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Vom 8. bis zum 10. Oktober 1871 wütete in Chicago ein großer Brand. Eine Strecke von 6 Kilometern Länge und etwa einem Kilometer Breite wurde dabei zerstört. 17 000 Gebäude brannten aus und 300 000 Menschen wurden in kürzester Zeit obdachlos. Außerdem verbrannten viele Güter, und leider starben auch einige Menschen in den Flammen. Obwohl bis heute diverse Theorien über die Entstehung des Brandes kursieren, soll der Brandstifter auf dem Sterbebett das absichtliche Legen des Brandes in einer Scheune gestanden haben.Bei allem Grauen und Schrecken dieses Brandes und den Auswirkungen, die noch bis in spätere Generationen spürbar waren, gab es auch eine erfreuliche Nachricht in der Tragödie. Weil man dem Feuer keinen Einhalt gebieten konnte und alles schiefging, was nur schiefgehen konnte, stellte sich der Westteil der Stadt schon auf die vollständige Zerstörung durch die Flammen ein. Doch das Feuer konnte an der Madison-Street-Brücke nicht in den Westen gelangen. Die Flammen sprangen noch auf eine Getreidemühle über, die durch eine dampfbetriebene Pumpe dauergekühlt wurde. Die Mühle brannte ab, aber das Feuer gelangte nicht darüber hinaus. Ein ganzer Stadtteil wurde durch die Mühle vor den Flammen bewahrt.Die Bibel berichtet uns von einem ähnlichen Phänomen mit noch viel größerer Tragweite. Als der Sohn Gottes, Jesus Christus, an einem rauen Holz auf dem Hügel Golgatha hing, entlud sich das ganze Gericht Gottes an ihm. Alle, die sich seither hinter Jesus stellen, indem sie an ihn glauben, werden vor dem kommenden Gericht verschont. Wie ein Blitzableiter im Sturm, ein siegreicher Vorkämpfer in der Schlacht oder die Getreidemühle in der Madison-Street verhinderte Jesus Christus, dass das Feuer des Gericht auf uns übergreifen kann.Alexander StrunkDiese und viele weitere Andachten online lesenWeitere Informationen zu »Leben ist mehr« erhalten Sie unter www.lebenistmehr.deAudioaufnahmen: Radio Segenswelle
On Sunday, September 29, the Pine Hills neighborhood of Albany hosted the annual Madison Street Fair. A section of Madison Avenue was closed and filled with booths, food, music and games. Moses Nagel was there for Hudson Mohawk Magazine. His report begins with Albany Mayor, Kathy Sheehan, crowning Ric Chesser, founder and director of the Steamer 10 Theatre, king of the fair.
Perhaps you've noticed a lot of construction on Seattle streets this year: new bike lanes along MLK, fresh pavement and bus shelters on Madison Street, and sidewalk replacements across the city. That's because the Seattle Department of Transportation has money to spend. In 2015, voters passed a $930 million transportation levy called “Move Seattle.” And initially, Seattle was slow moving that money out the door. “Move Seattle” expires this year and Seattle voters will likely be deciding on whether to raise their property taxes again for a new transportation levy this fall. And this one is clocking in at over $1.5 billion. Tomorrow, the city council plans to vote on the final version of a Seattle transportation levy that will appear on ballots in November. Guests: Greg Spotts, Director of the Seattle Department of Transportation Related Links: The Urbanist: SDOT Sprints Toward the End of the Move Seattle Era Seattle Times: Sidewalks top of mind for Seattle's priciest-ever transportation levy KUOW: $1B for sidewalks, bike lanes, and road repairs: Seattle transportation levy ahead See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
From the Henssler Financial Studios this is your news minute on the Marietta Daily Journal Podcast presented by Engineered Solutions of Georgia. Today is Monday July 24th, and I'm Brian Giffin . The city of Smyrna has a new contract with Acworth, Powder Springs, Sandy Springs, and Marietta to house inmates at $75 per day, a 50% increase from previous arrangements with those cities. The intergovernmental agreement has standardized booking and bonding procedures, applied at different times for each city. The Smyrna City Council plans to allocate over $625,000 for purchases, repairs, and property enhancements, such as landscaping the town square and pavilion entrance. Key expenses include replacing a water main line and sewer in Ward 5. The Council will also consider funding improvements in various city locations and review a zoning request for six single-family homes on Madison Street. The public's input will be sought regarding maintaining the current millage rate of 8.99, unchanged since 2008. Read more about this story at mdjonline.com. For the Daily Journal Podcast I'm Brian Giffin. www.esogrepair.com www.henssler.comSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
GUEST OVERVIEW: Shaun Attwood is an English former ecstasy trafficker turned YouTuber, speaker, activist and author. He's the author of a dozen books on crime, the Mafia, the Government and Host of 'The Shaun Attwood's True Crime' channel on You Tube. In 2004, from inside the maximum-security Madison Street jail, Attwood wrote about his experiences. These accounts were posted online as the first ever prison blog titled "Jon's Jail Journal" to preserve his anonymity; this began to draw international media attention to the conditions that prevailed under Sheriff Joe Arpaio. In 2007, Attwood was released and deported to the UK, where he started the first ever prison YouTube channel under his name. He continues to maintain his blog, now under his own name, where he publishes letters and accounts sent to him by other prisoners. Attwood now gives talks to schoolchildren and other groups about the negative consequences of drugs and crime, and advocates against Arpaio and his methods. Shaun has given several TEDx Talks on his experiences.
Yet Another Chinatown Building Burns at 80 Madison as This Time 4 Dead, Questions Mount by Matthew Russell Lee, Patreon https://www.patreon.com/MatthewRussellLee CHINATOWN NYC, June 20 -- A three-alarm fire killed four people and emptied the apartment building at 80 Madison Street in Chinatown early on June 20.It is the most recent in a spate of local fires, about which Chinatown residents are asking more and more questions. Inner City Press interviewed several, pressed up against the yellow police tape on Catherine Street. "This is the third fire," said a woman who gave her name only as Tonya. Another man blamed the fire on the e-bike repair store on the first floor of 80 Madison, which it emerged -- through FDNY chainsaws -- had spread bike parts into the newsstand next door. A pile of torched e-bikes and scooters, with torn cardboard and yellow tape, stood in front of Catherine Deli and Bagels, a neighborhood standby. It had a Closed sign dangling where the front door had been. One local asked loudly, "Where are the electeds?" The primary for City Council is on June 27, and posters plaster the neighborhood. Will the City's Adams administration see a pattern here and react? Watch this site - Inner City Press' Downtown News Service.Back on March 24, 2023 an apartment building burned down at 47 Mott Street in Chinatown. Inner City Press covered it. Local Assemblymember Grace Lee said the building has been owned by the Lin Sing Association. Inner City Press was told by Red Cross personnel at the police Do Not Cross tape that more than 20 families have been displaced. As of June 20, 47 Mott Street remains plywooded over.Inner City Press will continue to cover Chinatown and its struggles, through its Downtown News Service. Photo here. Watch this site.***Your support means a lot. As little as $5 a month helps keep us going and grants you access to exclusive bonus material on our Patreon page. Click here to become a patron. https://www.patreon.com/MatthewRussellLee
In this episode of our Business Ninja podcast, join Kelsey and Arturo Martinovich, Managing Director of Madison Street Capital, is a global investment banking firm that provides a range of financial advisory services to businesses, including mergers and acquisitions (M&A) advisory, corporate financing, valuation, and financial opinions.Madison Street Capital offers its services to both public and private companies across various industries. The firm specializes in assisting middle-market businesses in navigating complex transactions and strategic decisions. Their team of professionals works closely with clients to understand their unique needs and provide tailored solutions to achieve their financial goals.-----Do you want to be interviewed for your business? Schedule time with us, and we'll create a podcast like this for your business: https://www.WriteForMe.io/-----https://www.facebook.com/writeforme.iohttps://www.instagram.com/writeforme.io/https://twitter.com/writeformeiohttps://www.linkedin.com/company/writeforme/https://www.pinterest.com/andysteuer/Want to be interviewed on our Business Ninjas podcast? Schedule time with us now, and we'll make it happen right away! Check out WriteForMe, more than just a Content Agency! See the Faces Behind The Voices on our YouTube Channel!
In this episode of "KT in the City" podcast, host KT sits down with Tiffany Veney, the owner of Madison Street Build and Design Group, to discuss her journey in the real estate industry. Tiffany shares her experiences of starting out in a male-dominated field and how she overcame obstacles to become a successful businesswoman. The conversation also touches upon the importance of financial education and building generational wealth. Listeners will gain insights into the challenges and opportunities of the real estate industry, as well as learn valuable lessons about building financial stability and wealth for the future. Instagram @madisonstreetllc Website https://www.madisonstreetdesigns.com
The Alaskan Way Seawall, which stretches from just north of Broad Street south to Washington Street beneath Pioneer Square, is responsible for creating the flat ledge of land on Seattle's center waterfront. The shallower portion south of Madison Street was built in the 1910s and 1920s, while the more problematic and challenging northern halkf wouldn't be finished until 1936.. In order to create stable, level ground on which to construct streets, install railroad tracks, and manage passengers and freight travelling between land and sea, a quarter million cubic yards of fill were poured behind the wall. The central waterfront was redefined by the barrier, which also made room for a north-south transit corridor that would soon supplant the central waterfront's traditional nautical operations.Listen now to learn more about this fascinating and challenging project to tame the Seattle waterfront!A special thank you goes out to Al Hirsch for providing the music for the podcast, check him out on YouTube.Find merchandise for the podcast now available at: https://washington-history-by-jon-c.creator-spring.comIf you enjoy the podcast and would like to contribute, please visit: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/EvergreenpodIf you have any questions, episode ideas you'd like to see explored, or just have a general comment, please reach out at Historyoftheevergreenstatepod@gmail.comTo keep up on news for the podcast and other related announcements, please like and follow:https://www.facebook.com/HistoryoftheevergreenstatepodcastFind the podcast over on Instagram as well: @HISTORY_EVERGREENSTATEPODCASTYou can also find the podcast over on YouTube:http://www.youtube.com/@historyoftheevergreenstatepodThank you for listening to another episode of the History of the Evergreen State Podcast!
