The Art of Coles Phillips The Saturday Evening Post

See the covers Mary modeled for in “Rockwell’s Favorite Model.”

A special thank you to the Norman Rockwell Museum for sharing the video of Mary Whalen Leonard.

Interview with Rockwell Model Mary Whalen Leonard The Saturday Evening Post

In this video, microbiologist Jonathan Eisen, professor at the University of California Davis Genome Center, explains how these good microbes may actually be our first line of defense against infection, disease, and lasting medical conditions—and how antibiotics may be doing more harm than good.

In Defense of Microbiomes The Saturday Evening Post

In this video from SoCal Connected, Murray explains the often undiscussed pain and discomfort terminal patients experience on life support, and what families might not consider when choosing to prolong a loved one’s life at all costs.

The Problem with Life Support The Saturday Evening Post

Heather Kahn discusses Kaptchuk’s research and what it might mean for the future of medicine in this “Voices of BIDMC Research” video series.

Ted Kaptchuk on the Placebo Effect The Saturday Evening Post

His youngest son Peter had no interest in pursuing a career as an artist. But after taking a sculpture class in college, he was hooked. In this video, Peter tells us about his inspirations, influences, and memories of growing up with the Rockwells.

Courtesy of the Norman Rockwell Museum.

Peter Rockwell: A Sculptor’s Retrospective The Saturday Evening Post

In these videos, he’s compiled memories and photos from his grandmother, Eva Marie Brawner-Malone, 98, who grew up during the Great Depression in Grand Saline, Texas. (See also “Tracing Family Roots” to begin your own genealogy journey.)

Scott Tims’ Family History The Saturday Evening Post

Inside Our Archives The Saturday Evening Post

29 Gifts: How a Month of Giving Can Change Your Life The Saturday Evening Post

From her book, Honeybee: Lessons from an Accidental Beekeeper, these twice-baked cookies are a great treat at any time of the year. We recommend serving them with a cup of black tea or cappuccino—especially while there’s a chill in the air.

Note that the recipe calls for clover honey, which is honey obtained from bees that primarily eat clover flowers, and this can be purchased at your local grocer.

Honey Almond Biscotti The Saturday Evening Post

This photograph, by Gus Pasquarella, freezes the catastrophe that took place 295 feet above Lakehurst Air Station, amid the piney flatlands near the Jersey shore.

The time is 7:25 PM, daylight savings time, May 6, 1937. By 7:26, the Hindenburg was lying on the ground, a sagging framework of glowing steel. This single minute was crowded with tragedy, luck, and instinctive heroism.

The explosion was muffled under the mass of the dirigible so that several seconds passed before passenger realized what had happened. Several leapt to their deaths. Others waited while the dirigible slowly lost altitude, then jumped. Many of these survived the fall and began running to safety before the dirigible frame could land on top of them. Others were crushed. And others, too close to the descending inferno, were vaporized by the intense heat. Yet 62 of the 97 people aboard managed to survive the fall and the fire.

The photograph has become an icon of tragedy. Instantly recognizable, it speaks to us of the imminence and awful majesty of unimaginable disaster. It shocked Americans when it was released the following day. The horror it evoked effectively ended commercial travel by dirigible in the US and other nations. (It helped that international airplane service had begun. It was noisy and crowded, but faster and, Americans assumed, safer.)

Images of the flaming airship also had political implications. Hitler had been proud of this massive symbol of German might. The Hindenburg was a valuable tool for propaganda. In its previous ten trips to the United States, it had enabled the German Reich to fly the swastika in stately elegance in the skies over New York, and to defy the American government. Roosevelt had banned the sale of Helium to Germany out of fear it would be used for military purposes. But the German engineers had constructed an airship that used Hydrogen.

But hydrogen is extremely flammable. In a Post article, historian John Toland described how careful the German crew had been:

“The Germans were proud of their precautions.   All matches and lighters had been confiscated when passengers boarded at Frankfort.  As a further safety measure, the three catwalks, including the main one, which ran along the very bottom of the ship from bow to stern, were covered with rubber.  Those treading the narrow ‘sidewalks’ wore sneakers or felt boots to prevent static or sparks.  Crewmen who went topside between the billowing gas cells wore asbestos suits free of buttons or metal.
“And the four 1100-horsepower Diesel engines that drove the ship at a dead air speed of 84 miles an hour required no ignition.  They used a crude oil with a flash point so low that it wouldn’t burn even if a flaming match was tossed into the tank.”

But all the precautions and all the efficiency couldn’t protect the Hindenburg, or its passengers.

