Monday, December 11, 2017

MCMANUS & MORGAN FINE PAPERS

OLD-SCHOOL! WE SHOULD ALL KNOW OF
THIS PAPER STORE NEAR LA'S MACARTHUR PARK
AND THE MAN BEHIND IT: MR. GARY WOLIN.

This week's arts and culture column gives me real pleasure to present.

Here's how it begins:

McManus & Morgan, established in 1923, is in its 94th year. Owner Gary Wolin has been its brains and heart for around the last 50.

Located at 2506 W. 7th Street, just west of MacArthur Park, this cultural treasure occupies a ground-floor space in a 1924 Spanish Revival building that, until recently, time pretty much forgot.

The store shares customers, physical space and a unique esprit de corps with its neighbor, Aardvark Letterpress.

Back in the day, the Otis College of Art, the Chouinard Art Institute and the original Art Center College of Design were all within shouting distance. The area was heady with artistes who patronized the store — among them reputedly Ansel Adams, June Wayne, Ed Ruscha and designers from every major Hollywood studio.

But eventually the colleges moved, MacArthur Park became a haven for drug addicts and petty criminals, and seedier times followed.

Through it all, McManus & Morgan endured.


READ THE WHOLE PIECE HERE.

Saturday, December 2, 2017

LUX AETERNA: THE CENTENNIAL LIGHT BULB

THIS BULB, IN FIRE STATION #6 IN LIVERMORE, CA,
HAS BEEN BURNING CONTINUOUSLY FOR OVER 100 YEARS!

This week's arts and culture piece concerns the marketing phenomenon known as planned obsolescence.

Here's how it begins:

High up near the ceiling at Fire Station #6 in Livermore, California, burns an electric bulb that has continuously thrown light for more than 100 years.

Known as the Centennial Light Bulb, this small object — approximately 2 ½ inches in diameter and 4 inches long — has been the subject of the late, great Huell Howser’s TV show “California Gold,” a story by NPR’s Terry Gross and countless articles, essays and word-of-mouth stories.

A short Vimeo documentary called “Mysteries at the Museum Centennial Bulb” is one place to start.

In December 1971, Jack Baird — who at the time had been the paid Livermore fire chief for 13 years — noticed that the light had always been on. (Unexplained is whether the light had ever been turned off.) For years the firemen considered the bulb a kind of talisman and developed the tradition of gently tapping it on their way out of the station when responding to a call.

Since a typical lightbulb lasts only about 1,000 hours, Baird set out to discover how long the lightbulb had been on. Where did it come from? he wondered. Who was the manufacturer? He contacted local reporter Mike Dunstan, at that time a young man, and asked him to help investigate.


READ THE WHOLE PIECE HERE.

VIGILS, ON THE EVE OF THE FIRST SUNDAY OF ADVENT




"Vigils, sleep, agony, death--God shares all of these states of the human condition with us because He was also a man, but a man present everywhere because He was God. He is present first of all in the Church; he is present by His grace within us as He is present in the Sacrament on the Altar; He is present wherever two more three are gathered together in His name as He is present in each one of our brothers. There is no encounter in which we do not encounter Him; no solitude in which He does not join us; no silence where His voice is not heard deepening, rather than troubling, our silence.

What a grace! But a grace we do not have the right to keep for ourselves. Let us not be like Nicodemus who conversed with the Lord only in the secret of the night. Our hidden life with Christ ought to have some bearing on our lives as citizens. We cannot approve or practice publicly in the name of Caesar what the Lord condemns, disapproves, or curses--whether it be failure to honor our word, exploitation of the poor, police torture, or regimes of terror. If, according to the promise made to us on the Mount, we had been meek, we would have possessed the land."

--François MauriacThe Son of Man, from the chapter "The Executioners of Christ"





Sunday, November 26, 2017

A GUN IS AN ANTI-SACRAMENT


MORE AND MORE, I SENSE TREES HOLD THE ANSWERS


"The Church is the one thing that saves a man from the degrading servitude of being a child of his time."
-- G.K. Chesterton

This post was first published in September, 2013. A reader remembered it and recently requested that I run it again. Thanks, Robert.

