My Favorite Teacher

Mrs. Kilgard

            It was the first day of second grade when I first met Mrs. Kilgard. She was an older woman in her early to mid 60s, with a kind demeanor. This was only my second year at Lexington Creek Elementary School, but Mrs. Kilgard made it seem like she had known me my entire life. As the year crept on, she made an effort to keep the class fun and engaging as well as taking a personal interest in all of her students. I think that’s why I would consider her my favorite teacher. During the year, there was a week in which we studied a different country every day and would indulge in their customs for the day. For instance one day we were studying Ireland and she made us potato pancakes, latke style. Another day we studied Japan and in order to come into class that day, we had to take our shoes of at the door. When the first Harry Potter book was released, every day for almost a month during story time, she read a chapter to us. One day each week she arranged for a “mad” scientist to come in and perform a fun, learning experiment.

            When the end of the school year began to approach, my parents told me that we were moving. When I informed Mrs. Kilgard of this, she made sure to give me her address in order to keep in touch with her. As time passed by, I tried to keep up with writing her letters to let her know what was going on in my life, and she made sure to write back. We lost touch for a couple of years, but I decided to send her a graduation announcement, to which she responded with a nice letter and a gift card to Barnes and Noble. I was able to get in touch with her last year, but I lost her phone number, and I recently tried to mail her a letter, but it was returned saying that the address was vacant.

Just Jump

Just Jump

            For those of you who don’t know me well, one of my biggest fears is falling. I dislike the feeling of falling. Dreams that involve free falling freak me out. Well, a couple of years ago, I had this fear challenged. My parents and I were in Utah as part of a family vacation, Ogden, Utah to be exact. While we were there, my dad and I stumble upon a place that had indoor skydiving. Being guys, of course we had to check it out. We walk into the place and it sounds like a jet is about to take off, but what it was a massive vertical wind tunnel. There wasn’t much discussion as to whether or not we were going to do it. We did it. So, once they had us sign all of the paper work, they put us in a room with one of their instructors who taught us proper technique to control rising and falling speed, and then we suited up and stepped into a chamber, which was a lot like the cargo hold of a plane, but made with plexiglass windows. After our session in the vertical wind tunnel, the instructor had to show off, but it was extremely cool. After leaving, we talked to mom about how much fun it had been and then decided that we wanted to go real skydiving. So we called around and found a place that had an opening for us.

            The next day dad and I woke up bright and early to travel out to the jump site hangar where we went through a long training session so that we could jump by ourselves. After the training, we suited up and boarded the plane. As we got closer to the jump zone, I began to second-guess our decision to do this, even more so when I got to the opening in the side of the plane. Our instructor took a moment to calm my nerves and on the count of three encouraged me to jump out of the plane. I am glad that I did so. It was an experience I’ll never forget.

Amelia

Amelia

            Amelia and I have been together for just over two years. She has always been faithful to me, never lets me down and supports me wherever I go.  No, I’m not talking about a girl. I’m talking about my car. Amelia is my 2007 Nissan Xterra SE. She has a 4.0L direct injection V6, 1000W stereo system, and is dark red.

            When I got my license several days after my 16^th birthday, during my sophomore year, I was handed the keys to the family pick-up, which at the time was exciting to me because I had my own car! Since I played baseball in high school, a truck was the vehicle to have. Well over eighty percent of the guys on the team drove trucks. Well, as I got closer to senior year and thinking about college, I began to realize something that was a more efficient in hauling people and stuff around. I wanted to have a vehicle that I could store items in the back and not have to worry about those items if it was raining or worry about someone running off with my stuff. So during June, the summer before senior year, I told my parents that I wanted to look into procuring a new car. My dad then told me to do my research, make a list of cars that I was interested in, make a spreadsheet that included the specs of the car, and then present my findings to my parents. After spending a couple of days on research and creating this report, I showed my parents what I had found and then that was it. Dad took me to test drive a couple of cars on the list, but didn’t really say much about purchasing one. The last Friday in September, my dad pulled me into the office to show me a car that he had found and he asked if I liked it and I said I did. The following Saturday, my parents told me that they were going to look at houses for house ideas because they’re into that stuff, and they left. I didn’t really notice anything suspicious the first two or three hours that they were gone, but when it got to be five to six hours that they were gone, I was a little concerned. Well, they finally arrived home they acted like it was a typical Saturday. Towards the evening, my dad told me to go with my mom to my grandma’s house because the garage door was sticking, to which I responded that it had been sticking for a while. Any way, I went with my mom and opened the garage door, and there sat Amelia in all of her glory.

