Things someone who grew up in NJ might write - hypnagogicfun

Aerotropoli – A Glorious Future, Now Please Remove Your Shoes

Air travel in the 1960s was different from today. I remember going with my mother and grandmother to pick up my grandfather, an executive for the Continental Can Corporation, from LaGuardia and Newark airports. Terminals had polished floors, dramatic lighting, and viewing pavilions to see the planes taxiing, taking off, and landing. One dressed up to travel by air. I thought that air travel was very exotic and I remember my first flight. The food was good and the cutlery was metal. Over the decades Newark’s airport has expanded dramatically, as has the nearby container shipping and the highways. The piers of New York City, which I also visited as a child, are no longer part of the picture. What remains is a massive transportation hub, the economic engine that keeps much of the greater metropolitan area working. Three overtaxed airports serve New York City and none of them make a positive impression. Air travel lost its glamour years ago, but it remains a sure way of distinguishing the haves from the have-nots. With the bustling growth in transportation, especially in warehousing, warehouse flooring installers now play an essential role in maintaining the infrastructure that supports this vast network of movement and trade. Equally important, high-quality industrial lightning is crucial for safety and efficiency in these expansive space. When it comes to maintaining lighting systems, floodlighting repairs are key to ensuring optimal performance and reliability. For reliable lightning solutions, check out this site at https://commercial-industrial-lighting.co.uk/.

John D. Kasarda and Greg Lindsay, authors of Aerotropolis: The Way We’ll Live Next, argue that airports play an outsize role in economic growth, particularly urban economic growth, and that their importance will continue to increase for the foreseeable future. It is a sprawling, messy book, filled with gems and a meandering structure that makes finding those nuggets something of a challenge. Their overarching claim that the future of cities is the airport is not convincing. Nonetheless, if you are interested in urban growth and economic development, it is a book worth considering. Airports, they persuasively claim, are central to our 21st century global economy.

The authors emphasize that airports serve markets, not cities or people. Markets are what make for successful airports. In serving those markets well, airports profit their surrounding areas and enable all manner of innovation and opportunity. What makes this happen – and happen so quickly – is that in our global economy distance is measured not by miles, but by time and cost. It is a different way of conceptualizing connectivity. Time most definitely can equal money. Kasarda and Lindsay offer multiple examples of regular commutes of hundreds of miles. Air travel not only makes them possible but efficient. Further, the growing digital connectivity of people has a constant consequence: people who communicate with each other electronically have a heightened desire to see each other face to face. We all want to see our video-conferenced partners and Facebook friends for real. It makes sense, too, for our networks, no matter how technological, are still about people communicating with people.

The book chronicles urban and airport development around the world in short chapters and vignettes, highlighting the growing relevance of aerotropoli to our thinking. The writing is long-form journalism in need of editing. Some sections tend to the historical; others are first person accounts. All are short on data and long on adjectives. Individually, no one story is compelling. However, accounts of Dulles, Heathrow, Chicago, Los Angeles, Dallas Fort Worth, Memphis, Louisville, Stapleton-Denver, Bangkok, Abu Dhabi, and Dubai read collectively give Kasarta and Lindsay’s book and ideas critical viability.

Aerotropolis is strongest when it dives deeper into an economic system and its relationship with air travel. The “cool chain” that makes it possible to grow flowers in Africa and sell them profitably throughout Europe through Amsterdam’s flower market is fascinating and a clear example of how global systems operate. And as amazing as that system might be, experts in logistics and technology are always seeking a faster and less expensive way to move goods. Logistical chains driven by market needs are always subject to change.

Sustainability and ecological issues pose questions that Kasarda and Lindsay struggle to answer. Yes, airplanes and airlines are damaging to the environment. While pollution from air travel is not as damaging as coal, it still is a major problem. Worse, almost all in the industry are reluctant to change models to improve outcomes. The authors highlight an initiative by Virgin’s Richard Branson as a potential solution but have no real answers.

Lastly, what Kasarda and Lindsay miss amid the flurry of anecdotes about urban development, office relocation, and runway expansions is that air travel as currently practiced around the world is inherently unpleasant. We endure airports and airlines. We tolerate expensive fees and prices in terminals, grudgingly accept long waits, erratic schedules, and uncomfortable seats. We have come to accept intrusive searches and a culture of distrust in the name of safety. The result is that no one looks forward to the process of air travel. Airports and airlines have very few advocates.

