Corbusier in Asbury Park

Not your typical townhouse development 

I really like this little row of townhouses. They're in the northern part of Asbury Park, N.J., and there's nothing like them anywhere nearby. The five townhouses you're looking at are only a part of the development. There's another five behind them, separated by a very pleasant little walkway.

I just love this walkway. Here's another shot. 

I was wondering when these buildings were built, so I scooted over to Monmouth County's Open Public Records Search System. Nine were built in 1930, and one was built in 1931. They are all located in block 3705. 

Here's a link to the OPRS. 

At the front of the walkway between the two pods of five buildings, there is a sign telling people they're at Deal Lake Court. For a long time I had assumed that the walkway was called Deal Lake Court, but the maps I was looking at online indicated that Deal Lake Court is actually the name of the driveway that provides access to the parking lot of the neighboring development. I've decided that this is a problem to be solved another day, and quite possibly by someone other than me. 

Are We Looking at Art Deco?

Last year, Dan Jacobson, who is the mastermind behind a local newspaper called Tri City News, wrote an article about the townhouses in his paper. He reported that he had gotten "hold of documents from the 1930s" that list the developer "as Erwin S. Wolfson." (Tri City News, July 17, 2025, pp. 26, 45. This is a print-only newspaper, so good luck finding it.) 

It turns out that Wolfson went on to build the Pan Am building (now the Met Life building) that looms over Grand Central terminal on Park avenue in New York city. As Jacobson puts it, after his interlude in Asbury Park, Wolfson wound up as "one of the most important builders in the country, and the most prominent in Manhattan." 

Before coming to Asbury Park, Wolfson had been working in real estate in Florida, where Jacobson tells us he absorbed the "Florida deco" style that was so popular in Miami Beach. 

I confess I am perpetually confused by the many different schools of architecture that were swirling around in the early part of the twentieth century, perhaps because they were all influencing one another. All of these new movements were responding to the same stimuli - most particularly the rise of steel and concrete (and glass) as materials that could displace the wood and masonry (stone and brick) that, historically, had been the builder's go-to materials. 

Jacobson calls the Asbury Park development "vintage 1930s art deco." I liked his argument, but I wasn't sure. 

Or Maybe It's Corbusier

Then one day I was in the Free Library in Philadelphia, checking a quote in a Le Corbusier book entitled Vers une architecture - and I saw this drawing.  (The book is also available online. To see it, click here. This is the second edition. The drawing is on page 210.) 

Okay, I said to myself. I was in a library after all, and you're not supposed to shout Eureka! in a library. You might notice a striking similarity, along with considerable differences, between this drawing and the development at Deal Lake Court. To refresh your memory, here's another photo of Deal Lake Court, this one a night shot. 

This little plantation of town homes in Asbury Park was not designed by Corbusier, but I think it was clearly influenced by him. There's a lot more open space in Corbu's drawing, but the general arrangement of masses is strikingly similar, and the thing that puts me over the top is the treatment of the roof, or rooves (I can't resist the occasional obsolete spelling). 

The idea of turning the roof into habitable space was not original with Corbusier. but it was central to his thinking, and worked reasonably well with the new materials that were available. 

I could prattle on, but perhaps I'll just show a few more pictures. These are very nice buildings, and if Corbusier had ever become aware of them, I expect he would have approved. 

Searching for an Architect

I found myself facing a missing link. The developer, Erwin Wolfson, was clearly comfortable working in a number of styles - for instance, the Pan Am (now Met Life) building was designed in the International style by Richard Roth, Walter Gropius, and Pietro Belluschi. If I really wanted to nail down what was going on in Deal Lake Court, I needed to know more about the architect. 

I asked the folks at the Monmouth county archive if they might have any information about the architect, or even just his name, which would appear on plans and other documents. I got a very nice note back saying they didn't have such documentation, and suggesting that I contact the city of Asbury Park. 

And so I found myself filling out and submitting yet another form. This process may sound tedious and repetitive, but I actually enjoy it in small doses. In a few days I received a response stating: "No records responsive to your request." 

So I figured I'd drilled enough dry holes, and couldn't think of any other places to go. I couldn't find anything on the state's website that seemed remotely appropriate. It's possible that there is an Erwin S. Wolfson Archive somewhere that houses his business papers and correspondence. 

But I was done. I can't prove that Deal Lake Court was inspired by Le Corbusier. All I can say is that it really looks that way. To me. 

________

While I was trying to find the architect who designed Deal Lake Court, I decided to ask the kindly electrons of the internet to tell me about any Corbusier-style architects in New Jersey. They helpfully came up with one, and although he has nothing to do with the story at hand, I thought you might like to know a little bit about him. 

Edward Bowser Jr. was born in 1925 and grew up in East Orange, N.J. His father, Edward Sr., was an architectural draftsman. Bowser Jr. graduated from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in 1948. In 1949 and 1950 he was an apprentice in Le Corbusier's design studio in Paris, working particularly on the Unite d'habitation project in Marseille, which was added to the UNESCO World Heritage list in 2016. 

Bowser then returned to New Jersey and had a successful career primarily designing private homes, but also producing a number of commercial buildings. (For more, see this article in New Jersey Monthly and a very nice short segment from PBS.) 

In 1977, Bowser and his wife, a clothing designer, moved to Ghana as part of the Pan-African Skills Project. In Ghana they opened and ran a vocational school. Bowser also became a close friend of the president of Ghana, Jerry Rawlings. 