Download the “65 Investment Terms You MUST Know to Reach Your Financial Goals” for FREE by going to https://TodaysMarketExplained.com/ Dane Sanders (http://www.madisonstreetcapital.com/), the Managing Director of Madison Street Capital in Chicago. Dane provides an update on the corporate finance world in the middle market area, which is where the company operates. He discusses the impact of recent economic challenges such as inflation and layoffs, and shares his insights on why 2023 is expected to be a good year, especially for M&A in the middle market. In this episode Brian and Dane Sanders discuss: 1. Smart Business Planning 2. Business Resilience 3. Capital Markets 4. Pragmatism In Deal Making https://www.linkedin.com/in/dane1/ Follow us here to see short videos of all our best investing tips: TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@todaysmarketexplained Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/TodaysMarketExplained YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@todaysmarketexplained Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TodaysMarketExplained Twitter: https://twitter.com/PodcastTME Website: https://todaysmarketexplained.com/ DISCLAIMER: This podcast is provided by FourStar Wealth Advisors for the general public and general information purposes only. This content is not considered to be an offer to buy or sell any securities or investments. Investing involves the risk of loss and an investor should be prepared to bear potential losses. Investment should only be made after thorough review with your investment advisor considering all factors including personal goals, needs and risk tolerance. FourStar is an SEC registered investment advisor that maintains a principal business in the state of Illinois. The firm may only transact business in states in which it has filed or qualifies for a corresponding exemption from such requirements. For information about FourStar's registration status and business operations please consult the firm's form ADV disclosure documents, the most recent versions of which are available on the SEC investment advisory public disclosure website at www.adviserinfo.sec.gov
When Football Is Football is part of the Sports History Network - The Headquarters For Sports Yesteryear.EPISODE SUMMARYNo one knew it existed. But suddenly, there it was: a dusty, withered document, that brought a quick end to a daring rivalry, disrupted an NFL team's plans for an economic revival, and may have even saved the NFL. That was then, but six decades later, no one knows where this incredibly valuable manuscript is hiding. Read the entire episode blog post and check out some other cool info regarding this episode here.WHEN FOOTBALL WAS FOOTBALL BACKGROUNDEach episode takes the listener back to the very early days of the National Football League. Author Joe Ziemba will share a forgotten or lost story from one of the NFL's two oldest teams: The Bears and the Cardinals. Team championships, individual exploits, or long-buried items of interest from the earliest years of the NFL will be dusted off and resurrected for the listener. Not for the football faint-of-heart since these programs will document when the struggling Bears nearly went out of business or when Cardinals' players earned $15 a game and were proud of it! It's NFL history—with a twist!. See Joe's books below.Cadets, Canons, and Legends: The Football History of Morgan Park Military AcademyWhen Football Was Football: The Chicago Cardinals and the Birth of the NFLMusic for the episode - https://www.purple-planet.com/
In this episode, I'm chatting with Mary Callopy Mollman, owner of Madison Street Books in Chicago's West Loop, about small publishers and imprints, sites to see in Chicago, what to consider when opening an indie bookshop, and books!Madison Street Books is an independent bookshop in Chicago's West Loop owned by Mary Collopy Mollman. Its focus and vision are to be a community-minded space with something in store for everyone. Madison Street BooksShoreline Boat Cruises The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, Taylor Jenkins Reid The Silent Patient, Alex Michaelides Colleen Hoover Books The Door, Magda Szabo Madison Street Books on Tik Tok The Bookshop Podcast on TikTok American Writers MuseumSupport the show
WE THOUGHT WE'D TRY SOMETHING NEW IN THIS EPISODE SO WE UNPACKED A RECENT INSTAGRAM POST THAT SEEMED TO STRIKE A CHORD WITH WORSHIP LEADERS “WHAT THEY MIGHT NOT TEACH YOU IN MINISTRY SCHOOL”. MANY OF US COULD SAY WE DID LEARN A LOT IN MINISTRY SCHOOL BUT LIKE WITH MOST THINGS, YOU'RE NOT GOING TO LEARN EVERYTHING! THERE'S NOTHING LIKE EXPERIENCE AND THE WORLD AROUND US TO BE THE BEST OF TEACHERS ALONG THE WAY. WE INVITED OUR GOOD FRIENDS BAILY HAGER AND HARLEY ROWELL FROM MADISON STREET WORSHIP WITH US TO DIVE INTO THE CONVO! WE THINK YOU'RE GOING TO LIKE THIS QUITE A LOT! THANKS FOR TUNING IN TODAY! KNOW YOU'VE BEEN CALLED TO THE KINGDOM FOR SUCH A TIME AS THIS. HAVE QUESTIONS OR SOME THOUGHTS? WE'D LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU! DROP US AN EMAIL AT HELLO@WORSHIPLEADERSCOLLECTIVE.COM TOGETHER WE HELP MOVE CHURCH FORWARD! WWW.WORSHIPLEADERSCOLLECTIVE.COM
Citing a rash of thefts that have plagued the location, a Trader Joe's grocery store in Seattle's Capitol Hill neighborhood has announced that it will stop selling liquor in an effort to curb the crime.The manager of the store, located on Madison Street, says the site will stop selling hard liquor but will continue to sell wine and beer.Store officials did not provide details about any incidents in particular but according to crime data from the area, 67% of the 21 property crimes reported in 2022 were shoplifting offenses.LIKE & SUBSCRIBE for new videos everyday. https://bit.ly/3KBUDSK
"Hey Lynette, I just finished another story and posted it on Facebook. I haven't recorded it yet, so would you mind pulling it up on my page and reading it out loud?" I asked, pointing to the second paragraph showing her where to start and then having a seat next to her to listen. Thirty-four years have passed since the night I first met Lynette. In a way, it feels like five lifetimes ago, and some days I can recall the encounter like it was yesterday. We've both been through plenty since we were teenagers. Kids, failed marriages, and mortgages can sure keep two people occupied for three decades. We grew older, lost touch, and moved on with our lives. But, a lot can happen over a few months. We managed to find one another again, and I'd like to share the rest of our story in a unique way. August 14, 1988, was our first kiss. Today is August 14, 2022, which will hopefully be a special day too. Lynette and I had been friends on Facebook for a while, but we never commented on posts or acknowledged each other. One day out of the blue, I received a message from my first love on the popular platform. She'd seen where I publicly announced my divorce and wanted me to know she was also dealing with the same circumstances. I immediately felt better knowing someone out there was going through a tough time just like me and was willing to provide an ear whenever I needed it. There we were, both around fifty years old and all of a sudden, we're pen pals again. Thanks to technology, we didn't have to wait weeks for a letter. After a few days of texting, we decided to have an actual phone conversation. I planned to tell Lynette my intentions when I drove to Gurnee three decades ago to see her. She'd finally know the trip wasn't just a friendly visit. She would hear me say that I had made the journey to reveal my feelings. I mean, what did I have to lose? The chance to finally get this off my chest was within reach, and I was not about to mess it up again. Nobody ever gets this chance, and I mean nobody, ever! The gesture was more about speaking it out into the universe and less about continuing a love story that was over so long ago. I drove down Madison Street to the abandoned movie theater, where we shared our first kiss. This time I was no longer an unsure kid who had no idea how to communicate. After sitting in the parking lot reliving that special night in '88 for a few moments, I made the call. As the phone rang, I recalled the last time we'd ever spoken, well, until now. Maybe things would have been different had I known I'd never see Lynette again. Then she answered. Suddenly I was seventeen again, talking to the most beautiful girl in the world on the other end of the line. Who knows how many hours we spoke? I know that I watched the sun drop behind the horizon, and most of the conversation was in the dark while I sat in the front seat of my Jeep in that empty parking lot. It was nice to toss my teenage feelings into the atmosphere finally.Days transformed into weeks, and weeks slid into months as we got to know each other again. We didn't miss a day on the phone or a chance to FaceTime. I learned about Lynette's family, and she listened while I chatted about mine. Our lives had certainly changed since our first encounter, but something special remained. Affection found its way back into two hearts that had lost all hope and decided to shine brighter than ever. We both agreed it was time to meet again, so the planning began. We booked the flight and counted down the days until I picked Lynette up at the airport. I recently expressed how I felt years ago over the phone. But I refused to tell her I was in love with her still today until we met in person. I knew I'd soon get my chance. The drive home from the airport was forty-five minutes filled with giggling and hand holding. Once we made it into the house with her luggage, I decided not to waste a single minute. Music played, and we danced right in my living room. It was our first dance."Hey, Lynette," I said with a grin from ear to ear. She looked up into my eyes, waiting for me to continue. "I was wondering if you'd be my girlfriend?" After a short pause that lasted long enough to smile, she said yes. We danced a little more, and then I said, "I love you," for the first time in our lives. She said it back to me. We continued to dance. Life doesn't get any better than that. For two weeks, we went on dates, spent time with family, and grew closer. We knew she'd eventually have to go back home, but we kept that thought pushed to the back of our brains. Nothing would ruin this occasion, this grand reunion. We'd even discussed the possibility of her moving in with me by October. It sounded like a good plan, but three months was a long time, especially considering how we felt. We convinced ourselves that ninety days was a drop in the bucket compared to the thirty years we've spent apart, and it would go by quickly. Returning to the airport allowed all those first-date feelings from 1988 to resurface. Once again, my heart felt like it was being ripped out, but at least this time, I knew I'd see my Lynette again. She was barely back home in Illinois a day before we discussed the possibility of her moving in sooner than October. After a quick change of plans, we decided three weeks sounded better than three months. Lynette quit her job up north and found a new one here. She said goodbye to friends and her church family. She left her life there to start a new one with me in Clarksville. That moment on Sunday, August 14, 1988, brings us to today, Sunday, August 14, 2022. Lynette told me in a conversation we'd had months ago that if I ever proposed, she'd like to wear my birthstone, a ruby. We'd already retraced all the places we went on our first date during the previous visit, so I chose the perfect spot to ask the question. Our next chapter will start in this living room, where I told Lynette I loved her for the first time. As Lynette reads this very sentence from a story that waited three decades to unfold on my keyboard, I'll reach in my pocket and pull out a ring. My girl is trying to read as she watches me kneel with a pink ruby in my hand. I chose the particular color because I think it looks good on her, and I picked the vintage eternity white gold band because it reminds me of the number eight on both sides of the gem. Hopefully, Lynette will always see eighty-eight when she looks at it. And I had to have the date August 14, 1988, engraved on the inside. I only have one thing left to do now."Alright, Lynette, you can stop reading now," I said Before she went any further. Then I asked this question, "Lynette, will you marry me?" And she said yes.
Michele and Jamie are joined by Crystal, the President of the Madison Street Festival! Talk all things Pop Culture, Mom Life, and how much we hate SNACKS!!! --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app
Springfield police say they searched a known hangout of the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club on Monday afternoon for information related to a drive-by shooting that took place last week. According to a Springfield Police Department spokesperson, the shooting took place in the 800 block of South West Avenue at about 7:45 p.m. on April 27 and one person sustained a non-life-threatening injury. According to the Springfield Police Department, the search warrant was served at the motorcycle club hangout near the corner of West Avenue and Madison Street. Members of the Springfield Police Department as well as SPD officers who are a part of an FBI task force searched the property. --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/motorcyclemadhouse/message
The Peace Corner Youth Center is a safe haven for youth on Madison Street in the Austin neighborhood. With parental involvement and support, school-aged children and young adults learn valuable life skills and engage in after-school programming, academic enrichment, civic engagement and a variety of sports and recreational activities. In March, the 13-14 Boys Basketball Team won a division championship for the Westside Sports League in a thrilling victory. Join Katie Bredemann as she welcomes Christie Richardson, Melissa Lucas, Brandon Wilkerson and Sargent Jermaine Harris, of the Chicago Police Department to learn more about the Peace Corner Youth Center, this special team of players and their hard-earned achievement this spring.
