Celebrating ....

* CELEBRATING OUR 43nd YEAR! * http://www.junto.blogspot.com/ * Dr Franklin's Diary * PhiladelphiaJunto@ymail.com * Meeting @ Philadelphia *



Monday, 13 May 2019

MISS WHAT? HOW TEENS CAN'T SPELL?



OR MAYBE IT'S GUYS WITH BOTH  DR. AND MD TITLES




To william-penn-house@googlegroups.com

TRAVEL NOTES ...



… FROM ALL OVER

                                                                                                   Photo/WritersClearinghouse

The PJ depends on reader support. Please help us by contributing directly via PayPal, or by contributing editorial content via PhiladelphiaJunto@ymail.com. Empowered by WritersClearinghouse | S.P.Q.R. 1976 Richard Carreño, Editor Copyright MMIXX. All Rights Reserved.

Sunday, 12 May 2019

Mountaineering

The Author (Sky High)




The Author (sea-level)



'THAT WAS YOU?!'

Justin T. Carreño
Washington.
Last night I met with a friend from out of town who was here on business taking a training class. He was with other people who were taking the same training class with him when we met up for drinks in downtown DC. There was one guy there with a Boston accent, so I said, "Ah, uh Nu-inglandah!" He said he was from Maine. I said I love Maine, and the last time I was there I climbed Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park on New Years Eve to see the first sunrise of the... new year in the United States -- which falls on Cadillac Mt, ME.

I told him it was freezing the year I went... That there was a couple who had to get flown off the mountain from hypothermia...
(It was extremely cold that year with deep snow. I wore snowshoes and all cold-weather gear. I passed a young couple who was ill-prepared. They were wearing jeans, the girl was wearing "boots with the fur." I stopped and talked to them, finding out they were there from Florida. They were visibly cold, and I advised they likely wouldn't make it much further, and they should probably head back. I carried on.

After making it to the summit for the sunrise, I made my way down, discovering this same couple huddled on the side of the trail. The girl was shivering uncontrollably and said she couldn't feel her fingers. Her bf, also shivering, was trying to keep her warm. I had just completed my EMT training, and I thought a perfect opportunity to assess for hypothermia and frostbite. Her fingers were waxy, in the beginning stages of frostbite, and in obvious beginning stages of hypothermia -- a layman could likely have figured this out, but I could now assess "authoritatively."

There was another single hiker on his way down making his way over to us. I turned to him and I said we either need to get these guys down or call to get them evacuated. We decided to call using our cell phones, which luckily worked. After explaining the situation to the dispatcher, they decided to send a helicopter).

The man from Maine who I was telling this to set his drink down, and said he climbs it every year for New Year's, and when I told him about the couple who got flown off started to describe the incident, and we were finishing each other's sentences... We both looked at each other intently, pensively.... He said, "That was 2013." We both pointed at each other, "That was you?!"

Justin T. Carreño is writer who lives in Washington.

Tuesday, 16 April 2019

Tuesday, 19 March 2019

Coming Soon! John H. McFadden and His Age—Cotton and Culture in Philadelphia




John H. McFadden and His Age
Cotton and Culture in Philadelphia
By Richard Carreño
To be published by Camino in early 2020
Fully Illustrated
In a city permeated by Benjamin Franklin’s legacy, it is easy to believe that the Philadelphia Museum of Art is another of Philadelphia’s ancient and legendary cultural institutions. But unlike the Library Company (1731, thanks to Franklin’s inspiration), the American Philosophical Society (1743, Franklin again), the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts (1805), the Athenaeum of Philadelphia (1814), and the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology (1887), the Philadelphia Museum of Art—as we perceive it today—is a relative youngblood: its colossal building atop Fairmount Hill opened in 1928. Yet the museum’s roots in fact are in the late nineteenth century, in the institution’s first incarnation as the Pennsylvania Museum and School of Industrial Art, chartered in 1876—making it among the defining institutions in the museology in the United States.
     The 1928 iteration of the Philadelphia Museum of Art was born in a time of tumultuous municipal transitional change. In a period of no more than thirty years, Philadelphia had reconsidered how money changed hands, who lived where, and how immigrant Americans would shape the city’s landscape. The museum’s founding was likewise messy: contentious, public, and expensive.
     Unlike the city’s other venerable cultural institutions, the Philadelphia Museum of Art was not the product of a single visionary, nor that of a coterie of affluent connoisseurs. Yet, one Philadelphian figured prominently in shaping the institution’s transformation: John H. McFadden. As the city’s—indeed, the country’s—grandest cotton king, McFadden is well-known as the donor of an important collection of British paintings to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Focusing on late eighteenth- and nineteenth-century portraits and landscapes, the John Howard McFadden Memorial Collection comprises a rich and unified group of forty-three paintings by artists such as Thomas Gainsborough, John Constable, and George Romney.