In 1995, Bowser died of cerebral malaria. He is buried in Ghana. 

_______

There seems to be some confusion about the publication date of the second edition of Le Corbusier's Vers une architecture. Wikipedia lists it as 1924, footnoting its source as the 2007 English translation by John Goodman, entitled Le Corbusier Toward an Architecture, citing page 41 of the introduction by Jean-Louis Cohen, which asserts a publication date of 1924 but provides no evidence. 

I suspect that Cohen is getting the 1924 date from the introduction to the French second edition, which is dated Novembre 1924 on page vi. I haven't found any other publication date printed in this book. However, the copy I have linked to is the copy received by the Bibliotheque nationale, and it has a date stamped on its front: 1925. This "depot legale" date is technically not a publication date, but it is likely a lot closer than the date on the introduction. It's possible that the Fondation Le Corbusier in Paris has documentation that would settle the publication date definitively, but I'm going to leave the matter here. 

See also Jersey Homesteads, I'm Haunted by Ben Shahn, The Future Began with a Car Crash, Springsteen's Bill of Rights, Bruce Springsteen Almost Didn't Happen, Trumpies in the Closet.

"That all you got, George?"

The good news: Trump will fail.

Ali leans back and lets the ropes do the work.

On October 30, 1974, there was a boxing match in a country which was then called Zaire and is now known as the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The promoters called it The Rumble in the Jungle. The contestants were Muhammad Ali, age 32, and George Foreman, age 25.

Foreman was the current heavyweight boxing champion; in 1968 had won a gold medal at the Olympics, and in 1973 he defeated Joe Frazier to become heavyweight champion. That bout lasted two rounds. Foreman was noted for his punching power and physical dominance.

Ali had won Olympic gold in 1960, and in 1964, at the age of 22, he had become heavyweight champion by defeating Sonny Liston. He was noted for his speed and agility - as he put it, "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee."

Ali converted to Islam in the early 1960s, and in 1964 he changed his name from Cassius Clay to Muhammad Ali.

The draft 

On April 28, 1967, Ali formally refused to be drafted into the Vietnam war. He appeared in Houston for his scheduled induction but did not step forward at the call of his name, even though he was repeatedly warned that he was committing a felony that could land him in jail for five years.

Ali's position as a conscientious objector, based on both his religious beliefs and his ethical objections to the war, led a federal court in Houston to find him guilty of violating the selective service laws. Ali appealed, and in 1971 the U.S. Supreme Court overturned his conviction.

It's interesting to throw these dates up against what else was going in our national timeline. The country turned against the Vietnam war in 1968. The Tet offensive in January was the turning point. In February, Walter Cronkite, possibly the most trusted man in America, returned from a visit to Vietnam and told the people in a special newscast that the war was a stalemate. Not exactly the line from the White House, but President Johnson saw that he was done and, in an act of political self-immolation he told the country on March 31 that he would not run again for president.  We then proceeded in August to the Democratic national convention in Chicago, where the Democratic party did its best to commit suicide, and Richard Nixon was elected president in November.

It seems fair to say that Ali's case went better after this turning point in 1968, but the damage to his career was significant.

After his initial conviction, Ali lost his championship and his boxing license, and his career went into an involuntary sabbatical: He had no fights between March 1967 and October 1970, three and a half empty years at what should have been the peak of his career.

The opponents

Foreman was strongly favored to win the match. He was younger, at age 25; Ali was 32, and his career, as we have seen, had become entangled in some remarkably distracting politics.

There was one question. Foreman had a history of knocking out his opponents in the early rounds. In fact, he won the championship in 1973 by demolishing the formidable Joe Frazier in two rounds. Would Foreman tire in a match that went longer? It was an open question.

Ali went into the fight as a 4-1 underdog. But he had a secret weapon, later called the "rope-a-dope."

Boxing rings are surrounded by rope fences that keep the contestants from falling out of the ring. Boxers occasionally find themselves, for various reasons, with their backs on the ropes, but being "on the ropes" is generally considered a bad sign for a boxer - certainly above "on his knees" or "flat on his back," but still concerning. 

Ali instead turned the ropes to his advantage, pretending to be a victim, using the resiliency of the ropes to absorb some of the energy coming from Foreman's punches, and waiting for Foreman to give him an opening for a counterpunch. The "rope-a-dope" strategy, as it came to be called, worked like gangbusters, and was perhaps particularly effective because it was not expected.

Fabian tactics

I doubt that Ali was aware of this, but his tactics paralleled those of an old Roman general named Quintus Fabius Maximus Verrucosus, who had the job of keeping a fellow named Hannibal from destroying Rome.

Quintus Fabius Maximus was called Cunctator, which meant The Delayer. His approach to Hannibal was not to face him directly in a major battle, but instead to slide away and, when Hannibal wasn't looking, nibble at his Achilles tendon.

It worked.

The fight

Back to the Rumble in the Jungle. The first round was fairly standard. Ali was strongly aggressive, attacking at close range. In the second round he switched his approach dramatically, introducing the rope-a-dope and ceding the initiative to Foreman, who expended a lot of energy trying to put his opponent away in an early round, as he had done successfully in previous matches.

By the fifth round Foreman was visibly tired, and his face showed the effect of the many punches Ali had managed to land while playing defense. In the seventh round (probably), while they were in a clinch, Ali whispered into Foreman's ear, "That all you got, George?" Foreman later said that was the moment he knew he was going to lose the match.