Sunday evening was always more enjoyable than the morning at Pleasant View Baptist. A laid-back atmosphere of blue jeans and talk of the day's afternoon football game before the service is a better fit, and I don't even care for football. Brother Larry never failed to deliver some goofy greeting as soon as I stepped through the side door, and Brother Ben made me feel at ease with his generous smile. The church was my second home throughout the eighties, and I wouldn't have changed anything. I was familiar with every face behind those walls regardless of what day or night I showed up. However, one young woman managed to catch me off guard on an August night in '88. The instant the door shut behind me, Larry, my youth director, screamed from down the hall by his office, "Brother Chris, in the building!" He caught me off guard a little, but I'd think something was wrong if he didn't. We struck up a conversation, and I greeted Brother Clegg as he passed by to shake my hand along with a handful of others. On most occasions, I'd listen intently to whatever my youth director had to say, but distraction reared its beautiful face on this particular evening. She appeared out of nowhere from around the corner and walked right by me, pausing long enough to show her smile before vanishing into the auditorium. "Hey Chris, are you still with me, buddy?" Larry said before snapping his fingers to bring me out of my trance. I forgot I was speaking to anyone for an instant, and my chest filled with incandescent fireflies fluttering around, tossing me into a lightheaded frenzy. "Wait, what? What did you say, Larry?" I muttered while trying to recover. "You were looking at that girl, weren't you? It's Lynette. She's Aleta's sister from Illinois. I can introduce you?" "No. No, no. Absolutely not," frantically escaped my mouth, trying to avoid any embarrassment that would surely accompany the introduction. After excusing myself, I headed toward my usual spot, which happened to be a couple of rows down from and directly behind some girl who robbed me of every ounce of sense with a passing glance. It was only the back of her head, but I couldn't pull my eyes away the entire hour. I usually at least hear a couple of things during the sermon that hit home or give me something to think about but not this night. My brain refused to work at all. Any lingering thoughts zipped right through the ceiling out into space somewhere, leaving me mesmerized by the stranger. Toward the end of Brother Clegg's presentation, Lynette briefly looked to her left, giving me a glimpse of her profile. The fireflies in my chest swirled around as if they would eventually burst through my ribcage and fill the entire room. Her body turned to face me with no warning, while her brown eyes pulled me in, igniting an unfamiliar sensation. Our synchronized smiles signaled an undeniable connection between two kids who had no choice but to give in. A friendship began before a single word inched from our mouths, sculpted by a gaze and a grin. After the final prayer and without hesitation, we approached one another and introduced ourselves. We ended up outside and immediately began talking like we'd known each other for a lifetime. My interaction with any female until this point never failed to be riddled with awkwardness. Once she told me her family would be leaving Clarksville the next day, I knew there was no time to waste. "Would you like to go see a movie with me? I'd like to see Young Guns; it's playing over on Madison Street," I asked, hoping she'd say yes with every ounce of energy in my soul. "I'd love to see a movie with you, but we need to ask my parents first," she responded. Her mom and dad agreed to let us go on a date as long as we returned safely and promptly after the show. They reminded their daughter a long drive started early the following day before we left together. The two of us didn't hold hands on the way to the car, but the shoulder-to-shoulder stroll made me happy regardless. Being close to her filled me with joy, and I believe she felt the same. I made sure to open her door before walking around to the driver's seat. It was only a few steps, but it was longer than I wanted to be away from Lynette. Keeping my eyes on the road was next to impossible. The darkness hid Lynette's face, but each streetlamp provided me with enough light to catch a few minor details that would permanently etch themselves into my thoughts. And I didn't want to miss one opportunity to admire the subtle glow from her skin with each temporary flash. Our hands met for the first time on that drive to the cinema, and her touch sent electricity through my fingertips directly into my welcoming heart. We'd only met moments before, but neither of us could deny the allure. Before entering the building, I knew the movie was a mistake. The last thing I wanted to do was sit there in silence for two hours. Our time was precious, and I wanted to explore her thoughts, make her laugh, and leave with a memory of Lynette and not Billy The Kid. After walking through the lobby and taking a seat, the film began right away. Before the opening credits even finished, her head found a place on my shoulder, and it fit as well as two tiny puzzle pieces. Once I squeezed in as close as possible, she directed her attention away from the screen and back into my eyes. It wasn't long before every seat and bag of popcorn vanished around us, and we kissed. "I don't think I want to see this movie anymore," I whispered, hoping for the same response."Let's go somewhere else," she said into my ear. We ended up at a nearby park with enough light to reveal her face, so I didn't have to settle for brief photographs. Euphoria tangled into a mixture of despair hovered above us and all around, sending surges of emotion through our bones rattling the earth beneath our feet. Neither of us wanted to be anywhere else in the world. But the pain of her departure in a few short hours slithered around our minds refusing to let us forget our fate even for a moment. Laughter could not hide the rivers of tears flowing down our faces, to each of our necks and finally meeting where our bodies touched under the moonlight of a celestial Tennesse summer twilight. I drove Lynette back that Sunday, knowing it could be the last time I saw her. The torture of saying goodbye overwhelmed my innocent seventeen-year-old body to the point of breaking me in half. But the happiness we found together in those few hours was worth the agony of a broken heart a million times over. Lynette and I fell in love, but the words went unspoken. It's not something two people have to say to understand when it's there to see and feel. We said goodbye, but we both held onto that gift of time and the hope of picking up where we left off someday.
Excited to present our podcast interview with Playwright/Actor/Podcaster Iyona Blake who told us about her world premiere of the play she wrote entitled "Girls of Madison Street" that focuses on family dynamics, dysfunction and healing. Also learn about experience playing Billie Holiday, top three acting roles on her bucket list, and how she highlights women and their stories on her podcast "Sister Conversations."
This week we continue celebrating the Heroes and History of Gonzaga Basketball in Episode 17 of the Echo Ever Proudly podcast. Part two of our visit with 5 Gonzaga Basketball Icons: Coaches Dick Myers and Bill Wilson, and legendary players from the class of 1980, John Williams, Marty Favret, and Tom Sluby. On February 1, 1980, Gonzaga became only the third school to ever win a game against DeMatha on their home court on Madison Street in Hyattsville, Md. What was the atmosphere like? What did Coach Bill Wilson say at halftime? Why did Coach Myers get a technical? And just how special was the picture of Tom Sluby in the Washington Star the next day? The answers are in Episode 17. Get set to enjoy a laughed-filled conversation with five guys, who describe what they remember about that one special Friday in February 42 years ago. As Gonzaga celebrates its bicentennial, the great basketball legacy at Gonzaga that we enjoy today, can be traced back to two program game changers: Coach Dick Myers and Tom Sluby '80. Be sure to rate and review as well. (5 stars please) Feedback is always welcome podcast@gonzaga.org Follow Subscribe and Share with anyone who you know loves Gonzaga.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
The machine rumbles and sputters as the last bit of clean oil escapes through the hose into the deep fryer at the Catfish House. After placing the handle securely onto the filter machine, I roll it out of the way and walk toward the back door to look outside before checking the dining room. A bizarre warm breeze touches my face while pushing against the metal door. "It doesn't feel like January," I think to myself as I head toward the front of the house to send the remaining servers home for the evening. We all advise one another to stay safe as I lock up the doors and head home myself. If there is one thing you can depend on in Tennessee, it's that you can't depend on a weather forecast. Everyone is saying things could get sketchy tonight, but if I had a dime each time those rumors bounced around, well, I'd have a lot of dimes. We can have snow on the ground one day, and within twenty-four hours, it's sunny and eighty degrees. If the weatherman calls for snow, not one flake falls to the ground, but we get six inches if the forecast is clear. Go figure. I'm not nervous about the storms, and normally I sleep like a baby during a good rain, so bring it on. The rest will do me good before a busy Friday at the restaurant. The wind picks up as my head hits the pillow, and several flashes of light beam across the sky through my bedroom window before I plunge into a deep sleep. My last thoughts were that I'd seen this a hundred times, and there would be nothing to worry about tonight. Snug and cozy underneath my covers, I'm unaware of Mother Natures' plan for my small community. Her intentions will change the face of our downtown forever and steal over a hundred years of history while I dream. Eerie echos of sirens blared beneath the howling winds swirling down streets, around brick buildings, and through the ridges of Clarksville. Trees began to bend while cracking wood sounds encompassed hillsides leading to the river bottoms. Muddy water from the mighty Cumberland rises and falls as it crashes against its banks, leaving behind debris only to seize it once again to sacrifice to the current. Stoplights swing violently over Riverside's empty streets, signaling that more is in store for the early morning. Trash waltzes around barren parking lots up and down Madison Street shooting into the atmosphere before descending, never touching the earth. A hush interrupts the spectacle; bushes are static, and the river rests for only a wink while the whistling wind relaxes. He is here in the stillness. Serenity soon reveals the ghostly whisper of an approaching locomotive descending from space in all directions. The last train to Clarksville extends as wide as nine football fields and hastens toward its mark at two hundred miles per hour. The earlier performance was a delicate ballet compared to the approaching terror preordained to take hundreds of passengers on their final pilgrimage. Roofs soar into the sky as if an invisible angry giant had nothing better to do before sunrise. Brick buildings crumbled as easily as a temperamental five-year-old could knock over a pile of Lincoln Logs. Objects rip across the ground, piercing, mangling, and disintegrating dreams and achievements. The roar of the phantom engine vibrates darkness itself, leaving behind mounds of rubbish in place of gorgeous architecture. Loose rubble falls from broken church walls closing the curtain on the final act of havoc in the twilight. The spirit steam engine dissipates but not without proof of its descent onto five blocks. Like many others in our small city, I'd soon wake up to the news of chaos and devastation. I'd hear how an F-3 struck downtown, and the aftermath looked like photos straight out of World War Two bombings. "We were lucky that tornado hit at 4:15 in the morning," would be the popular notion. People would say, "Had that thing struck later in the day, hundreds could have died." That stillness before the annihilation was something more significant than Mother Nature. Not a single soul boarded the train on January 22nd, 1999, and it had nothing to do with chance. Miracles emerge from silence, and God does his best work before we even see the storm.
Welcome to Episode 73 of Musings on Madison, here on the Second City Hockey podcast network, your weekly destination for a round-up of all things involving the Chicago Blackhawks. In this episode, Dave, Shepard, Mil and Betsy assembled during the third period of Wednesday's Blackhawks game against the Capitals for some live reactions to the gameplay while also discussing the current state of the team and, as the internet's best food-themed hockey podcast does, explored some festive holiday drink takes. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices
Hour 3 - Nick Reed talks about a variety of topics in the news, including: The Biden administration will form a task force to address the bottlenecks in supply chain issues. We are being told that Missouri public schools do a head count one day out of the year to determine how much money they will get. The day they are doing the head count is October the 15th. Kristi Fulnecky, Attorney for Bolivar, Missouri school age parents, will be holding a press conference at 12:00 PM this afternoon. The press conference will be at 524 W. Madison Street in front of the school administration building. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi lectured congressional reporters Tuesday on Capitol Hill for not doing a good enough job "selling" President Biden's Build Back Better plan. A report published Tuesday contends that President Joe Biden could get tied up in the ongoing FBI investigation into his son Hunter Biden's finances due to the sharing of bank accounts and payment of each other's bills.
The Upper Madison Street Fair is a tradition in the Pine Hills neighborhood of Albany. Every year the community gets together for an outdoor party to mark the end of summer. After skipping last year the fair was back in full swing last Saturday. Joanna Dreby and Moses Nagel filed a report.
