T. Buckingham Thomas

As an aging baby boomer, it was only a few years ago that I reluctantly slipped a cell phone into my pocket. I still communicate mostly at my desk, using the computer and landline phone. I check my emails often but texts rarely. I leave the smartphone switched off unless I'm expecting someone to call that number or I need it for some special purpose away from home — for example, notifying a store or restaurant that I've arrived for curbside pickup.

I'm not typical. Arthur C. Brooks writes in The Atlantic about addiction to mobile devices. “The average smartphone user rarely goes two hours without using her device and unlocks her device 50 or more times a day. You know what I mean: If you have 15 seconds of downtime in an elevator or waiting at a red light, out pops your phone. You are basically just killing time.” He suggests ways to counteract mindless scrolling. “Set times each day or week to look at your smartphone and really focus on it. Don't do anything else; be all about the phone for those minutes, as if it were your job.”

Also some folks, expecting 3:00 AM messages, leave their cellphones on 24 hours a day! Brooks advises, “Silo off parts of your home where your phone is not physically proximate, such as the dinner table and the bedroom. My personal strategy is to plug in my phone in the kitchen at night before I go upstairs to bed. If I wake up during the night, going to check it would take a lot of effort, so I don't.”

Because my messages pop up via email on my desktop computer, my version is to locate it where I can't see it unless I'm actually at the desk.

A year ago, the NSA issued security recommendations to reduce hacking. They suggest turning a phone off and on to reboot it once every week. I'm well within that guideline, but I'll pass the NSA's advice along.

When I was in elementary school, as I reflect in this month's 100 Moons article, the left and the right did not seem to be such mortal enemies.

OCTOBER 16, 2021 LEFT THE BUILDING

Mike Lange, the longtime voice of the Pittsburgh Penguins, has retired after 50 years of broadcasting hockey.

Sometime in the last century, late in a game at Pittsburgh's Civic Arena, the Pens were desperately clinging to a one-goal lead. The issue was in doubt until they stole the puck and scored an empty-net goal. That clinched the win. In effect, the game was over. After describing the play, Lange triumphantly added, “And, ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has just left the building!”

What does Elvis Presley have to do with hockey? Nothing (although Lange's catchphrases were famously context-free). And Elvis did perform at the Arena in 1973 and 1976.

But I remember that two months after The King's death in 1977, there was a CBS-TV special showing his last filmed concert, and the poignant ending included an announcer's voice: “Elvis has left the building.”

Mark Evanier has explained, “Elvis was grotesquely overweight in his final years of touring. On stage, The King performed his greatest hits, accompanied by a group of back-up singers who aided him with the notes he could no longer reach. Even with this help, the ‘King’ still delivered a show so short that, when he left the stage, everyone knew it was just a fake bow-off and he'd be coming back for ten more numbers.

“Only he wasn't coming back: Elvis exited directly to a waiting limousine.

“His fans would be standing and cheering, waiting for him to return and finish the high-priced concert. Then, over the P.A. system, once they were sure the limo was away, the hotel would announce, ‘Elvis has left the building. Thank you and good night.’

“The crowds were always, to say the least, stunned,” but the phrase meant, “Sorry, there won't be any encores. The show's over.”

A casual sports fan might assume the TV crew has placed many cameras in the vicinity of the venue to bring us “beauty shots.” Besides welcoming us to the city, these also serve as backgrounds for large graphics and “billboards” (brief acknowledgments of the sponsors with their logos, for example The second half is brought to you by...)

But is this really a live shot of Chicago from a boat out on Lake Michigan? Probably not.

In many cases nowadays these views aren't live from a circling blimp or drone. They aren't live at all; they're pre-recorded scenes.

Maybe they weren't even recorded the same year. Until recently, if you closely watched a telecast from Pittsburgh, during the billboards you might notice the distinctive dome of the Civic Arena (arrow). It was demolished ten years ago.

Sometime before the turn of the century, I was working a telecast of a Memphis State football game from Liberty Bowl Municipal Stadium. The guys in the tape room had a selection of clips showing local Memphis tourist attractions, something like below, which we were using to assemble a series of billboards.