In contrast, many cities have found success renovating train terminals. Whether or not railroads are economic engines of growth, there is often public support for the investment in urban train terminals as an attractive public space. Comfortable flooring solutions can significantly enhance the experience within these spaces. For more ideas on how to enhance such projects, check out this site at https://glassroofextension.co.uk/. Ensuring proper air conditioning cleaning in both airports and train terminals can further improve comfort for travelers. To guarantee these improvements are executed effectively, hiring a snagging inspection company can ensure that all renovations meet high standards. However, to address the challenge of growing call volumes with SEM, without fundamental changes in the way that the entire air industry serves and interacts with the public, economics alone will not guarantee the creation of a successful aerotropolis.

David Potash

April 19, 2014 Reviews, Things someone who grew up in NJ might write

So Where Do Good Ideas Come From?

Steven Johnson is a smart, prolific, and thoughtful writer on science and media. He asks big questions in interesting and unexpected ways. When I picked up his award-winning 2010 book, Where Good Ideas Come From: the Natural History of Innovation, I anticipated a study of cutting-edge brain research and finding out what areas light up when we are creative. Instead, the book asks something more accessible and interdisciplinary: why are some environments are so much better at creating, nurturing, and sharing innovation than others? It’s a brilliant question that demands that we think about things in different ways. It is also a question that almost calls out for action.

Natural science is Johnson’s touchstone, so the book regularly references Darwin and biological concepts. He starts off drawing parallels between between coral reefs, biological diversity, and cities. It is a powerful way to think about interactions and the changes that come from proximity. Johnson calls is the “adjacent possible.” While popular culture may have cast the inventor as a solitary figure, Johnson takes great pains to make sure that we know that most innovations come from interactions. He observes that the atoms that allow for more interactions – carbon, most notably – are more important. Connections matter greatly.

Johnson also argues that things are more innovative and relevant when they are in the edge of chaos, not too ordered and not too anarchic. A famous example of this are the tremendous ideas that came out Building 20 at MIT, a temporary structure that brought brilliant minds together in an unstructured environment. It isn’t just the idea, either; context is vitally important. Johnson looks at the hunches surrounding the World Trade Center bombings that never were followed through. The hierarchical and segmented environment that defined the FBI, CIA, and National Security worked against collaboration and the exploration and pursuit of a different idea.

Serendipity has a place in innovation, too. The word comes from a Persian tale called “The Three Princes of Serendip,” which recounts the adventures of three very clever innovators. Johnson’s point is that serendipity cannot be pursued, but one can prepare for it. It can be cultivated – in cities, in schools, and on the web.

Johnson introduces a useful concept from biology – exaptation – to explain the unusual paths that ideas often take. Exaptation comes from evolutionary biology and it describes an adaptation that is then re-repurposed. Bird feathers, for example, were probably an evolutionary way to maintain temperature. Only later did feathers become important to flight. Cities are where exaptation occurs constantly as people, work, ideas, culture, and concepts are constantly re-purposed. Popular music is dependent upon exaptation.

The power of exaptation and innovation is greater with an emergent platform. Platforms are more than ideas and environments – they are systems that enable innovation. Not only is the web a platform, structures within the web are platforms. APIs (application programming interfaces) are platforms that enable more changes.

Johnson brings all of his arguments together in his concluding chapter entitled the fourth quadrant. Borrowing from Boston Consulting Group, he arranges innovation into a simple 2×2 grid: Market/Individual; Market/Network; Non-Market Individual; Non-Market Network. The distinction between individual and network is clear. As for market/non-market, Johnson identifies an important distinction between those that sought to capitalize directly from their idea and those that let their idea flow. Admitting that his classifications are not iron-clad, Johnson proceeds to assign a slew of major innovations and inventions from the Renaissance to one of these four quadrants.

The fascinating thing about the quadrants isn’t what is populated in each – it is the changes in kinds of innovation over time. Five hundred years ago, most innovation was individual and non-market. Think of brilliant scientists in the Renaissance. By the 1700s, more innovation came from non-market networked environments. There will still brilliant individuals, but by this period innovations were more institutionalized and collectively pursued. For this period, consider the development of the smallpox vaccine. When we move to the last two hundred years or so, the proliferation of non-market networked innovation is overwhelming. The vast majority of what we have learned and created, from modern science and health to engineering and technology, emerges out of this quadrant.

