Tesla’s Wardenclyffe


April 28, 2012 – Being ahead of your time is great if you’re an Olympic sprinter or a Victorian time traveler. It can kind of suck, though, if you’re a scientist. Take Tesla.

Born in 1856 in what’s now Croatia and becoming a U.S. citizen at the age of 35, Nikola Tesla had hundreds of patents, developed AC/DC power distribution, invented radio, and made inroads into wireless technologies that spanned communications, data, and energy. He died in 1943 poor, irrelevant, and talking a lot about death rays.

There are a few reasons why one of the best brains to slip through a birth canal ended up so marginalized in such a technology-entrenched culture as ours, much of which he made possible. However, a lot of people just point the finger at Thomas Edison.


Edison was kind of the anti-Tesla. He was an inventor firmly in the right time. His inventions—the light bulb, the motion picture—were inspired exactly when we were ready for them, and he had the business and public relations savvy to make sure he capitalized. I mean, wireless communications and data exchange? That’s like today stuff, man. Were Tesla alive right now, he would have an Intel commercial about him and host his own Science Channel program.

Anyway, Edison was also a literal anti-Tesla as well, since the two were fierce rivals. And Edison was able to use his financial and political clout to ensure his own legacy and do his best to shred Tesla’s.


In fact, despite Tesla’s substantial contributions to science, he kind of became the Captain Beefheart of the field after his death. Everybody kind of forgot about him. These days, he’s risen back to prominence. Now he’s more, I don’t know, the Syd Barrett of science. I credit these guys.

Still, throughout his life he undertook some pretty cool experiments that really raised the perception of his laboratory almost to the point of the mythic. Like at Wardenclyffe.

In 1901, Tesla began construction on a facility in Shoreham, NY, on the northern coast of Long Island, to experiment with wireless overseas communications and wireless electricity transmission. The facility included a low, square brick building and a massive, 186-foot-tall science fiction-like tower. The latter was topped by a giant steel cupola 55 feet in diameter that, judging by old pictures and artist representations, really shouldn’t be on any sovereign nation’s soil until at least 2058.


Unfortunately, before he could change the world, his money ran out and his backers became leery of what they imaged would be the possibility of free power for all, right out of thin air. Just a few years later, the facility began slowly shutting down. Eventually it was foreclosed. The amazing tower itself was destroyed in 1917, the same day the extraterrestrials decided to take a pass on starting interstellar relations with our planet.

In 1939, a photo lab moved into the facility, which was then sold to its present owner, Agfa, which shuttered it in 1992. For the past two decades Wardenclyffe has sat there abandoned and dejected, sulking over the fact that it could have surpassed Kitty Hawk as one of the most important science history sites in the country.


Today, the original facility is still there and visible from the perimeter of the property. It’s been added onto over the years, but with varying materials, so the core brick structure is easy to pick out, including its distinctive and centrally set chimney.

The whole 16-acre property is thinly wooded and surrounded by chain link and barbed wire, but because it sits at the intersection of Route 25 and Tesla Street, you can view it from two sides without trespassing.

As per the rules of my probation and the mandates of my own cowardice, I didn’t go poking around inside the property, although some previous trespasser had rolled back bit of the chain link fence on the Tesla Street side, making the idea extremely appealing.


Since the visible area that you can see is actually the property to the rear of Wardenclyffe, you can just make out the overgrown, circular foundation rim of the tower, if you know what you’re looking for. The foundation is worth checking out on the Google map below (just zoom in). The place once also featured a memorial plaque to Tesla, but it was stolen a few years ago.

These days, Tesla’s legacy is secure, there are statues of him all across the world, Tesla coils in every science center, and his ashes are ensconced in a golden orb on display in a museum dedicated to him in Belgrade.

Still, Wardenclyffe should be a bit more hallowed, I think. I mean, had his backers not suffered from such short-sightedness, I probably wouldn’t have had to live most of my life without a cellphone and WiFi, and by now we’d probably never had to plug anything in ever again. Tesla needs to be reincarnated…soon.