You might also want to check out this recent op-ed called "Why Christians Must Support Gun Control." 

As one commenter succinctly noted, "In what cosmos would Christ carry a gun?"

A sacrament is that which brings into being what it signifies. A handshake signifies friendship and it brings into being more friendship. An embrace signifies warmth, and it brings into being more warmth. The Sacrament of Reconciliation signifies forgiveness and it brings into being more forgiveness. The Eucharist signifies sacrificial love and it brings into being more sacrifice, more love.

A gun is an anti-sacrament. It signifies hatred and fear and shooting one, or practicing shooting one, brings into being more hatred, more fear, and always, always, more guns.
I'm not talking about those who hunt food to eat: our neighbors who would of course be the first to call for responsible gun control. But beyond that, clearly, the time has long since passed, if it ever existed, when private citizens could amass enough weapons to rise up against the tyranny of the government.  Clearly, the principal and overriding purpose of gun ownership is to arm ourselves against each other.

Which wouldn't be necessary in the first place if our lack of sane thinking and laws hadn't led to so many people owning so truly insane many guns. (See the recent NYT article "What Explains U.S. Mass Shootings? International Comparisons Suggest An Answer").

To own a gun is to live your whole life on high alert for a moment that, unless you’re a gang member, run a meth lab, work in organized crime, or have enlisted in the military, the overwhelming odds are will never come. It’s to stand eternally in front of the mirror like Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver and sneer at an imaginary foe, “Are you talking to me?”

To walk through the world quietly, peacefully, unarmed, is to live your whole life in freedom. Sure, someone may come along and randomly shoot you but a building might fall on you, a drunk driver might plow into your car, or you might be struck by lightning, too.

Sure, the violence our culture worships will continue to erupt in ever more berserk violence, most of it committed with guns. Meanwhile, though, you get to enjoy each moment to its fullest, secure in the knowledge that you will never, ever, either accidentally or intentionally, shoot someone else.

If we want to live in a world where guns are not needed, we get to act as if we live in that world already.

That's how we bring into being the Kingdom of God.

That's how we begin to answer the call of Pope Francis: "No more war. War no more."






Tuesday, November 21, 2017

"LA RAZA" AT THE AUTRY

 Young families join La Marcha de la Reconquista
along a dusty highway through the farm land of Southern California.
photo: Daniel Zapata, 1971.

Here's how this week's arts and culture column begins:

Unless you’ve been in a coma these past few months, you’re most likely aware of the “far-reaching and ambitious exploration of Latin American and Latino art in dialogue with Los Angeles” sponsored by the Getty and known as “Pacific Standard Time: LA/LA.”

Through January 2018, there will be photography, video art, performance art, sculpture, painting, workshops, screenings, lectures and concerts. Participants will include more than 70 institutions throughout greater L.A.

In Palm Springs, for example, you could take in, among other exhibits, “Carved Narrative: Los Hermanos Chávez Morado” at Sunnylands Center & Gardens (through June 3, 2018).

In Claremont, you could visit, say, “Revolution and Ritual: The Photographs of Sara Castrejón, Graciela Iturbide and Tatiana Parcero” at Scripps College (through Jan. 7).


READ THE WHOLE PIECE HERE.

Friday, November 17, 2017

THE PARKING LOT OF HUNTINGTON GARDENS






Lately I've been hanging out lots at Huntington Gardens, mainly because I scored treasured readership privileges at their Library. It's a lovely place to write as everyone is intent on their work, and the grounds...Lord God, the beauty.

One recent morning I went to 8:15 Mass at Sts. Felicitas and Perpetua, then motored on over. Before going in, I parked at the far end of the lot and sat in my car savoring an almond croissant and listening to the birds.

This is some of what I gazed out over from my humble perch.


















Tree, ever at the centre
Of whatever it surrounds.