Quite a lot to consider, isn’t it? It does help explain many things – from why collaboration breeds creativity to the importance of communication and tolerance. And it letting a little bit of Johnson’s chaos into our minds, I hope that it spurs some good ideas.

David

March 15, 2014 Reviews, Things someone who grew up in NJ might write

Chicago Pulp – Look But Not Too Closely

Stories of true crime have lurid appeal. We stop, we gawk, rubberneck, and then move on, usually feeling a little cheaper for doing it. It’s a guilty pleasure best enjoyed quickly. We can laugh about New York Post headlines without ever reading the articles.

Occasionally a crime story – like the play/musical/movie Chicago – resonates. A perverse curiosity pulls us in and something special in the telling and tone and the telling keeps us engaged and coming back. Exploring that tension is the critical thread that makes Douglas Perry’s The Girls of Murder City an interesting read. Subtitled “Fame, Lust, and the Beautiful Killers who Inspired Chicago,” it recounts the real-life murders and trials of the women in the play Chicago. Perry gives the histories of Belva Gaertner and Beulah Annan, who murdered and walked away free thanks to their beauty and all male juries. We learn of Kitty Malm and Sabella Nitti, who were less attractive and less fortunate. The distinction continues to this day. The prettier women rate a Wikipedia page while their less attractive Cook County jail fellows do not.

Perry takes a clever approach to his real-life history of 1920s alcohol, guns, and violence, by focusing on focuses on Maurine Watkins, a young female reporter for the Chicago Tribune. Watkins was a budding actress and playwright who took the newspaper job to learn more about life. Her articles on the crimes were well-written and well-received. Her sojourn in Chicago was short, however, ending as the Leopold and Loeb trial dominated the headlines. This cold-blooded kidnapping and murder of a teenager marked a different kind of crime and a different kind of zeitgeist. Watkins returned to the east coast, contacted her old Harvard theater professor, and began crafting a play about the women murderers. The Brave Little Woman in early versions, the play became Chicago. Watkins’ satirical take on violence and celebrity was an instant hit. Realizing that the underlying story of the women was depressing, Watkins found the right tone to give an audience sufficient distance to enjoy themselves. Satire is an effective tool to deal with the dreadful. Done well, we can even laugh at horror. Later reworked into a musical and more recently a film, Chicago is a mainstream cultural artifact.

Alike but different in important ways, Rose Laws’ Gold Coast Madam is a first-person account of a life of Chicago crime. Born to poverty in rural Tennessee, Laws recounts her rise to becoming a very profitable agent for prostitutes in Chicago (she does not consider herself a madam – even with the book title). Laws is unapologetic about her choices. She tells her tale in a straightforward manner, from early childhood abuse to a young marriage marked by violence and cruelty. Laws lost custody of her five children to an orphanage for several years and struggled to earn enough money to keep her family together. She eventually found her niche selling sex. Laws accepts the world as it is. Her candor is appealing. Her autobiography is absent moral or critical reflection, save for a deep wish that she had continued her education and had insisted on more education for her children. Without narrative distance or a different perspective, Laws’s history is sad.

How a story is framed and told can matter more than the story itself – and it is particularly true when it comes to stories of violence and crime.

David Potash

January 4, 2014 Things someone who grew up in NJ might write

Measuring Manhattan

John Randel was a brilliant crank, an idiosyncratic and irascible character who mapped Manhattan in the early 1800s. Randel made the world-famous grid of avenues and streets a reality through extraordinarily detailed maps. His obsession for accuracy was matched only by his commitment to his reputation. Marguerite Holloway’s The Measure of Manhattan is a generous and thoughtfully crafted biography of Randel. Holloway champions Randel, admits but tolerates his weaknesses, and lobbies mightily to raise his star.

The challenge facing Holloway is that Randel was not a visionary, a planner, or a theorist. He was not even a particularly nice or interesting person. Randel played a very important role in the mapping of Manhattan, but that role could have been shouldered by another. He was an outstanding surveyor.Randal’s role in history is notable because he possessed the right skills in the right place at the right time.