Kaiser

Kaiser

            “Kaiser, I love you buddy”.  And with those words, I let go of the best dog that I’ve ever owned, and walked out of the veterinarian’s office.

I remember it like it was yesterday, I was nine years old riding with my dad and grandpa to go pick up a brand new puppy. Kaiser. Kaiser was a giant schnauzer, and the second dog my family has owned since I’ve been around. It took a while to get Kaiser both housetrained and during the first couple of weeks, he whined every single night that we put him in the crate. By the time he was a year old, he was almost the size of a Shetland pony, and weighed close to 60 pounds.

The first time that we took Kaiser up to the farm, it was the middle of January and it was his first time riding for a long distance in a car. We were 2 minutes from the driveway, when he threw up all over me. Needless to say I was not a happy camper when I had to get out of the truck and ride in the bed when it was 28 degrees outside. That December, we made a trip out to Colorado to my grandparents’ cabin and to ski and we took Kaiser with us. It was his first time seeing snow, and he absolutely loved it, which was kind of confusing because he had a thing about getting his feet wet.

As the years passed, Kaiser was always by my side. He was very perceptive as to what people around him were feeling, especially sadness or loneliness, in which case he would saunter on over and plop himself down on his feet or try to hop up in the chair with you. Even as he got older, he remained a big puppy.

It was the summer after my senior year, and Kaiser started having health problems, and then when August came around he suffered a massive seizure, but the vet’s that we took him to couldn’t figure out what was going on. The weekend before I moved to TCU for my freshman year, I was dog-sitting for some friends of the family, and was staying over at their house. Well, 6 AM Monday morning, I got a call from my mom that Kaiser had had another massive stroke and that it caused him to go blind. She continued by telling me that she and dad had decided to euthanize him to take him out of his pain. Needless to say, I quickly got dressed and rushed home to see Kaiser. I helped dad load him up in the van and we drove to the vet’s office. I did pretty well with keeping my emotions in check until after the vet administered the drugs that would ease him out, and then I lost it and bawled like a small child while enveloping Kaiser with my arms.

Pomp and Circumstance

Pomp and Circumstance

            My fellow classmates and I are all gathered in the school gym, a buzz of excitement is in the air. Our principal alerts us that it is time to line up and get ready to head out to the football field. Faintly I can hear the band begin to play that march: Pomp and Circumstance. I cannot believe that it is actually here. Graduation has begun! I march out following the four valedictorians who have donned white robes for the occasion. I am in a lovely orange robe that those of us who were graduating with honors had the privilege of wearing. We march out like we practiced several times the day before. The stands are packed with people, everyone is cheering. As I arrive at my chair, I have to wait for the four hundred and sixteen other seniors to arrive at their chair before we all sit down together. As I am sitting on the front row I see three chairs draped in faculty robes, which represent the two teachers and principal that passed away during the year and am reminded that although this evening will be about celebrating, it will also be a somber evening. My best friend Andrew, STUCO president, kicks off the ceremonies with an opening speech, followed by our class president and then our four valedictorians, two of which are also my best friends. Finally after our principal presents us to the superintendent, we begin the march across the stage. Before the ceremonies, I had asked my counselor and close friend Mr. Rickerts if he would be the one to hand me my diploma because he had helped conquer many challenges throughout my high school years. As I receive my diploma from him, we embrace in a hug and I continue across the stage to take a picture with the principal. After arriving back at my seat and watching everyone else receive their diploma, our principal closes the ceremonies and kicks off the fireworks. And so went Graduation.