Sunday, 17 March 2019

John H. McFadden and His Age

Prologue
Will
 1917

On an unusually balmy December day in 1917, John H. McFadden signed his will with a sense of success and modesty. His valet Robert Potts dutifully added his name as one of several witnesses. In 21st-century dollars, the Philadelphia cotton grandee and art patron was a multimillionaire; his estate, at more than $5.2-million ($73-million), [1] was bequeathed to his ‘beloved’ wife Florence and their three adult children. The eldest, Philip, was a high-goal polo player. Alice, the middle child, had a dilettante’s interest in the theatre. The youngest, John H. McFadden, Jr., or ‘Jack,’ was a former U.S. Army officer.

Despite his immense wealth, McFadden was a man of probity. He once told a friend that his aim in life was to create ‘lasting good.’ ‘Then I could die happy.’[2] On 2 December, a day before his 67th birthday, McFadden had that last mission in mind when he put a pen from his favorite stationer, Bailey, Banks & Biddle, to foolscap, and forever sealed the fate of his art collection as a gift to Philadelphia’s cultural patrimony. Or, maybe.


McFadden was an international ‘cotton man.’[3] Among only a handful of such commodity moguls in the late 19th century, he and his older brother, George, reigned over an empire that brokered and shipped raw American and Egyptian cotton worldwide. Millions of cotton bales made their way to mills in England and in New England, and millions of dollars made their way to the coffers of their family firm, Geo. H. McFadden & Bro., Cotton Merchants. [4] By the end of the Spanish-American War in 1898, the McFadden partnership, headed by George as managing director, had become the country’s largest cotton trading venture.

It further established itself as one of America’s first truly multi-national conglomerates,
with shipping and trading interests in Europe, Africa, and in South America. As the otherwise anonymous ‘Bro.,’ John McFadden headed the company’s key Liverpool subsidiary. A third brother, the youngest, got no billing. J. Franklin McFadden, was, like George, Philadelphia based. Like his nephew Philip, Frank, as he was known, was a poloist, enjoying the sport in the city’s Main Line suburbs and in Florida. Whatever their individual contribution, Geo. H. McFadden & Bro. ballooned into a prodigiously remunerative entity, making the three siblings millionaires many times over.

Thursday, 27 September 2018

ONE-PARTY GOVERNMENT

FROM A TO B

The PJ depends on reader support. Please help us by contributing directly via PayPal, or by contributing editorial content via PhiladelphiaJunto@ymail.com. Empowered by WritersClearinghouse | S.P.Q.R. 1976 Richard Carreño, Editor Copyright MMXVIII. All Rights Reserved.

DC Swamp Things


The PJ depends on reader support. Please help us by contributing directly via PayPal, or by contributing editorial content via PhiladelphiaJunto@ymail.com. Empowered by WritersClearinghouse | S.P.Q.R. 1976 Richard Carreño, Editor Copyright MMXVIII. All Rights Reserved.

Friday, 14 September 2018

Philly's Scott Brown gets London Architecture Award

17 October | £10, £5 students
The Sainsbury Wing, National Gallery
Denise Scott Brown has been awarded the 2018 Soane Medal for her contributions to architecture. 

Architect, educator and author of Learning from Las Vegas, Denise Scott Brown's work has had an enormous influence across architecture and urban design.

Join us for a special lecture at the Sainsbury Wing of the National Gallery, which she designed with Robert Venturi. Hear Denise Scott Brown’s lecture, pre-recorded at her home in Philadelphia, accompanied by a selection of her rarely-seen, stunning architectural photographs, followed by a live response by Sir David Chipperfield and a drinks reception.

The PJ depends on reader support. Please help us by contributing directly via PayPal, or by contributing editorial content via PhiladelphiaJunto@ymail.com. Empowered by WritersClearinghouse | S.P.Q.R. 1976 Richard Carreño, Editor Copyright MMXVIII. All Rights Reserved.