While the crash ended any hope for dirigible travel, the photograph produced an even greater effect; it introduced America to modern journalism. They recognized that this photograph conveyed the tragedy better than the best journalists’ efforts.  It was dreadful but it was fascinating, and it raised Americans’ expectations for greater detail and objectivity.

In addition to this photograph there was the recording of radio announcer Herbert Morrison, who was covering the event for radio station WLS in Chicago. His frantic, anguished reporting is often played in synch with motion picture footage shot at the time. However, he was recording the event onto a phonograph record, which the station intended to play the next day for an evening news program.

Toland describes Morrison’s preparations for the Hindenburg’s arrival.

“Inside a little building attached to the west side of the dirigible hanger, Herbert Morrison, an announcer from Station WLS, Chicago, checked over last minute adjustments with his engineer, Charlie Nehlsen.  They were to make a recording of the year’s first transatlantic-flight landing… and Nehlsen had just finished setting up his portable recorder.

“As the Hindenburg floated [into sight], Morrison, a small, lantern-jawed man of about 120 pounds, called out, ‘Charlie, I’m going out for the recording.’  He left the building, which also housed the Navy’s radio station, walked onto the field and began talking into his hand microphone.

“Morrison had just announced that this was Captain Pruss’ first command – though actually it was the tenth time Pruss had captained the Hindenburg on a transatlantic flight.  ‘Passengers are looking out the windows, waving.’  Morrison went on.  ‘The ship is standing still now.’

“There was now a strange quiet.  The Hindenburg’s engines were turning over slowly, silently.  ‘The vast motors,’ Morrison said, ‘are just holding it, just enough to keep it from —’

“He stopped short.  It was exactly 7:25 p.m.

The noise of the explosion was muffled to those directly beneath it, but it was strong enough to knock the whitewash from the ceiling of the room where the engineer was recording Morrison’s report. Nehlsen wiped off the record without stopping it and signaled Morrison to keep talking.

“To Morrison, it looked as though everyone on the ship and most of the ground crew would be killed instantly.  ‘It’s bursting into flames and falling on the mooring mast!’ he shouted desperately.  Tiny figures seemed to be catapulted from the dirigible, and fell.  ‘This is terrible!’  Morrison cried,  ‘This is one of the worst catastrophes in the world!’  His agonized voice trailed off into incoherence.  He turned desperately toward Nehlsen, who was watching from the window.
“The engineer gave the OK signal, ‘Keep going,’ he said in pantomime.
“’Oh, the humanity and all the passengers!’  Morrison broke into sobs.  ‘I told you —- It’s a mass of smoking wreckage!  Honest, I can hardly breathe!’  Again, he looked at Nehlsen; again Nehlsen nodded encouragement.”
“’I’m going to step inside where I can’t see it!’  Morrison said, ‘It’s terrible!  I—I—folks, I’m going to have to stop for a moment because I’ve lost my voice!  This is the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed!’

“Never had a disaster hit with the impact of the Hindenburg explosion.  Never before had photographers and newsreelmen been present to record a major tragedy, and within hours shocking pictures of the fire were wired all over the world.  By noon the next day, newsreel extras of the catastrophe were being shown in theaters along Broadway.  It was a rare showing which wasn’t punctuated by screams from the audience.

In a more ordered world, the public was protected from the direct impact of news. There were hours of intervening calm, as well as banks of editors who removed  the shock and hysteria from a reporter’s copy. The story would appear the next morning, set in cold type and couched in serious, thoughtful tones.

But Morrison’s report gave America a taste of what modern media — with its immediate and detailed reporting— would bring. It introduced the sound of emotional turmoil, the hysterical frustration of impotently watching a disaster. It was a feeling most Americans experienced on September 11, 2001.

As newspapers, then motion pictures, then television brought viewers closer to the instant and location of catastrophes, we sometimes feel the need, as did Morrison, to “step inside where I cannot see it.”

Read “Terror in the Twilight”[PDF].

“I’m Going To Step Inside Where I Cannot See It” The Saturday Evening Post

Dr. Taylor recounted her moving story in a lecture that we now share with you.

Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor: My Stroke of Insight The Saturday Evening Post

Fortunately, Baxter, being the noble caregiver he was, went the extra mile, starring in his very own YouTube video to ensure his paw print on society would forever be remembered.

I’m not sure why I was so stunned by this video, but I was, as were about 400,000 others who saw it, encountering something rarely seen.

Baxter’s job was to comfort those who lay dying and in pain while giving intimate aid to those on their transition from life to death, sometimes in their very last hours.

For the patients on the hospice ward, Baxter, a golden retriever/chow mix, became a mobile furry emergency unit, entering in and out of damaged lives with near-flamboyant grace and mercy to provide whatever healing he could.

