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Always a breath of fresh airwaves, WDET's Liz Copeland is leaving the building March 25, 2007 BY BILL McGRAW FREE PRESS COLUMNIST As usual, Liz Copeland was understated and cool just after midnight Saturday morning when she welcomed the world to her “Alternate Take” show on WDET-FM (101.9). It was her first moment on the air after the station announced another revamping of the daily schedule. Copeland’s 12-year-old overnight show will be cancelled as of April 2, replaced by a program produced by the British Broadcasting Co. as listener-supported ‘DET continues the purge of its cutting-edge contemporary music and airs more news and information. Advertisement “‘Day Six,’ as we’re calling it, six more shows left of ‘Alternate Take,’” Copeland told listeners. “We have six more days to celebrate all that we’ve done in 12 years together.” Copeland plays a wide-ranging selection of music that mostly is never played on other stations in Detroit. She also conducts interviews, supports local music and art and is one of the last ‘DET program hosts who are savvy contemporary musicologists. Even if you were only mildly curious about music outside of the mainstream, such modern deejays as Judy Adams, Martin Bandyke and Dave Dixon would almost without fail turn you on to something interesting every time they were on the air. With its new lineup, ‘DET is also losing expert hosts W. Kim Heron, Ralph Valdez, Mick Collins and Chuck Horn. Remaining will be Saturday’s shows featuring folks, blues,, bluegrass, spirituals and worldbeat. Ed Love’s weeknight jazz program will be cut back. As a disseminator of contemporary music, WDET-FM after April 2 will be relegated to the dustbin of Detroit radio history. It will join some great contemporary music stations and personalities of the of the past 40 years that added to -- and played off of -- Detroit’s sophistication as a music capital -- CKLW-AM, WABX-FM, Electrifying Mojo, Ernie (The Frantic One) Durham and WKNR-FM, to name just a few. On Saturday morning, Copeland began her show with United Future Organization, Clara Hill, Nouvelle Vague, The New Pornographers and Radiohead. She moved on to Goldfrapp, Lou Reed, The Stooges, Hot Chip, John Peel, The Dirtbombs, The Cure, Bryan Ferry, Arcade Fire, Television and Thunderbirds are Now! She closed with Talking Heads, Elbow, Spiritualized and Pass into Silence. How many of those artists can you hear on other Detroit-area stations? Not too many. Wayne State University owns ‘DET, and you hope its officials know what they are doing. They hired Michael Coleman to be station manager, and he engineered the first major shift to news and information before he pleaded no contest to misdemeanor charges relating to financial irregularities at his previous radio employer. WSU kept him on, but he resigned in December when fund-raising fell off. In addition to Coleman, the station has endured a significant staff turnover in the past year. In the 1970s, WDET was hyper-local, with shows produced by Detroit Native-Americans, women, Hispanics and African Americans, In fact, when the bilingual show “El Grito de Mi Raza” (“The Outcry of My People”) was cancelled in 1994, protestors assailed the station. The public also spoke up when a show hosted by Nkenge Zola was deep-sixed in the same era. Now, many of the programs will originate in New York, Washington and London, though ‘DET continues to be committed to local news. A new public affairs show, “Detroit Today,” will air on weekdays from 10 a.m. to noon. In an email to fans and friends, Copeland was upbeat: “For 12 years (a lifetime in radio), I have been determined enough to continue to be energized by radio in the wee hours. I have learned much, yet feel as if I’ve just begun. As I investigate new methods of connecting the music with its fans in a relevant fashion, I am optimistic that its reach could have more of an impact than ever before. I will keep you updated on developments through this mailing list. I am grateful that we have been a part of this together. Now, let’s look to the future.” Her finals shows will air Tuesday morning through Saturday morning, starting at midnight. During the early part of Saturday’s show, Copeland played a cover of “Dancing with Myself” by Nouvelle Vague. When she identified the piece, she said: Dancing with myself “is something I often find myself doing when I’m doing the radio show. I guess I’ve kind of felt that it’s the only way to do the radio show. If you’re not dancing with yourself or singing or whatever, it’s just not worth it, is it?” . StoryChat * Post a CommentPost a Comment * View all CommentsView All Comments danodownriviera I have not listened to WDET since that crook took the helm. I call him a crook not only for what he pulled off in Ann Arbor but for robbing the Detroit airwaves of musical tradition not known since the days of WABX. Free Form Radio............ But now with iTunes radio providing free access to very cool stations like Groove Salad and Sing Sing who needs that crook and his yap.......... RIP DET............. Posted: Wed Mar 28, 2007 7:10 am whiteboy1976 You would think at a time when commerical radio in this city is so dismal WDET would try to hold onto the aspects think made this station great. I don't know what they're thinking but management is destroying this instituion. They will get no money during fundraising time. As a 31 year-old average joe who friends have never heard of 101.9, I took pride that this station was my little secret. Liz's voice captivated me, I must admit I have a silly crush on her, but I really felt I learned about new and local artists. I will follow Liz wherever she goes, maybe to the 'River', they're the only cool station left in this city. All I know is thank God for XM radio. Satelitte radio is going to kill public radio. WDET has a chance to be unique, but the station they are turning into I can find in about a half dozen spots on XM. I will say I'll listen to Ed Love, but WDET has lost a loyal listener! Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2007 9:53 pm jimsteverson Cute Music 1, nice rant. Sorry to disturb the group think. That said, I think the point of running more news programs is to get those listeners to listen more. Seems like there's a connection between using a service more and being willing to pay for it. I doubt they'll gain more audience running BBC overnight, but I also doubt they'll lose any. But they also won't be paying (insert salary here) for it, and those funds can be used to better serve their audience. Plus, I think they dropped music because it wasn't bringing in enough audience and the audience it did wasn't able to keep the bills payed. So time to try something else. Sorry but I don't think public radio should be castor oil - listen to this, we know best, it's good for you. How arrogant. Of all that's been dropped, Liz's program was arguably the best. Great diverse music, well presented, small audience. With the growing use of Ipods and satellite radio, sadly, there just isn't room for that in today's marketplace. Whether we like it or not, the state of public broadcasting today dictates that they have to exist in that marketplace. We can thank various administrations and de-regulation for that gift. Time changes, even in public broadcasting. Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2007 4:48 pm lux2001 Yes!!! More time for 20-minute news stories on irrigation ditches in other parts of the globe! I must have died and went to heaven, err, wondered why I gave up on listening to commercial radio 15 years ago..... Neutral Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2007 12:36 pm Music1 This is public radio. It's supposed to offer diversity. Besides, their donation dollars have been dropping ever since they eliminated the music programs. I'm not sure how with your great wisdom you think they'll regain that money by running a news program during the hours you claim there's only a couple hundred listeners. Will people start tuning in by the thousands and pledging? Oooh more news, here's my money! I always thought public radio was supposed to ignore the ratings and offer things not heard elsewhere? Liz Copeland offered a music program that I have yet to hear be matched anywhere else. She promoted the city and its music and made people excited about local bands and events. I currently reside in another state, and actually sleep at night. Due to the miracle of the internet, I listened to her show during the day, as do many people. Most stations have an extremely low amount of listeners at these hours. Liz took what she had and made it something great. Seriously, how many more listeners do you think they're going to gain? I guess if the ratings aren't there for the news broadcast, but they are for a Top 40 format, a small minded person like yourself would probably think "duh, let's do that..." Come to think of it, what are you even doing here? Are you pro late night news? Anti late night music? Did Liz turn you down for a date or not play your Phil Collins request? Do you hate public radio? What do you have against 7-11 clerks with good taste in music? Maybe you're just a good samaritan here to help us understand how corporate radio works? I mean, are we honestly to believe that you happened across this article and decided "I think this late night music is bad, and not doing any good for the station. I think the listening audience would benefit from some BBC produced news at this hour." Get real. Go back to your plastic world and grab a Starbucks. Detroit already has stations like WJR and WRIF to make people like you happy..... Rolling Eyes Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2007 10:16 am