Sunday, 12 August 2018

JUSTIN CLIMBS MT. ELBRUS, RUSSIA ON 7 AUGUST



























Justin Carreño successfully summitted Volcano Mt. Elbrus, Russia, the highest point in Europe, 7 August 2018.

Thursday, 26 July 2018

O'HARA AND HEMINGWAY

JOHN O’HARA’S ‘HOW CAN I TELL YOU?’: AN ALLEGORY OF HEMINGWAY’S SUICIDE
By Steven Goldleaf
On July 3rd, 1961, as news of Ernest Hemingway’s death began to circulate, John O’Hara had been sitting in the TV room of his summer cottage at Quogue on the south shore of Long Island with his daughter Wylie, who had just turned 16. Suddenly, O’Hara bolted for his bedroom to retrieve a framed photo, taken some thirty years earlier, of the two successful and prosperous young authors flanking the owner of Manhattan’s Stork Club. Tears streamed down O’Hara’s cheeks. Showing the photograph to his teenaged daughter, he told her, “I understand it so well.”
“It,” of course, was Hemingway’s suicide, and O’Hara never shared his understanding with anyone outside of that Quogue cottage.  Inside the beachfront cottage that day, Wylie didn’t press her father for further details of his understanding, so the remark remains to this day tantalizing. “I understand it so well.” On numerous occasions over the past few decades, I’ve spoken with his daughter, who last month turned 73, and Wylie O’Hara Holahan Doughty, as charming and forthcoming as a literary executor is allowed to be, regrets that those bare details are all that she remembers from that day in 1961.

Sunday, 22 July 2018

Maps


Space, Place, and

Landscapes of Imagination

By Justin T. Carreno
The Wyoming State Geological Survey (WSGS) recently published a Wyoming Cultural Geology Guide, which had me reflecting on my years in Wyoming. In 2002 I arrived in Laramie, WY to pursue my Master’s degree in Geography, focusing on GIS mapping and Satellite Remote Sensing. My Master’s research became a joint project between the University of Wyoming Department of Geography and the WSGS. Some of the most tedious, yet memorable, times were those late nights in my WSGS office, located on campus, working on my research. I’d meticulously create digital geologic maps experimenting with automated algorithms and manual digitizing.

My desk looked out a window. I'd steal glimpses of the clear, moonlit sky, looking across the University of Wyoming campus quad, officially known as Prexy's Pasture. Not quite alone at this hour, I would look out to make sure my two friends were there, and sure enough I'd look out the window and there they were staring at me -- perched stoically in one of the giant oak trees were a male-female pair of Great Horned Owls.

At the WSGS I had the honor to work with one of the leading geologists in the country, Dr. J. David Love, who was 88 years old when I met him, and this is what started my Wyoming geology mapping venture. Dr. Love, a Yale-educated Geologist, dedicated most his life to mapping Wyoming geology. One of his desires was to have his work, the mapped geology of the Wyoming, updated from analog, paper maps to digital format, to make it easily accessible to anyone online through the internet. My work was to research and discover the most effective method of doing this. It would be an involved, time-consuming, multi-year effort.

Wednesday, 27 June 2018

In Isle Four ...

Dominican Republic

… Palm Trees and Squalor

By Justin T. Carreño
Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic
The Dominican Republic juxtaposes extravagance and squalor. Most visitors head straight to their all-inclusive "white-washed," clean, beautiful, albeit, generic Caribbean beach resorts owned primarily by Americanos, isolated and sheltered from the reality of the poverty and pollution that plagues this third-world state.
 
I enjoy immersing myself in the culture, language, and people of countries I visit, I skipped the beaches, and went straight to the capital, Santo Domingo, and surrounding areas.
 
We were greeted by a crumbling infrastructure, security personnel guarding establishments with sawed-off shot guns, and streets lined with trash.
 
Third-world countries often share similar traits, including such things as fresh foods and friendly people, but also rampant corruption, which I experienced first-hand when I was pulled over by a representative of the National Police for no reason, given a shakedown, wherein he politely asked me to empty my wallet.
 
This sounds bad and is sad, but what's worse is that their neighbors in Haiti flee their country, mostly crossing the border illegally, to find "opportunity" and a better life in the DR. They end up living in squalor -- but maybe a better squalor?