In the eighth round, Ali launched a vigorous counterattack against a very tired Foreman, ending with a left hook followed by a hard right, and Foreman went down to the canvas. As he was trying to get his feet under him, the referee ended the fight.

Is this how Trump will fall?

Let's apply this template to Donald Trump. We should note that Trump has always led a magically protected life. However, it is possible that the patina of teflon has been, at long last, all rubbed off. Of course he still has his orange makeup, and it appears he may actually think that adding more orange makeup will compensate for the absence of teflon. In this I believe he is mistaken.

Do you think that Trump has finally figured out that he is going to lose? I think so. But he'll keep fighting until he's knocked to the canvas and the referee ends the match. What will that look like? I don't know, but I hope people are preparing for this outcome. There is a huge and unpredictable downside to letting him continue. That is the bad news.

One final lesson

On a brighter note, Muhammad Ali has given us all a gift. He showed that you could put your career on the line and still win. He won on both fronts. He made his point about the Vietnam war for all to see, and his subsequent boxing career was perhaps no more brilliant than on that unforgettable night, many years ago, in the Congo.

The photograph above is in the public domain and available on Wikimedia Commons. 

See also Fixing the Constitution, There's Got to Be a Better Way, Unleashing the Oligarchs, Somotomo.

The Death of the Smart Missile

Killed by the smart drone

Revolutionary reenactors, Ft. Mifflin, Philadelphia. November 1996.

Trump and Hegseth have given us all a huge present. In their silly war with Iran they have burned up almost all our smart missiles. We're scraping the bottom of the barrel, and refilling the barrel will take years.

I suppose we could call it Accidental Unilateral Disarmament.

And now we need to face facts. We do need to rearm. The question is how.

We have before us an open door to a modern military. This new military will be cheaper, smaller, and easier to update than the rather cumbersome and very expensive military establishment we have had.

Drones are an important part of the way forward, but there is more to it. Fortunately there is a roadmap, kindly provided for us by Ukraine.

Some of the largest corporations in the United States will do everything they can to prevent this change.

President Eisenhower warned us, in his 1961 farewell address, about the military-industrial complex. It's time to listen to him. 

_______

We would also do well to listen to the rest of his address. Here's the last paragraph:

"We pray that peoples of all faiths, all races, all nations, may have their great human needs satisfied; that those now denied opportunity shall come to enjoy it to the full; that all who yearn for freedom may experience its spiritual blessings; that those who have freedom will understand, also, its heavy responsibilities; that all who are insensitive to the needs of others will learn charity; that the scourges of poverty, disease and ignorance will be made to disappear from the earth, and that, in the goodness of time, all peoples will come to live together in a peace guaranteed by the binding force of mutual respect and love." 

How far we have strayed from the paths of righteousness.

See also A Lesson from the Berlin Wall, A World in Ruins, Waist Deep in the Big Muddy, The 800-Pound Gorilla in the Oval Office, The Coronvirus Caravan Trundles Along.

Using the Street Well

Malai teaches us some lessons, and not just about ice cream.

Sunday, November 9, 2025, 4:11 pm.

This is not a staged photograph. The people in this picture are not actors, and they are not hitting their marks. They are just ordinary people, going about their lives in a livable city.

So what are we looking at here? This is Malai, an ice cream shop on 18th street, half a block from Rittenhouse Square in Philadelphia. Its grand opening was on May 17, 2025 (I found the press release). Malai Philadelphia is part of a budding chain (still a small chain) of ice cream shops. The flagship shop is, of course, in Brooklyn (268 Smith Street). And there is another outpost in Washington, D.C. (1407 T Street, NW). 

The spark plug for this engine of commerce is a lady named Pooja Bavishi, who decided to mix the spices of her childhood, such as ginger, rose petals, saffron, and cardamom, into a very creamy ice cream base. She bills the result as "a decadent blend of cream and culture." 

I've long been familiar with the word malai from my many visits to Indian restaurants over the years, but I never knew what the word meant. So I looked it up. Malai is the Hindi word for a type of clotted cream that I am informed is a very popular ingredient in the cuisine of the Indian subcontinent. My favorite flavor of Malai ice cream is mango & cream. My wife is partial to cardamom pistachio and tulsi chocolate chip. 

When I first saw this shop in operation, I thought immediately of a stage set. The people on the street strike me as the audience. The people sitting at the outdoor tables are perhaps in the orchestra pit. And up on the stage we can see through the fourth wall (which in this case is made of glass rather than imagination), and we can see the whole stage, right back to the counter where people get their ice cream. 

I must say the lighting, and the balancing of the different lights, is quite amazing. Everything on the stage is clearly visible from the street, and nobody is getting zapped in the eyes by a klieg light. 

Normal American stores don't look like this. I could give you current examples, but just for fun let's go back a bit in time, to a place called Sprott, Alabama.

Walker Evans took this photo, which is famous in certain circles, in 1935 or 1936. I'm going to skip the rich history (he collaborated with James Agee on a book called Let Us Now Praise Famous Men) and concentrate on what the photograph tells us about retailing back in the old days. 