Skipping Stones

Skipping Stones

           

            When I first started reading Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery”, I didn’t know what to expect at the end, in fact I was caught off guard by the ending. Once the ending occurred, it brought up both confusions and questions as to what happened and why it happened. It is interesting to see both the mob mentality and ignorance that occurs in the story. No one in the town knows why the lottery is held; they just know that they’re supposed to do it because it’s always been done. When someone mentions that surrounding towns no longer hold the lottery, several of the townspeople react to the news like it’s blasphemy. The town also no longer has the original black box, they’re forgotten what the chant is that goes along with the lottery. It’s sad to see that they have forgotten the meaning behind the tradition they just do it, granted it’s grotesque. Everyone in the town is okay with what happens until it occurs to them, and then, I would assume that they react much like Tessie did when she found out that she was going to be stoned, and there is irony in that situation. Despite the situation, in a sense, is fair, Tessie protests that it isn’t fair. Which made me think, would she still protest that it was not fair if it was someone besides her being stoned? Something leads me to believe that she would be okay with it. There is also irony in how Old Man Warner is so faithful to the tradition that he fears the villagers will return to primitive times if they stop holding the lottery, when in fact the whole idea of the lottery is primitive. I also feel that “The Lottery” shows the danger of blindly following tradition. It is important to understand why a tradition happens, or else something as terrible as ritual murder becomes a part of the fabric of the society.

Make Like A Baby and Head Out

Make Like a Baby And Head Out

Another one of Hemingway’s stories that stood out to me was “Indian Camp”. The first thing that I found interesting was how Hemingway juxtaposed a boy trying to grow up with the regression of a boy back in to childhood. It’s the story of a boy who goes to an Indian camp with his father and Uncle George.  When they get there they enter into a shanty in which a woman in labor awaits them. It’s interesting to see how Nick’s father initially treats him like an imbecile when he tells Nick, “This lady is going to have a baby, Nick”. Nick responds, “I know,” but his father tells him that he doesn’t know. With out anesthetic, the father has to perform a rather gruesome caesarian section on the woman, while the husband lies in the top bunk having to bear listening to his wife’s screams. After the C-section, Nick’s father brags about having performed it with only a jackknife and fishing line, and he is proud of that, which I found quite alarming, especially my future career, hopefully being a doctor, I know that I would not want to perform such an operation, nor would I be necessarily proud of such a thing. Unlike Nick, I’ve never experienced such a scaring event. Yes, I’ve been in the operating room for several C-sections when I was shadowing an Anesthesiologist, and I must say that it I had a much more pleasant experience.

Probably the thing that bothered me the most was Nick’s dad’s reaction to the man committing suicide. Among several things said, his father says that dying is rather easy. Since I have yet to die, I cannot comment has to whether or not he makes a valid statement, however I do know that a dying, rather suicide in this instance, may seem like the easy way out, especially for an Indian father who probably realizes that he cannot give his child a good life. But in the long term, what seemed like the answer actually hurts those closest to the person. That child will live a fatherless and lacking life.

Like I mentioned earlier, there is a regression of Nick from a young man back to a boy, and this is shown when he addresses his father as “daddy” and his father calls him “Nickie”.

           

Like Father Like Son?

Like Father Like Son?

            “Fathers and Sons” from Hemingway’s “Nick Adams Stories” was one of my favorite short stories written by Hemingway that we read. It is interesting to see what Nick thinks about his father while he’s driving to go quail hunting with his son. It is also a bit pathetic that he forgets that his son is in the car with him. It is interesting when Nick says that he cannot write about his father because too many people are still alive who know him, but he goes on the describe his father as a nervous, sentimental, cruel, and abused man who died in a trap. Hemingway wrote “The Nick Adams Stories” as somewhat of an autobiography. Hemingway’s father committed suicide, much like Nick’s did. Nick’s father had an influence on his life that Nick received as both a good and bad influence. There are times when he is grateful that his father taught him how to hunt and fish, he even tells his son that his dad (Nick’s dad) is a better shot than he (Nick) is. However, there were a couple of peculiar things about Nick’s father. Most noticeable was his gross misconception and depravity about what sex is. Nick realizes this because at one point in his youth he was hooking up with Trudy, a lot. Despite his father’s advice that masturbation leads to blindness and the other ridiculous things that he says, Nick still cares deeply for his father.

            Reading this short story made me think about what I would tell my future son what his grandfather was like, if he never has the chance to meet him. The good thing is that I would not have to suppress bad memories about my father from my son. My father, like Nick’s, taught me how to both hunt and fish. When it comes to hunting, I am a pretty good shot however my father is better than I am. He instilled in me a love of music, as he was a Director of Instrumental Music for 36 years. He taught me how to properly tie a “Full Windsor” when wearing a tie. I would tell my son that my father had deep blue eyes that instantly gained trust and that he was a hard worker and passed that on to me. That’s what I would say.

Where I'm From

Where I’m From

I am from oak trees and tulip plants.

From white-painted bedroom walls and a loud stereo system.

I am from Cajun food and a good home-cooked meal.

From late night phone calls to old friends and downhill skiing

I am from classic rock and a good jazz performance.

From summers in Colorado and going to Kanakuk with Dillon

I am from my grandma’s house

Its loving feel and the aroma of cooking.

I am from Jenks and Putnam City H.S. football games.

From lock-ins at church to youth group ski trips

I am from my grandpa’s talent and my grandma’s caring nature.

From my mom yelling, “Go clean your room!” at me.

I am from state high school marching band competitions and going to BOA.

From baseball tournaments and Friday and Saturday nights at Jake Orem’s house.

I am from my best friends: Dillon, Matt, Eric and Andrew

From dreaming about a 1969 Mustang 428 Boss and a boat load of money.

I am from a loving family that supports me.

From late night movies and early morning risings.

I am from spending hours at Bass Pro Shops and fishing in Colorado in the stillness of the morning.

From red dirt Oklahoma.

I am from never knowing what comes next.

Just Let The Air In

Just Let The Air In

            When I read “Hills Like White Elephants” for the first time I did not pick up on the underlying theme of abortion. It took me a second time reading through it before I realized what the short story of Jig and the American was actually about. Two things stood out to me: first all of the symbolism used by Hemingway and second was the issue of abortion. I’ll tackle the latter.

            Unless you live under a rock, you know that abortion has been a hot topic among political candidates and common folk alike. Pro-Life or Pro-Choice: friendships are both forged and broken depending on which side you choose. Party lines are drawn by one’s choice. Supposedly all Republicans are Pro-Life and Democrats are Pro-Choice. Since Roe v. Wade in 1973, abortion has been legal in all fifty states. Before that it was illegal in thirty states and legal depending on certain conditions in the other twenty: legal on request in New York, Alaska, Hawai’i, and Washington; legal in the event of rape in Mississippi; legal in the event that there was a clear danger to the woman’s health in Alabama and Massachusetts; and legal in case of danger to woman's health, rape or incest, or likely damaged fetus in: California, Oregon, New Mexico, Colorado, Kansas, Arkansas, Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland and Connecticut. Since my future plans at the moment are to become a medical doctor, and my mom is a Registered Nurse/Clinical Nurse Specialist on the Obstetrics floor at Mercy Hospital in Oklahoma City, we’ve discussed on several occasions our views on abortion. Both my mom and I agree that the right to an abortion depends on the situation, ie. rape, incest or a traumatic incident. However that’s the extent in which our ideas are the same.  She thinks that every woman should have the right to decide. However I think that if a girl and guy had sex without proper protection then they should have to deal with the consequences. At six weeks into the pregnancy the fetus has a heartbeat and I would argue that abortion is killing a human being and therefore is murder.

            I find it extremely brave of Hemingway to write a short story that when it was published was about an extremely taboo topic, however in today’s society it would probably go by the wayside.

A Place That Is Peace

         I can see it now, the little known hideaway on the Rio Grande River, where I am removed from all things impure. This spot, protected by century old Ponderosa pine trees, is a place I often go while in Colorado to be by myself and contemplate the world. There is not a distinctive trail to get there. I have to walk or ride my bike along train tracks that once were heavily travelled to and from Creede, Colorado, either delivering or picking up miners and the silver that they had unearthed. The tracks are now overgrown with weeds and wildflowers and are missing stakes and ties.

         Sitting on the bank of the river, I am surrounded by the peace and serenity of nature. The boulders that were once a piece of the majestic surrounding mountains are now river borders with a veneer of green moss. The precious petite chipmunks come scurrying out of their nests looking for food and running after each other as if they were playing tag. Occasionally, deer will saunter out from the surrounding woods into the spot. They appear not to be bothered by my presence, adding more to the feeling of peace already surrounding me. Once in a while, a black bear will lumber into the clearing on the other side of the river in search of food to fill his growling stomach.

         In the distance, the call of an elk rumbles like thunder through the mountains. The river rushes by with a steady roar like that of a gentle giant. Rafters go by noisily chatting to each other as the fishermen cast them looks of disdain. Beautiful rainbow trout jump up from beneath the surface and land back in the river with a splash. This all adds to the silence that lingers around me. It’s the peaceful silence that does not come with the normal hustle and bustle of everyday life. It is a silence to get lost in.

         Alone and at peace here in my spot by the river, I am surrounded by the omnipresent aroma of pine. It is a spicy and sweet fragrance that lies easy on the nose. The sweet smell of the Indian Blanket wildflowers is carried over by the wind. As the clouds begin to gather overhead a new smell enters the area: the smell of fresh rain. A scent almost impossible to describe, that is has be experienced. All of these combine to provide a sense of peace and relaxation.

         Looking to the western skies I see the setting sun. It casts shades of yellow and orange through the clouds like rays of light from Heaven. It’s time to head back to the cabin and leave to silence and enter the noise of everyday life. Although if feels as if I’ve only spent two seconds here, I know it has been much longer than that and I have two more weeks to have an opportunity to spend quiet, alone time here. This is a place that is peace.

Give a Real Conversation Piece for Christmas

Give a Real Conversation Piece for Christmas

Frost covers the windows. There’s a roaring fire in the fireplace. A small child walks down the stairs to see that Santa visited during the night leaving a stocking full of goodies and presents under the Christmas tree. If it is not obvious enough, I chose a periodical printed around Christmas, more specifically The Saturday Evening Post printed December 15, 1962, for my second library research assignment. In order to be fully prepared to analyze the publication, I made sure to have the Christmas Pandora station playing as well as a cup of peppermint hot cocoa sitting next to my computer.

            One of the first things that I noticed while reading through the Post, was that almost every gift advertisement was labeled as a gift for Christmas, not a gift for the season or the holidays, which is something I particularly liked because I believe in giving each holiday their due. Instead of throwing Hanukah, Christmas and Kwanzaa into one nebulous “Happy Holidays” they should be given their proper “Happy Hanukah” etc. However I digress. Back to the Post…something else that stood out to me was the number of advertisements for tobacco companies and producers of alcoholic beverages. The tobacco advertisement that stood out the most was an ad for Lucky Strike cigarettes. It was a full page, color add that featured a Christmas themed carton of cigarettes and on the side of the carton it said Merry Christmas. I viewed it as a reflection of a time where people were not concerned with “political correctness.” Another advertisement that stood out was an advertisement for General Telephone and Electronics in which there is a picture of a snowman holding three different rotary telephones and the hook line for the ad was “Give a real conversation piece for Christmas.” I got a slight chuckle from the pun. The last advertisement that stood out to me was a page titled “207 holiday gift ideas from Holiday.” At first I did not know what Holiday was, but after a few minutes of research, I discovered that it was a travel magazine that was first published by AAA in 1928 and it ran until 1977. The gift ideas ranged from Mont Blanc fountain pens to Chanel No. 5 perfume to many different alcoholic beverages and vacation areas and accommodations.

