The Wild Heart of Sam Houston

Sam Houston’s birthday on March 2 prompted us to search our archives for contemporary accounts of the charismatic statesman. The Post ran several stories between 1825 and 1861 that reflect the erratic progress of Houston’s career and personal life.

As a boy, Houston fled his fatherless family to live among the Cherokee in Tennessee. By 1812, he returned to the white community to join Andrew Jackson’s struggles against the British and their American Indian allies. Building on the reputation he had earned in battle, Houston studied law after the war. He ran for office and was elected to congress in 1823, and the governorship of Tennessee in 1827.

But his rising fortunes suddenly plummeted in 1829 when his young wife left him. He abandoned his campaign for re-election and lit out for the territories. Taking up residence among the Cherokee in Arkansas, he opened a trading post and earned a reputation for hard drinking and a hot temper.

Yet he emerged once more, this time in Texas, where he was appointed a general in the Texan army. After his victory at Santa Jacinto, which led to Texan independence, Houston was elected president of the infant republic. He was instrumental in getting Texas admitted to the Union, and he was the young state’s senator from 1846 to 1859.

The Post ran several items on Sam Houston in his time. It followed the progress of his Texas army’s rebellion against Mexico and reported his role in the victory at San Jacinto.

The Post also published several items that tracked the progress of Houston’s private life.

On May 15, 1830, this item appeared:

“Gen. Sam Houston, late Governor of Tennessee, has arrived in Nashville, from the East, on his way to his new residence among the Cherokee Indians in Arkansas.”

And, on July 24, 1830:

“Governor Houston, late of Tennessee, and more recently a resident among the Cherokees of the Arkansas, is, it seems, about to try his fortune in the Indian trade. We understand that during his late visit to New York, he, in connection with a gentleman from Nashville, purchased goods to the Amount of $20,000, for this express purpose. He has been adopted as the son of Jolly, a Cherokee Chief.”

The  man who had become Congressman at only 30 was now setting up a trading post in the wilderness, turning his back on a promising legal and political career.

Historians agree that Houston was motivated by his failed marriage to Eliza Allen, a woman half his age. There is less agreement on what caused the marriage to collapse so catastrophically.

A Post story in 1871 attempted to explain “Why Sam Houston Exiled Himself.”

“The reason of the strange disappearance of Samuel Houston, in the early part of his life, when he left a lovely bride and the governorship of Tennessee, and exiled himself among the Indians for many years, has lately been revealed. He discovered, within a few hours after his marriage, that his wife did not love him, but had been urged into the match by an ambitious family, while loving another man. He at once retired from the house, and by his subsequent exile gave the lady a right to the divorce which she obtained.”

This explanation was, and remains, speculation. Neither Houston nor Eliza left any record of the true reason.

Following his wife’s departure, Houston returned to the Cherokee. He married a native-American woman named Tiana Rogers, the niece of his new father, Chief Oolooteka (John Jolly).

Houston tried to rebuild his life among the Cherokee, running his store, planting orchards, and occasionally traveling to Washington to expose government agents who were defrauding the tribe and breaking its treaties. Yet he was never fully at peace. Houston’s Cherokee name was “Raven,” but he was earning a new name among the tribe “Big Drunk.”

While in Washington, Houston was involved in a savage fight with a corrupt Congressman. Arrested for assault, he was defended in court by lawyer and “Star Spangled Banner” author Francis Scott Key. Houston was acquitted, but was heavily fined by a civil court for his actions. Once again, Houston departed for the frontier. This time, though, he went beyond Arkansas to Texas. His wife, Tiana, remained in the Cherokee nation and never saw Houston again.

Houston didn’t marry again until Texas had gained independence and he was its president. Now 47, he married 21-year-old Margaret Moffette Lea. Together they had eight children.

Margaret had a steadying influence on her flamboyant husband. With their marriage, Houston became more deliberate, less rash, and a more capable administrator. He was able to exert influence in Washington in favor of his state and the union.

Margaret Lea Houston was one of those invaluable Americans who refine the character of their politician-spouses. Throughout American history, the wives of legislators, judges, and chief executives—women of intelligence, wit, and compassion, who were barred from office themselves—have helped promote their husband’s careers. More importantly, many have ensured that their husbands remained true to their ideals and the public’s interest.

On April 7, 1849, the Post printed the following anecdote with a recommendation that it should be read by the wives of America.

“Gen. Houston and Wife. We take the following from one of our exchanges (we have forgotten which), confessing that we thought Gen. Houston separated from his wife or rather his wife from him—many years ago. Perhaps, though, this is a second one. But for the anecdote:

“Gen. Samuel Houston, of the United States Senate, formerly Governor of Tennessee, and after President of Texas (before the annexation), owes as much to his wife’s influence as to any other cause for his present high character and position before the nation. At a large party lately given in Washington, by Mr. Speaker Winthrop, he took occasion to give his reason for declining to attend any and all of the balls, card-parties, etc., to which he is invited. His wife, like Mrs. Polk, is a religious woman. (By the way, there was no dancing, gambling or drinking at the White House whilst Mrs. Polk presided there.) Let the wives of America read the following remarks made at Speaker Winthrop’s party by Senator Houston:

“‘I make it a point,” said the honorable Senator, “never to visit a place where my lady, if she were with me, would be unwilling to go. I know it would giver her pain, as a Christian, to attend such places, and I will not go myself where I could not take my wife.”

“A Member of Congress present alluded to his own wife, and added that there was a mutual understanding between him and her that they should each follow the bent of their own inclination in such matters.

