mini-mart directly across Center St. Not far beyond that, on the other side of Main Street, you will see two large apartment buidlings. Lou Rollins, the author of The Myth of Natural Rights and Lucifer's Lexicon, lives in the building to your left.

Don't ask me why, but I would be interested in seeing pictures of where other OLers live, if you can find a photo and post a link.

Ghs

[Brant Gaede]

Well, to find my house go to Zillow.com and type in 3001 Lloyd Bush Dr 85745. That's not my house. My house is the one right next to it to the north. Because of a quirk in the public records my house can't be directly accessed via its address. In GOOGLE type in 3011 Lloyd Bush Dr for better photos as you zoom in. Unlike George's old house, I have central air, not just evaporative cooling. Growing up in Tucson some houses I lived in only had an evaporative cooler in the living room in the window. Let's say it's real hot in Tucson in the summer, like 110 F. Your evaporative cooler will cool you down to about 85 and only increase the humidity. In the 1930s and earlier in Tucson you had not even evaporative cooling, which is water running over pads in a box with a fan. In July and August, the hotest months, that cooling is the least effective because those are the relatively high humidity plus high temperature months.

--Brant

Edited July 23, 2011 by Brant Gaede

[PDS]

With that said, I don't care for JMS' black beatnik cap, and sense in Ms. McElroy's picture profound angst.

You have a point there. And Neil smiles too much and Wendy not enough. Bad choices.

Neil's smile seems pasted onto to his face like a tail in an old Pin the Donkey game. And Wendy's angst is most evident in the way her mouth tilts to the left--no coincidence, that direction, I might add, since most anarchists are best understood as socialists with their sleeves rolled up.

None of these things are a cause for optimism regarding this very important intellectual property debate, circa 1983.

Hell, upon reflection, I am half tempted to take Greybird's advice and, as they say, "run with the evisceration."

[caroljane]

....most anarchists are best understood as socialists with their sleeves rolled up.

As a socialist who recently cut off the sleeves of most of her garments* in order to endure our current inferno, I read this comment and wonder yet again, what am I turning into amongst this crowd? I was a good respectable synaestho-fatalist--now I could be an anarchist? If Anarchtica is colder than Canuckistan, I'm tempted to go there.

*I spared the raincoat however.

[Rich Engle]

One of my best friends at the time, who became enthusiastic about Rand at the same time I did, once told me that he would like to have a discussion about a "serious" problem he had. We had the discussion while sitting in my car at the parking lot of a 7-11 just a few blocks from my home (near Broadway and Swan, for the benefit of Brant).

I got close the other day when I went to my dentist, David Robb, near Rincon HS. He graduated from that school in 1968. They recently fired all the teachers and hired back half.

I'm sure your old home has been turned into a dope den, burnt down or gone into foreclosure, maybe all three.

--Brant

I was never there

I'd think George probably managed to make that happen when he was living there. . .

Ghs--I am very much enjoying the discussion about jazz, etc. Not much to add at this point. Gosh, I hadn't thought about Dave Allen or that album in ages. One of my guitar teachers turned me onto that many years ago.

Also, to increase the mission creep--I just got the new music service Spotify (www.spotify.com) and it is beyond excellent (and free). The way they have it working is that you send in a request, and then a couple days later they send you an invite. This is a tailbusting archive (like 15 million), and you can even incoroporate your own mp3s with it, use it in standalone mode, etc. The application is non-intrusive and boy oh boy can you dig up some tunes. This is a fairly new thing and if you are a music head, jump on yonder bandwagon. I use things like Pandora and Grooveshark as well, but this has much more breadth and depth.

r

Edited July 23, 2011 by Rich Engle

[PDS]

....most anarchists are best understood as socialists with their sleeves rolled up.

As a socialist who recently cut off the sleeves of most of her garments* in order to endure our current inferno, I read this comment and wonder yet again, what am I turning into amongst this crowd? I was a good respectable synaestho-fatalist--now I could be an anarchist? If Anarchtica is colder than Canuckistan, I'm tempted to go there.

*I spared the raincoat however.

Daunce: I apologize. My comment was meant as a playful provocation, not a painful prescription. In any event, I hope you maintain a decent sewing kit. You might as well fix the torn shoulder of your raincoat while you are at it...