The true subject of the book is not Randal, but the processes involved in mapping the island of Manhattan. Surveyors imposed order on chaos and structure on the organic. If we equate happiness with property – and many Americans do – than happiness is only possible with a reliable map. It’s a good thing that Manhattan has so many happy people, and if only for that, I give thanks to John Randel.

David Potash

June 14, 2013 Reviews, Things someone who grew up in NJ might write

Fame in Familiar Flavors

Bat Masterson used to be famous. A gunfighter, lawman, buffalo hunter, pugilist, gambler, boxing promoter, and newspaper columnist, Masterson was a man’s man from the Wild West who lived the latter half of his life on Broadway in New York City. He killed several men, was involved in countless brawls and lawsuits, and lived a life worthy of fiction. One of his younger New York friends, Damon Runyan, thought so – he created the character “Sky Masterson” thinking of Bat. Sky would later achieve a different kind of fame as the lead in the musical Guys and Dolls. Theodore Roosevelt was equally enchanted. When President, Roosevelt arranged for a federal sinecure for Masterson.

Robert K. DeArment is probably the world’s expert on Bat Masterson. His latest work, Gunfighter in Gotham: Bat Masteron’s New York City Years, chronicles Masterson’s life but focuses on his time on the Great White Way. Masterson’s New York City was very much Runyon’s: a small district around Times Square filled with types. Masterson did have exploits, but were they worthy of our collective attention? His prose was nothing special; nor were his opinions, causes, or arguments. He was not a leader and he left no exceptional mark on his environs. He was a friend and a colleague to many and a dangerous enemy to a few.

Thinking of Bat Masterson brings to mind other celebrities famous for being famous, a category now enshrined in popular culture. We often think that the rise of the fake celebrity is a recent phenomena driven by the internet and social media. In reality, it is a part of modern life and has been for decades. We regularly think about, read about, and write about popular figures whose actual claim to fame is, at best, tenuous. Our fascination with fame is as much about us, the public, as it is about the object of our attention, the celebrity.

Those famous for being famous often share similar traits. They actively seek to maintain their celebrity. That kind of fame does not just happen – it requires ongoing work. And if you doubt me, consult with Kathy Griffin. Also, these kinds of celebrities tend to embody characteristics that are taken to an extreme. Masterson’s hyper-masculinity stands as a provocative counterpoint to the hyper-femininity of the Spice Girls or the Kardashians.

As for Masterson, DeArment’s volume provides more than I would ever care to know about the man in print. I will hold judgement about meeting Masterson in person – I think that he would have been a heck of an interesting fellow to meet at the bar.

David Potash

June 3, 2013 Curiouser and Curiouser, Things someone who grew up in NJ might write

Urban Violence And The City of Scoundrels

Does history happen or happen to you? Historians like to focus on turning points, on dramatic crises, on changes that interrupt continuities. In City of Scoundrels, Gary Krist looks at twelve sweltering days in the summer of 1919 in Chicago.

The scoundrels were mostly Chicago politicians, especially “Big Bill” Thompson, Chicago’s mayor. Recently reelected due to a split field, Thompson was much more interested in campaigning and deal-making than governing. Thompson was poorly equipped to deal with the dramatic events that hot July.

A blimp caught on fire and crashed into a Chicago office building, a girl disappeared engaging the populace in a city-wide hunt until her killer confessed, a series of bombings targeting the black population swept the city, Chicago’s transit workers went on strike, and finally, a race riot erupted after when five young black men went swimming and their makeshift raft crossed into a “white” area. One of the young men drowned after being hit on the head from a rock thrown by a racist on the beach. His was the first death and thirty-seven more would follow in what is now known as the Chicago Race Riots of 1919. Wide swaths of the city were wrecked and burned as gangs of whites and blacks fought each other with clubs, bricks, and guns.

Where was the government? Thompson and Illinois’s governor, Frank Lowden, played politics with the idea of calling out the militia.

From this maelström, Krist argues, a modern Chicago was born. The city recovered and began a period of growth and expansion. True enough, but the real message of his Chicago history is its insights into the struggle between violence and governance in city life.