            The first article in the Post was article titled “The Real Scandal of Divorce: Unjust and archaic laws, varying from state to state, force couples to commit fraud and perjury.” Living in a society where on average fifty-percent of marriages end in divorce, I was interested to see what the opinion on divorce was back in 1962. Due to the lack of uniformity in the court systems of the States, couples were travelling to states that were considered “divorce havens” because their laws regarding divorce were more lax than those of the state in which the couple was married. For example, say you and your spouse just were not getting along well and the marriage was rocky due to incompatibility. Well, at the time incompatibility was considered a specific ground for divorce only in Alaska, New Mexico, Oklahoma and the Virgin Islands. So if you were married in Texas, you would have to cross into either Oklahoma or New Mexico in order to get a divorce, in which case the divorce would be respected by the rest of the United States because of the “full faith and credit” clause in the U.S. Constitution.

            Did you know that two young Austrians where inspired to write the classic Christmas hymn “Silent Night” because of some rather serious misfortune that that had gone through? Well, I did not until I read about it in this issue of the Post. It was due to this article that I learned that it was due to an organ malfunction and an organ repairman that “Silent Night” became the classic hymn that it is today. Long story short, it was December 23, 1818 in the village of Oberndorf by Salzburg where Franz Gruber was the organist at the church of St. Nicholas. Well, on that fateful day, he sat down to play the organ, but no sound was produced. Enter Joseph Mohr, who was the temporary priest at church, who takes Gruber to the epicenter of the problem. A mouse had gnawed a hole into the leather bellow that supplies the wind for the organ. Franz was distraught because “Christmas Eve Mass without was unthinkable.” Well Father Mohr had written a little poem , “Silent night, holy night; All is calm, all is bright./Holy Infant so tender and mild, Sleep in heavenly peace.” The next night at Mass, the song was sung and then forgotten by the next day. When the organ repairman came in the spring, he asked what the parish had without music for Christmas Eve mass. By that time Father Mohr had stored away the poem, but he got it out for the gentleman who asked if he could keep it. One the man left the parish, and began to share to song. “It spread from Austria to Germany as folk music. Only in later years were Mohr and Gruber acknowledged as the creators, though not a penny did they ever earn. It crossed borders; it went to sea with German emigrants.” That is interesting story of how the Christmas hymn “Silent Night” came to be. I have sung “Silent Night” every year at the Christmas Eve service in Foyil, Oklahoma, but it was not until today that I learned how it came to be.

            Without a doubt The Saturday Evening Post succeeded in acknowledging Christmas. It was evident on almost every other page with either an advertisement for Christmas gifts, or an article about something pertaining to Christmas. Personally I enjoyed reading the Post, especially an issue that was printed ten days before Christmas, as it gave me an excuse to listen to Christmas music and drink hot cocoa.

My first meeting with Adel...

“Hello, my name is Adel”. That’s how the conversation started between Adel and myself. As this was our first meeting, I did not have a clue as to what Adel looked like, so I found his Facebook profile, and perused his pictures so that I would recognize him when he got to Potbelly. From the moment we met, it was almost like an old friendship, in that there wasn’t the awkwardness that generally accompanies meeting a new person. As we approached the register to pay, Adel quickly whipped out his credit card and paid for lunch, even after a couple attempts to persuade him otherwise. We walked across University Drive over to Barnes and Noble and sat outside, since it was a beautiful day, and that’s when the adventure began.

Adel is originally from Medina, Saudi Arabia where his father owns one of the largest mosaic art factories in the Middle East, and he is one of the 250,000+ Saudi students who are sent to America as foreign exchange students. Originally he was to go to Los Angeles to study, but he did not feel comfortable moving there with his wife and two kids. We discussed our respective majors, and he disclosed that he had his Masters in Linguistics from a university in Saudi Arabia, and was here to better his English, and hopefully to earn his Ph.D. and eventually teach at a university in America, because it’s difficult to find a job in Saudi Arabia with a Ph.D.

 Quickly our conversation turned religion, and we both surprised each other with our knowledge of each other’s respective religion. We discussed how there are rules in both Christianity and Islam, and how a majority of people in both faiths break the rules laid out for them in the Quran and in the Holy Bible. After religion, we talked about sports; mainly soccer and then we began talking about our families.