greatest baseball hair ever. michaelangelo jordan?

the north carolina collapse sunday was outstanding. they made 1 of their last 22 field goals and blew a 15 point lead.

not as good as this one: Clyde Kluttz

i use my superradio daily with a booster called a select-a-tenna

lomax had many detractors, even those he worked closely with, and deservedly so. i would expect more remembrances. how can one not think of him as a blatant opportunist?

jorge julio felix jose Ambiorix Burgos always nice to learn a pitch is 'over but low,'

this new hi definition radio is ruining am dxing.

kenton is loud

lester is silk billie is satin

thanks for posting this

amina claudine tonight was described as 'inestimable.' this was a beautiful perception. ...........makings of a thread?

shame on us for not mentioning lacy/potts!

_______________________________________ Thu 12 @ 8pm Interpretations Helene Browning $10 J.D. Parran & Mark Deutsch 212.545.7536 st/sr J.D. Parran, alto clarinet, soprano saxophone, flute Mark Deutsch, bazantar Thomas Buckner, baritone Joseph Kubera, piano Warren Smith, percussion David Darling, cello J.D. Parran: Omegathorpe: Living City Works by J.D. Parran and Mark Deutsch

steve politi, the columnist who wrote this column, told me that it was very painful to write, but his famly wanted it. may the young man rest in peace.

some of the greatest music listening at night came many years ago from wcfl in chicago where sid mccoy(the soul train voice), later with yvonne daniels(wife of eddie)hosted an all-night jazz show, sponsored by budweiser, king of beers, and the sound boomed night after night. i would love to have some of those tapes, but i fear they are just memories grower ever more faint in my rear view mirror.

Far from home, a basketball crowd-pleaser is on life support Sunday, March 25, 2007 He was walking back from a convenience store after picking up a burrito and a Coke. Jason Ray knew he would sweat off a few pounds once he climbed into his furry costume, so he had to get enough fuel into his body to prepare. In just a few hours, his beloved North Carolina Tar Heels would play in the Sweet 16, with nearly 20,000 fans filling Continental Airlines Arena to watch. They did not come to see Ray, but he would entertain them, too. On nights like this, Ray would become Ramses, the sleek-and-fuzzy mascot for his school. He danced with the cheerleaders. He pranced from one side of the arena to the other. He coaxed the crowd to its feet and made kids laugh. And he never stopped moving. "It was his way of supporting the team -- he absolutely loved it," his father, Emmitt Ray, said yesterday. Emmitt Ray was in a small waiting room at Hackensack Medical Center, trying to comprehend how his 21-year-old son could be in a coma and on life support, the doctors offering little hope of recovery. "There are things you just can't explain," he said. "He just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. He wasn't doing anything he wasn't supposed to be doing. He was 200 yards from the hotel." Jason Ray was walking Friday along the shoulder of Route 4, returning to the Hilton Fort Lee, when a 2006 Mercury Mountaineer struck him from behind. He suffered major head trauma and a broken hip. Gagik Hovsepyan, 51, the driver of the SUV, was taken to Fort Lee police headquarters, but no charges have been filed. Emmitt Ray received the call at 4:30 p.m. at his home in Concord, N.C., and the local police came soon after. When he arrived in New Jersey before