“That may do for you,” responded Mr. Houston, “but with me it is different from what it is with many men. My wife has been the making of me. She took me when I was the victim of slavish appetites—she has redeemed and regenerated me—and I will not do that in her absence which I know would give her pain if she were present.”

“What a mighty, though secret, power has a virtuous and sensible woman over the greatest and strongest of men, if that man is her husband!”

Longfellow in the Post

“Henry Wadsworth Longfellow… could sing. He could tell stories about America. Maybe his form were imported, but they were tempered and transformed by his fantastic world.”

So writes Michael Schmidt in his Lives of the Poets (Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1999, pp. 436-438.)

“For him the language of verse was an aloud language, and sound counted as much as — or more than — sense. In the toils of sound he sails near to nonsense — too near, perhaps.

“Yet also in the toils of sound he will… break the rules of his chosen prosodies… when his ear tells him to. He privileges his ear over the form, and some of his finest prosodic effects are in the unexpected variations that possess an inexplicable rightness.”

Hymn To The Night

I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
From celestial walls!

I felt her presence, by its spell of might
Stop over me from above:
The calm, majestic presence of the Night,
As of the one I love.

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
The manifold, soft chimes,
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night
Like some old poet’s rhymes.

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
My spirit drank repose;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,
From those deep cisterns flows.

O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
What man has borne before!
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care
And they complain no more.

Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breath this prayer!
Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,
The best-beloved Night!

The Evening Star

The night is come, but not too soon;
And sinking silently —
All silently, the little moon
Drops down behind the sky.

There is no light in earth or heaven
But the cold light of stars;
And the first watch of night is given
To the red planet Mars.

Is it the tender star of love?
The star of love and dreams?
O no! from that blue tent above,
A hero’s armor gleams.

And earnest thoughts within me rise,
When I behold afar,
Suspended in the evening skies,
The shield of that red star.

O star of strength! I see thee stand
And smile upon my pain;
Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand,
And I am strong again.

Within my breast there is no light
But the cold light of stars;
I give the first watch of the night
To the red planet Mars.

The star of the unconquered will,
He rises in my breast,
Serene, and resolute, and still,
And calm, and self-possessed.

And thou, too, whosoe’er thou art,
That readest this brief psalm,
As one by one thy hopes depart,
Be resolute and calm.

O fear not in a world like this,
And thou shalt know erelong,
Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong.

Autumn

With what a glory comes and goes the year!
The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers
Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy
Life’s newness, and earth’s garniture spread out;
And when the silver habit of the clouds
Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with
A sober gladness the old year takes up
His bright inheritance of golden fruits,
A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene.

There is a beautiful spirit breathing now
Its mellow richness on the clustered trees,
And, from a beaker full of richest dyes,
Pouring new glory on the autumn woods,
And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds.
Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird,
Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer,
Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life
Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned,
And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved,
Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down
By the wayside a-weary. Through the trees
The golden robin moves. The purple finch,
That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds,
A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle,
And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud
From cottage roofs the warbling bluebird sings,
And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke,
Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail.

Oh, what a glory doth this world put on
For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth
Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks
On duties well performed, and days well spent!
For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves,
Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings.
He shall so hear the solemn hymn that Death
Has lifted up for all, that he shall go
To his long resting-place without a tear.

The Arrow And the Song

I shot the arrow in the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

The Day Mom Called the White House

It was 1962. We lived in Ohio in a working class neighborhood. Dad was out of work—again. His most recent job as a fund-raiser for a democratic candidate ended after the man running for governor was defeated. The defeat was not a narrow one. And Dad’s unemployment checks were not enough to pay rent and put food on the table for a family of four.

Here sat the O’Malleys on a Sunday morning. My little sister, Annie, was sick with tonsillitis, Mom was mad at Dad—whose name was also Dan—for making inappropriate employment choices, and I was running late for a conscripted appearance in the Pope Pious X boys choir at St. Mary’s Catholic Church, as directed by the very eccentric Sister Marion.

“Dan, Danny’s going to be late for Mass and here you sit, all hung over and no job,” Mom said very sternly to Dad, who liked drinking. “At least you could have the decency to get out of that chair and take the boy to church. It wouldn’t hurt for you to go inside the church either.”

Dad looked at me with a painful squint in his eye, and said out of the corner of his mouth, “Son, why don’t you go to Mass yourself today?”

An eruption of Mount St. Hannah—Mom’s name—quickly occurred.

“Take the boy to church, and you go to Mass, too, and I want to know what the sermon was about—now go!” Mom screamed at the top of her lungs.

Dad never said a word, cross or otherwise, on the way to Mass. Usually, he stood in the back of the church and went outside when the priest gave his sermon. This time I saw him sitting halfway toward the front listening intently as Father Connelly implored the congregation to give more money.

The inviting aroma of Mrs. O’Malley’s usual Sunday dinner of roast beef and mashed potatoes greeted us upon arriving home from church.

“I said five rosaries while you two were gone. Annie’s temperature is down to 99, Dorothy (Mom’s sister) called, and Jack got a promotion, dinner’s almost ready, Danny, you go change your clothes, and Dan “Mr. I Want To Raise Money for the Governor,” you can help me set the table if it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Mom said in her special way.

Sunday dinners were usually pleasant in our house. This one wasn’t. Between passing the peas, mashed potatoes, and serving delicious homemade apple pie, Mom verbally threw everything but the kitchen sink at Dad. His work habits, drinking habits, personal hygiene, and things I didn’t understand were tossed across the table. Dad, to his credit, kept his steely World War II veteran cool and casually defended himself. I just kept eating through the Hannah and Dan bickering show.

US Marshall Dan O'Malley with his son on Christmas morning. Photo courtesy of Dan O'Malley.
US Marshall Dan O\’Malley with his son on Christmas morning. Photo courtesy of Dan O\’Malley.

