Welcome Back, Michael

Just a quick note. Veteran talk-radio broadcaster and former ABC colleague Michael Jackson begins a new chapter in his long and illustrious broadcasting career this week. Beginning on Monday 29 October, he will be returning to the Los Angeles radio airwaves on KGIL 1260AM. His broadcast will run Monday through Friday, between 9:00am and 11:00am. I encourage everyone in Southern California to tune in. I wish I was back in L.A. just to be able to tune in myself. Hopefully, he'll start podcasting his shows in the future.

Michael was kind enough to send me a brief email over the weekend, as he and his producer Lyle both prepare for Monday morning's inaugural broadcast. I wish the two of them great success. Break a leg, you two.

Bonfires of the Vanities

A random flash fills the night sky and a muffled rapid-fire popping sound finds it's way toward us from a nearby farmer's field. Are we in Baghdad? No, but the night-time sights and sounds of the Lancashire countryside remind me that we must be approaching that very special time of year again.

Next week, on the evening of November 5th, revellers throughout the United Kingdom will be celebrating Guy Fawkes Night, or Bonfire Night as it is commonly known. It commemorates the foiling of the Gunpowder Plot, in which a group of Catholic conspirators, including Guy Fawkes, allegedly attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament on the evening of 5 November 1605 with the intent of killing the Protestant King James I of England. The conspirators were later arrested, tortured, and executed.

As has been the custom during the past few centuries, fireworks are lobbed into the air and community bonfires are ignited, often fueled by an accumulated collection of surplus wood and contributed items that otherwise would have been destined for the local refuse pit. Sadly, some communities still burn effigies of the Pope and other clerics, in a fervor of anti-catholicism that still darkens the souls of a few that remain unenlightened. Fortunately, they are in the minority.

Prospective photo opportunities beckon, as we will be venturing out with the trusty camera in hand to witness and capture Britain's closest version to the Fourth of July.

A Visit Down South of Titanic Proportions

Sarah and I ventured south to the English coastal region of Hampshire last weekend. This is the land of thatched roof cottages, the breed of hog that bears the area's name, and that mythical kingdom known as Camelot. We had gone there to meet up with some friends from Los Angeles who were spending a couple of days in London, before boarding a Eurostar train destined for Brussels.

We had the pleasure of playing tour guide to Maria and Chris as we drove them around the Salisbury Plain, showing them sites both picturesque and historic in nature. The ancient Druid rock formations of Stonehenge, the grand cathedral in the market town of Winchester, plus King Arthur's alleged roundtable (which is on permanent display in Winchester's Guild Hall), were but a few of the stops on our weekend itinerary that were dutifully captured with my camera.

My better-half and I also made a special journey of our own; one that I have been wanting to do for many years. After registerring into our B&B, the two of us drove to the bustling seaport town of Southampton, with our final destination being the Gate 4 entrance to Ocean Dock. On the tenth day of April, in the year of 1912, a very grand ship bearing the name of Titanic set sail on her maiden voyage from this very dock. A small monument has been erected here in memory of the officers, crew, and passengers who lost their lives five days later. South Western House, the hotel where many of the ship's First Class passengers spent the night prior to the following day's voyage, still stands proudly across the street from the pier; its many windows gazing out across the River Test toward the English Channel and the sea.

Chaucer wrote of pilgrims from this very land, journeying to the cathedral town of Canterbury. A pilgrimage of an entirely different sort was successfully accomplished by this photographer, and it was definitely worth the wait.

Buon Giorno Da Toscano

Sarah and I have just returned from a warm and glorious week in the Tuscany region of Italy, where we had the great joy of witnessing the marriage of our niece Joanna and her husband Dave. Twenty-eight of us made our way south to Italy, where we took up residence at Il Castello di Bibbione, a 1000 year old castle / villa that belongs to a member of the Machiavelli family; a practicing physician when she and her adult daughter are not hosting guests at this wine and olive oil-producing estate.

Our week in Tuscany, coupled with some very excellent weather, provided us with a fine opportunity to visit and shoot picturesque locales that included Firenza (Florence), Pisa, Lucca, San Gimignano, the various villages of the Chianti countryside with its many spectacular vineyards, plus our favourite of locales: the medieval town of Sienna, with its reddish-brown brick Gothic architecture.

Unfortunately, we missed the running of Sienna’s famous Palio horse race by one week, which takes place annually on the town’s Piazza Il Campo. We did however pause long enough to take in and savour the panoramic view of Il Campo while leisurely sipping a late morning espresso at the table of one of the many outdoor cafes that ring this shell-shaped piazza. While visiting Sienna I experienced a bit of déjà vu. Those of us who watched ABC-TV's award-winning mini-series The Winds of War, starring the late Robert Mitchum, may recall the memorable scenes that were filmed on this very location with Ali MacGraw, Jan-Michael Vincent, and the great John Houseman.