View Larger Map











Andres Institute of Art


April 22, 2012 — I like to hike. I do. Just not for its own sake. I like hiking when it has a definite destination…a life-changing view, a set of ruins, Dr. Livingstone. Otherwise, I often find hiking trails a bit monotonous. Tree, tree, rock, dude in a hockey mask, tree, tree, rock.

That’s why I really dig the Andres Institute of Art…which, I know, sounds like I’m changing the subject.

Located at the top of Big Bear Mountain in Brookline, NH, this art institute does all the usual things that art institutes do to support art. It just so happens that this particular one has surrounded itself with miles of woodland hiking trails covering 140 acres, all interspersed with some 70 different art installations.


Basically, at regular intervals along the institute’s 10 or so trails, stand large metal and stone sculptures that are either freestanding or created on an existing natural feature. Few are extremely complex or ostentatious, I assume both because the whole piece has to weather the elements for years and because nobody wants to look like a jerk up against the wonders of nature.

Each sculpture has a placard tacked to a nearby tree listing the artist, year of creation, and an explanation of the work. Many of the artists are international and pretty much all of them seem to be into abstract art.

That means a lot of the sculptures are of the befuddling type that don’t seem to immediately proclaim any meaning or, well, skill. A chunk of rock balanced just so-so on another, a random tangle of metal, a stone sculpture that looks like the artist never got around to finishing it. Sometimes the explanations can be more painful than the briars and shin splints you’ll encounter walking around, “This sculpture event is a monument to humankind’s relationship to the perpetual forces of eradication.” So, there’s that kind of stuff going on.

"Untitled"
Still, there are some real cool sculptures, and just the fact that there’s something around the next bend beyond copperheads and poison ivy makes it a much more pleasurable experience than your average hiking trail.

The hiking itself isn’t difficult. There are some steep hills here and there, but most of the individual trails are pretty short and often loop back to where you started. To get to the bulk of them you have to walk up a steep paved road for a little distance. It wasn’t too bad, though.

I’ve been to Andres a couple of times, but still haven’t done all the trails yet. I think somebody motivated enough and who didn’t care too much about contemplating art for too long could get them all done in one visit without trouble. Also, the online map seems to overestimate the time it takes to cover the individual trails, so that shouldn’t daunt anybody.

Oh, and the place is open year-round, dusk to dawn, and is absolutely free. So may your forests always be filled with sculpture.

"Phoenix"
"Transitions"
"Debate"

"Process"
"Upheaval"
"In-Side"
"Community and Diversity"
"Touch Me"
"The Boat"
"Monument II"
"(e)motions"
"Souls of Peace"
"Emerging Life"
"Rebirth: I am Reborn"
"My Father & I (Gate of My Faith)"








Roger Williams Park Zoo

April 15, 2012 — New England isn’t really an area much known for its zoos. But it does have a few. The ones I’ve visited, though, have been small, relatively sad things that make you feel slightly guilty for paying the admission fee.

But I’m not anti-zoo. Far from it. People need to see exotic animals up close. We do. To have that experience makes us better animals. It’ just that bad zoos…well, let’s just say that it should be a pretty large insult in our society to call any place a “bad zoo.” In fact, I think I’ll start using the phrase on Yelp and TripAdvisor.


Of all the New England zoos I’ve visited, Roger Williams Park Zoo in Providence, RI, seems to be the best. This 140-year-old zoo is not big, but it does have a few of the large anchor animals that any real zoo needs (elephants and giraffes are the Macy’s and J.C. Penny’s of the zoo world) and a decent variety of animal species in general.

It’s missing a few features that would elevate it to an elite class of zoo (none of the enclosures are large and none contain animals that would maul you if you fell in), but the upshot to all that is you can have a grand adventure here in just a few hours instead of having to invest an entire day.

Most importantly, none of the animals look like they’re on suicide watch. That’s generally my criteria for a good zoo, I guess.








Included solely for its name:
Death's Head Cockroach.