midnight, the doctors told him the news: His son was brain-dead. "The doctors, they're nice as they can be," Emmitt Ray said, "but they don't give much hope short of the intervention of the Lord." The NCAA Tournament will continue today, with top-seeded North Carolina playing Georgetown for a spot in the Final Four. Just a few miles up Route 17, Emmitt Ray will wait at the hospital, praying over his son, hoping he does not have to make a decision no parent wants to consider. A pastor from a local church sat with him in the waiting room yesterday morning. He and his wife, Charlotte, would take turns sitting bedside in the small room. They expected nearly a dozen friends and family members to make the trip up the interstate from North Carolina, including five high school friends who lived with their son in Chapel Hill. You have to love a school to wear that sweaty, 75-pound costume, and Jason Ray loved North Carolina. His family has Kentucky roots, but he wanted to go to Chapel Hill from the first time he stepped on campus. He was denied early admission but refused to apply anywhere else. Though dozens tried out to wear that suit at football and basketball games, no one was surprised when he was the choice. It is easy to wear the costume but difficult to bring Ramses to life. He is not allowed to talk. He can't change the facial expression. But people always responded to Ray. "We could always tell it was him because his shorts came up higher on his legs than the other boys," his father said. "Jason was 6-foot-5 -- I guess I should say, Jason is 6-foot-5." His father remembers when John Edwards, then a North Carolina senator and a vice presidential candidate, grabbed Jason by the arm and asked him to pose for a photo with Edwards' children. Jason obliged, of course, wrapping his long arms around the family, and when Edwards tried to walk away, he grabbed the senator and held up a finger. He wanted his own photo. Edwards laughed. There is another story Jason Ray always loved to tell, and Emmitt Ray had to compose himself before he could begin this one. Jason was in the basement of the campus basketball arena one day when he ran into Roy Williams, who had recently returned to coach his alma mater. "What are you doing here?" the new coach asked. "My name is Jason Ray. I'm Ramses." "Ramses?" the coach said. "At your height, why aren't you playing for my team?" "I'm too slow and I can't jump," Jason replied. "But I can be of assistance in other ways, Coach." He always was. Jason Ray was set to graduate May 13 with a 3.6 GPA, majoring in business with a minor in religion. He had a job lined up in sales and marketing in nearby Raleigh, N.C. He traveled to Europe last summer, running with the bulls in Pamplona and visiting the Sistine Chapel. "That was the type of person he was," said Lauren Ripley, a North Carolina team manager who traveled with him to Europe. But playing Ramses was his passion. He hated the idea of giving up that mascot suit, even as he trained his replacement. Two years ago, he watched the Tar Heels clip the nets on television after winning the national title while a senior entertained the crowd as the mascot. This was going to be his turn. The tournament will go on this week, but it does so without one passionate kid who was always happiest covered in fur and sweating off pounds for the school he loved. Steve Politi appears regularly in The Star-Ledger. He may be reached at spoliti@starledger.com. © 2007 The Star Ledger © 2007 NJ.com All Rights Reserved.