--Rilke

Monday, November 13, 2017

VISAS AND VIRTUE: THE HEROISM OF CHIUNE SUGIHARA




This week's arts and culture column begins like this:

L.A. has Universal Studios, Hollywood Boulevard, the Venice Beach Boardwalk.

On a busy corner of downtown’s Central Avenue, we also have a sculpture of a modest man whose achievement, in its way, was perhaps greater than those represented by all those other monuments combined.

Chiune (Sempo) Sugihara (1900-1986) was known as the Japanese Schindler. By most accounts, he helped 6,000 or more Jews to escape the Holocaust.

In this day when the title “activist” is often claimed by those sitting in air-conditioned offices firing off Facebook rants, it’s instructive to consider the risks undertaken by a real activist.

Sugihara was born to a middle-class family in Kozuchi Town, Mugi District, now known as Mino City in Gifu Prefecture. As a young diplomat in Manchuria, he married for the first time and converted to Christianity in the Russian Orthodox Church. He divorced his wife in 1935. That same year, he quit his post in protest over the Japanese maltreatment of the native Chinese.

READ THE WHOLE PIECE HERE. 

SUGIHARA SIGNING VISAS.
HELP ME TO BE MORE LIKE HIM.

Wednesday, November 8, 2017

RESISTING



"In fact, it is through our small sufferings that we are given a marvelous means of putting the vast expanse of suffering in the world to good use and making it fruitful. Nothing at a time like this is so sad as seeing the whole world going through such exceptional sufferings and going through it blindly.

However, these sufferings, just like our own, are divided up and apportioned to each person. So, it ias a great joy for us to know that by 'willing" each part of our small allotment of suffering we become the seeing eyes of the grieving, groping world.

Sometimes a single colored vase in a room can bring out all the objects of the same color that up to that moment went unnoticed. I find myself thinking that as he looks upon the world, God sees some small act of good will shining, and for its sake find the dreary passivity of the whole enterprise a sacrifice worthy of acceptance.

A small suffering freely accepted gives meaning and value to untold volumes of vast suffering throughout the world. Through it we help the world perform a valid penance. 

Has it ever occurred to us--so fond of news as we are and so swift at interpreting it whether with joy or gloom--have we ever thought that the fact of botching a small amount of our daily suffering--whether it be by getting up with bad grace in the morning, by turning up our noses at insipid food, or simply by cursing the numbing cold--is of greater significance to thh real history of the world than the current disaster or victory reported over the radio?"

--Madeleine Delbrêl

AND for the love of God, can we get some "gun safety" laws passed so the rest of us are not held hostage to fear, insanity,  denial, and hate? 

AND thank you Virginia and New Jersey for the first good news I, for one, have read in a newspaper in quite some time. 


MADELEINE DELBRÊL

Madeleine Delbrêl (1904-1964) was a French convert and mystic who founded an experimental lay community dedicated to social justice and the works of mercy.

In her youth Delbrêl, an only child, was resolutely atheistic. After converting in 1924, she became engaged to a man who broke off their relationship to join the Dominicans. Then her father went blind. The experiences devastated her.

In 1933, she accepted the offer from a priest of a two-bedroom house in the largely Communist Paris suburb of Ivry-sur-Seine. Along with two other women, she moved in shortly thereafter. Raspail, as their house was known, became a hub of social and political activism with an emphasis on treating Christ in “the least of these” with humility, verve, and humor.

The community befriended the Communists among whom they lived. Over the years, Raspail sheltered incorrigible drunks, borderline personalities, and families spilling over with children. Delbrê was dazzled by the notion that authentic freedom is grounded in Christ, and she also wrote of the Church’s failure to adequately love the outcast and the prisoner.

Though she resisted what she called “literature,” she constantly scribbled pamphlets, letters-to-the-editor, and tracts.   

Her books include We, the Ordinary People of the Streets, The Little Monk, and The Joy of Believing.  “When you finally discover that you are just one of the little people, don't conclude that this makes you special.” “The Gospel is not meant to be read by us, but to be received within us.”