Richmond Vampire


April 13, 2012 — Richmond’s Hollywood Cemetery is a great cemetery both for its idyllic environs and the massive amount of history decaying within its dirt clods…you just have to watch out for its resident vampire.

Opened in 1849, this cemetery in the Virginia capital is located on 130 acres right on the James River. There’s nothing too city about the cemetery, though, with its natural layout, variety of funeral art, and impenetrable sense of elsewhere. All the best cemeteries have that latter.

But that doesn’t mean there’s not a lot of Richmond therein, either. Beneath its grass blades are two presidents of the United States, James Monroe and John Tyler; the President of the Confederate States, Jefferson Davis; a teacher of Edgar Allan Poe; a couple of Pulitzer-Prize winners; and some 18,000 confederate soldiers who have been memorialized with a 90-foot-tall stone pyramid that dates back to just a few years after the end of the Civil War itself. I’ve stuck a bunch of pics of this stuff at the end of the post. We have to get to the vampire first.


And for that, we head to the mausoleum of W.W. Pool. The genealogy records say that William Wortham Pool was a Mississippi-born bookkeeper who died in 1922 at the age of 80. His mausoleum doesn’t tell us much. It’s simple, built into a hill, and bears his name and year of his wife's death (1913) on the lintel. A small lamb sculpture tops it above a relief of a child surrounded by animals. Nothing ominous. Nothing strange.

Nevertheless, people say it’s the home of a vampire. Here’s why.

In 1925, about a month before Halloween, a railway tunnel in the nearby Church Hill section of the city collapsed. It was being refurbished at the time, killing a handful of workers inside and burying the train that they were using.

However, from the rubble sprung a ghastly creature dripping blood and flesh. It ran straight for Hollywood Cemetery and disappeared inside Mr. Pool’s mausoleum. Some say returned to the mausoleum. Its pursuers couldn’t find it.


So that’s the story. Mr. Pool is a vampire who was outed as a result of the collapse. Here’s what makes the story really interesting, though.

This tunnel tragedy actually happened, with hundreds of workers fleeing the scene. One man’s escape caused particular alarm. His name was Benjamin Mosby, and he was a fireman working near the boiler of the train, which exploded in the collapse.

He fled from the tunnel scalded and flayed from the steam, broken and lacerated from the falling rock, and, assumedly, out of his mind with pain. Some speculate that he might indeed have run toward the cemetery because that was also the direction of the adjacent river.

He didn’t, however, disappear into a mausoleum, Pool’s or anybody else’s. Instead, he was taken to Richmond’s Grace Hospital, where he died soon after. Why his story became a vampire one and not a ghost story, I’m not really sure. I suppose he could have run past some unsuspecting children whose only context for the entire thing was that a shocking and grisly creature ran past them toward the graveyard.

The cemetery is located on 412 Cherry Street. Finding the mausoleum is pretty easy. I went in having only a picture and pretty much drove right to it. It’s not too far from the entrance and can be found in the first line of mausoleums that you see.


As I mentioned, there’s nothing really cool about the grave plot itself, other than the inherent coolness that all mausoleums can boast. It has no windows, and when I peeked into the locked black metal grating that covers the door, it only revealed a solid door a couple of feet beyond.

So the vampire story ends a bit weakly, but the real story ends spooky as all. After the collapse, they dug in to find bodies of some of the missing men. They only discovered one, that of an engineer named Tom Mason. Eerily, he was sitting upright in the cab where he had been trapped. They were never able to find any of the other bodies nor excavate the train fully, so they just bricked up the entrance. The overgrown wall stands to this day near the corner of 18th and Marshall Street. Attempts to enter in the intervening years have been curtailed due to fears of unstabling the thickly settled surrounding area.

So whatever went on inside that tunnel on the October day that caused a cave-in, made bodies disappear, and involved a vampire may never be known.

Excuse me. I need to go write a screenplay.

John Tyler's grave is marked by the
pillar. James Monroe's is the wrought-
iron cage behind it.