Dad had a special way of pushing Mom’s buttons. After dinner, when her 25-minute nonstop rapid-fire tirade came to an end, Dad said coolly, “That was one of the best conversations I’ve never had with you. Dinner wasn’t bad either.” He flipped his napkin on the plate and slowly walked out of the kitchen.

Since my little sister was sick in bed, I helped Mom with the dishes. She mumbled to herself the whole time. Even at the age of 9 I could tell her mental wheels were spinning rapidly.

Dad had his face buried in the Sunday paper as Mom regally entered the living room.

“Dan, you’re going to get a job, and you’re going to get one today,” she said officially.

Dad looked at her over the top of his paper as if he heard something, but wasn’t quite sure of what he heard.

“I’m calling the White House,” she announced.

Our family had a distant connection with the Kennedy administration. My grandmother was a grammar school classmate of President Kennedy’s mother Rose. My grandfather was the local ward boss during the Kennedy for Congress campaign. My father served in World War II with JFK’s family bodyguard, John J. “Mugsy” O’Leary. My mother, along with 150 other women in our neighborhood, had lunch one day with Jackie Kennedy. That’s what I knew about our family Kennedy relationship.

My dad dropped the paper on the floor.

“You’re what?” he said as if he wasn’t hearing properly.

Before he had a chance to utter another word, Mom was on the phone. This was back in the days before direct dial long distance.

“Operator, I’d like you to connect me to the White House in Washington D.C., please,” she said in the sweetest honey coated voice I had ever heard.

My dad had an “I really can’t believe you are doing this to me” look on his face as Mom sat there and smiled a Jack Nicholson “Shining” smile at him while the call was going through.

Hannah O'Malley was a caseworker.
Hannah O\’Malley was a caseworker. Photo courtesy of Dan O\’Malley.

“Hello, White House? Hi, this is Hannah O’Malley calling from the O’Malley’s formerly of Clinton, Massachusetts, how are you? I’d like to see if Mugsy O’Leary is working today,” Mom said to the White House operator as if she’d known her for years.

Dad’s eyes were rolling back in his head. His face was flushed. He was embarrassed beyond belief. Men’s wives don’t usually call the White House to beg favors from old Army buddies or the President of the United States on a Sunday afternoon.

We all sat silent. Mom was on hold with the White House. Cool; I thought. The operator must have told Mom she was going to put her through to someone because she said a very sincere, “thank you, honey”.

“Hello? Well, hello, Mugsy. Yes, this is Hannah. How have you been? We’ve been reading about you. Oh Dan? Dan’s fine, except he’s temporarily out of work. He had applied for a Federal Marshal’s job, but it looks like someone else is going to get it. They told him Friday he was out of the running. They? I guess it was the head Federal Marshal. I don’t know. Here I’ll let Dan tell you all about it”.

Mom thrust the phone at Dad with an all-powerful glance of “don’t screw this up,” as she handed it to him.

“Mugsy!” Dad said with confidence in his embarrassment. “Mugs, we’re doing fine; just a little setback. Well of course I wanted the job, but it’s too late now. They’re going to announce the guy’s appointment tomorrow. Sure; I’ve got time.”

I sat in wonder watching my Dad talk to some guy named Mugsy who worked at the White House for President Kennedy who Mom called after Sunday dinner because she was mad because Dad hadn’t gotten a new job yet.

Dad suddenly looked as if he had been struck by lightning. He sat bolt upright in his chair.

“What?” he exclaimed “Yes, yes, hello to you, Mr. President.”

We all sat straight up. Now my mom looked as if she too had received an electric shock.

“Yes, Mr. President, my mother was Annie O’Malley. Yes, I’m John E’s son. Yes, Jack O’Malley of B.C.’s my older brother. Yes, I was in France and England with Mugsy.

“With all due respect, sir, don’t believe everything Mugsy says about me. Well, Mr. President, basically I applied for the Southern District Federal Marshal’s position and was informed that I’m no longer a candidate. Oh, yes sir, I certainly feel I was the best man for the job. Thank you very much, Mr. President. (pause) Mugsy! What’d you do that to me for? For gawd sakes; the President didn’t need to hear my troubles. Okay. Okay. Yeah. Okay. We’ll hold tight.

“Me too. Thanks.”

With a blank look, Dad got up, walked around Mom, and gently put the phone back on the hook.

We were all silent. Mom was the first to speak.

“Honey, what did they say?” she asked.

“You heard it, I was telling Mugsy about not getting the Marshal’s job. He happened to be in the same room as the president. Mugsy put me on hold and told Mr. Kennedy who I was and where I was from. Next thing I know I’m talking with the man. He remembered Mother going to school with his mom. He said my mom was a childhood friend of hers. He said he also remembered Daddy from his congressional campaign and knew brother Jack from following B.C. football. What a memory! He told me Mugsy often talks about me from our days overseas. Then he asked me what happened and if I thought I was the best man for the job. Then he said, “We think you’re the best man for the job, too.” Mugsy gets back on the phone and then tells me to sit tight and wait for a phone call. Hannah, if this thing comes through, oh baby,” Dad said out of breath.

I jumped up to run out and tell all the kids in the neighborhood that my dad just talked to President Kennedy. Mom had other ideas.

“We’re all going to sit here and pray until someone calls us back,” she said piously.

Dad picked up the paper and buried his face in it. Mom got out the rosary beads. We prayed while Dad read the sports pages.
Several hours later the phone rang. Mom answered it.