She worked indefatigably during WWII to welcome refugees, arrange housing, console the traumatized. All the while she smoked like a fiend, wore salvaged pillbox hats decorated with fake flowers, and took abysmal care of her health.

In time, she traveled to Switzerland, Scotland, Africa, Poland, and Rome. She resisted organizing Raspail as a “Pious Institute” with fixed rules and regulations, as was decreed by the Vatican for lay organizations in 1947. She believed in “people without categories” and in a life without boundaries.   

Pope Francis has called the laity to “the outskirts of existence.” At the same time, “[The layperson] is to create and sow hope, to proclaim the faith, not from a pulpit but from his everyday life.Delbrêl is a wonderful exemplar. We, too, are called to “the outskirts” by living among people who have turned their backs on God. We, too, are called to sow hope in the alien and the stranger, whether or not they share our faith. 

On October 13, 1964, Delbrêl was working, as usual, at the battered desk from which she ministered to her “tiny multitude.” A community member found her lifeless body late that afternoon.

She wrote: “Each time that we are torn apart because we choose to be faithful to God’s faithfulness to us, we become as it were breaches in the world’s resistance.” 



THESE ARE FROM A FOLDER ENTITLED "SURFLINER"
AND I BELIEVE WERE TAKEN IN SAN DIEGO'S BALBOA PARK
LAST JULY

Friday, November 3, 2017

ALL SOULS: L.A. COUNTY'S ANNUAL BURIAL OF THE UNCLAIMED DEAD

LA COUNTY CREMATORIUM/CEMETERY

This week's arts and culture column begins like this:

Every year, around the beginning of December, always on a Wednesday, Los Angeles County holds a burial of the unclaimed dead.

The address is 3301 1st St., adjacent to the Evergreen Cemetery. The event is open to the public.

The date of this year’s service is Dec. 6, at 10 a.m. Last year’s, which I attended, took place on Nov. 30.

I’d arranged to meet a couple of friends there and parked a few blocks away. Along the cemetery side of 1st Street, starlings pecked at a patch of sere Bermuda grass. A mourning dove sat vigil on a grave marker. A pair of California quails, oblivious to death, flirted.

The main building is a crematorium, topped by rusting smokestacks. Attached is a west-facing chapel with bare-bones decor: a concrete floor, 10 or 12 battered wooden pews, a token black casket backed by a podium holding a Dickensian ledger — the County of Los Angeles Register of Cremations.

The entries went back several years and, amazingly in this day and age, are handwritten. My eyes ranged down the columns: name, sex, race, date of birth, date of death, place of death, date of permit to cremate, date of cremation.

The “place of death” column was a map of L.A.’s hospitals and institutions: St. Francis Medical Center, Olive View UCLA Medical Center, Pomona Valley Hospital, Harbor UCLA Medical Center, St. Vincent’s, St. Joseph’s, Hollywood Presbyterian, Good Samaritan.

READ THE WHOLE PIECE HERE.

You might also be interested in the youtube, "A Certain Kind of Death," which gives a behind-the-scenes look at some of the "unclaimed dead" in LA.




ST. DYMPHNA, MURDERED BY HER BENT-ON-INCEST FATHER,
PATRON SAINT OF THE MENTALLY ILL

Friday, October 27, 2017

STRANGE JOURNEY: HOW TWO HOMESICK PILGRIMS STUMBLED BACK INTO THE CATHOLIC CHURCH



This week's arts and culture column reflects on a wonderful new memoir.

Here's how the piece begins:

Pope Francis has observed: “The Church is a field hospital. Heal the wounded, heal the wounded, heal the wounded.”

Jessica Mesman Griffith and Jonathan Ryan head up an online community called Sick Pilgrim that takes the command seriously. Their Patheos blog and Wonder podcast explore “the edge of faith, reason and doubt,” and have attracted legions of followers who might otherwise feel themselves on the outskirts of the Church.