Fascinating, eye-opening trip, but I don't think I'll find myself going back anytime soon.
 
What I did think was interesting is that in every store of the DR's national grocery store chain, Super Mercado Nacional, opera music was playing, so you walk out with Pavarotti singing Nessun Dorma in your head. Adds a pleasant contrast to the walk home through
the filth.
 
Justin T. Carreño is a writer based in Washington.

 

Book Review: Romance for the Beach

How to Walk Away
by Katherine Center
St Martins’s Press
By Jackie Atkins
Make no mistake about it, this is a Pantyhose Network book, a summertime-I’m-on-the-beach-don’t-kick-sand-in-my-face head turner. It is the hot book of the summer with a red cover, white type and a title reeking of duplicity. It will turn heads on a chair by the pool, or garner a second glance when left on a cubicle desk top. 

So much for the value of marketing. It is as close to fine literature as an QVC clothing special is to haute couture. If it weren’t for the endless chapters on hospital procedures and physical therapy methods, How to Walk Away would be a very nice read. Formula writing at its mediocre best, which is a shame because Katherine Center is a very talented scribe.
Her free flowing prose allows you to disregard the unethical story line and preposterousness of the young girl having everything (Maggie Jacobsen, defined by snagging a young up and coming fiancé and a job she is clearly unqualified to do) and loosing it all (courtesy of this man who walks on water) only to be swept away in the stoic arms of her physical therapist.
A Fairy Tale originally was defined as a story written for children. Now it is a saga, marked by seemingly unreal beauty, perfection, luck or happiness. 
This romance allows the Heroine to escape the domain of a me-sex- possessed-excessively-ambitious fiancé along with his meddlesome would be mother-in-law by clinging to a dreamboat moody Heathcliff of an aloof man with a Scottish brogue and possible Green Card problems. 
It has a happy and implausible ending. I am not here to wrap up the other plot line, which has to do with her runaway sister, except to say, this loony tale also is neatly wrapped up in a tidy package right about the time said Heroine flies to France to crash the wedding of her ex-fiancé to her ex-BFF.
 
When I read something like this I weep for my gender. This story line is as liberating to women and as smoking Virginia Slims.
 
First this modern lonesome tale of overcoming adversity is based on the old premise, “Some day my Prince will come.” True, this is a Romance but the hard cover does not mast the paper back Harlequin plot line. Worst the only thing which makes this modern is the apparent horniness of the heroine during courtship and the driving energy of her Type A, me-first fiancé to take charge. 
Although she clearly has a fear of flying (Erica Jong double entendre explained tediously in the first chapter) her doofus empathy free entitled man of her dreams insists she go with him on an evening flight even though he has no license to land in adverse conditions. And guess what happens next? Well, after he proposes, hands over his grandmother’s ring, bingo the winds pick up and he crash lands.  Right about here in real life on TV we should break for a commercial on glass smear proof dish washer pellets. Unfortunately if you are reading the book we are air lifted away to a hospital.
Where we have to scan monotonous medical procedures punctured by visits from family and Chip (yes that’s Mr. Dreamboat’s name) and Chip’s mother. Mommy is worried Chip’s has needs Maggie can no longer fulfill. She wants Maggie to call off the engagement. I this point, on cable, we would zip into a video on vaginal deodorant. In the book she throws the ring at her.
Now let’s cut to a liberated woman’s mentality, Harlequin readers. why, why, why can,t our heroine see the obvious handwriting on the wall?
 
The love of her life should be her lawyer. Throwing away a ring shouldn't end your relationship with Chip. It should tether him to your wheelchair pushing it with monthly checks from a structured settlement account on your winning law suit. That way he will always be a part of you and you to him and your attorney spouse, who is bound to you and your judgement payments. I know, just call me a romantic.
 
 
 
 

Tuesday, 26 June 2018

Hey Julian, Can You Come Out and Play?






Even though the police have abandoned watching the site, Julian Assange is still holed up in the Ecuador Embassy in London, near Harrod's in Kensington. (Photos: Richard Carreño/WritersClearinghousePress).



The PJ depends on reader support. Please help us by contributing directly via PayPal, or by contributing editorial content via PhiladelphiaJunto@ymail.com. Empowered by WritersClearinghouse | S.P.Q.R. 1976 Richard Carreño, Editor Copyright MMXVIII. All Rights Reserved.