On this episode of the Jason Cavness Experience I talk to Walter J. Whitehead – Managing Director of Madison Street Capital We talk about the following Attending Clark Atlanta and the decision to attend a HBCU Raising Capital The racial wealth gap What does a Managing Director do Walter's Bio Walter J. Whitehead is a Managing Director at Madison Street Capital, LLC where he advises clients on mergers and acquisitions and corporate finance transactions. Prior to joining Madison Street Capital, Mr. Whitehead was Founder and Managing Partner at Hunter Baron, a lower middle market investment bank focused on capital raising and M&A advisory services. Prior to Hunter Baron, he was co-Founder & Managing Partner of A.J. Baron Capital, a global investment bank where he was responsible for Strategy and Operations. At Merrill Lynch Private Bank & Investment Group in Los Angeles he was on a small team of strategically managing $300,000,000; at J.P. Morgan Private Wealth Management he was on a small team of 3 in their Chicago-based Financial Leaders Team strategically managing $3,000,000,000. At Blackwater Capital Group, a Private Equity firm, he co-managed the strategic distribution of a $250,000,000 management buyout and venture capital fund across a multitude of industries including Business Services, Software, Defense, and Education. Mr. Whitehead graduated from Clark Atlanta University where he earned a Bachelor's degree in Business Administration with a dual concentration in Finance & International Business. He studied at The Harvard Business School (HBS) Summer Venture in Management Program (SVMP), a competitive residential educational program designed to increase diversity and opportunity in business education. He was accepted to study in Oxford at Trinity College, one of several top-ranked medieval Oxford colleges under the educational auspices of the Oxford Study Abroad Programme. He also studied in Durban, South Africa at the University of Kwa-Zulu Natal. He holds a Series 79 Investment Banking license, Series 7 General Securities license, and Series 63 Securities Agent State Law license. Walter's Social Media Company Website: https://www.madisonstreetcapital.com/ Walter's Email: W@HunterBaron.co Walter's Gift You can reach out to Walter at his email to set up time for a 30 minute talk on finance, raising capital, solving the racial wealth gap or anything else. Walter's Advice My family pillars are agape, authenticity and spiritual freedom. One of these quotes have been on my heart for a very long time. I think it encourages authenticity and it encourages, you to kind of just be you. It's from Renee Brown. She said that you either walk inside your story and own it. Or you stand outside your story and hustle for your worthiness. To me what that encourages is when you see people oftentimes feel like they have to be something else to be accepted. Again, to me, acceptance is love, you have to try to be something else that you're not, economically, you're trying to be something that you're not romantically. You're trying to be something that you're not, socially or politically. This is when you're kinda are standing outside of your story, and you're trying to do things or go hustle for your worthiness. I think your worthiness ties to your acceptance and love. I think it's important to walk inside your own story and own it and really be you. I think people have a special tone, a special sound that the world wants to hear. A special taste that they can create in the kitchen or something like that. A special aroma that they're kind of creating. So be authentically you.
WFHB News volunteers report on the impact of the flooding several weeks ago, focusing on Kirkwood Avenue and Madison Street. Overnight on June 18th, downtown Bloomington saw extreme flooding, which led to the death of one resident and significant damage along Kirkwood Avenue and other parts of the city. The flooding forced the Bloomington Fire …
On today's episode, Melanie Hill, Christy Crosby and Ashley Knowles share all about the ministry of Mom Life in Clarksville, Tennessee. You will enjoy hearing how God called the three of them together and how He is using this ministry to meet the needs of many moms and grandmothers in our community. If you want more information about Mom Life at Grace Community Church visit https://www.graceclarksville.com/media/mom-life/For more information about the Mothers of Madison Street ministry at Madison Street United Methodist visit https://madisonstreetumc.org/ministries/womens-groups/ or contact Ashley at ashley@madisonstreetumc.org.To connect with Hannah visit http://www.hannahrconway.comTo connect with Stephani visit http://www.stephanicook.orgTo support the podcast through buy a coffee visit http://buymeacoffee.com/wyspodcastPodcast cover photo by Alison WeakleyBackground music by Scott Holmes
https://podcast.evangelicalendtimemachine.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/More-Than-Anything-Corey-Voss-Madison-Street-Worship.mp3
Public art projects present many technical and aesthetic challenges including, first and foremost, how the artist conveys her concept to a broad swath of the general public. When considering the Multnomah County Central Courthouse in Portland, Oregon, Lynn Basa took on the challenge of translating the principles of hope for users of the new building. She says: “The American justice system is ultimately based on hope – hope that if you do something wrong and get caught, that you’ll get a fair trial; hope that if you go to trial you won’t get convicted; hope that if you get convicted, you’ll get a light sentence. Judges hope that they will be fair and impartial. Underpinning all of this is the hope for rehabilitation, to re-enter society, to lead a productive life.” The Regional Arts & Culture Council (RACC) selected Basa to create a 25’ x 71’ glass artwork for the lobby of the new 17-story Multnomah County Central Courthouse. Designed by SRG Partnership / CGL Ricci Greene, the new courthouse is located at Southwest First Avenue and Madison Street. The artist chose Bullseye Studio to fabricate her 1,775-square-foot work – a series of 120 5′ tall x 3′ wide panels composed entirely of kilnformed glass. The panels required more than 200 firings and three years to complete. Basa’s design for the two-story artwork—viewable from the lobby, the second and third stories of the building, and from the building’s exterior—was inspired by conversations with the project’s Artist Selection Panel, courthouse judges and employees, as well as formerly incarcerated community members. The focus of the artwork is a landscape that reflects the rippling passage of behavior, through redemption and rehabilitation, that is sought in the community justice process. Basa says: “The composition reads from left to right. It starts out hot and in turmoil then becomes cooler and calmer. The crime and the criminal run hot. The job of the justice system is to treat that heat with cool rationality, to calm the waters. On another level, the artwork is a landscape. Living in the Pacific Northwest means living with the constant awareness that you’re on top of a volcanic chain, contrasted by being surrounded by water. The Wilmette River runs next to the courthouse and, of course, Portland’s famously rainy climate.” Throughout the country, Basa has completed numerous public art commissions in mosaic, glass, steel, terrazzo, and light. In her studio, she paints with an ancient medium called encaustic that is a mix of beeswax and oil pigment. She is the founder of the Milwaukee Avenue Alliance, a community organization dedicated to the equitable cultural and economic reawakening of three blocks of the vintage, working-class main street where her storefront studio is located. With an undergraduate degree in ceramics from Indiana University, the artist earned her MFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago (SAIC) and an MPA in public art policy from the University of Washington. Basa’s book called The Artist’s Guide to Public Art: How to Find and Win Commissions, is based on a class she developed and taught at SAIC. In order to create effects similar to those of encaustic painting, her primary medium, Basa elected to use glass for the Multnomah County Courthouse project. Bullseye Studio developed a process for translating between the mediums, then executed the work in colored crushed glass on canvases of opalescent white glass. She chose to work with Bullseye Studio to translate her imagery from encaustic to glass based on the success of her prior work with Bullseye’s team creating mosaic columns for TriMet’s Orange Line stations. Funded by Multnomah County Percent for Art and managed by the Regional Arts & Culture Council (RACC), Bullseye Studio worked closely with SRG, RACC, Multnomah County, Hoffman Construction, and the engineering firm KPFF to realize this massive project. Installation of the artwork was performed by Artech.
Click to Listen In This Episode You’ll Hear More About: How Corey and his church/team have handled COVID-19 How to balance planned and spontaneous in weekend worship How to coach and develop worship leaders Communication with your Lead Pastor Desperation in worship Resources Mentioned: Show Sponsor: Planning Center Music: Heaven Come Closer by Madison Street […]
In this episode Ryan and Chris talk once more with Corey Voss and Madison Street Worship about their new album "Heaven Come Closer"
Hour 1: + Madison Street Books Hour 2: + Kevin Powell + Mark Shapiro, Bureau of Internet Accessibility Hour 3: + Men who like cats are less likely to get a date + The Crazy Story of a “Fake” Burger King in Pittsburgh + Worst restaurant experiences Hour 4: + Worst restaurant experiences (cont.) + […]
As Deputy Chief of Staff for the Florida Department of Economic Opportunity, she was intimately involved in the process that designated opportunity zones. Now, as the co-founder of Madison Street Strategies, she guides clients through the maze of OZ restrictions and requirements. If anyone knows the ins and outs of navigating the opportunity zone program, Erin Gillespie does. She's our guest on this episode of The OZExpo Podcast.Host: Jack HealdGuest: Erin GillespieWebsite: https://www.madison-street.com/Websites for communities mentioned in show: https://littleriver.miami and http://www.liftorlando.org
Last week we had a cold and rainy day here in Chicago. I was downtown on Madison Street waiting for the #20 bus when a homeless man walked up to me and asked for a dollar. What happened next was a lesson in using social proof to build your case to customers or investors.Welcome to the first ever podcast #HYPEtalk! Short and punchy insight to help your startup. See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.
Cardi B, offset & Cuban doll CardI B and Offset, the rapping spouses who welcomed daughter Kulture this summer, are no longer a couple. In a video posted to Instagram Wednesday, Cardi shared that she and the Migos rapper had been trying to make their relationship work, to no avail. https://www.complex.com/music/2018/12/cuban-doll-denies-offset-cheating-rumors Travis Scott has been trying to tell y'all, he would never do anything to hurt his relationship with Kylie Jenner. https://www.vibe.com/2018/12/travis-scott-impersonator-comes-forward-explains-cheating-stunt Keith and Jacquelyn Smith danced Friday night at the American Legion on Madison Street in Baltimore, where they had brought his daughter Shavon to celebrate her 28th birthday. Hours later, about 12:30 a.m., the 52-year-old Harford County man found himself calling 911 and rushing Jacquelyn, 54, to the emergency room. She had been stabbed by a man through their rolled-down car window after giving money to a woman panhandling in the rain in East Baltimore, https://www.baltimoresun.com/news/maryland/crime/bs-md-jacquelyn-smith-folo-20181203-story.html --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/fyp/message
The rain begins to fall as I make my way north through the middle of the west side. Traveling through this section of the city can only be described as passing by block after block of what used to be. As I turn on Madison Street, I passed a boarded-up, trash-filled, abandoned building; where campaign posters for a local politician hang ironically from a chain link fence.Even this majestic building which is my destination used to be something else: a center of life for a community of Irish Catholic Chicagoans who have who have long since migrated away from the surrounding neighborhood of West Garfield Park.Your first impulse when entering this hall is to look up towards the ceiling, and along the walls. Two sets of large stained glass windows depicting what I assume are scenes from the Bible rest in the walls closest to me. In the middle of the hall, a pair of beautiful circular stained glass windows face each other from opposite sides of the hall.This is such a traditionally religious space, built from a very different culture, by people who sing very different songs...and yet, the people here this morning are moving freely and comfortably in this space. They seem to be at home here. Later on, five minutes were set aside for audience members to greet each other. A man in a suit greeted me, introduced himself, and invited me to an upcoming Saturday brunch where the men of the community gather.As I was about the return to my seat, I noticed that no one was in the rows of benches around me. In fact, no one was in any of the benches. The audience members had made their way to one of the three main aisles in the hall and began to stand side-by-side, holding the hands of the people next to them.Once everyone was standing, a young woman went to the front stage and began to pray for the entire crowd. She said a lot, but one line in her prayer stayed with me:“Even through all this, thank you.”The journey continues in the Garfield Park neighborhood on the west side, at the corner of Washington Blvd. and Kildare.Intro Theme Music: Victory Lap by QSTN ft. Mecca:83Background Music: www.bensound.com/Register to receive an advance copy of the companion book at https://godinchicago.com/Join the conversation! Follow us on Twitter: https://bit.ly/2Y94abI and on Instagram: https://bit.ly/2z6q5W4
This week on "State of Wonder," we discuss the legacy of former mayor and arts booster Vera Katz, the best music of 2017, and get a glimpse into Portland's past through the photos of Minor White.Remembering Beloved Former Mayor, Vera Katz - 1:24This week, Former Portland Mayor and Oregon House speaker Vera Katz died. A trailblazer who steered Portland into an unprecedented period of growth and vitality (see: Pearl District, South Waterfront, East Bank Esplanade, etc), she always had her eye on how arts and creativity could enrich public life.We look back on Katz's legacy and then sit down with two arts leaders who worked during Katz tenure: Eloise Damrosch, the long-time head of the Regional Arts and Culture Council, and Linda K. Johnson, a dancer, choreographer, and teacher who brought many projects to life inside and outside the public sector, including an Artist-in-Residency program in the early days of the South Waterfront.The Year In Jazz With KMHD - 16:35We’re going to take some time to look back at the year that was in music. First up, we talk the ever-widening world of jazz with the mighty triumvirate behind KMHD Jazz Radio: program director Matt Fleeger and hosts/producers Isabel Zacharias and Derek Smith.They talk some of the best albums and best concerts of the year (hey, Solange!) that remind us why jazz continues to be so important — it uplifts, inspires, reflects and makes space for honesty.opbmusic's Favorite Music Of 2017 - 26:35It's been a big year for local pop, rock, and hip-hop artists. opbmusic's Jerad Walker joins us to talk the two biggest songs to come out of Portland maybe ever: Portugal. The Man's "Feel It Still" and Amine's "Caroline" (don't miss Portugal's performance of their whole album live in the OPB studio). Then we move onto some of the year's other breakouts and best live opbmusic sessions, including The Last Artful, Dodgr, Kelli Schaefer, and Wild Ones.Bullseye Glass: The Heavy Metal Saga Continues - 34:46Bullseye Glass came under heavy state and county scrutiny last year after scientists found heavy metals in air and plants near the art glass maker’s southeast Portland headquarters. The company has since spent millions of dollars to comply and now has now sued the state for civil rights violations, claiming Governor Kate Brown’s actions were arbitrary and capricious, and violated the company’s right to due process.City Council Approves Portland Art Museum's Expansion - 37:49Last year, the Portland Art Museum announced plans for a new entrance called the Rothko Pavilion that would connect the museum’s two existing buildings and fix its notoriously inaccessible layout. However, advocates for disability, pedestrian and bicycle rights argued that the expansion would obstruct the current pedestrian passage along Madison Street. This week, the council voted 3-1 in favor of the museum.Minor White's Photographs Of The Portland Before Old Portland - 39:18We talk a lot about how much Portland has changed in the last few decades, but if you want to really blow your mind, look at the city compared not to the 1990s, but to the 1930s. Talk about a whole different town. The artist Minor White spent several years photographing Portland for the Works Progress Administration.Now there’re two exhibitions of his work: "In the Beginning: Minor White’s Oregon Photographs" at the Portland Art Museum and "Parting Shots: Minor White’s Images of Portland, 1938-1942" at the Architectural Heritage Center. Eric Slade dropped by to discuss Oregon Art Beat's recent profile of White.Explode Into Colors Are Back In The Music Game - 43:56The reunion of Explode Into Colors for two epic live shows last fall fall — and an opbmusic studio session — had Portland music fans in ecstasy. They liked playing together so much that they’re back for a two-night stand at Mississippi Studios Dec. 30 and 31.