This is a country store at a crossroads in rural Alabama. It sits behind a road that looks like a strip of desert. The store itself is essentially invisible; it lies behind a porch that is engulfed in deep shade. There are people standing on the porch but most of them are hard to see because they are standing in the shade, avoiding the Alabama sunlight. One man, standing to the right, is in the sun and is wearing a hat. There is a gasoline pump mounted at the outer edge of the porch, and there is the inevitable Coca-Cola sign, which also advises us that we are in the presence of a United States post office.

Inside this carapace there is a refuge from the sun, and indeed from the outer world. I'm going to switch stores here, and show you the interior of a store in Moundville, Alabama.

To begin at the beginning, there is light in this store. The light source is on the left, where there is presumably a window that we cannot see. This is a gentle light that models the various objects in the scene without excessive contrast. In the foreground there are bags of flour; the inevitable Coca-Cola sign is in the upper left. There is a calendar open to July 1936. On a shelf next to a dustpan is another calendar, open to January 1936. There are kerosene lamps of various sizes for sale, and other items on shelves. Dishware is available on what appears to be a table covered by a cloth. Under the table there are boxes of O.K. Soap and what appears to be a washtub. On another table in the left foreground there is a clear spot which I believe is the sales counter. The two horizontal rolls next to the open spot would, if I am correct, be wrapping paper. There is also what appears to be a safe, and next to it some minor trash on the floor - the only thing in this photograph that is not perfect.

This is a place where a farm family in the middle of the Great Depression can go and possibly find some things they can afford that will make their life a little bit better. The refuge is capable of fulfilling its promise. 

The refuge model - a hint of satisfaction awaiting in a safe place, hidden away from the unpredictable life of the street - is still the primary model for retailing today. It looks different, of course. But, until recently, grocery stores and pharmacies in my neighborhood have continued to cover their front windows with large paper sheets announcing the best prices on their goods, sometimes interspersed with large piles of canned goods and other nonperishable items that also block the view to the interior. Recently, I must say, I've noticed one pharmacy and one grocery store that have become more willing to show the interior of their stores to passersby. So perhaps Malai is not alone. But it is definitely in a class by itself. 

I understand the retailer's desire to create an enclosed space, where the retailer controls the entire environment and can seek to induce a trance-like state in the shopper, controlling the available cues and through them influencing the shopper's purchasing behavior.

I do think that Malai has found a better way. The key concept is that shopping and dining are forms of entertainment. Entertainers, like everybody who's selling something, do manipulate their audience. But entertainment is a situation where the audience cooperates voluntarily, usually knows what's going on, and can actually have some influence on the outcome.

I believe that Malai is definitely following the entertainment model. But I think it takes the concept one step further, and this is a step that I have not seen before. Malai has physically and visually integrated the indoors and the outdoors at its shop. I have long thought that such a melding of inside and outside in our cities could yield huge benefits. And now, with Malai, I think I have my proof of concept. 

Saturday, April 4, 2026, 7:30 pm.

See also A Cathedral of Memories, I Think We Need a Mural Here, Fourth Street Surges Forward, Umbrellaville, Lighting Rittenhouse, Night Lights at Coney Island, Paul P. Cret and Rittenhouse Square.

"A Pitiful, Helpless Giant"

Nixon as prophet

Last hurrah for Tricky Dick, August 9, 1974.

On April 30, 1970, President Richard Nixon addressed the American people, telling them that he had decided to invade Cambodia, and that he had to do that because the alternative would be America's losing its position as leader of the free world. Today, as we are currently in the process of actually losing our position of world leadership, I decided to go back to Nixon's speech and see if it had anything to tell us. I think the answer is yes. 

Our basic dilemma is the same now as it was then. Are we an empire or are we a government of the people, by the people, and for the people.

Here's a useful extract from the speech:

"My fellow Americans, we live in an age of anarchy, both abroad and at home. We see mindless attacks on all the great institutions which have been created by free civilizations in the last 500 years. Even here in the United States, great universities are being systematically destroyed. Small nations all over the world find themselves under attack from within and from without.

"If, when the chips are down, the world's most powerful nation, the United States of America, acts like a pitiful, helpless giant, the forces of totalitarianism and anarchy will threaten free nations and free institutions throughout the world.

"It is not our power but our will and character that is being tested tonight. The question all Americans must ask and answer tonight is this: Does the richest and strongest nation in the history of the world have the character to meet a direct challenge by a group which rejects every effort to win a just peace, ignores our warning, tramples on solemn agreements, violates the neutrality of an unarmed people, and uses our prisoners as hostages?

"If we fail to meet this challenge, all other nations will be on notice that despite its overwhelming power the United States, when a real crisis comes, will be found wanting." 

And so we did it Nixon's way. After a while he lost his job, but the war went on until 1975. And we lost.

Nixon seemed particularly annoyed that large parts of the American people were not willing to toe the line. In particular he didn't like what today's fascists call "the enemy within." And he just hated "anarchy," which was one of George Wallace's favorite words. What Wallace and Nixon called anarchy, others might call democracy.

The Students Revolt

The students were a particular target for his dissatisfaction, but the unrest on campuses across the country went to a new level the day after the speech, when a nationwide student anti-war strike erupted, eventually involving an estimated four million protesters. 

Some of these protesters were at Kent State on May 4, where the national guard, in its wisdom, decided to open fire on the students, killing four and wounding nine, one of whom was permanently paralyzed. The dead were all 19 and 20 years old. The fusillade from the defenders of law and order lasted approximately 13 seconds. So, two decades to make a few college students, 13 seconds to snuff them.