“Hello, this is the O’Malley residence. Yes, this is Mrs. O’Malley. Yes, Mr. O’Malley is right here. I’ll get him for you. It was nice talking with you, too,” she said.
Mom handed the phone with a smile on her face to my father. It was the head United States Federal Marshal.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Howard. Fine, sir. I’d be honored to have the position. Yes, sir. I’ll be in your office at 8:30 sharp. Thank you, sir,” Dad said in the most serious and professional manner.

The phone rang again several minutes later. It was Dad’s friend from the White House, Mugsy. He called to ask if Dad was offered the Marshals job and if he accepted it.

The future US Marshal Daniel O'Malley, his wife Hannah and son, Dan Jr. in 1961.
The future US Marshal Daniel O’Malley, his wife Hannah and son, Dan Jr. in 1961. Photo courtesy of Dan O’Malley.

Dad enthusiastically told him he was offered the job. Mugsy told my Dad that the head Marshal had made a mistake and it was Dad who they wanted all along, per the United States Department of Justice. The President had called his brother Bobby at home, Bobby called the Justice Department, the Justice Department called the head of the United States Marshal Service, and the head of the Marshal Service called the Marshal in Ohio to inform him that he had the opportunity to do a favor to his country by appointing one Dan O’Malley to the position of United States Marshal, Southern District.

“Mugsy, how can I thank you for what you did for me?” Dad asked.

“You can’t. You can thank your wife. She’s the one who made the phone call,” he said.

The next day, my dad’s picture appeared on page two of the local paper with the small headline, “Local Man Chosen for U.S. Marshal.” The article went on to mention how Marshal Fred Howard was proud to have found such a champion of justice and war hero to fill the void in that tough territory known as Southern Ohio and Western Pennsylvania.

Marshal Howard was fortunate to have found exactly everything they were looking for in a candidate.

On Sunday, Dad’s broke with no job. On Monday, his picture is in the paper; he’s the new Marshal—all because Mom decided to call the White House. Behind every successful man is often a woman like my mother.

—“Both my parents passed away in 2005, just a few months shy of being wed 57 years,” says author Dan O’Malley, now a successful businessman. “This is my tribute to what would have been their 65th wedding anniversary.”

Chocolate: Think Outside the Box

Dear Chocolate,

Your heart-shaped candy molds are not fooling anyone (anymore). As humans, we know anything that’s been around for more than 2,000 years is not without a dark side—and yours is especially complex. It’s been a bitter sweet adventure, Chocolate, and while we appreciate your sugar-coated efforts, we know there’s more to you than brownies and candy.

Remember when we first met in Central America? We didn’t always need sugar to be friends. A little spice, maybe… And remember when the Spanish took you and mixed you all up with cinnamon and sweetener? Sure, it tasted delicious, almost sinful. So focused we became on dessert, we nearly forgot to eat dinner.

So here’s to you, Chocolate, and all your savory glory.

Chili Con Carne y Chocolate
Savory Chocolate Recipes
Bobby Flay’s Chocolate Cornpone with Hot Mexican Chocolate Sauce

Szechuan Beef Stir-Fry: A Kid-Friendly Family Favorite

Children learn their habits, attitudes, and beliefs from their parents and other caregivers, and that includes their willingness to try new and healthy foods. For National Nutrition Month®, the American Dietetic Association encourages adults to be good role models by teaching children how to appreciate nutrition and enjoy healthful eating.

“The most important thing you can do is offer your children as many new foods as possible, as early in life as possible,” says registered dietitian and ADA Spokesperson Sarah Krieger.

Try this recipe from the American Dietetic Association for National Nutrition Month.

Szechuan Beef Stir-Fry

Stir Fry
Stir Fry

(Makes 4 servings)

Combine vegetables and water in large nonstick skillet; cover and cook over medium-high heat until crisp-tender, about 4 minutes. Remove and drain vegetables. Set aside.

Meanwhile, cut beef steaks into 1/4-inch thick strips.

Heat same skillet over medium-high heat until hot. Add half of the beef and half of the garlic; stir-fry 1 to 2 minutes until beef is no longer pink. Remove from skillet; keep warm. Repeat with remaining beef and garlic.

Return beef and vegetables to skillet. Add stir-fry sauce and red pepper; cook and stir until heated, about 1 to 2 minutes. Serve over rice. Sprinkle with peanuts.

Per Serving
calories: 351
fat: 11 g
saturated fat: 3 g
monounsaturated fat: 5 g
cholesterol: 64 mg
sodium: 1,147 mg (Using low-sodium stir-fry sauce will significantly reduce the sodium level.)
carbohydrate: 29 g
fiber: 3 g
protein: 32 g

New Therapy Straightens Fingers (Dupuytren’s Disease)

Experimental therapy featured here in September 2009 now offers people with Dupuytren’s disease an alternative to surgery.

A first-of-its-kind experimental therapy featured last fall in the Medical Update http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2009/09/19/wellness/medical-update/hand-therapy-advancements.html is the first drug FDA-approved for treating Dupuytren’s, a condition that progressively pulls fingers toward the palm and locks them there.

The new biologic drug Xiaflex is injected into the hand  to weaken and “break” abnormal cords of connective tissue that are hallmarks of the disease, restoring full motion and function of affected hands and fingers.

“Xiaflex is an enzyme that comes from the bacterium called Clostridium histolyticum,” study investigator Dr. Thomas Kaplan explained to the Post. “In Dupuytren’s disease, multiple fibers of collagen run along the cord. When the enzyme is injected into the cord, it starts ‘cutting’ the fibers into progressively smaller fragments, weakening the cord in that section.”

Drug manufacturer Auxilium Pharmaceuticals, Inc. expects shipments of Xiaflex to reach physicians in late March 2010. In the past, conventional surgery was the only way to remove Dupuytren’s cords affecting the MP joint (where the finger meets the palm) and the PIP joint (the finger’s middle joint.)