Kelly Cross, a Baltimore community activist, has a crazy idea about preserving the old Maryland Penitentiary and possibly turning it a destination — with a museum, art gallery, shops and restaurants. It sounds farfetched, but some architects and philanthropists already have taken a look at the place. They see potential. Plus, Baltimore Heritage is on the case, calling for the state of Maryland to revise demolition plans and consider saving the 19th Century penitentiary and another building in the prison complex to the east of the Jones Falls Expressway — the Tudor Gothic warden’s house on Madison Street. Preservation is one motivation but, for Cross and others, the closing of the penitentiary’s west wing and the dilapidated Baltimore City Detention Center present an opportunity to reduce the concentration of prisons and jails in a high-profile part of the city and better connect East Baltimore to the city’s core.Links:https://strobophotostudio.pixieset.com/kellycross-baltimoresfuturegrowthanddevelopment/http://www.baltimorefishbowl.com/stories/prominent-architects-museum-cultural-center-baltimore-jail/https://baltimoreheritage.org/preservation/baltimore-jail-demolition-threatens-landmark-ties-citys-history-slavery/https://baltimoreheritage.org/preservation/baltimore-jail-demolition-threatens-landmark-ties-citys-history-slavery/http://www.baltimoresun.com/news/maryland/politics/bs-md-ci-jail-20170127-story.htmlhttps://i1.wp.com/baltimoreheritage.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/baltimore-jail-demolition-map-2016-03.jpg
Two men are charged in the robbery of pizza shop on Tiny Town Road and re-paving of Madison Street gets underway. Podcast features trending news stories from Clarksville and Fort Campbell. Available via SoundCloud. Subscribe via Stitcher or iTunes.
【福利放送】发送关键字“日常英语”至微信公众号“老虎小助手”，可以领取Helen姐姐和大米姐姐为大家精心准备的电子大礼包哟！里边有姐姐靓照、自制的起床闹铃、精彩的英语趣配音、演唱的歌曲、最新的画作以及全套《英语日常用语2000句》音频噢！本教材的内容涉及用餐宴请、居家交流、职场办公、校园求学、旅游出行等12个话题，基本涵盖了日常生活的方方面面，每一个话题下分若干个场景，再根据不同场景给出相关句子和情景对话。英语日常用语（104）-国外打个的 Can you take me to this address？打车虽然不像坐公交车那么经济实惠，但也算是舒适、方便的一种出行方式，多花些钱有时候也是值得的。那么，打到车后，如何跟司机沟通，顺利到达目的地呢?总算打到车了，向着下一个目的地出发！可以送我到这里吗？用英文表达就是“Can you take me to this address？”必备词meter出租车计价器share the cab 拼车address地址slow down减速tip小费traffic right交通灯seat belt安全带traffic jam交通堵塞speed up加速keep the change不用找钱intersection 十字路head to前往，去上了车，要做的第一件事就是告诉司机你要去哪儿：I'm headed to this address.送我去这个地址。Please take me to the nearest bus stop.请送我到最近的公交车站。Take me to this address,please.请带我到这个地址。I'd like to go to this address.我想去这个地址。This address is where I want to go.我要去的是这个地方。乘车过程中，有疑问或需求，尽管提出来吧。Can you open the trunk for me?可以帮我打开后备箱吗?Could you please lower the window a bit?可以麻烦你把窗户开大一点儿吗?I am in a hurry. Can you go a little faster?我赶时间，麻烦你开快一点儿，好吗?Could you please slow down?麻烦你开慢一点儿，好吗?May I open the window?请问我可以开窗吗?How long does it take from here to Macy&`&s?请问到梅西百货要多久?付费时可以看计价器，有的地方还需要付小费。How much will this cost?这一趟多少钱?The initial charge is $15.15美元起价。The meter reads $18.计价器上显示18美元。How much will that be?总共多少钱?How do I tip?我怎么付小费?就快到目的地了，告诉司机师博你想在哪儿下车吧。Please stop in front.车停在前面就可以了。Do you mind waiting for a while?可以请你在这里等我一下吗?I want to get off at the next intersection.我在下个路口下车。initial fare起步价night surchare夜晚加价peak surcharge高峰期加价实景对话一．A:Wnere would you like to go?你要去哪儿?B:I'd like to go to this address.我想去这个地址。(This address is where I want to go./Can you take me to this address? )二．A:Where to?去哪儿?B:123 Madison Street.麦迪逊大街123号。三．A：Could youturn on the air conditioner?可以开一下空调吗?B：Sure, no problem.当然可以，没问题。（Can you tum up the heat?可以打开暖风吗?/Will you roll your window up please?可以把窗户摇上来吗?）四．A：Which road would you like to take?你想让我带你走哪条路?B：Please take the quickest way possible.请走最快的路。（Please take the shortest way./Please take the shortest route.）五．A:Keep the change.不用找钱了。B:Thanks so much!太感谢了!(Keep the rest.)六．A : There is no need to hurry, and please drive safely.不必着急，请安全行驶。B:Don&`&t worry. l&`&m a very experienced driver.请您放心，我是经验丰富的司机。结束歌曲：I Feel Like Singin&`&歌手：Pieces of a Dream
【福利放送】发送关键字“日常英语”至微信公众号“老虎小助手”，可以领取Helen姐姐和大米姐姐为大家精心准备的电子大礼包哟！里边有姐姐靓照、自制的起床闹铃、精彩的英语趣配音、演唱的歌曲、最新的画作以及全套《英语日常用语2000句》音频噢！本教材的内容涉及用餐宴请、居家交流、职场办公、校园求学、旅游出行等12个话题，基本涵盖了日常生活的方方面面，每一个话题下分若干个场景，再根据不同场景给出相关句子和情景对话。英语日常用语（104）-国外打个的 Can you take me to this address？打车虽然不像坐公交车那么经济实惠，但也算是舒适、方便的一种出行方式，多花些钱有时候也是值得的。那么，打到车后，如何跟司机沟通，顺利到达目的地呢?总算打到车了，向着下一个目的地出发！可以送我到这里吗？用英文表达就是“Can you take me to this address？”必备词meter出租车计价器share the cab 拼车address地址slow down减速tip小费traffic right交通灯seat belt安全带traffic jam交通堵塞speed up加速keep the change不用找钱intersection 十字路head to前往，去上了车，要做的第一件事就是告诉司机你要去哪儿：I'm headed to this address.送我去这个地址。Please take me to the nearest bus stop.请送我到最近的公交车站。Take me to this address,please.请带我到这个地址。I'd like to go to this address.我想去这个地址。This address is where I want to go.我要去的是这个地方。乘车过程中，有疑问或需求，尽管提出来吧。Can you open the trunk for me?可以帮我打开后备箱吗?Could you please lower the window a bit?可以麻烦你把窗户开大一点儿吗?I am in a hurry. Can you go a little faster?我赶时间，麻烦你开快一点儿，好吗?Could you please slow down?麻烦你开慢一点儿，好吗?May I open the window?请问我可以开窗吗?How long does it take from here to Macy&`&s?请问到梅西百货要多久?付费时可以看计价器，有的地方还需要付小费。How much will this cost?这一趟多少钱?The initial charge is $15.15美元起价。The meter reads $18.计价器上显示18美元。How much will that be?总共多少钱?How do I tip?我怎么付小费?就快到目的地了，告诉司机师博你想在哪儿下车吧。Please stop in front.车停在前面就可以了。Do you mind waiting for a while?可以请你在这里等我一下吗?I want to get off at the next intersection.我在下个路口下车。initial fare起步价night surchare夜晚加价peak surcharge高峰期加价实景对话一．A:Wnere would you like to go?你要去哪儿?B:I'd like to go to this address.我想去这个地址。(This address is where I want to go./Can you take me to this address? )二．A:Where to?去哪儿?B:123 Madison Street.麦迪逊大街123号。三．A：Could youturn on the air conditioner?可以开一下空调吗?B：Sure, no problem.当然可以，没问题。（Can you tum up the heat?可以打开暖风吗?/Will you roll your window up please?可以把窗户摇上来吗?）四．A：Which road would you like to take?你想让我带你走哪条路?B：Please take the quickest way possible.请走最快的路。（Please take the shortest way./Please take the shortest route.）五．A:Keep the change.不用找钱了。B:Thanks so much!太感谢了!(Keep the rest.)六．A : There is no need to hurry, and please drive safely.不必着急，请安全行驶。B:Don&`&t worry. l&`&m a very experienced driver.请您放心，我是经验丰富的司机。结束歌曲：I Feel Like Singin&`&歌手：Pieces of a Dream
【领取配套教材】发送关键字“英语日常用语2000句”至微信公众号“老虎小助手”获取。本教材的内容涉及用餐宴请、居家交流、职场办公、校园求学、旅游出行等话题，涵盖了日常生活的方方面面。英语日常用语（104）-国外打个的 Can you take me to this address？打车虽然不像坐公交车那么经济实惠，但也算是舒适、方便的一种出行方式，多花些钱有时候也是值得的。那么，打到车后，如何跟司机沟通，顺利到达目的地呢?总算打到车了，向着下一个目的地出发！可以送我到这里吗？用英文表达就是“Can you take me to this address？”必备词meter出租车计价器share the cab 拼车address地址slow down减速tip小费traffic right交通灯seat belt安全带traffic jam交通堵塞speed up加速keep the change不用找钱intersection 十字路head to前往，去上了车，要做的第一件事就是告诉司机你要去哪儿：I'm headed to this address.送我去这个地址。Please take me to the nearest bus stop.请送我到最近的公交车站。Take me to this address,please.请带我到这个地址。I'd like to go to this address.我想去这个地址。This address is where I want to go.我要去的是这个地方。乘车过程中，有疑问或需求，尽管提出来吧。Can you open the trunk for me?可以帮我打开后备箱吗?Could you please lower the window a bit?可以麻烦你把窗户开大一点儿吗?I am in a hurry. Can you go a little faster?我赶时间，麻烦你开快一点儿，好吗?Could you please slow down?麻烦你开慢一点儿，好吗?May I open the window?请问我可以开窗吗?How long does it take from here to Macy's?请问到梅西百货要多久?付费时可以看计价器，有的地方还需要付小费。How much will this cost?这一趟多少钱?The initial charge is $15.15美元起价。The meter reads $18.计价器上显示18美元。How much will that be?总共多少钱?How do I tip?我怎么付小费?就快到目的地了，告诉司机师博你想在哪儿下车吧。Please stop in front.车停在前面就可以了。Do you mind waiting for a while?可以请你在这里等我一下吗?I want to get off at the next intersection.我在下个路口下车。initial fare起步价night surchare夜晚加价peak surcharge高峰期加价实景对话一．A:Wnere would you like to go?你要去哪儿?B:I'd like to go to this address.我想去这个地址。(This address is where I want to go./Can you take me to this address? )二．A:Where to?去哪儿?B:123 Madison Street.麦迪逊大街123号。三．A：Could youturn on the air conditioner?可以开一下空调吗?B：Sure, no problem.当然可以，没问题。（Can you tum up the heat?可以打开暖风吗?/Will you roll your window up please?可以把窗户摇上来吗?）四．A：Which road would you like to take?你想让我带你走哪条路?B：Please take the quickest way possible.请走最快的路。（Please take the shortest way./Please take the shortest route.）五．A:Keep the change.不用找钱了。B:Thanks so much!太感谢了!(Keep the rest.)六．A : There is no need to hurry, and please drive safely.不必着急，请安全行驶。B:Don't worry. l'm a very experienced driver.请您放心，我是经验丰富的司机。结束歌曲：I Feel Like Singin'歌手：Pieces of a Dream
【领取配套教材】发送关键字“英语日常用语2000句”至微信公众号“老虎小助手”获取。本教材的内容涉及用餐宴请、居家交流、职场办公、校园求学、旅游出行等话题，涵盖了日常生活的方方面面。英语日常用语（104）-国外打个的 Can you take me to this address？打车虽然不像坐公交车那么经济实惠，但也算是舒适、方便的一种出行方式，多花些钱有时候也是值得的。那么，打到车后，如何跟司机沟通，顺利到达目的地呢?总算打到车了，向着下一个目的地出发！可以送我到这里吗？用英文表达就是“Can you take me to this address？”必备词meter出租车计价器share the cab 拼车address地址slow down减速tip小费traffic right交通灯seat belt安全带traffic jam交通堵塞speed up加速keep the change不用找钱intersection 十字路head to前往，去上了车，要做的第一件事就是告诉司机你要去哪儿：I'm headed to this address.送我去这个地址。Please take me to the nearest bus stop.请送我到最近的公交车站。Take me to this address,please.请带我到这个地址。I'd like to go to this address.我想去这个地址。This address is where I want to go.我要去的是这个地方。乘车过程中，有疑问或需求，尽管提出来吧。Can you open the trunk for me?可以帮我打开后备箱吗?Could you please lower the window a bit?可以麻烦你把窗户开大一点儿吗?I am in a hurry. Can you go a little faster?我赶时间，麻烦你开快一点儿，好吗?Could you please slow down?麻烦你开慢一点儿，好吗?May I open the window?请问我可以开窗吗?How long does it take from here to Macy's?请问到梅西百货要多久?付费时可以看计价器，有的地方还需要付小费。How much will this cost?这一趟多少钱?The initial charge is $15.15美元起价。The meter reads $18.计价器上显示18美元。How much will that be?总共多少钱?How do I tip?我怎么付小费?就快到目的地了，告诉司机师博你想在哪儿下车吧。Please stop in front.车停在前面就可以了。Do you mind waiting for a while?可以请你在这里等我一下吗?I want to get off at the next intersection.我在下个路口下车。initial fare起步价night surchare夜晚加价peak surcharge高峰期加价实景对话一．A:Wnere would you like to go?你要去哪儿?B:I'd like to go to this address.我想去这个地址。(This address is where I want to go./Can you take me to this address? )二．A:Where to?去哪儿?B:123 Madison Street.麦迪逊大街123号。三．A：Could youturn on the air conditioner?可以开一下空调吗?B：Sure, no problem.当然可以，没问题。（Can you tum up the heat?可以打开暖风吗?/Will you roll your window up please?可以把窗户摇上来吗?）四．A：Which road would you like to take?你想让我带你走哪条路?B：Please take the quickest way possible.请走最快的路。（Please take the shortest way./Please take the shortest route.）五．A:Keep the change.不用找钱了。B:Thanks so much!太感谢了!(Keep the rest.)六．A : There is no need to hurry, and please drive safely.不必着急，请安全行驶。B:Don't worry. l'm a very experienced driver.请您放心，我是经验丰富的司机。结束歌曲：I Feel Like Singin'歌手：Pieces of a Dream