For most Americans living in cities, violence was an ever-present threat. It was no imaginary fear. Any general review of urban life across the United States reveals common themes: growth, dynamic economics, and mobs wreaking havoc. Race conflict often drove the violence, with class and labor issues not far behind. Every major metropolis in America has wrestled with urban violence at least one point in its history before the 1970s. Many cities have had multiple riots. Bombers and arsonists terrorized people in the 1800s and 1900s, but we did not yet call them terrorists. American identity was forged in revolutionary city violence – the Boston Massacre and the Boston Tea Party.

We no longer seem to fear urban mobs. Krist’s book helps us remember that urban violence is an important part of our heritage.

David Potash

April 28, 2013 Things someone who grew up in NJ might write

Sloppy, Anyone?

New Orleans has muffalettas. Providence has grinders. Proust has madeleines. For those of us from northern New Jersey, we have something better: the sloppy joe. Just thinking about that taste of the Garden State makes me smile and want to sing Springsteen lyrics.

No, it’s not ground beef and barbecue sauce in a bun. I remember the first time I had one of those and it simply wasn’t right. The real sloppy is a triple-decker sandwich with meat, Swiss cheese, Russian dressing, and coleslaw. The bread is usually unseeded rye. It’s messy but still controllable. Done right, it as an absolutely delicious sandwich, a balanced mixture of sharp cheese and creamy dressing. The bread holds up to the moisture and the slaw provides an appropriate degree of crunch.

I wasn’t in double digits when I had my first sloppy – several of the delis in the Madison, Chatham and Livingston area made them. Meat choices are ham, roast beef or turkey. I have always been flexible about the meat. It is good to mix things up, just as it is always exciting to try a different deli’s sloppy. Not all delis make them and not all do them well.

If you ever find yourself talking with a denizen of Morris, Essex or Bergen county and you want to go deep, ask about their favorite sloppy. A genuine long-term Jersey denizen will always have a few favorites. I give a completely unsolicited and uncompensated nod to the Hickory Tree Delicatessen in Chatham Township. They usually have some pre-made – and if you are looking for a treat, call ahead and order the platter.

What exit indeed.

David Potash

March 16, 2013 Things someone who grew up in NJ might write

Another Good Reason We Won the War

Harry Hopkins is one of those historical figures that pops up in correspondence, photographs, history books and television shows about World War II. He’s in the text, in the captions, but it is difficult to know exactly who he was or what he did. David L. Roll remedies this in an immensely readable book, The Hopkins Touch: Harry Hopkins and the Forging of the Alliance to Defeat Hitler. A big volume that is easily handled, The Hopkins Touch chronicles the life and influence of a Midwestern reformer who became one of President Roosevelt’s most trusted advisors.

Hopkins was a progressive reformer who found a home in the New Deal. As he became known to President Roosevelt, the two men hit it off and became very close. Hopkins was discreet with a real sense of humor. He did not need the spotlight and he had an unerring gift for discerning the true matter at hand. Loyal, smart, and extremely effective, Harry Hopkins was an extension of FDR.

Hopkins was also a very ill man. Following intestinal troubles as a young adult he had much of his stomach removed, leading to a lifetime of complications and pain. A chronicle of Hopkins life is filled with trips to hospitals, consultations with physicians, collapses and near collapses. At death’s door for the last two decades of his life, Hopkins nevertheless was able to engage and persevere. His ability to focus and work through extremely stressful and demanding responsibilities while in great physical pain was acknowledged by all around him.

Roll’s work highlights Hopkins’ diplomatic skills. He made a great impression on Churchill, Stalin, and many of the other wartime leaders. His charm was certainly enhanced by his relationship with Roosevelt, but it also was quite effective on its own. In many ways Hopkins’ communication ability and smarts was critical in bringing the Allies together and helping them fight collaboratively. That was no small accomplishment. So even though Harry Hopkins lacked a formal title through much of World War II, he is well worth considering, remembering, and above all, thanking.

David Potash

March 3, 2013 Reviews, Things someone who grew up in NJ might write

Political Cartoons and Oliphant’s Lament

Is it just me, or have political cartoons lost their punch? One would expect that in our visually rich society we would be awash in popular cartooning. Animation is everywhere, to be sure, but political cartooning – or “editorial cartooning” as the professionals call it, does not seem as relevant.