“People with Dupuytren’s contractures that are severe enough to warrant surgical treatment finally have a nonsurgical option to correct their deformities,” reports Dr. Larry Hurst, who led the Xiaflex studies at SUNY Stony Brook where he is a professor and Chair of the Department of Orthopaedics.

Those considering Xiaflex therapy need to consult an expert to discuss the new procedure, its risks, and alternatives, adds Dr. Hurst.

Dupuytren’s contracture is most common among Caucasians (especially those of Northern European descent) over age 50 and tends to run in families.

For more information about Xiaflex and Dupuytren’s disease, click here XIAFLEX (collagenase clostridium histolyticum)| Official Site or call Auxilium at 1-877-942-3539. In the future, the Web site will also feature patient stories and an online tool to locate trained specialists in your area.

The Snow Goose

Paul Gallico’s (1897 — 1976) stories appeared in the Post from 1931 to 1959.

Of all these stories, and all of his works, his best remembered piece is the short story “The Snow Goose.” It is unapologetic melodrama, but it is also one of those rare sentimental stories that can still surprise you with its effectiveness.

Read the original publication of “The Snow Goose,” by Paul Gallico [PDF].

The Book of Numbers: A History of the Telephone Book

Lo, the poor telephone book! Consider how its prestige has dimmed!

Once, it was the all-important guide to the city. Phone companies distributed their books everywhere, with a thoroughness that even the Gideons would admire.

It was the progenitor of search engines—your sole guide to the virtual world of telephones. It was how you found the number for muffler shops, the sanitation department, and that girl in your chemistry class. Every home and business received one updated copy every year, which was kept close by telephones, which, in those days, were leashed to the wall. By the time a directory was replaced, it would be dog-eared and tattered, bescribbled and bedoodled.

This week marks the anniversary of the first phone directory, issued in New Haven, Connecticut, on February 21, 1878. It listed the numbers of 11 homes, 38 businesses, and the Police Department. By 1910, America’s telephone books were keeping track of 7,000,000 phone numbers. Directories became even more important when automatic switching became widespread a few years later; allowing callers to find a number and dial their party directly without help from an operator.

In 1954 the Post printed “Sixty Million Headaches Every Year” by Henry and Katherine Pringle. It described how incredibly complex the task of producing America’s phone books was.

The chief headache, the Pringles explained, was hand-checking the accuracy of every name and number. Another challenge was distributing the massive volumes. A third was the immense costs of production. Bell Telephone executives estimated “the cost of publishing and delivering a directory the size of a Manhattan book is approximately $1.50.”

Scattered throughout the story of how phone companies updated and replaced directories are several historical details of interest.

“Otherwise civilized people have a deplorable habit of tearing out pages at booths and in hotel rooms instead of copying down the numbers. A staff of inspectors roam such busy centers as railroad and bus stations to see if directory replacements are necessary. At New York’s Grand Central Terminal fresh books are required every forty-eight hours. And nothing much can be done to stop people from tearing pages out of the directors for use as confetti when a parade is staged for some returning hero. A record was chalked up on Gertrude Ederle’s triumphant arrival to New York after she swam the English Channel in 1926. The shredded pages of 5,000 directories were showered on her at a cost, in those inexpensive days, of a couple of thousand dollars. The New York Telephone Company, which had to supply new books, still shudders at the memory.”

The Pringles quote “instructions for the proper use of instruments” in an early phone directory.

“‘When you are called from the Central Office, answer by ringing your bell the same number of times as your call, i.e., if your call is three, answer three: then turn the switch to the right and use your telephone. Speak clearly and distinctly, with your lips gently TOUCHING the telephone.’

“Instructions for use are less involved today, but they are still quite specific. The summer, 1953, directory for Cascade, Montana, lists only 182 names, but a word of warning inside the cover indicates that men are still men in the shadow of the Rocky Mountain:

“‘Profane or obscene language over the company’s wires is prohibited… Failure to observe this will constitute cause for discontinuing service.'”

The number of telephone books published each year has risen since 1954, as you might expect: from 60 million to 615 million. Even as Americans are turning to the Internet as their prime source of information, phone book producers are distributing more directories than ever before. Residents in most cities receive more than one set a year, broken into multiple volumes for neighborhoods. Often a new set arrives before the old set has been used.

There is a concern about the environmental affect of old telephone books. Heavy ink saturation on the pages, low-grade paper, and the glued binding prevent them from disintegrating like other paper products. Some recycling programs refuse to accept them. Yet the industry produces, according to a Louisville reporter’s calculation, over 1 million tons of phone books each year.

William Kantor\’s Zyzzy Ztamp Ztudioz is listed last-on page 1858-of the Manhattan directory.

The Yellow Pages Association reports that business is good. All those millions of directories last year, they say, generated revenues of $13.9 billion, according to an article from slate.com. Slate’s  reporter calculated “that’s more than $22 in revenue per copy. And, what’s more, those revenue figures are growing.”

Like direct-mail advertising, telephone books will continue to arrive at your address, unbidden, so long as they are profitable.

For additional information, check out these articles:

Louisville’s Disappearing Telephone Books by Thomas McAdam

The Book of the Undead: Why won’t phone books die? by Paul Collins

Read the original article, “Sixty Million Headaches Every Year”, by Henry F. and Katharine Pringle [PDF].

Chocolate Is Here to Stay!