Time for an Attitude Adjustment

The thing about the speech that most strikes me is Nixon's absolute certainty that the United States was destined to rule the world, and had an obligation to rise to that challenge.

Now of course, the forces of totalitarianism and anarchy have names like Donald Trump and Elon Musk, so our world is a bit different from the world of 1970. And Trump and Musk and the others have turned the United States into "a pitiful, helpless giant."

Is it possible that they have actually done us a favor? It's certainly going to take a lot of work to get past all the damage they have done, but perhaps we can stumble onto a better plan. One where the United States is centered on the welfare of its people, and answers to them, and where instead of trying to control events that have so often proved themselves to be well beyond our control, we instead approach the problems of the world with a bit of humility, and approach our fellow nations seeking genuine partnership among equals. 

Call me a dreamer.

Photo: David Hume Kennerly. 

See also Fixing the Constitution, There's Got to Be a Better Way, Giacomo Matteotti (1885-1924).

Return of the Throwaway Society

I know - it never left, but read this.

My wife and I have been living through another one of those little collapse-of-civilization kerfuffles that seem so common today. This one involves misdirected Amazon packages, and what to do with them. Lois wrote a simply dandy story about this on her Substack, and I suggest you read it right now. Click here. Right now.

Then come back here, because I have a few additional comments.

Okay. 

When I was quite a lot younger, there was something called Earth Day. Actually, it's still around, but there was a time when there was no Earth Day - the first one was in 1970.

Until then, the United States was officially a throwaway society. Over the years, the idea of caring about our trash has made considerable progress. For instance, used hypodermic needles and other medical waste no longer wash up on New Jersey beaches. Wait - that's a categorical statement. Let me rephrase: I haven't seen a used hypodermic needle wash up on a New Jersey beach in years.

Today, everybody seems to pay at least lip service to the idea of preserving the planet. What they actually do is often something else. Many companies still seem to quietly view trash as an "externality" - an economist's polite way of saying "I don't care."

Mr. Bezos and his Amazonians seem to think it's okay to leave packages on your doorstep - this is called "delivery," and they even take pictures with their phones to prove they've "delivered." Then the porch pirates come. And nobody in a position to do anything about this mess cares. 

And then it turns out that misdirected packages are also just another part of the trash stream. 

We are headed in the wrong direction. 

See also Scavengers and Scow Trimmers; In Defense of Disgusting Alleys; Art Meets Sewage; Somotomo; The Gowanus Transforms, Again; What Does a Clean Street Look Like?

Hollow Man Still Standing

I think there is a level on which Donald Trump knows he is falling apart. But what would that look like?What would he be thinking? I've been wondering about this for a while, and then recently I was reading a remarkable new novel about a wealthy, aristocratic Hungarian family in the first half of the twentieth century, a time, shall we say, of considerable stress and uncertainty - or shall we just say chaos. At any rate, the baron who heads the family, a fairly young man with teenage children, starts to feel he's simply falling apart under the pressure. Here's what the author thinks that looks like: 

"The baron was like a madman who realises his mind is slipping away but can do nothing about it. He sensed himself falling to pieces inside and checked his most routine actions for signs of neglect. 

"If, for example, he realised that he had uttered a word with insufficient clarity because his tongue was too lethargic, the next time he took particular care to articulate this word cleanly, only to stumble over another. If he was lost in thought, he often forgot things, such as replacing the cap on the fountain pen. The more he resisted his decline, the faster it appeared to proceed. For this reason the ignorance of others was the only thing still keeping him together. While this continued, his decline remained something that could be hidden and hushed up." 

- Nelio Biedermann, Lazar p. 166. This book was published in German in 2025, and the English translation came out in early 2026. 

As an aside, some time ago I read Joseph Roth's The Radetzky March, and just recently I read Antal Szerb's Journey by Moonlight. Both of these books are literary landmarks, and each of them deepened, in its own way, my understanding of the former Austro-Hungarian empire. But if I had time to read only one book, it would be Biedermann's Lazar.

See also The Man Who Would Be King, The Democrats Need to Fight the War, Deja Vu All Over Again, The 800-Pound Gorilla in the Oval Office, What Can Pierre Laval Tell Us About Donald Trump? 

Wrapping the Art Alliance

Christo and Jeanne-Claude would be very proud of us. 

On July 4, 2025, the Philadelphia Art Alliance, a beloved building that stands next to Rittenhouse Square, suffered a devastating fire that required the attentions of 120 Philadelphia fire fighters and a simply enormous amount of water, which continued to flow gently down the building's front steps for an amazingly long period of time. 

Just walking around the site, I got the sense that the fire may have started at the back of the ground floor, where I believe there was a kitchen. But to this day the general public has no good idea of what happened in this fire. (For what we do know, click here and here and here and here.) 

Garden area at the back of the building.

The fire certainly had a lovely time raging through this old building, which had quite a lot of wood in it. I vividly remember, as a sometime visitor to the upper floors, years ago, the interesting sensation of walking up the squeaky, beautiful wooden stairs.  

We also know that the fire destroyed the roof. Here's a picture of the top story, directly under the roof, with a view of the sky through one of the glassless windows.

After the suppression of the fire, attention naturally turned to stabilizing the structure and securing the premises. And here is where I got a lovely surprise. As I was walking down 18th street one day, I noticed that the Art Alliance building had been largely wrapped in protective plastic sheeting.