Why Everybody at Cheers Really Knows Your Name


April 10, 2012 — We may not have invented time travel yet, but we do already suffer from some of the side effects. Let me illustrate. A few months back I cancelled cable. Not everybody’s, just mine. Ten years ago, that would mean my evenings would involve a lot of conversing with neighbors over back fences and pacing hallways bemoaning existence. Today, with Hulu, Amazon Prime, Netflix, and YouTube, I still have way too much TV to watch.

But what’s also changed in recent years is that I have my choice of whatever year of TV history I want to watch on any given night whenever I want. I can make meth with Bryan Cranston in the 2010s, help coach a midwestern college football team with Craig T. Nelson in the 1990s, or enjoy the resort life with Patrick McGoohan in the 1960s. It’s the classic time travel quandary.

I say all this because recently, my wife has pulled me back into Cheers. She's a woman of strange impulses. Also, she was too young to watch this bar-set sit com during its original run from 1982 to 1993. I, on the other hand, watched the latter half of its original run and caught the rest in syndication, but I was also in my home state of Maryland at the time. These days, I’m in downtown Boston just about every day, only a few blocks away from the Bull and Finch Pub, in fact, where all the exteriors were filmed. So now I’m watching the series with a bit of new resonance.

These days, 20 years after Cheers went off the air, the Bull and Finch has renamed itself after the fictional bar that it inspired and boasts a gift shop bigger than the bar itself. I posted about that site before, so this post isn’t about that. Nor is it a review of the show to see how it’s weathered the decades.

Instead, it’s a review of the show’s bathroom graffiti. Yes, the Internet needs this post on its servers.

In the first season, the men’s bathroom of Cheers was only shown once. During episode 9, Coach Returns to Action. In that episode, Coach has the hots (a rampant condition in the 1980s that they eventually cured) for a much younger girl but was having trouble getting up the courage to ask her out. It takes a bathroom meeting with Diane and Carla to finally motivate him.

I think that’s how the scene went, anyway. I was a bit distracted and, admittedly, mesmerized by what passed as graffiti in the men’s room of this 1980s prime time sit com bar.
Get into sports dummy
My biggest criticism of Boston. All the cool things they offer the world — history, MIT, MGH, etc.— and they mostly obsess about sports. I think these words are on the back of the Massachusetts quarter, in fact.

For a Good Time Call Diane Chambers 867-5309.
I find this graffiti extremely philosophical. It was one of the biggest questions we all pondered throughout the duration of the first half of the series, "Was Diane Chambers really that good of a time?" Also, she's apparently roommates with Jenny.

Show me the way to the next whiskey bar...don't ask why
and Day-O
Neither The Doors nor Harry Balafonte were Bostonites (although The Doors did put out a Live in Boston album), but I have to assume the latter lyric was only scribbled up there to piss off whoever wrote the former.

Super Jock and Hit That Man
Probably more generic sports or generic lyric references, but I'm really hoping the former is at least a reference to this.

Please Don't Take Towels Home.
I don't know if managerial graffiti is the best precedent to set at a professional establishment.

God Save the Kinks and Add It Up
Both of these phrases are Kinks references. Puzzling for the type of clientele that Cheers drew. Probably an even better case for a "Day-O" here, I think.

Don't stop and think, have another drink
and
Instructions: Push, Push.
Nothing much to say here. More Kinks lyrics and now operational graffiti. The jukebox at Cheers didn't even work, so the clientele took it out on the bathroom, I guess.

Static, Static, Static, Frank Irving, Frank Irving
Google was no help in enlightening me on this reference, and it will haunt me the rest of my born days.

It's Not Easy Being Good Looking
Without a doubt, a desperate cry for help from Sam Malone himself. Every time Norm and Cliff asked him for one of his conquest stories, every time he had to be on point when an attractive woman entered his bar, every time he looked at his monthly shampoo bill, he would run back here, stare at his mantra and silently sing Kinks songs to himself.

In conclusion, the biggest culture shock of the entire exercise is that once upon a time people carried around actual pens. Also, after just one season, I’ve developed a loathing for this guy in the opening credits: