Fifty years ago, my wife and I were living in Houston when the Bicentennial celebration occurred. The memories that lasted are the tall ships sailing into New York City, the fireworks at Houston’s Northwest Plaza on July 4 (the the resulting traffic jam when it was over), and Bicentennial Minutes.
Bicentennial Minutes were hosted by CBS. As the name implied, they were one-minute history lessons, each with a different celebrity narrator. Speakers included movie stars like Paul Newman, Kirk Douglas, and Ed Asner; Alfred Hitchcock; Kukla, Fran, & Ollie; Walter Cronkite; and scores more. Reportedly, CBS initially hated the idea, but it turned into one of the most popular events during the Bicentennial.
Somewhat controversial was the sponsor, Shell Oil Company. First, it was an oil company, when many were howling for oil companies to be broken up. Second, it was owned by the Royal Dutch Group, a foreign company, no less, half-owned by British interests. Ultimately, people decided to sit back and enjoy the minutes.
I was working at Shell Oil at the time. And my job was reading, researching, and writing about the effort to “break up Big Oil.” Eventually, the issue died, and I moved into the speechwriting group. But I think I’ll always connect those Bicentennial memories with “breaking up Big Oil.”
And now, it’s 50 years later, and it’s the 250th birthday. Happy birthday to all of us! And to the men and women of 1776 who had the courage to make it happen!
We learned this back in elementary school. If one poet’s name sits atop the poetry of the American Revolution, that name is Philip Freneau (1752-1832). And like the new nation he was part of, he kept re-inventing himself.
The Freneau family came from La Chappelle, France, in the Ardennes Forst and near the current Belgian border. The family was Huguenot, not exactly the best faith option in Catholic France. In 1707, Andre Freneau emigrated to New York in America and became part of the Huguenot colony there. He married and had five children. One of his sons, Pierre, became part of the family business married in 1748. His oldest child was born in 1752 and named Philip. Ten years later, the well-to-do family moved to New Jersey, although Philip remained in boarding school in New York. In 1768, aged 16, the boy entered Princeton University, set upon becoming a minister.
At Princeton, however, Pilip discovered writing. He’d read widely in the English poets and Latin classics, and he was already composing poetry. In his class at Princeton was a young man who became a lifelong friend – James Madison. Freneau, Madison, and others were beginning to get up in the spirit of the times, and it was an anti-British, increasingly independent spirit. (In 1770, the senior class voted to wear only clothes of American manufacture for commencement.)
I was on a multi-day business trip to Washington, D.C. I had a free afternoon, so I walked from the hotel to the National Gallery on the Mall. And then, for reason or reasons unknown, I walked across the street to the National Archives. And there it was – the original Declaration of Independence.
Drafted mostly if not entirely by Thomas Jefferson, the Declaration is to America what the Magna Carta is to England. The statement of beliefs. The citation of grievances against an unjust ruler (also an English king, no less). The signatures.
A Chinese state photographer took the pictures. The film rolls were locked in a metal box. Somehow, the rolls made their way to the United States and placed in the hands of The Epoch Times. And now the photos on the films are being published – never-before-seen photographs of the 1989 Tiananmen Square massacre in Beijing.
Today is the 82nd anniversary of D-Day. Two relatively little-known things helped make it possible. One was the Higgins boat, designed by a man who lived in my hometown of New Orleans. The other was a man named Juan Pujol Garcia, who went by the code name of “Garbo.”
Today, the city of Ephesus may be mostly ruins investigated by archaeologists and tourists. But at one time, it was the chief city of what we call Asia Minor. Rome made it the capital of the province of Asia, and it was an important center of religious worship of the goddess Diana or Artemis.
Ephesus was also a significant setting for the Apostle Paul’s missionary journeys. In the Book of Acts, it’s known for a riot caused by silversmiths angered by Paul’s healing of a possessed slave girl, for Paul’s letter to the church there, and his farewell discussion with the Ephesian elders, the one in which he warned about the wolves devouring the lambs. Timothy ministered there.
Dr. Sandra Glahn, who’s written more than 20 books and aims to make research accessible, has written The City of Ephesus: A Short History, a concise, well-written account of the story of Ephesus, focusing on the period from 100 B.C. to 100 A.D.
Glahn details the importance of the temple of Artemis. The goddess was believed to protect the city, women in childbirth, and even a protector of wealth, serving as something like a depository. People came, she writes, from Europe, Asia, and Egypt to pay homage. When Paul cast the demon from the slave girl, it didn’t take much for the girl’s owner, resenting the loss of income, to transfer his anxiety to the silversmiths who profited from the Artemis cult.
She details the social, political, and religious contexts for the city during the 200 years between 100 B.C. and 100 A.D. And then she briefly describes what happened to Ephesus after the time of Paul.
Sandra Glahn
Glahn has published a number of Bible studies on the books of Jonah, Ruth, Judges, Esther, Song of Solomon, Malachi, Luke, Ephesians, Colossians, and Philippians; the letters to the seven churches in Revelation and the Sermon on the Mount; several books on women’s issues; and even novels. She had a column on Substack and her own blog. Her podcast on Youtube is called The Chick Report with Dr. Sandra Glahn. She also conducts student tours or workshops in Italy, the United Kingdom, Mexico, and Calvin College’s Festival of Faith and Writing.
The City of Ephesus isn’t an exhaustive study of the city and the times in which it flourished. But succeeds, and succeeds well, in its aim to provide a detailed overview.
I was sitting in a graduate seminar called “The Nature of Story.” About 20 of us, all in a Master of Liberal Arts program, sat at tables gathered in a U-configuration. We were discussing the first reading assignment, One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
This was not your typical graduate seminar. The program was designed for people who’d been out of college for a while, and we ranged in age from 30s to 70s. I was 35 at the time – and the youngest in the class. Professors tended to love these classes, and the university had a waiting list of teachers wanting to have a course in the program. We were not the kind of students they were used to; we’d all had life experiences, work experiences, and we tended to challenge the professor (and each other) more than not.
When I was writing my historical novel Brookhaven, I initially relied upon two main sources – the records of births and deaths in the old family Bible, and the charts and genealogical lines in the Family Search web site.
My ancestors in Mississippi served as the approximate inspiration for the McClure family in the novel. I borrowed many of the first names outright from the family Bible. I borrowed one name wholesale, to remind me of what I almost missed.
The Bible records mentioned the death of a Jarvis Seale in 1862. It didn’t mention birth, marriage, or anything else about the man. Some research in Family Search told me who he was – the husband of a great-great aunt. He was the only in-law included in the Bible records. The Family Search information only had the relationship reference and date of death. I still didn’t know what my great-grandfather had included him when others had been left out. Another web site, Find-A-Grave, showed his monument stone in a small-town cemetery in north Texas, which really made no sense.
We’ve visited Westminster College in Fulton, Missouri, several times. It’s still rather amazing that this small town in mid-America became the site of one of the most famous speeches of the 20th century. And now there’s a museum dedicated to the man who gave it, sitting below a church bombed during the London Blitz and reconstructed at the college. This week marked the 80th anniversary of the Iron Curtain speech by Winston Churchill. John Rossi at the Imaginative Conservative has the story.
Maybe it’s because we live here, but I think we often forget the impact the American Revolution had on the world. And in many ways, it’s still having an impact. Naturalized American Richard Bell (he’s a native Brit) at American Heritagetakes a look at some of that impact in “They Turned the World Upside Down.”
When I read Evangelineby Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in high school, I had no idea that I was not only reading one of his epic poems; I was also reading a fictionalized account of some of my own ancestry and history.
Yes, I knew I had some French ancestry on my mother’s side, sitting side by side with some German as well. I didn’t know that the German had arrived relatively late, in the mid-nineteenth century, while the French had been there more than a century earlier. And I didn’t know that most of that French had come from Canada, in the maritime provinces collectively called Acadia. A tiny handful of my mother’s French ancestors had come directly from France.
I didn’t know that, at college football games, when I chanted “Hot boudin! Cold coosh coosh! Come on Tigers, poosh, poosh, poosh,” I was using words from my own ancestry. When I read A Cajun Night Before Christmas to my children, I never thought to ask why I could imitate the Cajun accent so well.
Born in 1940 in what was then the British Mandate and what would become the state of Israel, Avi Lanir enjoyed only a short life. He died in 1973, tortured to death by the Syrians after he was captured during the Yom Kippur War. (“The Geneva Convention is for Europe, not here”). And yet he’s remembered as one of Israel’s most famous fighter pilots.
Author Yal Yannay had published a full biography of the man. But Avi Lanir – A Short Life Story: The Courage and Capture of an Israeli Fighter Pilot is not only a biography; it is also a history of Israel through 1973. And that’s because Lanir lived that history from his birth in 19340 to his death in 1973. Yannay also writes the story in the present tense, which places the reader right there in the midst of the narrative.
She weaves a complex story. You move through the 1940s, when Lanir had family members and relatives involved in both fighting for the British and working in groups like the Irgun against the British. As a teen, Lanir’s father is given a diplomatic post in the United States, and his son’s experience was very different from peers in Israel. (When the family returned to Israel, Avi was the only one of his friends who had a driver’s license, for example.)
Avi Lanir
Avi joined the military and specifically the Israeli air force. He not only loved his job; he was outstanding at it. He gradually became a squadron leader. He fought through the Six Day War in 1967, the three-year War of Attrition that followed, and then the Yom Kippur War in 1973. What becomes clear as you read is that Israel is never really not at war. Not during the lifetime of Avi Lanir, and not now.
Yannay, an author, writer, editor, and lexicographer, has done extensive research on Avi’s life. That includes ancestors, in-depth descriptions of military procedures and operations, and interviews with family members, including his widow, son, and daughter. What emerges is a complex man with both nerve and courage.
After his capture, some were concerned that the Syrians would realize just how much the pilot knew; it could have materially harmed Israel’s military defense. But those who knew him weren’t worried; they knew that Avi was one man who wouldn’t break. And they were right, no matter what torture methods were employed. The state of his body when it was returned showed just how horrific the torture was.
Avi Lanir – A Short Life Story is a remarkable account of a courageous man, and a story of how a country can always be at war.