In the late 19th century, a man by the name of Milton Hershey bought a new technology to help him produce a chocolate coating for his caramels.  What Hershey could not have known was that this new technology would be his “bread and butter,” not his caramels.  Within a few years, he made this keen observation: “Caramels are only a fad.  Chocolate is a permanent thing.”  In 1903, Hershey began the Hershey Chocolate Company and began a chocolate revolution in the United States.  Through his methods of mass-production, he was able to lower the cost of the chocolate and make it an affordable luxury item.

Over a century later, chocolate is still a “hot topic.”  In recent years, chocolate as an industry has even seen a rebirth.  Instead of mass-production and affordability, chocolate has moved into niche markets as a diet and health food, a delicacy to accompany wines and cheese, and a mood-enhancer.  Mass-produced chocolates are still highly popular, but a growing number of chocolate lovers are finding pleasure in these new offerings.

Here at the Post, we have a variety of chocolate lovers.  We thought our readers would enjoy a series of postings that look at the history and the future of chocolate!

Let’s begin with a brief introduction to the key terms:

Cacao (%): The term refers to the ingredients derived from the cocoa bean.  The source of the cacao components are “chocolate liquor” — the term used to describe the pure (nonalcoholic) chocolate in liquid form, cocoa butter, and cocoa powder.  The” % cacao” refers to the percentage of these ingredients, by weight, in the finished product.

Dark Chocolate: The term “dark chocolate” is not defined by regulation in the US.  Within the industry however, it is used to refer to both sweet and bittersweet chocolates containing high levels of chocolate liquor.  Many dark chocolates on the market today contain more than 35% chocolate liquor.  It is common to see dark chocolates containing 45-80% cacao on the market today.  Dark chocolates may contain milk fat to soften the texture, but do not generally have a milky flavor.

Milk Chocolate: The most common kind of eating chocolate; it is made by combining chocolate liquor, cocoa butter, milk or cream and, sweeteners such as sugars and flavorings.  According to the FDA regulations, all milk chocolate must contain at least 10% chocolate liquor and at least 12% milk solids.  The only fats allowed in milk chocolate are milk fat and cocoa butter.  The varieties of milk chocolates in the market are expanding.  Some high cacao % milk chocolates are essentially dark chocolates with additional dairy ingredients.

White Chocolate: White chocolate is a blend of cocoa butter, milk, sugar, and flavor.  No chocolate solids other than cocoa butter are present, which explains the lack of brown color.  According to US regulations, white chocolate needs to be at least 20% (by weight) cocoa butter, at least 14% total milk solids, and less than 55% sweeteners (such as sugar.)

Please join us over the next few Fridays as we explore chocolate. Our chocolate postings will help you determine which chocolates you like, and encourage you to try something new.

More chocolate information may be found at the National Confectioners Association website – www.candyusa.com

Apple Oatmeal Squares

Take a break from the usual brownies and create a dessert that’s full of good stuff.

Apple Oatmeal Squares

Apple Oatmeal Squares
Apple Oatmeal Squares
Photo courtesy of the Food Channel

(Makes 12 servings)
Recipe courtesy of The Food Channel

Preheat oven to 350 F.

Lightly grease 9×12-inch baking pan. Combine apples and baking soda in non-metalic bowl and set aside. Cream sugars, butter, and egg in mixing bowl. Beat in flour and spices, then stir in oatmeal, apples, and nuts. Pour batter into the prepared pan.

Bake 30 to 35 minutes, or until cake begins to shrink from edges of pan and a cake tester inserted into center comes out clean. Cool in pan about 20 minutes, then cut into squares. Serve immediately.

Love and Democracy: A Troubled Romance

The wildest idea of the 18th century was that humans could form their own government and rule as equals.

The craziest idea of the 19th century was that romantic love was more important than social responsibility.

In the 20th Century, the two ideas collided.

Both ideas assumed there was virtue in self interest. The American Revolution was based on a belief that citizens could shape their personal destiny, and form a society where they could all pursue the happiness of their choice. The Romantic Revolution sprang from the assumption that the human spirit could only be fulfilled by allowing people to live true to their passions.

For most of our history, Americans adopted only part of the Romantic manifesto, ignoring its more self-centered aspects. Love led to marriage, which was a lifelong commitment. (American society disapproved strongly of divorced adults and single parents, and was not to supportive of single adults, either.) The stability of marriage, and the lack of romantic experimentation, produced a strong, if not contented, society centered on family life.

A common code of morality — which was often promoted more than it was practiced — helped give the young, disjointed nation a sense of unity. But ultimately, Americans wanted the right to define morals for themselves and their families. Their desire for romantic fulfillment eventually parted with the need to contribute to the common good.

According to Arthur Schlesinger, America’s moral code collided with personal ideas of romance and fulfillment in the early 20th century. In his “Informal History of Love U.S.A.” he observes,

“How shocking at the time were the first intimations of sexual liberation just before the First World War; how innocent they seem in retrospect! War itself hastened the disappearance  of the old inhibitions, bringing back from France a new generation determined to live life to the full. The success of the feminist movement increased the pressure against the double standard. The psychology Sigmund Freud gave the role of sex in life a fresh legitimacy.… And, as the new psychology and the new leisure encouraged romantic love, so the new technology simplified life for romantic lovers. The automobile offered lovers mobility and privacy at just the time that contraceptives, now cheap and available, offered them security. Advertising and popular songs incessantly celebrated the cult of sex. Above all, the invention of the movies gave romantic love its troubadours and its temples of worship.”

It was inevitable that American society would redefine its morals. The old Victorian model was invasive, unproductive, and — in time — hypocritical.

An Informal History of Love, U.S.A. Arthur Schlesinger, J.R.December 31, 1966

However, the redefining moral seemed to go on continually. America couldn’t seem to settle on a new code for romantic and sexual norms. By 1966, when Schlesinger was writing this Post article, lasting love, and marriage was definitely in trouble.