[caroljane]

....most anarchists are best understood as socialists with their sleeves rolled up.

As a socialist who recently cut off the sleeves of most of her garments* in order to endure our current inferno, I read this comment and wonder yet again, what am I turning into amongst this crowd? I was a good respectable synaestho-fatalist--now I could be an anarchist? If Anarchtica is colder than Canuckistan, I'm tempted to go there.

*I spared the raincoat however.

Daunce: I apologize. My comment was meant as a playful provocation, not a painful prescription. In any event, I hope you maintain a decent sewing kit. You might as well fix the torn shoulder of your raincoat while you are at it...

thanks PDS, I can't sew but the Sisters of Mercy do wonderful needlework and they are helping me out.

[PDS]

....most anarchists are best understood as socialists with their sleeves rolled up.

As a socialist who recently cut off the sleeves of most of her garments* in order to endure our current inferno, I read this comment and wonder yet again, what am I turning into amongst this crowd? I was a good respectable synaestho-fatalist--now I could be an anarchist? If Anarchtica is colder than Canuckistan, I'm tempted to go there.

*I spared the raincoat however.

Daunce: I apologize. My comment was meant as a playful provocation, not a painful prescription. In any event, I hope you maintain a decent sewing kit. You might as well fix the torn shoulder of your raincoat while you are at it...

thanks PDS, I can't sew but the Sisters of Mercy do wonderful needlework and they are helping me out.

Funny, I heard the Sisters of Mercy were departed. I guess that's why they're called the Sisters of Mercy. This thread is taking on the whiff of a drunk in a midnight choir.

[caroljane]

....most anarchists are best understood as socialists with their sleeves rolled up.

As a socialist who recently cut off the sleeves of most of her garments* in order to endure our current inferno, I read this comment and wonder yet again, what am I turning into amongst this crowd? I was a good respectable synaestho-fatalist--now I could be an anarchist? If Anarchtica is colder than Canuckistan, I'm tempted to go there.

*I spared the raincoat however.

Daunce: I apologize. My comment was meant as a playful provocation, not a painful prescription. In any event, I hope you maintain a decent sewing kit. You might as well fix the torn shoulder of your raincoat while you are at it...

thanks PDS, I can't sew but the Sisters of Mercy do wonderful needlework and they are helping me out.

Funny, I heard the Sisters of Mercy were departed. I guess that's why they're called the Sisters of Mercy. This thread is taking on the whiff of a drunk in a midnight choir.

Unfounded rumour. They're always around when you need them. Just look among the garbage and the flowers. Hic.

[PDS]

....most anarchists are best understood as socialists with their sleeves rolled up.

As a socialist who recently cut off the sleeves of most of her garments* in order to endure our current inferno, I read this comment and wonder yet again, what am I turning into amongst this crowd? I was a good respectable synaestho-fatalist--now I could be an anarchist? If Anarchtica is colder than Canuckistan, I'm tempted to go there.

*I spared the raincoat however.

Daunce: I apologize. My comment was meant as a playful provocation, not a painful prescription. In any event, I hope you maintain a decent sewing kit. You might as well fix the torn shoulder of your raincoat while you are at it...

thanks PDS, I can't sew but the Sisters of Mercy do wonderful needlework and they are helping me out.

Funny, I heard the Sisters of Mercy were departed. I guess that's why they're called the Sisters of Mercy. This thread is taking on the whiff of a drunk in a midnight choir.

Unfounded rumour. They're always around when you need them. Just look among the garbage and the flowers. Hic.

Can we start doing this with Rush lyrics? Still Canadian, but more Randian, and less depressing.

[caroljane]

....most anarchists are best understood as socialists with their sleeves rolled up.

As a socialist who recently cut off the sleeves of most of her garments* in order to endure our current inferno, I read this comment and wonder yet again, what am I turning into amongst this crowd? I was a good respectable synaestho-fatalist--now I could be an anarchist? If Anarchtica is colder than Canuckistan, I'm tempted to go there.

*I spared the raincoat however.