This week on StoryWeb: Jacob Riis’s book How the Other Half Lives. Photojournalism can be an extraordinarily powerful way to raise the public’s concern about extreme situations. An early pioneer in this realm was Jacob Riis, whose 1890 book, How the Other Half Lives, exposed the underbelly of life in New York City during the Gilded Age, with a particular focus on the Lower East Side. Though Riis has been occasionally criticized for asking some of his subjects to pose for the photographs, the truth of their surroundings and the veracity of the degradation they faced on a daily basis cannot be denied. Along with the photographs is Riis’s text – chapters about the various ethnic groups that lived together on the mean, intensely crowded streets of Manhattan. The book achieved its purpose as it successfully provoked a public outcry about living and working conditions in the slums of New York. Most notably, Theodore Roosevelt, then the city’s police commissioner, answered Riis’s call to address the dire situations in which newly arrived immigrants found themselves. In fact, so taken was Roosevelt with Riis and his work that he dubbed Riis “the most useful citizen of New York” and “the best American I ever knew.” Roosevelt said Riis had “the great gift of making others see what he saw and feel what he felt.” Riis’s book stripped the gilding off the era of extreme wealth and conspicuous consumption to reveal the extreme poverty and squalid living conditions that lay underneath. No longer could upper- and middle-class New Yorkers ignore the “other half” who lived just a few short miles from the Fifth Avenue mansions of the Upper East Side. The title of the book is taken from a quote from French writer François Rabelais: “one half of the world does not know how the other half lives.” Riis himself was an immigrant (he hailed from Denmark) and lived for a time in the slums of the Lower East Side. Getting a job as a police reporter for the New York Tribune, he began to photograph crime scenes to augment his reporting. “I was a writer and a newspaper man,” Riis said, “and I only yelled about the conditions which I saw. My share in the work of the slums has been that. I have not had a ten-thousandth part in the fight, but I have been in it.” In addition to facing charges of staging his photos, Riis also comes in for some criticism for indulging in ethnic slurs and stereotypes in his text. But very importantly, Riis saw that it was the conditions surrounding the immigrants that made their lives wretched – their ill-fated position in New York City was not due to their ethnicity or nationality but to unscrupulous tenement landlords and sweatshop bosses. To learn more about life in the Lower East Side tenements, visit the Tenement Museum online or – better yet! – in person. And to learn more about Riis, take a look at an exhibit from the Library of Congress and the Museum of the City of New York: “Jacob Riis: Revealing How the Other Half Lives” offers a deep exploration of and numerous resources related to this groundbreaking book. An article in the Smithsonian Magazine explains how innovations in flash photography helped Riis in his efforts to use photos as a tool for social reform. Finally, the third episode of Ric Burns’s outstanding series, New York: A Documentary Film, offers a great segment on Riis and his book. If you’re ready to read this book that was so central in the history of U.S. social reform, you can check it out online on the History on the Net website. If you want a hard copy for your collection (highly recommended so that you can pore over the powerful photographs), there’s a special edition you’llwant to check out. And finally if you’re curious about the ways another photographer was chronicling life in New York City at this same time, stay tuned for next week’s StoryWeb episode on Alfred Stieglitz. Visit thestoryweb.com/riis for links to all these resources. Listen now as I read Chapter IV: “The Down Town Back-Alleys.” Jacob Riis, How the Other Half Lives, Chapter IV: “The Down Town Back-Alleys” DOWN below Chatham Square, in the old Fourth Ward, where the cradle of the tenement stood, we shall find New York’s Other Half at home, receiving such as care to call and are not afraid. Not all of it, to be sure, there is not room for that; but a fairly representative gathering, representative of its earliest and worst traditions. There is nothing to be afraid of. In this metropolis, let it be understood, there is no public street where the stranger may not go safely by day and by night, provided he knows how to mind his own business and is sober. His coming and going will excite little interest, unless he is suspected of being a truant officer, in which case he will be impressed with the truth of the observation that the American stock is dying out for want of children. If he escapes this suspicion and the risk of trampling upon, or being himself run down by the bewildering swarms of youngsters that are everywhere or nowhere as the exigency and their quick scent of danger direct, he will see no reason for dissenting from that observation. Glimpses caught of the parents watching the youngsters play from windows or open doorways will soon convince him that the native stock is in no way involved. 1 Leaving the Elevated Railroad where it dives under the Brooklyn Bridge at Franklin Square, scarce a dozen steps will take us where we wish to go. With its rush and roar echoing yet in our ears, we have turned the corner from prosperity to poverty. We stand upon the domain of the tenement. In the shadow of the great stone abutments the old Knickerbocker houses linger like ghosts of a departed day. Down the winding slope of Cherry Street—proud and fashionable Cherry Hill that was—their broad steps, sloping roofs, and dormer windows are easily made out; all the more easily for the contrast with the ugly barracks that elbow them right and left. These never had other design than to shelter, at as little outlay as possible, the greatest crowds out of which rent could be wrung. They were the bad after-thought of a heedless day. The years have brought to the old houses unhonored age, a querulous second childhood that is out of tune with the time, their tenants, the neighbors, and cries out against them and against you in fretful protest in every step on their rotten floors or squeaky stairs. Good cause have they for their fretting. This one, with its shabby front and poorly patched roof, what glowing firesides, what happy children may it once have owned? Heavy feet, too often with unsteady step, for the pot-house is next door—where is it not next door in these slums?—have worn away the brown-stone steps since; the broken columns at the door have rotted away at the base. Of the handsome cornice barely a trace is left. Dirt and desolation reign in the wide hallway, and danger lurks on the stairs. Rough pine boards fence off the roomy fire-places—where coal is bought by the pail at the rate of twelve dollars a ton these have no place. The arched gateway leads no longer to a shady bower on the banks of the rushing stream, inviting to day-dreams with its gentle repose, but to a dark and nameless alley, shut in by high brick walls, cheerless as the lives of those they shelter. The wolf knocks loudly at the gate in the troubled dreams that come to this alley, echoes of the day’s cares. A horde of dirty children play about the dripping hydrant, the only thing in the alley that thinks enough of its chance to make the most of it: it is the best it can do. These are the children of the tenements, the growing generation of the slums; this their home. From the great highway overhead, along which throbs the life-tide of two great cities, one might drop a pebble into half a dozen such alleys. 2 One yawns just across the street; not very broadly, but it is not to blame. The builder of the old gateway had no thought of its ever becoming a public thoroughfare. Once inside it widens, but only to make room for a big box-like building with the worn and greasy look of the slum tenement that is stamped alike on the houses and their tenants down here, even on the homeless cur that romps with the children in yonder building lot, with an air of expectant interest plainly betraying the forlorn hope that at some stage of the game a meat-bone may show up in the role of “It.” Vain hope, truly! Nothing more appetizing than a bare-legged ragamuffin appears. Meatbones, not long since picked clean, are as scarce in Blind Man’s Alley as elbow-room in any Fourth Ward back-yard. The shouts of the children come hushed over the housetops, as if apologizing for the intrusion. Few glad noises make this old alley ring. Morning and evening it echoes with the gentle, groping tap of the blind man’s staff as he feels his way to the street. Blind Man’s Alley bears its name for a reason. Until little more than a year ago its dark burrows harbored a colony of blind beggars, tenants of a blind landlord, old Daniel Murphy, whom every child in the ward knows, if he never heard of the President of the United States. “Old Dan” made a big fortune— he told me once four hundred thousand dollars— out of his alley and the surrounding tenements, only to grow blind himself in extreme old age, sharing in the end the chief hardship of the wretched beings whose lot he had stubbornly refused to better that he might increase his wealth. Even when the Board of Health at last compelled him to repair and clean up the worst of the old buildings, under threat of driving out the tenants and locking the doors behind them, the work was accomplished against the old man’s angry protests. He appeared in person before the Board to argue his case, and his argument was characteristic. 3 “I have made my will,” he said. “My monument stands waiting for me in Calvary. I stand on the very brink of the grave, blind and helpless, and now (here the pathos of the appeal was swept under in a burst of angry indignation) do you want me to build and get skinned, skinned? These people are not fit to live in a nice house. Let them go where they can, and let my house stand.” 4 In spite of the genuine anguish of the appeal, it was downright amusing to find that his anger was provoked less by the anticipated waste of luxury on his tenants than by distrust of his own kind, the builder. He knew intuitively what to expect. The result showed that Mr. Murphy had gauged his tenants correctly. The cleaning up process apparently destroyed the home-feeling of the alley; many of the blind people moved away and did not return. Some remained, however and the name has clung to the place. 5 Some idea of what is meant by a sanitary “cleaning up” in these slums may be gained from the account of a mishap I met with once, in taking a flash-light picture of a group of blind beggars in one of the tenements down here. With unpractised hands I managed to set fire to the house. When the blinding effect of the flash had passed away and I could see once more, I discovered that a lot of paper and rags that hung on the wall were ablaze. There were six of us, five blind men and women who knew nothing of their danger, and myself, in an atticroom with a dozen crooked, rickety stairs between us and the street, and as many households as helpless as the one whose guest I was all about us. The thought: how were they ever to be got out? made my blood run cold as I saw the flames creeping up the wall, and my first impulse was to bolt for the street and shout for help. The next was to smother the fire myself, and I did, with a vast deal of trouble. Afterward, when I came down to the street I told a friendly policeman of my trouble. For some reason he thought it rather a good joke, and laughed immoderately at my concern lest even then sparks should be burrowing in the rotten wall that might yet break out in flame and destroy the house with all that were in it. He told me why, when he found time to draw breath. “Why, don’t you know,” he said, “that house is the Dirty Spoon? It caught fire six times last winter, but it wouldn’t burn. The dirt was so thick on the walls, it smothered the fire!” Which, if true, shows that water and dirt, not usually held to be harmonious elements, work together for the good of those who insure houses. 6 Sunless and joyless though it be, Blind Man’s Alley has that which its compeers of the slums vainly yearn for. It has a pay-day. Once a year sunlight shines into the lives of its forlorn crew, past and present. In June, when the Superintendent of Out-door Poor distributes the twenty thousand dollars annually allowed the poor blind by the city, in half-hearted recognition of its failure to otherwise provide for them, Blindman’s Alley takes a day off and goes to “see” Mr. Blake. That night it is noisy with unwonted merriment. There is scraping of squeaky fiddles in the dark rooms, and cracked old voices sing long-for-gotten songs. Even the blind landlord rejoices, for much of the money goes into his coffers. 