Adel, who is 31, has a wife and two kids: a daughter named, Yara, which is a type of flower, and a boy, Abdullah. Adel was extremely proud of his kids, and he showed me a picture of them on his Blackberry, and I must say, they were extremely adorable. Adel mentioned that his son was in kindergarten, and has trouble understanding certain words, and always comes home asking what certain words mean. This segwayed into discussing the similarities between schooling in Saudi Arabia and in the United States. In Saudi Arabia, kids attend six years of primary school, then three years of junior high, and then three years of high school.

Towards the end of our time together, Adel told me about his parents and siblings back in Saudi Arabia. He is the oldest of seven children, five sisters and one brother. When he was writing his thesis for his Masters degree, Adel wrote over nine-hundred pages. Once he graduated, he came to America for three months in order to get settled and prepare for his family to join him here.

I enjoyed my first conversation with Adel, immensely. His e-mails were misleading as he spoke English well. I am looking forward to my second meeting.

Time Magazine, 03/16/1931

Time Magazine- 03/16/1931

When I first started reading this edition of Time Magazine, I didn’t really know what to expect, other than writing styles and advertisements geared towards the era. One of the first things that I noticed was the second advertisement in the magazine. It was an advertisement for the new line of Frigidaire electric refrigerators, which were high class in a time period where many people still had “Ice-boxes” and the ice deliveryman would bring a block of ice every week. The advertisement started off with, “To a lady about to buy an electric refrigerator…” which emphasized the idea of the “domestic home-maker wife” stereotype. Several of the ads were aimed towards two types of ladies, those who were stay at home wives and those who were secretaries. Another thing about the advertisements that I particularly like, because I’m a car guy, were the advertisements for cars, that in order to find one in good condition these days, would cost upwards of $70,000, however back in 1931, for example, the new Chrysler Six with a 70 horsepower engine, “self-equalizing weatherproof internal hydraulic brakes”, an adjustable front seat, and more, cost only $895. I was surprised to find an advertisement for The Saturday Evening Post in Time, because they were competitors in the publication market.

            Time magazine separated its news into two categories, “National Affairs” and “Foreign News”. The pieces in the “National Affairs” section depict a United States that is dealing with the Great Depression, as well as outside issues such as immigration. In one of the articles it mentioned how Congress passed a bill to cut immigration quotas by 90% for two years. Another article starts out, “No private company could stay long in business it if tried to copy the U.S. Government’s methods of financing itself…It operates in the red as a matter of principle. Its preoccupation is keeping one short jump ahead of its creditors.” As the article continued to discuss money and how the government was using it, or misusing it, I found the article to be an apt description of the current U.S. Government.

            In the “Foreign News,” it is evident that tensions in Europe were slowly mounting. There’s a piece that discusses the failure of “The New Party”, which was founded by Sir Oswald Ernald Mosley, who was disappointed with the “Labour Party”, the current socialist party in England’s Parliament. Another piece talks about the secession of India from Great Britain, which I enjoyed reading because I also enjoy history and it talked about the Irwin-Gandhi conversations, and the truce that was signed.

            When I arrived in the “Aeronautics” section, I was surprised to find a full-page ad for the Autogiro, a combination of an airplane and a helicopter. While the advertisement touted the practicality and soundness of the Autogiro, in actuality, they were difficult to maneuver, and many of the first Autogiro crashed due to design errors. However they soon became dated as major improvements were made to helicopters.

            The last portion of Time was dedicated to current events in business, science, movie reviews, book reviews, and a full-page spread about how Hauserman Moveable Steel Partitions partitioned the Chrysler Building, which was the tallest building in the world in 1930, and then the Empire State Building, which was built ten stories higher than the Chrysler Building. The article in the science section stood out to me as it was about cosmic rays, and the fear that “it is the cosmic rays in our light that will bring us to our death…” At the time, that could have been a credible fear, because scientists did not have the technology with which to study and understand cosmic rays; whereas in 2011, such a claim would be laughed at and called science fiction, because there is no proof that cosmic rays cause death.

            I thoroughly enjoyed reading this edition of Time Magazine. I was not surprised to find that the image of the United States and the world, during the late 20s and early 30s that I had in my mind, was the same image that was depicted in Time. It was interesting connecting what I knew about America at the time, with actual writings about what was going on. It was almost like stepping back into time that is a cool experience.