A local technician quietly suggested that we might want to redo the one featuring scenic #4. It featured an imposing equestrian statue that happened to be the memorial of Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest, the first Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan. We agreed and used a different clip.

By the way, that Jim-Crow-era statue was removed in 2017. Then four months ago, the remains of Forrest and his wife were exhumed from ten feet below the statue's base and taken to a vault in an undisclosed location.

The statues of many other Confederate leaders have been coming down. Robert E. Lee's in Richmond was dismantled only last month.

But Lee was very famous, and other statues of him remain elsewhere, proclaiming the nobility of the rebels — and, by extension, their cause.

The photo on the right shows the Virginia Monument at Gettysburg, dedicated in 1917 at the location of General Lee's greatest defeat.

When it was first proposed in 1903, Northerners raised numerous objections. I've added to the photo the words suggested by John Stewart of nearby Chambersburg, who declared that if such a statue were erected, it should include an admission that Lee and his men were traitors, fighting against a nation to which they had earlier sworn allegiance — a nation “dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal” (as Lincoln had said on these grounds 40 years before).

I've also colorized the rebels' banner, which by the time the statue was erected had become a potent symbol of the Lost Cause and white supremacy.

I don't think I'd use this image as a “beauty shot.”

Now, you see, son, you get yourself a nice stick, and you whittle it down so it's smooth and straight like this. You cut two notches into it, a big one on the end and a shallow one on the side.

Next you need a thin strip of deerskin. Thread one end of the thong into the little notch and leave the rest dangling.

Then you take this gray stone and wedge the flat end into the big notch, like so. You wrap the thong around the stick, real tight, to hold the stone in place. Tie a knot, and you're ready to add some feathers.

I have a couple of those gray stones in my apartment. Where did they come from? I'll speculate in an article about Native American Artifacts.

How do you excite a pro athlete? Change his circumstances. At least that’s what he’ll tell you. Interview him and notice how often he uses the word excited.

That’s the typical athlete. Mr. Excitement. But how about you, Mr. Straight Talker? The trade that brought you to our city — are you excited about it?

When she marries, an American woman such as Sarah Jessica Parker traditionally abandons her “maiden name” and adopts the surname of her husband to become Sarah Jessica Broderick. Their children are also Brodericks.

However, we're learning to respect the woman's identity and allow her to keep her birth name, especially if she's become well-known using that name. Many children of such marriages now include both parents as in “Tabitha Parker-Broderick.”

In Spain, names given to children also honor the mother by including two apellidos or surnames without hyphens, as in “María Castro Molina.” The order is: nombre or given name (Mary), father's first surname (Castle), mother's first surname (Miller). But because the last part is often omitted, this name would be alphabetized under C like the father. Ken Jennings remarks, “Let's not kid ourselves. These are still patriarchal cultures.”

So were the ancient Romans. They too often had three names, but the mother's was not among them.

In Plutarch's Parallel Lives, he explains while introducing Caius Marcius Coriolanus that “Caius was the proper name; the second name, in this case Marcius, was the common name of family or clan; and the third name was adopted subsequently, and bestowed because of some exploit, or fortune, or bodily feature, or special excellence in a man.” In this case Caius Marcius captured a town called Corioles (kuh-RYE-uh-lus), so his cognomen became Coriolanus (kor-e-uh-LANE-us).

So I, having been baptized Thomas with a Buckingham mother and a Thomas father, would have been Thomas Thomas Buckingham if I been born in Spain. And if I been born in ancient Rome, I would have been Thomas Thomas Chyronist.

Here's how racecar driver Louis Wagner described the beginning of his victory on the road course. “Starting in tenth place, my time for the first lap, 28:36, enabled me to overtake and pass Nazzaro and Luttgen, then Heath and Le Blon.”

It required half an hour to complete that first trip around the circuit? As you may have guessed, this was not a recent event. It took place on this date 115 years ago: October 6, 1906. Wagner and his riding mechanic were competing in the third annual Vanderbilt Cup Race near New York City.