The Sick Pilgrim Facebook page lists interests such as, “Catholicism, art, publishing, media, culture, music, saints, sinners, pilgrims.”

Jessica is the author of four books, a nationwide speaker on faith and the arts and a stupendously gifted writer, both literary and Catholic in the widest sense of the word: deeply human, deeply funny. I first came across her work in “Love and Salt” (Loyola Press, 2013), a book of letters exchanged with a friend when they were both pregnant in prose that has been called “raw and intimate, humorous and poetic.”

A native of New Orleans whose mother died young of cancer, Jessica felt shunned by the people of her parish as a teenager, as if tragedy had tainted her. She and her sister tried to commune with their mother’s spirit through Ouija boards, call-in psychics and mirror divination.

Jessica dyed her hair purple, got a nose ring and listened to Pearl Jam in her bedroom, weeping and praying that Eddie Vedder would save her. She suffered panic attacks at parties. Her “holy roller” father tried to commit her to a mental institution.


READ THE WHOLE PIECE HERE. 

I'M EMERGING FROM MY LAIR TOMORROW



I have two "events" tomorrow, if you happen to be wandering around LA:

October 28, Saturday, 2017 
10 a.m.
Talk and book signing
Pauline Books & Media
3908 Sepulveda Blvd
Culver City, CA 90230
310.397.8676
culvercity@paulinemedia.com

2 p.m.
Talk, panel participation, book signing
"Radically Loved, Radically Free: Jesus
The Dignity of Women/ENDOW Conference
Carmel of St. Teresa's Sacred Heart Retreat House
920 East Alhambra Road
Alhambra, CA 91801
626.289.1353
contact@sacredheartretreathouse.com

Then there will be the event of cramming down lunch as I drive madly from the West Side to Alhambra...I'm brining my own coffee!

Monday, October 23, 2017

CHRISTOPHER WHEELDON'S "LITURGY" AT THE COLBURN


MARIA KOWROSKI AND JARED ANGLE,
PRINCIPAL DANCERS FOR THE NEW YORK CITY BALLET,
IN CHRISTOPHER WHEELDON'S "LITURGY" 


This week's arts and culture column is on a truly stellar pas de deux my friend Bill and I were lucky enough to take in last Sunday afternoon.

The piece begins like this:

The Colburn is one of L.A.’s greatest treasures. A performing arts school located kitty-corner to Disney Hall, the Colburn draws the crème de la crème of aspiring pianists, violinists, oboeists and all other manner of up-and-coming musicians and dancers.

Many of us can’t afford tickets to see the opera, ballet or Master Chorale. No matter your budget or work schedule, the Colburn offers a cornucopia of delights.

There’s the Colburn Orchestra Concert Series, small ensemble performances from the Colburn Chamber Music Society and the Gibson Dunn Rush Hour, where conservatory students perform favorite chamber works on Thursday nights at 6 p.m. Afterward, you can mingle with students and artists over complimentary wine and hors d’oeuvres. There are student and faculty recitals, also often free.

I’ve always believed in putting myself in close physical proximity to a place that emanates the spirit of civilization. When I worked as a lawyer in the early 1990s, I’d often sneak away after arguing a motion at the Superior Courthouse, grab a Starbucks and sit by the narrow reflecting pool behind the Museum of Contemporary Art trying to work up the courage to quit my job.


READ THE WHOLE PIECE HERE.

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

LACO@THE MOVIES: BUSTER KEATON'S "THE GENERAL"

LOBBY OF DOWNTOWN LA'S ACE HOTEL
I MIGHT JUST HANG OUT IN THE BATHROOM ALL NIGHT

This week's arts and culture column begins like this:

This year marks the 50th anniversary of the founding of the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra (LACO) and LACO is pulling out all the stops.

There’s a Campus to Concert Hall all-access season pass, offering students 30 concerts for just $30. There’s the $1.5 million gift from philanthropists Carol and Warner Henry for the principal oboe chair. There are guest artists and conductors, world premieres and an innovative chamber music and discussion series that spans much of the city.