“…the Age of Love has hardly turned out to be an age of fulfillment. If sexual repression failed to produce happiness in the 19th century, sexual liberation appears to have done little better in the 20th. More than that, while repression at least preserved the family, if at times by main force, the pursuit of happiness through love is now evidently weakening the family structure itself. Divorce, of course, is an expression of the determination to make romance legal at any cost: so, if one marriage fails, another must be promptly started; and the steady increase in divorce in these years — the rate trebled from 1900 to 1960 — suggest how the pursuit of love is paradoxically leading to the breakdown of marriage. Freedom, instead of resolving the dilemmas of love, is only heightening anxiety.”

Mr. Schlesinger might have thought divorce a license for continual romance in 1966. It would be interesting to know what he thought four years later when he divorced his wife of 30 years.

According to Elizabeth Gilbert, an enlightened society that allows people to choose their own partner will eventually have to give them the right to separate from that partner. In her  recent book Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace With Marriage, she  shares “the single most interesting fact I’ve learned about the entire history of marriage: Everywhere, in every single society, all across the world, all across time, whenever a conservative culture of arranged marriage is replaced by an expressive culture of people choosing their own partners based on love, divorce rates will immediately skyrocket. You can set your clock to it.”

In the same 1966 issue in which Schlesinger’s article appeared, the Post published results of a Roper survey about marriage. It begins with the now-familiar lament about America’s vanishing morals.

“There is a widely held conviction, almost an unquestioning assumption, that the moral quality of life in this country is changing for the worse. Fully half of us believe that the amount of closeness and love in the average American family has declined since we were children, and very few think that it has improved. Even young men and women just arrived at adulthood sense a loss of grace in family life in the few years since they were children. And more than two thirds of us, young and old, are convinced that sexual moral standards in America are worse than they were a generation ago—part of the same pervasive impression of old and good values fading away.”

And yet, “when Americans are asked to answer questions about their own conduct and views, and those of the people they know best, a quite different picture emerges of the state of love, marriage and morality in the United States.” According to one statistic, “Today’s Americans generally feel that they are more happily married than their parents were.”

Since 1966, the divorce rate has continued to climb. Marriage is declining, partly because couples are deliberating more before committing (43 percent of American adults now define themselves as ‘single’), and are marrying later. They are also postponing marriages until the economy improves, just as couples did in the 1930s.

The odds against lifelong love and marriage are high, but a majority of couples think they are doing better than the previous generation. A CBS News Poll from last month reported that 55 percent of the Americans they surveyed thought their marriages were better than their parents.

In the GI’s Shirt Pocket: Post Yarns

Occasionally, we come across a small treasure in our archives or a forgotten spot in the office building. This was the case recently when we came across a box of over 30 tiny Post Yarns in perfect condition. What are “Post Yarns”? They are tiny magazines,  smaller than an index card and 64 pages long. The pocket-size booklets were distributed by American industry, the American Red Cross, chaplains, churches, and other organizations to the tune of 10,000,000 copies to servicemen and women in every zone of operation throughout the world.

The cartoons may be a little corny or considered politically incorrect today (the dangers of women drivers, the problems of cigarette rationing), but they were a treat for soldiers overseas during World War II. Tiny as they were, the booklets contained three selections from the full-sized Saturday Evening Post, a mixture of articles and short stories, which could fit into a uniform shirt pocket. According to the Post editors, these pieces were not condensed articles, or “literary C rations.” By leaving out advertising, the Post was able to get a lot in a tiny package.

Although servicemen referred to them as “dehydrated Posts,” they were immensely grateful for them. “It is seldom that we G.I.’s over here in Burma have the time to write all the letters that we often plan to. However, I must take this moment to tell you how much pleasure is derived from reading these Post Yarns which you are sending overseas to us,” one wrote. “This little booklet is just the answer for a quick snack of reading out in the field after chow or during a few minutes of rest anywhere.” Another wrote, “Recently, a rather battered copy of Post Yarns came into my possession. After reading the three stories it contained, I became quite curious about this excellent publication. I traced back through the fellow who gave it to me as well as I could. I found that eight of my shipmates had read it before me. None of them knew how it got aboard or where it came from.”

The complete set.

“It was a good idea,” the Post editors wrote in 1946, “and we’re proud of our share in it, but there are single letters in our files which would dampen any tendency toward preening. We had a good many letters from uncomplaining men who found the little books especially useful because these readers cannot handle a book requiring two hands.”

Some letters gave pause for other reasons. A paratrooper wrote that he read them “to help relieve the tension” just before making a jump. Another soldier guarding a building noted that they were “easy to carry, easy to read, and easy to hide from the officer of the watch.”

The Saturday Evening Post was happy to report in the June 22, 1946 issue that Post Yarns had gone to press for the last time. “Thousands of its readers,” they cheerfully noted, “no longer are wearing the shirts that the edition was designed for. And they aren’t doing their reading under the special and outlandish conditions which made Post Yarns popular.”

To see more images of our Post Yarn set, click here.

Chocolate: A Sweet Treat for Health

Eating a valentine chocolate every week may lower your risk of having a stroke, according to an analysis of available research to be presented in April at the American Academy of Neurology’s 62nd Annual Meeting in Toronto. Another study found that eating 1.75 ounces of chocolate once a week may help people survive a stroke, too.

The analysis, completed at St. Michael’s Hospital and the University of Toronto, involved reviewing three studies on chocolate and stroke.