Lest anyone think therapy dogs are merely the newest addition to American’s love affair with their companion animals, let us consider who among us could consistently do this wrenching work? I, for one, despite a desiring heart, could not.

This, though, is where Baxter’s immense soul triumphed, says his owner, Melissa Joseph, who each week wheeled Baxter into the hospice unit in his red covered wagon filled with stuffed pillows—his favorite being an oversized bone-shaped number with the title: Old Soul.

Joseph, who rescued Baxter when he was 2 from an abusive environment, says one of his most therapeutic tools were his big “puppy” eyes that looked as if they were ringed with blurry-black eyeliner. He’d look into patient’s eyes with these huge soulful orbs, and pain and time would relax their grip, says Joseph.

“He’d go eye to eye—it was one of his favorite things to do—and I dare anyone not to melt. He had such a very beautiful and intense gaze,” she recalls. His huge bear paws and real-life teddy bear ears [“I’d always tell people his ears were big because as an angel they helped him fly”] made him both irresistible and potent medicine.

As a key member of the hospice’s Pawsitive Pals Pet Therapy Program team for seven years, Baxter licked the faces and feet of dying children, men, women and the elderly. He wore silly ad hoc cone hats to celebrate the lonely on their birthdays and allowed thin arms to envelope him for hours.

You can read about 36 patients who received the Baxter treatment in Joseph’s book, “Moments with Baxter.”  All proceeds from the sale of the book as well as the sale of a sweet stuffed Baxter animal will go to various animal rescue charities. For more information, log onto: www.momentswithbaxter.com.

One of the things that allow dying patients to open up so quickly and readily to a skilled therapy animal like Baxter, “is likely because they don’t have to talk or worry about interacting; they just get to be there with the comfort,” says Joseph, who was a critical part of team Baxter.

She and Baxter worked on all holidays, which can be especially emotionally draining and tough.  “Maybe they were struggling thinking about saying good-bye to their loved ones, and all the things in their life, but Baxter didn’t require anything of anyone. He just gave unconditional presence and love and softness,” explains Joseph. “He just instinctively and amazingly always knew exactly what to do and who needed what.”

One patient Joseph remembers well, a 36 year-old woman she and Baxter had visited for about a year. The last time they ever saw her she was being transported by ambulance to go home and die. Joseph says she overheard one of the ambulance drivers asking where room 207 was and knew he was asking about this young woman. She asked if she could place Baxter on the gurney to surprise this patient and bring her some joy.

“He struggled with saying yes and really never did,” says Joseph. “I just put Baxter on top (of it) and all of a sudden away we went.”  The hospice staff present that day remember seeing Baxter and this dying woman together on the gurney, rolling around the beautiful hospice grounds.  She died soon after.

The medical staff who worked with Baxter clearly loved and admired him. “If I had just one word to describe Baxter it’d be ‘sage,’ says Dr. Shannon Moore, an oncologist at the institute. “It’s not a word you use about many beings, but it was true about Baxter.”

Lisa McCollough, the Hospice’s chaplain thought Baxter “a rare dignified soul. He just had this immense dignity and spiritual-like presence.” She adds, “And he was very free with his licks.”

Rodney Swan, the hospice’s pharmaceutical aroma-therapist noticed how Baxter seemed to sense the value of a good photo op and “when there were cameras around, he’d give a quick turn and almost smile at the cameras, and then immediately he’d go back to why he was really there. He never let it interfere with his important work.”

One veteran hospice night nurse simply labeled Baxter “the guru of therapy dogs.”

More than a hundred people -standing room only including doctors, nurses, patients, family members, and fans – said a formal goodbye to this amazing animal on October 21 at a memorial put on by the hospice.

I’d never before been to a memorial service for a dog, and I can tell you there was, as they say, few dry eyes in the house.

As was mentioned at the service, Baxter was able to do his most honorable work because Joseph and her husband Dennis Bussey took rare care of their dog: Towards the end of his life Baxter received twice daily acupuncture treatments, massages and swam therapeutically two to three times a week.

Joseph says it helped with Baxter’s sometimes gnawing arthritic pain. “But I really do believe his suffering often overshadowed their [patient’s] own, if for just that brief moment in time. And helped them focus their compassion on Baxter as he was focusing his on them.”

Ultimately, Baxter’s story speaks to me some important lessons about what the face of death and the end-of-life journey can be, and the knowledge that there is comfort for it from some very unlikely places – like the sweet licking tongue of a gifted healing therapy dog.

This story is published with permission from the author and the L.A. Times, where the article first appeared. http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/unleashed

Think Pawsitive! The Saturday Evening Post