And on Nov. 11 at 7 p.m., there will be a special fundraising event: LACO @ the Movies: Buster Keaton’s “The General.” The venue will be downtown LA's Ace Hotel.

Scott Harrison, LACO’s executive director, said, “ ‘The General’ is such a wonderful event for us because it really brings together a few different strands of what LACO is. Hollywood has been very much a part of LACO’s identity from the start. We were founded by a gentleman named James Arkatov who’s turning 98 this year, I believe. The original musicians performed movie and television soundtracks for the studios. They were phenomenal, as you can imagine, because the chops and the skills required to do that sort of work are exceptionally high. But they were also looking for more of a creative and artistic outlet. They wanted a way to perform the music they loved and connect directly with audiences.



READ THE WHOLE PIECE HERE. 

Monday, October 16, 2017

CAN SOMEONE LEND ME A RHUBARB LEAF?


A PETER RABBIT FAMILY REUNION

Referring to herself in the third person, Beatrix described herself in 1925 as living 'amongst the mountains and lakes that she has drawn in her picture books...She leads a very busy contented life, living always in the country and managing a large sheep farm on her own land. Her shepherd Tom Storey described her as 'quite smart for her age...a bonny looking woman,' robust at the start of her seventh decade. Ten years later, with 'apple-red' cheeks and blue eyes undimmed, she appeared 'short, plump, solid,' to artist Delmar Banner, who painted Beatrix's best-known portrait--a tweedy Mrs Tiggy-winkle figure at a sheep judging on the Coniston fells. Other observers noted marked eccentricities in her dress: 'the sacking she put over her shoulders in the rain,' 'the use of a rhubarb leaf on her had against the sun in the hayfield.' Much to her amusement, a tramp on the Windermere ferry mistook Beatrix for a fellow vagrant. She dressed as she thought practical for a life spent in the fields, walking and watching. Banner described 'a kind of tea cosy' on her head and 'lots of wool clothes."

--Matthew Dennison, Over the Hills and Far Away: A Life of Beatrix Potter

BEATRIX POTTER AS A TEENAGER WITH HER PET MOUSE XARIFA,
1885

Monday, October 9, 2017

THE INDUSTRY HILLS CHARITY PRO RODEO

WOMAN GRAZING HER COW, 1858
JEAN-FRANCOIS MILLET

This week's arts and culture piece begins like this:

The Industry Hills Pro Rodeo has helped children in need in East San Gabriel Valley for more than 31 years.
Sanctioned by the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association (PRCA), the event has taken place annually, in September or October, since 1986. Ticket prices this year were a reasonable $18 for adults, $12 for seniors (ages 60+) and $8 for children (3-11).
Saturday and Sunday afternoons, the Pro Rodeo is open to the public. A Community Kids Day takes place the Friday before. Here, local schoolchildren watch the rodeo with their classmates and teachers as part of class curriculum covering the history of the early West.
It was on this day that I was invited to visit by Pro Rodeo chairman extraordinaire Larry Hartmann.
I arrived at the Industry Hills Expo Center Arena at 9 a.m.
In spite of his myriad duties, Larry, along with his wife Corinne, greeted me warmly. He also managed to finagle a seat for me on the horse-drawn stagecoach, generally reserved for dignitaries such as city council people who officially open the rodeo by making a grand entrance and slowly circling the arena. I hung out the window giving the Queen Mum wave to the youngsters who, with heartwarming enthusiasm, wildly clapped and cheered.
READ THE WHOLE PIECE HERE.

Thursday, October 5, 2017

TERRY CANNON'S BASEBALL RELIQUARY

EDDIE GAEDEL HOLY CARD.
EDDIE (1925-1961) WAS AN AMERICAN WITH DWARFISM WHO MADE A SINGLE PLATE APPEARANCE IN THE SECOND GAME OF A ST. LOUIS BROWNS DOUBLEHEADER ON AUG. 19, 1951, WAS WALKED AND THEREBY BECAME THE SHORTEST PLAYER IN THE HISTORY OF THE MAJOR LEAGUES. HE HAS BEEN DESIGNATED BY THE RELIQUARY AS THE “PATRON OF THOSE WHO PLAY BASEBALL IN THE FACE OF ADVERSITY.”