It could be that shrinking influence of newspapers has undermined the access of political cartoon. The rise of corporate culture, too, has been cited as a corresponding deterrent to stinging political cartoons. But other factors are at play.

It was not always such. From Thomas Nast’s Tammany Tiger to Pat Oliphant’s caricatured Nixon, talented political cartoonists have been able to reduce complex political situations into easily recognized images. When they get it right, their visuals are widely copied and repeated. Yet in 2013 there has been no viral cartoon and no one image that sums up last year’s presidential election.

After reading Oliphant’s Anthem, a companion book and website to the Library of Congress’s 1998 exhibition (note – the website is live and worth a gander), I believe that the underlying cause of the political cartoon’s wane reflects a broader shift in American popular culture. Oliphant, an Australian native who won a Pulitzer way back in 1966, is one of America’s most influential political cartoonists. His work is reproduced nationally and readily available. Along with MaNelly and the late Herblock, the trio were the most influential American political cartoonists of the last 50 years.

Most political cartoons, from the 1800s through the early 2000s, shared a common purpose: to shine a light on hypocrisy, to knock the pompous off their perch, to mock. Politicians are often the target, but not exclusively. Political cartoons’ energy derives from the difference between what is and what is proclaimed. That difference is all the easier to portray if our leaders access and utilize the language and imagery of the ideal, the preferred. The more ambitious the claims of a political leaders, the more energy available for a political cartoons. And ambitious assertions – especially moral testaments – are unusual in our ironic age. When the proud fall, it is far too often medicalized and pathologized. Elliott Spitzer and Anthony Weiner serve as prime examples.

We have come to expect our leaders to cheat, to philander, to obfuscate, and to lie. We have low expectations for presidential candidates a lower expectations for Congress. Without much faith in the system or the people closest to it, we gain little pleasure or insight from the humor of political cartoons. We have been habitually disappointed too often – and there are few professing optimism.

Ironically, we need a little more idealism for political cartooning, with all its dark humor, to gain traction.

David Potash

January 21, 2013 American Culture Today, Things someone who grew up in NJ might write

Ann Hamilton – Hanging By A Chain

Since 2006 the Park Avenue Armory in NYC has been a mecca for performances and site-specific art installations. It is a difficult commission, for the building has a history and scale that competes for attention and can easily overwhelm.

Ann Hamilton’s Event of a Thread at the Armory was a complex “multisensory affair” featuring 42 swings connected to a large flowing curtain bisecting the Drill Hall, and a conglomeration of creative ephemera: caged pigeons, newspaper-wrapped radios, a daily song captured in vinyl (which was played back the following day), and some somber looking functionaries, dressed like extras in a Margaret Atwood dystopia, focused on various tasks with great seriousness.

Hamilton very cleverly coupled the swings, each of which could seat two comfortably, in the ceiling. This dampened their arcs and made for some very interesting patterns in the curtain, which moved in relationship to the swings. Part steam punk, part Stevie Nix, the exhibit was both an invitation to play and a challenge to experience. What do you look at? And what do you take seriously?

New York State built many armories after the Civil War when wide-scale street violence was a near memory. Armories were military training grounds, repositories of weapons, club houses for militia, and visible reminders of the power of the National Guard to maintain domestic tranquility. The wealth of the NYC’s upper East Side insured that the Park Avenue Armory was much more than a very large military shed. Some of the period’s most successful designers contributed to the Armory’s lush and elegant social spaces. Its drill hall is enormous with 55,000 square feet unobstructed space. As a point of contrast, Tate Modern’s famous Turbine Hall in London is significantly smaller at only 36,600 square feet. The sheer size of the Drill Hall infantilizes most pieces. It is indifferent to the largest of objects.

The swings in Hamilton’s exhibit kept me busy for the better part of an hour. The swings, playful and childlike, belonged. There was not question about their purpose or integrity. As for the extras, pigeons and the prose, I have not a clue. The complexity of the work rendered it inaccessible. The disparate activities may be related by some common reference, a shared thread of meaning. Or they may not.

Sustained engagement is a necessary but not necessarily sufficient criteria for art to succeed. Hamilton’s simple was far more effective holding attention than her complex. Isn’t it interesting how often that turns out to be true?

January 12, 2013 Reviews, Things someone who grew up in NJ might write

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