Monday, 25 June 2018

What a Difference a Beach Makes



In Punta Cana, Dominican Republic...
... In Santo Domingo.

Yesterday. (Photo Below: WritersClearinghousePress)


The PJ depends on reader support. Please help us by contributing directly via PayPal, or by contributing editorial content via PhiladelphiaJunto@ymail.com. Empowered by WritersClearinghouse | S.P.Q.R. 1976 Richard Carreño, Editor Copyright MMXVIII. All Rights Reserved.

Traffic Countdown


In Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, pedestrians don't get the countdown. Traffic does. Yesterday. (Photo: WritersClearinghousePress).

The PJ depends on reader support. Please help us by contributing directly via PayPal, or by contributing editorial content via PhiladelphiaJunto@ymail.com. Empowered by WritersClearinghouse | S.P.Q.R. 1976 Richard Carreño, Editor Copyright MMXVIII. All Rights Reserved.

Wrong Turn



Downtown Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic. Yesterday.  (Photos: WritersClearinghousePress) 

Tuesday, 29 May 2018

IN PHILADELPHIA EVERYONE READS THE JUNTO!

The Junto depends on reader support. Please help us by contributing directly via PayPal, or by contributing editorial content via PhiladelphiaJunto@ymail.com. Empowered by WritersClearinghouse | S.P.Q.R. 1976 Richard Carreño, Editor Copyright MMXVIII. All Rights Reserved.

Monday, 16 April 2018

The 'New' Penn Museum




The PJ depends on reader support. Please help us by contributing directly via PayPal, or by contributing editorial content via PhiladelphiaJunto@ymail.com. Empowered by WritersClearinghouse | S.P.Q.R. 1976 Richard Carreño, Editor Copyright MMXVIII. All Rights Reserved.

Wednesday, 21 February 2018

'Horrid' in Buenos Aires





 
 
[Photos by WritersClearinghouse News Service]
Won the War, Lost Their Hearts
By Richard Carreño
Buenos Aires
Argentinians have had a love-hate relationship with the British as long as memory (history) can serve. From invasions in the 19th century (twice) to the awkwardness of a 1982 war over a constellation of rocks (islands) known as the Falklands to the Brits and the Malvinas to the Argies (they lost), tensions have often run high between the two countries. Conversely, nowhere -- aside from in Britain's kissin' cousin, the United States -- has the popular culture of the United Kingdom reigned with such alacrity as in this capital city.
 
It came with the railroads, built by British engineers with funding from the City, London's Wall Street. In a horse-oriented culture, polo followed. English-styled clubs (the sporting Jockey included) soon appeared. As did English-styled fashion with a Savile Row cut, popularized by the city's male elite.

Even a version of Big Ben (the British Tower) rose up, a favorite meeting site for Porteños, as citizens of this port city are known. Until 1982, that is.
It was known as Torre Monumental afterward. Before 1982 Torre de los Ingleses (Tower of the English) is a clock tower located in the barrio (district) of RetiroBuenos AiresArgentina. It is situated in the Plaza Fuerza Aérea Argentina (formerly Plaza Británica) next to the Calle San Martín and Avenida del Libertador. It was a gift from the local British community to the city in commemoration of the centennial of the May Revolution of 1810. [1].
After the Falklands War in 1982, the tower was renamed Torre Monumental, though some still call it Torre des Ingleses.

Tuesday, 2 January 2018

SHAME!


Saturday, 30 December 2017

LOOK FOR IT THERE...

PHILABOOKS|BOOKSELLERS
 

BUY IT HERE!
WHY PAY AMAZON PRICES?
Simply use Philabooks' Amazon.com 'shop' web page. Make your selection. SEE 'PRODUCT' LISTINGS. Most of our book catalogue is posted there. But then purchase directly via philabooks@yahoo.com. PayPal ready. We'll take care of the rest. No tax. Shipping at cost!  And for a limited time, you'll get 20 percent off the listed Amazon price. For purchases of two or more books in one order, score 25 percent off!

START NOW @
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A smaller, specialized catalogue is curated @

philabooksbooksellers.blogspot.com


The PJ depends exclusively on reader support. Please help us continue by contributing directly via PayPal, or by contributing editorial content via PhiladelphiaJunto@ymail.com. Empowered by WritersClearinghouse | S.P.Q.R. 1976 Richard Carreño, Editor Copyright MMXVIII. All Rights Reserved.

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