In the first study, people who ate one serving of chocolate per week were 22 percent less likely to have a stroke than those who ate none. In the second study, those who consumed 50 grams (1.7 oz) of chocolate once a week were 46 percent less likely to die following a stroke than the nonchocolate eaters. The third found no link between eating chocolate and risk of stroke or death.

Chocolate is rich in antioxidants called flavonoids and polyphenols which may help protect against stroke. A 1.4-ounce portion of dark chocolate contains an estimated 600 mg of polyphenols, compared to red wine (170 mg in 3.4 oz) or a medium apple (200 mg).

“More research is needed to determine whether chocolate truly lowers stroke risk, or whether healthier people are simply more likely to eat chocolate than others,” said Canadian study author Sarah Sahib, who suggests that additional and larger tests are needed.

Want to volunteer? Go to clinicaltrials.gov and search for “chocolate”. The last time we checked, we found five active studies related to chocolate.

Berry Romantic Pie

A heart-healthy diet is as easy as pie.

Berry Topped Pudding Pie

Berry Topped Pudding Pie
Berry Topped Pudding Pie

Recipe from the American Heart Association, courtesy of Alton Brown.

(Makes 8 servings)

Preheat the oven to 300 F. Pour small amount of oil onto paper towel and lightly wipe bottom and side of an 8- or 9-inch pie pan.

In large mixing bowl, using electric mixer, beat egg whites, vanilla, cream of tartar, and salt on medium speed until foamy. With mixer still running, gradually add the sugar in slow, steady stream, until stiff peaks form. (The peaks shouldn’t fold over when the beater is lifted.) Very gently fold in ½ cup of nuts.

Using flexible spatula or rubber scraper, spread meringue over bottom and up side of pie pan and onto lip of pan, but not over edge of pan. Sprinkle bottom of pan with remaining nuts.

Bake for 50 minutes, or until meringue is firm and lightly browned. Transfer to cooling rack and let cool completely, at least 2 hours.

Using package directions, prepare pudding. Spread over cooled crust. Arrange fruit decoratively over pudding. Top with whipped topping.

Note: In warm weather, meringues will get gummy after a few days, so it’s best to serve this dessert within 24 hours.

2010 Perennial of the Year

If someone asked me to design my idea of the “perfect” perennial, it would come pretty darned close to being this year’s selection for Perennial of the Year. Gorgeous purple-blue flowers, widely adaptable, native, well-behaved, relatively pest-free, and long-lived garden plant all describe Baptisia australis, which was named the Perennial Plant of 2010 by the Perennial Plant Association (PPA).

Native to much of the Eastern United States, B. australis is a legume and can fix nitrogen in the soil. Commonly called blue false indigo, the name Baptisia is derived from the Greek word bapto, which means to dip or dye. Early Americans used the plant sap as a dye similar to, though weaker in strength than, the true indigo plant native to the West Indies. There are other species of Baptisia with white or yellow flowers.

Although a bit slow to establish, B. australis forms a neat, shrub-like plant, reaching about 3-4 feet in height and spread upon maturity. The 12-inch, upright stalks of purple-blue flowers rise high above the bluish-green foliage in May/June. Depending on the weather, the flowers last about three weeks and are followed by interesting seedpods that turn black as they mature and dry. The handsome pea-like foliage makes an excellent filler plant for other flowers after the blooms fade.

B. australis adapts well to dry, low-fertility soils and also thrives in well-drained, tended garden beds, yet neatly stays where planted. The plants perform best in full sun but will tolerate some shade, although the stems will be a bit floppy.

Although the plant does not divide or transplant well, the mature seeds can be used to start additional plants. Fresh seed germinates relatively quickly; stored seed is slow and less successful. Mature seeds should be collected just as the pods split open. Remove the seeds from the pods and sort to discard those that have insect damage. Place seeds in hot (not boiling) water and let soak for 24 hours. Pot up the soaked seeds in good quality soil mix, or plant directly in a protected location in the garden.

PPA selects a different perennial plant each year to promote throughout the nursery and gardening industry. Members of the PPA are invited to nominate plants based on several criteria, including low maintenance requirements, adaptability to a wide range of climates, pest and disease resistance, wide availability, multiple seasons of interest in the garden and ease of propagation. A PPA committee then narrows the field to 3-4 choices from which the members cast their vote.

For more information, visit perennialplant.org.

B. Rosie Lerner is the Purdue Extension Consumer Horticulturist at Purdue University, West Lafayette.

Get the Most Out of Your Liquid Medicine

About 70 percent of us grab silverware spoons to take liquid medicine, according to researchers. Bad idea.

Our Post pharmacy consultant relates this story:

“My friend reached for a spoon from the silverware drawer when she needed a dose of cough syrup. ‘What are you doing?’ I rather rudely exclaimed, expecting her to suggest that the spoon must be about the right size. But her response really surprised me. She said, ‘I thought it might look silly if I used the cheap spoon that came with the medicine!’”

Whatever the reason may be, using a silverware spoon often means getting too much or too little medicine, explains the pharmacist.

In a recent study, college students first measured out one teaspoon of liquid medicine into an actual teaspoon. Then they were asked to pour one teaspoon of the drug into a medium-sized spoon and then a large spoon.

The results? Even in a well-lit room in the middle of the day, participants poured an average of 8 percent less than prescribed into the medium spoon, and nearly 12 percent more into the larger spoon.

And in the middle of night, when you’re feeling miserable or stressed because a child is crying, the probability of error is undoubtedly much greater, said the Cornell University research team.

Getting the wrong dose of medicine may lead to ineffectiveness, or even danger. For an accurate dose—and the best relief—always use a measuring cap, spoon, dropper, or syringe. And if the pharmacy provides one, please use it.

The study is published in the Annals of Internal Medicine.