i own a jazz album aretha did for columbia before she got popular, with the hindel butts quartet (notably kenny burrell)accompanying her. guess i was into aretha a long time before most people.

well, you should continue with your good sunday 'cause it's good news about this two legends! venerable tasteful beautiful legends. thanks!

i was having a good sunday till i read this thread.

316 Club Barber Spa Neighborhood: The Loop 175 W Jackson Blvd Chicago, IL 60686 ryan c. writes: 316 Club is a hair salon club. Similar to Halo for men but a little more masculine. For $650 a year you can get as many haircuts, manicures, and shoe shines as you want without an additional charge. I go religiously every other Monday and at what would normally cost around $50 per visit it is a nice deal. The ladies who work their are absolute sweethearts, too. They have a bar and a pool table for members' usage as well, though I've never seen a competitive game of 8 ball take place before a mani/shampoo/cut. I would definitely recommend this spot to anyone not interested in spending the rest of their hair days @ Super Cuts (or their old man's barbershop).

i have the owls and consider them essential and most enjoyable.

Remembering Alan Lomax, January 31, 1915—July 19, 2002 by Bruce Jackson John and Alan In the 1930s, when most academics interested in folklore spent their waking hours in libraries looking for printed versions of the 305 ancient British and Scottish ballads certified as authentic 40 years earlier by Harvard scholar Francis James Child, John and Alan Lomax were ranging the countryside looking for people singing their own songs about their own lives. They recorded scores or hundreds of those Child ballads; they also recorded thousands of songs of cowboys, convicts, miners, farmers, railroad workers, hobos, cotton pickers and other folks none of those library-ferrets gave a hoot about. The Archive of American Folk Song in the Library of Congress took its shape under their hands, and millions of Americans first learned about the great range of American folk music because of their work. John Pareles, in his excellent obituary for Alan in the July 20 News York Times, wrote that "Mr. Lomax was a musicologist, author, disc jockey, singer, photographer, talent scout, filmmaker, concert and recording producer and television host. He did whatever was necessary to preserve traditional music and take it to a wider audience." Alan was also a huge presence in the American musical and broader cultural scene. His contribution to our heritage, to our understanding of ourselves, was incalculable. Much of the music urban participants in the folk song revival of the 1960s played came from recordings Alan and John had made thirty years earlier, recordings published on red vinyl by the Library of Congress. The most important performers the urban folksingers in those years were emulating—Leadbelly, Woody Guthrie, Muddy Waters—had been recorded by the Lomaxes. Pete Seeger is indebted to the Lomaxes' work, so is Bob Dylan, so was John Lennon. If you've listened to the six-times-over platinum CD Oh Brother, where art thou? you've heard one of Alan's recordings from the 1930s: the very first song on the album, James Carter and a group of convicts singing "Po' Lazarus." There was a time when, if you were out studying traditional music in America, you could not help but cross a path Alan Lomax and his father had blazed. You probably still can't. "That other feller" In the summer of 1964 I was recording traditional singers and instrumentalists in Saltville, Virginia, a small mountain town north of Bristol, Tennessee. Someone I met in Saltville's gas station sent me to see Alec Tolbert, who lived in a place called Poor Valley. According to my notes from that trip, you get to Alec Tolbert's house in Poor Valley by going out route 91 about four miles to McReady's Gap, then you turn left at the red brick church, go three-quarters of a mile to the top of the hill, turn right, go about two miles to a little store. Then you go in the store and ask anyone where Alex Tolbert's house is. It was the most out-of-the-way place I had, to that time, been. Alec Tolbert and I talked for a bit and then he said, "That other feller had one a those machines." "What other feller?" "The one who had that machine like yours. He was here a while back. He was doing the same thing you're doing. His name was Lomax." A few weeks later, I was down a red dirt road outside of Marshall, a small town in the Arkansas Ozarks, visiting Barry Sutterfield, a 73-year-old ballad singer, and his wife Nellie. The three of us sat on the porch talking for a while, after which Uncle Barry sang old ballads like"Cole Younger," "Barbry Ellen," and "The Little Rebel" Then Uncle Barry said, "You know that other feller?" "Which one?" I said. "The one who was doing the same thing you're doing. Only he had a beard." Alan Lomax. In a very real way, I owe my academic career to Alan and his father, John. One of my earliest books was Wake Up Dead Man: Afro-American Worksongs from Texas Prisons (Harvard University Press 1972). That book never would have come about had it not been for the prison worksong fieldwork by the Lomaxes in the early 1930s: I heard and was entranced by their recordings, got interested in the music, went off to see what was still around, then moved from the studies of music to studies of prisons themselves, and from there to studies of the criminal justice process. A few years ago, it all came around when Alan's daughter Anna asked me to do the booklet for Big Brazos: Texas Prison Recordings, 1933 and 1934, one of the 150 CDs in the astonishing Alan