Daunce: I apologize. My comment was meant as a playful provocation, not a painful prescription. In any event, I hope you maintain a decent sewing kit. You might as well fix the torn shoulder of your raincoat while you are at it...

thanks PDS, I can't sew but the Sisters of Mercy do wonderful needlework and they are helping me out.

Funny, I heard the Sisters of Mercy were departed. I guess that's why they're called the Sisters of Mercy. This thread is taking on the whiff of a drunk in a midnight choir.

Unfounded rumour. They're always around when you need them. Just look among the garbage and the flowers. Hic.

Can we start doing this with Rush lyrics? Still Canadian, but more Randian, and less depressing.

Nope. I'm on the slippery slope. It's Lightfoot, Stan Rogers or Weird Al from here on in for me.

[Xray]

With that said, I don't care for JMS' black beatnik cap, and sense in Ms. McElroy's picture profound angst.

You have a point there. And Neil smiles too much and Wendy not enough. Bad choices.

I made an interesting psychological experience when studying the two pictures.

Since we happen to know a lot of private info about those two individuals, I find it very difficult to be objective in looking at the pictures, i. e. what I personally associate with both Wendy and Neil strongly flows into my interpretation of their facial expressions.

Since I never perceived Wendy as having much angst (I see her as an extreme risk taker not afraid to transgress boundaries), I find it difficult to detect angst in her expression. Wariness and distrust, yes. Also hardness, and an attitude of calculation by someone who does not want to put her cards on the table.

But like I said, it is all colored by what I personally connote with Wendy.

(The bitterness I also "see" in Wendy's face is not influenced by what I have read about her though).

The same goes for Neil: "ebullient", "wears his heart on his sleeve", "a good hearted-guy, but very impulsive and too trusting", "not having enpough inner distance to his own experience" - again, all that I connote with Neil flows into my interpretation of his photo.

Edited July 24, 2011 by Xray

[Rich Engle]

With that said, I don't care for JMS' black beatnik cap, and sense in Ms. McElroy's picture profound angst.

You have a point there. And Neil smiles too much and Wendy not enough. Bad choices.

I made an interesting psychological experience when studying the two pictures.

Since we happen to know a lot of private info about those two individuals, I find it very difficult to be objective in looking at the pictures, i. e. what I personally associate with both Wendy and Neil strongly flows into my interpretation of their facial expressions.

Since I never perceived Wendy as having much angst (I see her as an extreme risk taker not afraid to transgress boundaries), I find it difficult to detect angst in her expression. Wariness and distrust, yes. Also hardness, and an attitude of calculation by someone who does not want to put her cards on the table.

But like I said, it is all colored by what I personally connote with Wendy.

(The bitterness I also "see" in Wendy's face is not influenced by what I have read about her though).

The same goes for Neil: "ebullient", "wears his heart on his sleeve", "a good hearted-guy, but very impulsive and too trusting", "not having enpough inner distance to his own experience" - again, all that I connote with Neil flows into my interpretation of his photo.

That's why you have to be careful (and/or creative) when you put out pictures. For my guitar practice, I have just what they would expect. When they ask me for a writer shot, I just give them something confusing, lately it has been this:

It do work real fine in the Southern Market., by crackie'.

rde

Edited July 24, 2011 by Rich Engle

[George H. Smith]

With that said, I don't care for JMS' black beatnik cap, and sense in Ms. McElroy's picture profound angst.

You have a point there. And Neil smiles too much and Wendy not enough. Bad choices.

I made an interesting psychological experience when studying the two pictures.

Since we happen to know a lot of private info about those two individuals, I find it very difficult to be objective in looking at the pictures, i. e. what I personally associate with both Wendy and Neil strongly flows into my interpretation of their facial expressions.

Since I never perceived Wendy as having much angst (I see her as an extreme risk taker not afraid to transgress boundaries), I find it difficult to detect angst in her expression. Wariness and distrust, yes. Also hardness, and an attitude of calculation by someone who does not want to put her cards on the table. But like I said, it is all colored by what I personally connote with Wendy.

(The bitterness I also "see" in Wendy's face is not influenced by what I have read about her though).

Wendy has always had a lot a angst, if we understand this term as existentialists use it. She should be wearing the beret.

Ghs