This week's arts and culture column entailed a field trip that turned out to be one of those serendipitous days of goodwill and joy that keep us humans getting out of bed one more day.

The reflection starts like this:

As a New Hampshire native, my knowledge of baseball is strictly confined to the Boston Red Sox, and began and ended around the Carl Yastrzemski era.

But I understand and am fascinated by the near-obsessive love that so many feel for our national sport.

Enter L.A.’s own Baseball Reliquary, “a nonprofit, educational organization dedicated to fostering an appreciation of American art and culture through the context of baseball history, and to exploring the national pastime’s unparalleled creative possibilities.”

The collection includes such sacred objects as “Dock Ellis Hair Curlers,” “Mother Teresa Autographed Baseballs” and the “Babe Ruth Sacristy Box,” out of which a priest performed the last rites.

Each third Sunday in July, the Reliquary hosts the Shrine of the Eternals, a kind of people’s Hall of Fame, and inducts three new members, chosen not so much for stellar stats as for heart crossed with eccentricity.

But this is no tongue-in-cheek lark...


READ THE WHOLE PIECE HERE. 

THE BABE RUTH HOT DOG
photo credit: THE BASEBALL RELIQUARY

According to the Baseball Reliquary website, the story behind the ot Dog runs like this:

Babe Ruth’s extraordinary journey from a Catholic reform school in Baltimore to the storied confines of Yankee Stadium in the Bronx made him the idol of a nation. The ballplayer of ballplayers, Babe was also a man who indulged in earthly pleasures, as sportswriter H.G. Salsinger noted, “He could eat more, drink more, smoke more, swear more, and enjoy himself more than any contemporary.” A legendary gourmand, Babe was fond of drinking a quart mixture of bourbon whiskey and ginger ale at breakfast, before attacking a porterhouse steak garnished with half-a-dozen fried eggs and potatoes on the side.

Perhaps no artifact of Ruthiana attests more to his culinary excesses than this desiccated hot dog, partially consumed by the Bambino during an eating binge just prior to his collapse on a train ride in April 1925. Babe reportedly gorged himself on a dozen to eighteen hot dogs before blacking out, and a week later he was at St. Vincent’s Hospital in New York, undergoing surgery for an intestinal abscess. New York writers termed his illness “The Bellyache Heard Round the World,” but in recent years historians have speculated that Babe actually suffered from gonorrhea and not acute indigestion.


SINGER OF THE NATIONAL ANTHEM AT OVER 125 PROFESSIONAL
BASEBALL GAMES; AUTHOR OF ,AMONG OTHER BOOKS,  ROUNDING THE BASES;  AND WHITTIER COLLEGE PROFESSOR OF RELIGIOUS STUDIES JOSEPH L. PRICE.
NOTE THE QUILT, WHICH WAS COMMISSIONED BY THE RELIQUARY
AND FEATURES FEMALE SAINTS (I THINK IMAGINARY) PLAYING VARIOUS BASEBALL POSITIONS.

DODGERS SUPER-FAN EMMA AMAYA.



THE MASTERMIND BEHIND IT ALL:
THE ONE AND ONLY MR. TERRY CANNON.
Terry’s description of the Reliquary:

"It is a traveling museum for which no category yet exists. it was started in 1996 as an attempt to provide an outlet and an organizational structure for my combined interests in baseball history and art. it is the only baseball institution that asks you to surrender the idea that history and fiction can be neatly separated."

No surprise: Terry served for years on the board of the Museum of Jurassic Technology.

Here's a Q and A with him from a few years back, and a wonderful piece by Carl Kozlowski that appeared in last summer's Pasadena Weekly