Lomax field series being produced by Rounder. While annotating those recordings I realized for the first time that Alan and his father had recorded some of the same men I'd recorded in Texas in the mid- and late-sixties. Newport I met Alan the next year, when Pete Seeger got me elected to the Newport Folk Festival board of directors. We used to meet every month at jazz producer George Wein's Riverside Drive apartment to plan the four-day festivals that took place in July and to figure out ways to give away the money left over from the previous year's concert. Newport was based on a concept developed by Pete Seeger, George Wein and Theodore Bikel. Their idea was that if people came to hear music they already liked, they'd also listen to music they hadn't known existed, and the way to make that happen that was to let the popular performers underwrite the unknown performers. So everybody got $50 a day. If you were famous, like Pete or Joan Baez you got $50 a day. If nobody outside your town or village ever heard of you, you got $50 a day. The Foundation rented several of the big Newport mansions and put everybody up in them. (A few people, like Peter Yarrow and Bob Dylan were fancy and stayed in their own suites in the Viking Hotel in town, but they paid for that themselves.) Most of the famous singers never collected their payments; they just performed for the fun of it. Everything that was left over each year was donated to folk music performers and to support folk music projects. I remember Ralph Rinzler, Mike Seeger, Pete and Alan coming up with really interesting performers and projects. Most everybody was pretty calm, but Alan would often get really agitated if the rest of us didn't get enthusiastic about some plan or project he thought was absolutely necessary. He'd tell us that if we didn't see the necessity for this or that we could not claim to take ourselves seriously. Sometimes Alan's projects were great, sometimes they were balmy. In my first year or so, when I was new kid on the block, I'd mostly sit quietly while Seeger and Brand and Rinzler worked it out with him. They were wonderful discussions to watch and hear. Resurrection City In 1968, after Martin Luther King was killed, Ralph Rinzler got the Newport Foundation to underwrite and help staff the music and children's programs at Resurrection City, the tent and shack camp next to Washington's Reflecting Pool. Resurrection City housed the participants in King's last project, the Poor People's Campaign. Ralph started setting things up and I went down to Washington to help him. Alan heard about what we were doing and caught up with us at a meeting we were having with Jim Bevel and other members of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference staff. Ralph (who was later founding director of the Festival of American Folklife in Washington and who the Smithsonian's Assistant Secretary for Public Service) was one of the most tactful people I ever met. He was saying to Bevel and the others, "Here are the resources we have. How can we help you?" when Alan jumped up and gave everybody a lecture on the power and importance of folk music, black folk music in particular. It was a good lecture, but that was neither the time, place nor company for it. Bevel and the others listened to Alan in polite, stony silence, then went on to other business. When the meeting was over, Bevel beckoned Ralph and me to the side of the room and said, "You guys ought to do something about him." "I wish we could," Ralph said. "He means well, and he knows a lot." "I guess," Bevel said. That night was, I think, the first night of real activity Resurrection City. A thousand or so of the six thousand people who would eventually inhabit the place had arrived. Bevel and several others made rousing speeches in the big community tent and Kirk gave a great performance, followed by some other musical groups. Alan and I were standing at the back of the seats, listening to the music. When one group finished, Alan said, "Are there any academic studies of the high tenor in black male vocal music?" I said I had no idea. "I'm wondering where it comes from. Do you think it has to do with repressed homosexuality?" He said that much more loudly than I would have liked. Several heads turned and stared. Another group sang. Alan tapped the shoulder of a woman in the back row and said, "Those boys sure do sing good, don't they, honey?" I don't think he meant anything ill by it. It's just how he was. Several young men nearby had heard both his remarks and were looking at him hostilely. I was feeling more and more uncomfortable, and rather than have an argument with him about it, I just left the tent and started walking up the Mall toward the Capitol. He caught up with me a few minutes later and said, "Why did you leave like that?" "I didn't want to be there when you got them really pissed off." "Ah," he said, seeming to find that a reasonable answer. We walked along in silence, then I said, "Alan, why are you like that?" He was quiet for a while. Then he said, "You don't know what it was like, growing up in the Library of Congress." For some reason, I thought I knew exactly what he meant. I guess he had grown up in the Library of Congress. He joined his father in the pursuit of American folk music when he was 17, and that set the arrow of his life. Alan was a boy from Austin, Texas, who became the man who was more driven than anyone else I know for the world to understand and honor its own music. In the decades when academic folklorists in America and Great Britain were desperately seeking survivals from bygone centuries, Alan was insisting, "Listen to what