7 From their perch up among the rafters Mrs. Gallagher’s blind boarders might hear, did they listen, the tramp of the policeman always on duty in Gotham Court, half a stone’s throw away. His beat, though it takes in but a small portion of a single block, is quite as lively as most larger patrol rounds. A double row of five-story tenements, back to back under a common roof, extending back from the street two hundred and thirty-four feet, with barred openings in the dividing wall, so that the tenants may see but cannot get at each other from the stairs, makes the “court.” Alleys—one wider by a couple of feet than the other, whence the distinction Single and Double Alley—skirt the barracks on either side. Such, briefly, is the tenement that has challenged public attention more than any other in the whole city and tested the power of sanitary law and rule for forty years. The name of the pile is not down in the City Directory, but in the public records it holds an unenviable place. It was here the mortality rose during the last great cholera epidemic to the unprecedented rate of 195 in 1,000 inhabitants. In its worst days a full thousand could not be packed into the court, though the number did probably not fall far short of it. Even now, under the management of men of conscience, and an agent, a King’s Daughter, whose practical energy, kindliness and good sense have done much to redeem its foul reputation, the swarms it shelters would make more than one fair-sized country village. The mixed character of the population, by this time about equally divided between the Celtic and the Italian stock, accounts for the iron bars and the policeman. It was an eminently Irish suggestion that the latter was to be credited to the presence of two German families in the court, who “made trouble all the time.” A Chinaman whom I questioned as he hurried past the iron gate of the alley, put the matter in a different light. “Lem Ilish velly bad,” he said. Gotham Court has been the entering wedge for the Italian hordes, which until recently had not attained a foothold in the Fourth Ward, but are now trailing across Chatham Street from their stronghold in “the Bend” in ever increasing numbers, seeking, according to their wont, the lowest level. 8 It is curious to find that this notorious block, whose name was so long synonymous with all that was desperately bad, was originally built (in 1851) by a benevolent Quaker for the express purpose of rescuing the poor people from the dreadful rookeries they were then living in. How long it continued a model tenement is not on record. It could not have been very long, for already in 1862, ten years after it was finished, a sanitary official counted 146 cases of sickness in the court, including “all kinds of infectious disease,” from small-pox down, and reported that of 138 children born in it in less than three years 61 had died, mostly before they were one year old. Seven years later the inspector of the district reported to the Board of Health that “nearly ten per cent. of the population is sent to the public hospitals each year.” When the alley was finally taken in hand by the authorities, and, as a first step toward its reclamation, the entire population was driven out by the police, experience dictated, as one of the first improvements to be made, the putting in of a kind of sewer-grating, so constructed, as the official report patiently puts it, “as to prevent the ingress of persons disposed to make a hiding-place” of the sewer and the cellars into which they opened. The fact was that the big vaulted sewers had long been a runway for thieves—the Swamp Angels—who through them easily escaped when chased by the police, as well as a storehouse for their plunder. The sewers are there to-day; in fact the two alleys are nothing but the roofs of these enormous tunnels in which a man may walk upright the full distance of the block and into the Cherry Street sewer—if he likes the fun and is not afraid of rats. Could their grimy walls speak, the big canals might tell many a startling tale. But they are silent enough, and so are most of those whose secrets they might betray. The flood-gates connecting with the Cherry Street main are closed now, except when the water is drained off. Then there were no gates, and it is on record that the sewers were chosen as a short cut habitually by residents of the court whose business lay on the line of them, near a manhole, perhaps, in Cherry Street, or at the river mouth of the big pipe when it was clear at low tide. “Me Jimmy,” said one wrinkled old dame, who looked in while we were nosing about under Double Alley, “he used to go to his work along down Cherry Street that way every morning and come back at night.” The associations must have been congenial. Probably “Jimmy” himself fitted into the landscape. 9 Half-way back from the street in this latter alley is a tenement, facing the main building, on the west side of the way, that was not originally part of the court proper. It stands there a curious monument to a Quaker’s revenge, a living illustration of the power of hate to perpetuate its bitter fruit beyond the grave. The lot upon which it is built was the property of John Wood, brother of Silas, the builder of Gotham Court. He sold the Cherry Street front to a man who built upon it a tenement with entrance only from the street. Mr. Wood afterward quarrelled about the partition line with his neighbor, Alderman Mullins, who had put up a long tenement barrack on his lot after the style of the Court, and the Alderman knocked him down. Tradition records that the Quaker picked himself up with the quiet remark, “I will pay thee for that, friend Alderman,” and went his way. His manner of paying was to put up the big building in the rear of 34 Cherry Street with an immense blank wall right in front of the windows of Alderman Mullins’s tenements, shutting out effectually light and air from them. But as he had no access to the street from his building for many years it could not be let or used for anything, and remained vacant until it passed under the management of the Gotham Court property. Mullins’s Court is there yet, and so is the Quaker’s vengeful wall that has cursed the lives of thousands of innocent people since. At its farther end the alley between the two that begins inside the Cherry Street tenement, six or seven feet wide, narrows down to less than two feet. It is barely possible to squeeze through; but few care to do it, for the rift leads to the jail of the Oak Street police station, and therefore is not popular with the growing youth of the district. 10 There is crape on the door of the Alderman’s court as we pass out, and upstairs in one of the tenements preparations are making for a wake. A man lies dead in the hospital who was cut to pieces in a “can racket” in the alley on Sunday. The sway of the excise law is not extended to these back alleys. It would matter little if it were. There are secret by-ways, and some it is not held worth while to keep secret, along which the “growler” wanders at all hours and all seasons unmolested. It climbed the stairs so long and so often that day that murder resulted. It is nothing unusual on Cherry Street, nothing to “make a fuss” about. Not a week before, two or three blocks up the street, the police felt called upon to interfere in one of these can rackets at two o’clock in the morning, to secure peace for the neighborhood. The interference took the form of a general fusillade, during which one of the disturbers fell off the roof and was killed. There was the usual wake and nothing more was heard of it. What, indeed, was there to say? 11 The “Rock of Ages” is the name over the door of a low saloon that blocks the entrance to another alley, if possible more forlorn and dreary than the rest, as we pass out of the Alderman’s court. It sounds like a jeer from the days, happily past, when the “wickedest man in New York” lived around the corner a little way and boasted of his title. One cannot take many steps in Cherry Street without encountering some relic of past or present prominence in the ways of crime, scarce one that does not turn up specimen bricks of the coming thief. The Cherry Street tough is all-pervading. Ask Suprintendent Murray, who, as captain of the Oak Street squad, in seven months secured convictions for theft, robbery, and murder aggregating no less than five hundred and thirty years of penal servitude, and he will tell you his opinion that the Fourth Ward, even in the last twenty years, has turned out more criminals than all the rest of the city together. 12 But though the “Swamp Angels” have gone to their reward, their successors carry on business at the old stand as successfully, if not as boldly. There goes one who was once a shining light in thiefdom. He has reformed since, they say. The policeman on the corner, who is addicted to a professional unbelief in reform of any kind, will tell you that while on the Island once he sailed away on a shutter, paddling along until he was picked up in Hell Gate by a schooner’s crew, whom he persuaded that he was a fanatic performing some sort of religious penance by his singular expedition. Over yonder, Tweed, the arch-thief, worked in a brush-shop and earned an honest living before he took to politics. As we stroll from one narrow street to another the odd contrast between the low, old-looking houses in front and the towering tenements in the back yards grows even more striking, perhaps because we expect and are looking for it. Nobody who was not would suspect the presence of the rear houses, though they have been there long enough. Here is one seven stories high behind one with only three floors. Take a look into this Roosevelt Street alley; just about one step wide, with a five-story house on one side that gets its light and air—God help us for pitiful mockery!—from this slit between brick walls. There are no windows in the wall on the other side; it is perfectly blank. The fire-escapes of the long tenement fairly touch it; but the rays of the sun, rising, setting, or at high noon, never do. It never shone into the alley from the day the devil planned and man built it. There was once an English doctor who experimented with the sunlight in the soldiers’ barracks, and found that on the side that was shut off altogether from the sun the mortality was one hundred per cent. greater than on the light side, where its rays had free access. But then soldiers are of some account, have a fixed value, if not a very high one. The people who live here have not. The horse that pulls the dirt-cart one of these laborers loads and unloads is of ever so much more account to the employer of his labor than he and all that belongs to him. Ask the owner; he will not attempt to deny it, if the horse is worth anything. The man too knows it. It is the one thought that occasionally troubles the owner of the horse in the enjoyment of his prosperity, built of and upon the successful assertion of the truth that all men are created equal. 