I had never seen a building wrapped before. I knew that it was common to wrap smaller things, like boats being stored for the winter. 

And then I immediately thought of Christo and Jeanne-Claude, the dynamic duo who wrapped a whole Australian cliff in plastic sheeting in 1969. (For a lot more, click here.)

The only Christo and Jeanne-Claude installation that I got to see with my own eyes was The Gates, which showed up in Manhattan's Central Park in 2005. I actually walked through some of the gates; there were a lot of them. According to the Whitney Museum of American Art, they were inspired by Japanese torii gates. 

And here I was in the present day, staring at an installation of white plastic. I found myself wondering if Christo and Jeanne-Claude had inspired this concept of wrapping buildings. In other words, was it yet another example of life imitating art?

As I was looking at the wrapped Art Institute, I noticed a little sign on the wrapping. You can see it in the picture above. Actually there are several of these signs. Here's a closeup.

The sign says the company's name is Global Wrap, and helpfully adds, "We are the original shrink wrap company since 1980." 

Well, Christo and Jeanne-Claude wrapped an Australian cliff in 1969, so who has priority here?

Then I remembered about the shrink-wrapped boats. I went online and found a Gregg Mansfield on a site called Boatmart, and he told me the shrink-wrap process for boats was patented in 1980.  

It turns out that Christo and Jeanne-Claude wrapped a Volkswagen Beetle in 1963. 

I thought I was on a roll, but then I hit a bump. I got the funny feeling that there were people who were using plastic to wrap big objects well before the dynamic duo came on the scene. And that's probably true; I just can't prove it. The internet does not appear to be interested in this subject. 

We do know that wrapping small objects with plastic became very popular after World War II, with the introduction of Saran Wrap, aka cling wrap, which can be found in a drawer of the typical American kitchen, along with aluminum foil and wax paper. 

The only other lead I had was the wrapping of pallet loads with plastic sheeting. Before the plastic wrapping, the boxes sitting on a pallet were secured with metal straps. So when did the changeover happen? It turns out the answer is 1972. That was when a company named Lantech introduced something called the "stretch wrapper," a machine which made wrapping pallet loads with plastic pretty easy. 

It was around this time that I became aware that shrink wrapping and stretch wrapping are two different things. I'm still a bit hazy on how they differ. 

And then something else struck me: The wrap on the Volkswagen was not shrink wrap. Ditto for the Australian cliff. The dynamic duo was wrapping, but not with shrink wrap. So maybe Christo and Jeanne-Claude were leaders in wrapping but not in shrink wrapping. 

I think I can live with that. I'll let you in on a secret. Every time I walk by the Art Alliance, which can easily happen several times a day, I find myself thinking of Christo and Jeanne-Claude and the Australian cliff. And it makes me happy.

See also Putting Some Park into Old Parking Lots, Paul P. Cret and Rittenhouse Square, Lighting Rittenhouse, What Came Before the Laurel.

"I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." - Ulysses S. Grant, 1864

Grant at Cold Harbor, June 1864 (Library of Congress).

With a father from southern Alabama and a mother from northern New York State, I think I naturally took an interest in the centennial of the Civil War, which occurred when I was in my mid-teens. After all, who was I?

I read quite a lot, and took a particular interest in General Stonewall Jackson. I got a full dose of "There is Jackson standing like a stone wall!" And Jackson's final sentence, "Let us cross over the river, and rest under the shade of the trees." 

I won't bore you with my odyssey. I eventually came out on the Union side. But I had a lingering disdain for U.S. Grant, who was willing to tolerate some pretty amazing casualty numbers.

Frankly, I still don't like Grant. And I don't think he was a great president, either.

But, on May 11, 1864, during the Battle of Spotsylvania Court House, he sent a message back to Washington that resonates with me today: 

"I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." 

Grant's casualty numbers at Spotsylvania Courthouse, and before that in the Wilderness, were truly eye-popping. And yet he, and the army, and the Union, fought on. And not just to the turning of the leaves in the fall of 1864. 

Robert E. Lee didn't surrender at Appomattox Courthouse until April 1865. 

Which brings me to our present situation. If you're feeling tired, if you're dismayed by all the things that are going wrong, if you think the Democratic party needs to dump its consultants, if you don't like the fact that ICE troopers are shooting people whenever they feel like it, I'm with you.

This slug fest is no fun, and we're still just holding the line. Our victories are defensive. We'll continue to win a lot in the courts, and we'll also see more slaughter in the streets by government agents who belong in prison. The real counter-offensive is still in the future.

You need to decide whether you're in this for the duration of hostilities. And one place to start is to ask yourself, can you say, "I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer."

And then don't think the war will be over right after Labor Day. 

See also Politics on a Very Hot Day, Unleashing the Oligarchs.

Baptizing the Bike Lane

Dr. Barbara Friedes died two years ago.

Two years and still no effective protection on the Pine-Spruce bike lanes. The memorial was at 8:30 a.m. on Sunday, July 19, at the spot where Barbara was killed, at 18th and Spruce, in front of the Beth Zion Beth Israel synagogue. And there was a special guest, a miniature plastic jersey barrier. These plastic jersey barriers (normally much bigger) are very popular around construction sites. They are light and easy to move around, until you fill them with water. And then when you're done with them, there's a valve that lets you empty the water out.

Anyway, everybody was asked to bring a full water bottle and, after the speeches, empty their water bottles into the little jersey barrier. 