Their vehicle, depicted here by Don Packwood, was the #10 Darracq in the French racing color of blue. It was noticeably smaller and lighter than its competition. Unlike that sidelined monster in the background with its flat radiator, the Darracq had a peculiar-looking aerodynamic front, with wire wheels and Michelin tires. Yet it boasted a 775-cubic-inch engine developing a whopping 100 horsepower, and it went on to win the race at an average speed of 62.7 mph.

“The leading cars,” Wagner wrote, “were behaving with wonderful consistency. But the crowd! On rounding the Hairpin Turn for the second time, directly in the road were at least 50 persons as we approached the turn. They swiftly made way, but my car must have brushed at least a dozen coats while taking the turn. I actually shut my eyes and piloted the machine by blind instinct, expecting any moment to mow down several lives. That no one was slain was nothing less than a miracle, for the oil-sodden roadstead — to one traveling faster than a mile a minute — was nothing but a very narrow ribbon fringed at brief intervals with blotches of humanity.

“As for the 11 sharp bends in the course, it was impossible for me to know from my own vision just when and where they may be met. For this knowledge I depended entirely upon my companion who directed the way with his hand.”

The prestigious event soon proved too popular for its own good. Four years later an author attended the last of these Long Island spectacles, and I've quoted liberally from his book to assemble my latest article — including lots of illustrations and even film footage. It's called The Vanderbilt Cup.

Here we see the O'Tent family as they leave their home on a beautiful Sunday morning. The father Imp and his teenage son are walking in one direction, while the mother and her daughters have headed the opposite way.

The men are on their way to a sports bar to watch their hometown team's football game on TV. As always, they've eaten their traditional good-luck breakfast, and now they're wearing their heroes' jerseys. They've brought their caps and banners, of course, and they're loudly singing the team chant. Upon arrival, everyone will grab mugs of beer. They'll join in the cheering whenever their favorites get a first down, and they'll join in the booing whenever the refs throw a flag.

Meanwhile, the women are on their way to church. They're not wearing sports jerseys but their proper “Sunday-go-to-meeting” dresses, and if they're singing anything it's a gospel tune. Once they arrive, they'll stand and sit and kneel at the proper times, recite prayers when prompted, and perhaps consume a wafer and a sip of wine. Most importantly, they'll ask God to improve their lot, both now and even after they die.

All this noise will have no actual effect. Neither the players nor the officials can hear what's happening inside the sports bar. If none of these rituals can influence the outcome of the game, why do they exist?

They hear no reply. Nevertheless, they'll be back again next Sunday.

“Such actions often arise from a place of helplessness, according to Murray State University sports psychologist Daniel Wann.”
(referenced by Maddie Bender in Popular Science, fall 2020).

I'd like to suggest that these actions also arise from a place of helplessness.

“Superstitious practices put fans' minds at ease because they make them feel as if they have some control over the game. There's also a bit of peer pressure involved. Studies show that being part of a team's hype squad offers a sense of belonging and togetherness, which may be behind cheerers' decisions to take part in unusual routines. Plus, when a team wins a nail-biter, you can't help but wonder if your rally cap had something to do with it.”

Religious practices put believers' minds at ease because they make them feel as if they have some control over the future. There's also a bit of peer pressure involved. Studies show that being part of a church's congregation offers a sense of belonging and togetherness, which may be behind hymn-singers' decisions to take part in unusual routines. Plus, when good news arrives, you can't help but wonder if the little gold cross you wear had something to do with it.

Last night CBS aired a two-hour special celebrating the start of the 50th year of its popular daytime game show, The Price Is Right. I could stand to watch only a few minutes of the hyperactive contestants jumping up and down and applauding their chances of winning big.

But I thought the show was even older than that. Sure enough, when they showed a 49-year-old tape of Bob Barker, the title was The New Price Is Right. There was an earlier program by that name?

There certainly was. It premiered on NBC in November of 1956, the same month that our family finally got a TV set. I was not yet ten years old at the time, but I recall seeing it. The affable crew-cut host was Bill Cullen, whom I remember more for his appearances on the panel of I've Got a Secret.

The Price Is Right is now eligible for Social Security. Except for a seven-year gap from 1965 to 1972, it has been on the air not for 50 years but for 65, and it's believed to be the longest-running game show on television!