13 With what a shock did the story of yonder Madison Street alley come home to New Yorkers one morning, eight or ten years ago, when a fire that broke out after the men had gone to their work swept up those narrow stairs and burned up women and children to the number of a full half score. There were fire-escapes, yes! but so placed that they could not be reached. The firemen had to look twice before they could find the opening that passes for a thoroughfare; a stout man would never venture in. Some wonderfully heroic rescues were made at that fire by people living in the adjoining tenements. Danger and trouble— of the imminent kind, not the everyday sort that excites neither interest nor commiseration— run even this common clay into heroic moulds on occasion; occasions that help us to remember that the gap that separates the man with the patched coat from his wealthy neighbor is, after all, perhaps but a tenement. Yet, what a gap! and of whose making? Here, as we stroll along Madison Street, workmen are busy putting the finishing touches to the brown-stone front of a tall new tenement. This one will probably be called an apartment house. They are carving satyrs’ heads in the stone, with a crowd of gaping youngsters looking on in admiring wonder. Next door are two other tenements, likewise with brown-stone fronts, fair to look at. The youngest of the children in the group is not too young to remember how their army of tenants was turned out by the health officers because the houses had been condemned as unfit for human beings to live in. The owner was a wealthy builder who “stood high in the community.” Is it only in our fancy that the sardonic leer on the stone faces seems to list that way? Or is it an introspective grin? We will not ask if the new house belongs to the same builder. He too may have reformed. 14 We have crossed the boundary of the Seventh Ward. Penitentiary Row, suggestive name for a block of Cherry Street tenements, is behind us. Within recent days it has become peopled wholly with Hebrews, the overflow from Jewtown adjoining, pedlars and tailors, all of them. It is odd to read this legend from other days over the door: “No pedlars allowed in this house.” These thrifty people are not only crowding into the tenements of this once exclusive district— they are buying them. The Jew runs to real estate as soon as he can save up enough for a deposit to clinch the bargain. As fast as the old houses are torn down, towering structures go up in their place, and Hebrews are found to be the builders. Here is a whole alley nicknamed after the intruder, Jews’ Alley. But abuse and ridicule are not weapons to fight the Israelite with. He pockets them quietly with the rent and bides his time. He knows from experience, both sweet and bitter, that all things come to those who wait, including the houses and lands of their Persecutors. 15 Here comes a pleasure party, as gay as any on the avenue, though the carry-all is an ash-cart. The father is the driver and he has taken his brown-legged boy for a ride. How proud and happy they both look up there on their perch! The queer old building they have halted in front of is “The Ship,” famous for fifty years as a ramshackle tenement filled with the oddest crowd. No one knows why it is called “The Ship,” though there is a tradition that once the river came clear up here to Hamilton Street, and boats were moored along-side it. More likely it is because it is as bewildering inside as a crazy old ship, with its ups and downs of ladders parading as stairs, and its unexpected pitfalls. But Hamilton Street, like Water Street, is not what it was. The missions drove from the latter the worst of its dives. A sailors’ mission has lately made its appearance in Hamilton Street, but there are no dives there, nothing worse than the ubiquitous saloon and tough tenements. 16 Enough of them everywhere. Suppose we look into one? No.—Cherry Street. Be a little careful, please! The hall is dark and you might stumble over the children pitching pennies back there. Not that it would hurt them; kicks and cuffs are their daily diet. They have little else. Here where the hall turns and dives into utter darkness is a step, and another, another. A flight of stairs. You can feed your way, if you cannot see it. Close? Yes! What would you have? All the fresh air that ever enters these stairs comes from the hall-door that is forever slamming, and from the windows of dark bedrooms that in turn receive from the stairs their sole supply of the elements God meant to be free, but man deals out with such niggardly hand. That was a woman filling her pail by the hydrant you just bumped against. The sinks are in the hallway, that all the tenants may have access—and all be poisoned alike by their summer stenches. Hear the pump squeak! It is the lullaby of tenement-house babes. In summer, when a thousand thirsty throats pant for a cooling drink in this block, it is worked in vain. But the saloon, whose open door you passed in the hall, is always there. The smell of it has followed you up. Here is a door. Listen! That short hacking cough, that tiny, helpless wail—what do they mean? They mean that the soiled bow of white you saw on the door downstairs will have another story to tell—Oh! a sadly familiar story—before the day is at an end. The child is dying with measles. With half a chance it might have lived; but it had none. That dark bedroom killed it. 17 “It was took all of a suddint,” says the mother, smoothing the throbbing little body with trembling hands. There is no unkindness in the rough voice of the man in the jumper, who sits by the window grimly smoking a clay pipe, with the little life ebbing out in his sight, bitter as his words sound: “Hush, Mary! If we cannot keep the baby, need we complain—such as we?” 18 Such as we! What if the words ring in your ears as we grope our way up the stairs and down from floor to floor, listening to the sounds behind the closed doors—some of quarrelling, some of coarse songs, more of profanity. They are true. When the summer heats come with their suffering they have meaning more terrible than words can tell. Come over here. Step carefully over this baby—it is a baby, spite of its rags and dirt—under these iron bridges called fire-escapes, but loaded down, despite the incessant watchfulness of the firemen, with broken house-hold goods, with wash-tubs and barrels, over which no man could climb from a fire. This gap between dingy brick-walls is the yard. That strip of smoke-colored sky up there is the heaven of these people. Do you wonder the name does not attract them to the churches? That baby’s parents live in the rear tenement here. She is at least as clean as the steps we are now climbing. There are plenty of houses with half a hundred such in. The tenement is much like the one in front we just left, only fouler, closer, darker—we will not say more cheerless. The word is a mockery. A hundred thousand people lived in rear tenements in New York last year. Here is a room neater than the rest. The woman, a stout matron with hard lines of care in her face, is at the wash-tub. “I try to keep the childer clean,” she says, apologetically, but with a hopeless glance around. The spice of hot soap-suds is added to the air already tainted with the smell of boiling cabbage, of rags and uncleanliness all about. It makes an overpowering compound. It is Thursday, but patched linen is hung upon the pulley-line from the window. There is no Monday cleaning in the tenements. It is wash-day all the week round, for a change of clothing is scarce among the poor. They are poverty’s honest badge, these perennial lines of rags hung out to dry, those that are not the washerwoman’s professional shingle. The true line to be drawn between pauperism and honest poverty is the clothes-line. With it begins the effort to be clean that is the first and the best evidence of a desire to be honest. 19 What sort of an answer, think you, would come from these tenements to the question “Is life worth living?” were they heard at all in the discussion? It may be that this, cut from the last report but one of the Association for the Improvement of the Condition of the Poor, a long name for a weary task, has a suggestion of it: “In the depth of winter the attention of the Association was called to a Protestant family living in a garret in a miserable tenement in Cherry Street. The family’s condition was most deplorable. The man, his wife, and three small children shivering in one room through the roof of which the pitiless winds of winter whistled. The room was almost barren of furniture; the parents slept on the floor, the elder children in boxes, and the baby was swung in an old shawl attached to the rafters by cords by way of a hammock. The father, a seaman, had been obliged to give up that calling because he was in consumption, and was unable to provide either bread or fire for his little ones.” 20 Perhaps this may be put down as an exceptional case, but one that came to my notice some months ago in a Seventh Ward tenement was typical enough to escape that reproach. There were nine in the family: husband, wife, an aged grandmother, and six children; honest, hard-working Germans, scrupulously neat, but poor. All nine lived in two rooms, one about ten feet square that served as parlor, bedroom, and eating-room, the other a small hall-room made into a kitchen. The rent was seven dollars and a half a month, more than a week’s wages for the husband and father, who was the only bread-winner in the family. That day the mother had thrown herself out of the window, and was carried up from the street dead. She was “discouraged,” said some of the other women from the tenement, who had come in to look after the children while a messenger carried the news to the father at the shop. They went stolidly about their task, although they were evidently not without feeling for the dead woman. No doubt she was wrong in not taking life philosophically, as did the four families a city missionary found housekeeping in the four corners of one room. They got along well enough together until one of the families took a boarder and made trouble. Philosophy, according to my optimistic friend, naturally inhabits the tenements. The people who live there come to look upon death in a different way from the rest of us—do not take it as hard. He has never found time to explain how the fact fits into his general theory that life is not unbearable in the tenements. Unhappily for the philosophy of the slums, it is too apt to be of the kind that readily recognizes the saloon, always handy, as the refuge from every trouble, and shapes its practice according to the discovery. 21
In 1997, Patricia Wright was sentenced to life without parole for a crime she didn't commit. Now, she's facing another sentence, one no judge or jury can overturn: Patricia has stage IV breast cancer, and all she wants is to spend the remainder of her days at home, with her family by her side. We are joined by Patricia's younger sister, Arletta Vanessa Wright, daughter Mistey Ramdhan and son, Alfey Ramdhan. For information visit http://sfbayview.com/2011/three-strikes-holds-dying-innocent-woman-behind-bars-justice-for-patricia-wright-and-her-family/ Next we have high school teacher Karla Brundage joining us to talk about a poetry reading organized by one of her senior students, Sabrina for the MAAFA Commemoration POETRY reading Sunday, Oct. 30, 2011, 1:30-2:30 PM at the Oakland Public Library, Brad Walters Community Room, 125 14th Street, on the Madison Street side. This event is being sponsored by the OPL Teen Center. Director Sam Burbank and a programmer from the San Francisco Film Society join us to talk about Cinema by the Bay, Nov. 3-6, 2011 at New People in Japantown in SF, 1746 Post Street. Sam's film, Where's My Stuff, screens Sat., Oct. 5. Go for the entire day beginning at 2 PM with WeOwnTV: Freetown in the Bay with dir. Banker White. We close with TheLady Sunrise who has a concert this evening, 7:30 PM (doors open) at The 57th Street Gallery, 5701 Telegraph Ave., Oakland. For reservations visit: www.57thStreetGallery.com Music: Destiny Muhammad, Rev. Liza Rankow, Lady Sunrise (live).
Madison Street Partners portfolio strategist and Roosevelt Institute senior fellow Marshall Auerback argues that Germany should be the one to leave the euro in order to preserve the monetary union.
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