Just so everyone understands, the plan to protect the Pine and Spruce bike lanes does not involve jersey barriers. It involves low pieces of concrete that remind me of throat lozenges. These are installed not head to toe, but with gaps between them. At least that's my understanding.

Before we got to this little piece of theater - I must say, I did it and I felt good afterward - we had a number of very good speeches, including one from City Council President Kenyatta Johnson, who, at the appropriate time, also poured water into the little jersey barrier.

City Council President Kenyatta Johnson

Philly Bike Action was the main sponsor of this event, and a PBA member offered a very good summary of the history and our present situation. We also heard from Barbara's husband, mother, and sister, and a colleague from Children's Hospital of Philadelphia, locally known as CHOP. 

We can, at another time, discuss the insanity of not protecting these bike lanes, and also what we can do about that. There is a lawsuit, and I think the plaintiffs think they have us pinned. But I'm not so sure. 

All that, though, is for another day. This day was for Barbara, and her family, and her friends and colleagues. And, frankly, all of us. A bad thing happened that should not have happened. And those of us who are alive have to deal with that. And I felt there was some healing on this day, along with a firm resolve to make things better.

Barbara Friedes died on July 17, 2024, at the age of 30. It turns out her favorite flower was the sunflower. 

See also The Vigil for Dr. Friedes, Loading Zones Are the Key, Mayor Parker Signs No Stopping Bill, A Scheme of Chaos, On the Art Museum Steps, Somotomo.

Trump as Dracula

How do I make this funny?

Okay, let's face it. Trump is not funny. Ridiculous, yes. Fart jokes abound, and then there are the various forms of actual incontinence. But I find myself feeling slimy.

I really like the idea of Trump sucking blood out of the neck of the American people. Good visual image - two puncture points, etc. - but frankly it's not funny.

There's also the Nosferatu angle. In the 1922 movie, Count Orlok (the vampire in this version of the story) shows up in a coastal town in northern Germany and brings with him the plague. Lines up with the saying that everything Trump touches dies. 

I could go on. The cabinet members who all have two little puncture marks on their neck, and are also busy sucking all the blood from the American people, who, at the end, all look very white.

But it's not funny.

Then I found the little guy at the top of this story. I've never seen him in person, but he sits on a low wall next to a castle in Budapest, and he's perhaps 18 inches tall. He's actually a bit famous. He's not just Dracula, he's also Bela Lugosi, the Hungarian actor who played the vampire in the 1931 movie Dracula. (The sculptor, Mykhailo Kolodko, has developed a specialty of making small statues which often have a humorous side. They're all over Budapest. For more, click here.) 

I find it hard to get scared of a vampire who's not much bigger than a bat. And it's clear that he's only thirsty for knowledge. 

What is he reading in that enormous book? Perhaps he's reading about a fellow called Vlad the Impaler, who may or may not be a distant relative. Or he may be reading the collected works of Calvin and Hobbes, possibly with appendices summarizing the works of Locke and Luther.

For comparison, here's a picture of Donald Trump holding up what's reliably said to be a bible. If you're into semiotics or iconography, you may notice that the book is not open, and he is not reading it. Instead he is brandishing it as a weapon. That's about Donald's speed - and this is back then, before he completely lost his marbles.  

So I finally found a way to see Dracula as funny. However, I failed in my larger quest. Donald Trump is simply not funny. Ridiculous, pathetic, and - let's face it - frequently terrifying. But he will never provide the cathartic release of humor. And I think that is possibly his greatest failing. In the end, I don't think you can win in this country if your team is composed entirely of sour, dead-end haters. There aren't enough of them.

Many strongmen have ruled countries and empires by terror for very long reigns. Just look at Joe Stalin. But, in America today, I don't think that flies. People used to refer to Reagan's act as fascism with a smile. And I think that was his competitive advantage.

Some may argue for the cathartic release of tragedy, but Trump is no Hamlet, or even Macbeth. His shtick lacks moral gravity, and provides no resolution. 

On to the dung heap of history, Donald. You'll be happy there, surrounded by excrement, straw, dead mice, and the pervasive odor of corruption.

Bonus item: Here's a picture of Frank Rizzo's face being erased. The mural was located in Philadelphia's Italian Market. People who didn't like Rizzo kept defacing it, and eventually the people responsible for maintaining it gave up. I've often called Rizzo Philadelphia's first fascist mayor. He still has many admirers in Philadelphia, but his mural is no more.

News flash: Facebook reports that someone has stolen the little Dracula/Bela Lugosi statue in Budapest. Why would anyone want to do that? You certainly wouldn't want this little creature flitting around your bedroom in the night. I hope all turns out well, and there are no puncture holes in the felons' necks. (Now there are reports that the artist may have removed the statue for maintenance.) 

One very final thought: “You can fool all the people some of the time and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.” According to Time magazine, Abraham Lincoln probably never said this. And the current occupants of the White House have clearly never given any thought to the idea that there were limits to the effectiveness of their mendacity. But the statement strikes me as a core truth about the American people, to be ignored at your peril.

See also Unleashing the Oligarchs, The Face of Fascism, Little Karl, Somotomo, The 800-Pound Gorilla in the Oval Office, Is Elon Musk a Vampire?

Red Baiting Comes Back

Why I think it won't work

Near Flatbush Ave., Brooklyn, 2024.