people are singing now." That night, walking along the Mall, the sounds from the tent fading out behind us, Alan talked about his early years in the Library, about being on the road with his father, about the thrill of finding and preserving bits and pieces of a musical world he knew was vanishing even as he recorded it. I was staying at Ralph Rinzler's house, the other side of the Library of Congress. I don't remember where Alan was staying. I remember that when we reached the place where he went one way and I went another we stood there for a while, while he finished telling me something. Nashville I heard him talk like that one other time. In 1983, Diane Christian and I were in Nashville for a meeting of the American Folklore Society. Saturday night we got on the hotel elevator to go downstairs for the plenary session, the big speechifying meeting of the Society. I think I had just been elected the Society's president for the following year, so I was supposed to be at that plenary session. In the elevator, we met Alan's sister Bess Lomax Hawes, who was director of the Folk Arts Program of the National Endowment for the Arts, which meant she was supposed to be at that plenary session too. Bess said she was stopping at Alan's room to fetch him."Come on along," Bess said, "and we'll all go down together." I hadn't seen him for a while, so we joined her. It was one of those hotel rooms with two beds and one chair. Alan was sitting on one, talking on the phone, and all his stuff was on the other. There was an almost-full quart of bourbon next to the telephone. Alan motioned for us to sit down. We moved the stuff on the other bed around and one of us sat on the bed, one on the floor, one in the chair. When Alan was done with the call he said, "Let's have a drink before we go down." We all had some bourbon, which I hate. Then Alan started telling stories. It was astonishing. I've known a lot of great storytellers but I remember no one ever doing anything like that. Alan talked for maybe three hours. Occasionally Diane or Bess or I said something, but almost entirely it was Alan, telling stories. Stories about working with his father, stories about people we all knew, stories about people only he knew, stories about doing the work. Three hours of it. It was just magnificent. I remember one sentence out of all the sentences he said that night. He had gotten onto the subject of academic folklorists and he pointed down to the floor, toward the place however many stories below us they were doing their speechifying. "They squoze and they squoze," he said, "and they produced another generation of pedants just like the generation of pedants they wanted to replace. But without the beautiful manners." How can you not love somebody who can summarize a generation of ambitious and competitive pedants like that? The four of us emptied that bottle of bourbon. None of us made it downstairs that night. After the bourbon was gone and Alan had wound down—or maybe it was we who had worn down—Bess, Diane and I went back to the elevator and went upstairs. Diane and I got off at our floor and Bess went on to hers. That was the best evening I ever had at an American Folklore Society or any other academic society meeting. "They squoze and they squoze and they produced another generation of pedants just like the generation of pedants they wanted to replace. But without the beautiful manners." Goddamn! P.S.: Not long after this was published I received an email from the editor of Journal of American Folklore saying she really liked the piece and asking permission for her to publish it in the Journal. I wrote back immediately saying she was welcome to reprint it. I didn't hear from her for a while, so I wrote and asked when it might appear. She responded that she wanted to thank me for submitting my article but the editorial board didn't think it was appropriate for Journal of American Folklore. Why do you think the feet got cold? I bet anything it was "squoze" that did it. They never liked words with funny spellings, that board, not one bit. Alan Lomax on the web: John Pareles July 20 New York Times obituary is : "Alan Lomax, Who Raised Voice of Folk Music in the U.S., Dies at 87." Nick Spitzer, Pete Seeger and several other people talked about Alan and his work on NPR's "Talk of the Nation" broadcast Wednesday, 24 July. The Alan Lomax website has extensive material on Alan Lomax and his work. The Rounder website has information about Rounder's series of 100 Lomax CDs, along with other information about Lomax. Bruce Jackson is SUNY Distinguished Professor and Samuel P. Capen Professor of American Culture at University at Buffalo. He was director of the Newport Folk Festivals 1965-69 and has been a trustee of the Newport Folk Foundation since 1968. He was president of the American Folklore Society (1995), editor of Journal of American Folklore (1986-1990), and trustee of the American Folklife Center in the Library of Congress (1984-1989, chairman 1988-1999).

making my own from now on. http://www.preciouspets.org/truth.htm

my lack of stock knowledge would kill me trying to do that. I realize a lot of people don't have the time to devote to learning the markets, which is why my initial comment on this topic was a bit arrogant. I have to say that it is a little frustrating to me that a lot of stock prices are now driven more by funds that they belong to than fundamental valuation! and now people trade funds as if they were stocks. much of this has to do with the way many of them are marketed. wonder how many funds quietly went out of business last year? they wont likely appear on any roster of poor performers.