Quick answer: the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, and most people now alive in America barely know what a bomb shelter is.  

Donald Trump is trying to launch yet another American Red Scare. We had a big one after World War I and the Russian Revolution, and another big one after World War II - the commies took over eastern Europe, we "lost" China to the ChiComs, Joe McCarthy has a little list.

Both of these Red Scares worked big-time. They scared the patootie out of ordinary Americans, who thought the commies were coming, and would knock on the door of their new house in a brand-new suburb, and demand the keys to the family car, and drive away. Bye-bye car. How do you live in a suburb without a car?

Nowadays we're still scaring the patootie out of small school children by making them hide under their desks or in a closet. But the threat now comes from the Second Amendment, and that of course is as American as apple pie, and so, if you're not dead, just pick up your trauma and march on.

The world has moved on from Red Scares. People don't think commies are coming for their cars. There is no boogie-man like Joe Stalin in the Kremlin. In fact, Donald Trump, our president, just loves Vladimir Putin, the current occupant of the Kremlin. 

I don't see how you can bring back the Red Scare. Stephen Miller will try,  because he's running out of bullets. But this one looks like a dud.

Near Ft. Greene Park, Brooklyn, 2025.

See also There's Got to Be a Better Way, A Shortage of Serviceable Ducks, Slingshot.

The Golden Shower Returns

Maybe he's enjoying it (again).

I'm not sure the typical American will be able to read this picture easily. So I'm going to help out. The prime minister of Italy, Giorgia Meloni, is standing at a second-floor balcony in a charming little Italian hill town. She is pouring a piss pot full of pee on the head of the president of the United States, Donald Trump. Trump is holding some sticks in his hands. These may be highly symbolic in Italian culture, but frankly I have no idea what they mean.

Long and short, this is sort of the anti-Romeo and Juliet balcony scene, where Juliet says, "O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?" Juliet is making an attempt to bridge the gap between her family, the Capulets, and Romeo's family, the Montagues. 

Instead, Meloni is telling Trump to buzz off.

By the way, emptying pee pots from an upper window was a very old European tradition. It's fairly clear that it dates back at least to the Romans, although they often set up large vessels by the front door of their apartment buildings where people were encouraged to dump their pee pots. The urine collected could be used in tanning hides.

There's a remote possibility that the British English term for bathroom - the loo - derives from an old Parisian custom. Parisians would empty their chamber pots from upper floor windows, but being considerate of their neighbors who might be passing below, they would call out "Garde l'eau," which means "Watch out for the water." 

But anyway, if you want to get rid of an unwanted suitor, this was, for many years, an available tactic. And I think it pretty accurately describes the hosing that Giorgia Meloni just gave to Donald Trump. Our president, you know.

See also Scavengers and Scow Trimmers, I Found a Picture on a Wall.

World Cup Watch Party

Mexico v. South Korea 6/18/26

The game is at Estadio Guadalajara in Zapopan, Mexico. The watch party is at 18th and Lombard in Philadelphia. Kickoff 9 p.m. Philadelphia time.

Waiting to get in.

The last time I shot this patch of asphalt I was covering a car crash. See Mayhem on my Corner. I prefer watch parties.

The Man Who Would Be King

Be Careful What You Ask For

I was looking at this picture of Donald Trump attending a luncheon at this week's G7 meeting, and it caused me to revise my thinking about him. I have believed for some time that he had only recently figured out that he was going to die. And it appeared that this prospect not only surprised him but terrified him.

And from this it seemed there flowed an inexhaustible supply of manic behavior. Attacking, always attacking, as Roy Cohn had so sedulously counseled him. 

I had expected a later phase, still focused on the fear of death, but where the attacks would go away and the mind would turn to an inner focus on beating the reaper.

I think we may have skipped over that phase, or it may have happened so quickly that it never left any public trace.

I now think Trump has gone to the phase where he accepts imminent death and perhaps even longs for it. 

I expect to see recurrence of the violent attacks against the outer world and fate. He does have a large staff dedicated to keeping him alive and in the fight, particularly online, but I don't think his heart is in the battle anymore. The picture above is the real Trump of today - exhausted, and knowing he is beaten. The rest is really just a bunch of hangers-on hoping to prolong the gravy train and maybe stay out of jail, at least until they can get safely out of the country.

Trump is ready to die.

"The Man Who Would Be King" is an 1888 short story by Rudyard Kipling and a 1975 movie starring Sean Connery and Michael Caine. Things go great at the beginning, then not so much. It is Afghanistan, after all. 

See also Circling the Drain, Just Another Picture.

Can You Sense the Drift?

Trump Is Dead in the Water

Deal Lake Drive, Asbury Park, 2022.

It's not good being a sitting duck. If he's a boat, at least he can send up some colorful flares, and maybe even some anti-aircraft fire with lots of tracers. If he's a duck he can flap his wings on the water and quack a lot.

But let's face it. All any of this really does is draw attention to the fact that he can't move.

The next metaphor is shooting fish in a barrel. This is generally considered unsporting, but I hope we all understand by now that we are not playing a game. Certainly the Iranians understand this.

If you're standing next to him, move away. 

"It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing."

Deal Lake Drive, Asbury Park, 2024.

See also 86 47; Somotomo; Anticipate Quagmire, and Much Noise; Just Another Picture; Circling the Drain; Is It Shock and Awe, or Is It a Flash in the Pan?