In addition to the great wines and cheeses that Italy is well known for, Sarah and I made sure that we “consumed” a bit of artistic culture, as well as the culinary. While in Firenza, we marvelled at artworks such as Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus and Michelangelo’s David. Sarah’s initial reaction to seeing this famous and well-detailed statue was “Gawd, he’s BIG.” I am still assuming that she was commenting about the enormity of the ENTIRE statue…

Are Those The Lovely Bagpipes I Hear?

I have just returned from two work-related days in Edinburgh, Scotland. Edinburgh is a very beautiful and culturally rich city that I intend to visit again many more times in the future. It was the final two days of the Edinburgh International Festival, and revellers from all corners of the globe were very much in evidence as I strolled the Royal Mile; that long stretch of cobbled street that stretches from Edinburgh Castle to the Palace of Holyroodhouse.

I was in town specifically to attend the Edinburgh Mela, which touts itself to be the largest southern asian festival in the whole of the UK. As someone who is qualified to wear the tartans of both the MacDonald and MacNaughton clans, I actually found it quite entertaining to watch a band of traditionally costumed Pakistani musicians marching through a park in the middle of the Scottish capital, while playing Dixieland Jazz on brass instruments, Asian drums, and the bagpipes. The only thing missing was haggis served with a red curry sauce.

Unfortunately, I had to board the high-speed Virgin Train for my southern trek back toward Whalley, just as the fireworks were being launched from the ramparts of Edinburgh Castle. A multi-color light spectacular announcing the culmination of this year's festival. Are those the lovely bagpipes that I hear, as my train pulls out of Waverley Station? Aye, laddie. That they are. Calling out to this son of Scotland and beckoning him to hurry back home really soon.

Up, Up And Away In A Beautiful Balloon...

I couldn't help but recall those lyrics from the classic Fifth Dimension song, as Sarah and I went chasing hot air balloons across the Ribble Valley yesterday evening.

After finding that the gardens of nearby Stonyhurst College were closed in preparation for an upcoming event, Sarah and I decided to drive down the road to the DeTabley Inn. This was a very fortuatous decision on our part, as a local hot air balloon sightseeing company was preparing to launch two of it's bulbous craft from the inn's adjacent cricket field. We quickly discovered that one of the individuals preparing to climb into the balloon's passenger basket was a long-time friend of Sarah's, who was given this ride as a surprise 40th birthday gift.

With camera always in hand and at the ready, I captured on film the roar of the flaming burners as hot air transformed limp fabric into ever-growing, symetrically beautiful and colorful shapes. Towering above us and filled to stretching, they strained to be released for their ascent into the heavens.

With the support vehicle leading the way, and additional photo ops on the horizon, we gave chase as the two balloons drifted across the skies over Lancashire. Eventually, one balloon landed not too far from our very home, while the second one startled some of the unsuspecting patrons exiting our village's Italian restaurant, before once again attaining a reasonable altitude. After a pursuit that lasted almost two hours, our impromptu adventure finally ended in the middle of a grazing field, which was gently being lit by the rays of a sun setting itself to rest.

How did you spend your Monday evening?

Deep Throat

A thirty-year mystery has finally been solved. Former FBI official Mark Felt has stepped forward and identified himself as Deep Throat, the legendary informant who guided Washington Post journalists Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein in uncovering the facts and political intrigue that is euphemistically referred to today as Watergate.

Burglaries, illegal wiretaps, money laundering, and other criminal subversions of the American political and justice systems were authorized by then-president Richard M. Nixon and carried out by White House operatives. Using clues provided by Mr. Felt, the Washington Post published a series of now-famous news articles that would contribute to the eventual collapse of a scandalous presidential administration.

Not surprising, former Nixon Administration speechwriter and failed presidential candidate Pat Buchanan has already publicly branded Mark Felt as a traitor. That is a badge of honor that Mr. Felt should proudly wear.

Calendar Girls & The Prince

I have made reference in the past to those members of the Rylston Women's Institute who shot to worldwide fame eleven years ago for posing nude in a very tastefully produced calendar, in their effort to raise money for leukemia research. Six of our original Calendar Girls, including ringleader Angela Baker, have been invited to attend a special reception being held in their honor at Clarence House by the Prince of Wales.

Prince Charles has apparently been a longtime fan of these ladies and wanted to celebrate the fact that their efforts had hit the 1 million pound mark. The six friends who continue to be involved in fundraising have dubbed themselves the Baker's Half-Dozen, and the money they have raised has helped to open a pioneering cancer research institute at the University of York.

Even happier news is that Angela Baker will soon wed the Rev. Charles Knowel, the long-time family friend that consoled Mrs. Baker after her husband's death from leukemia. I wish her and the vicar much deserved years of happiness together.

Mea Culpa

It has been quite a few WEEKS since my last journal entry, for which I am most apologetic. I have been negligent to those who have become regular readers of my ramblings, plus I have been negligent to myself, as well.

In addition to my work as a photojournalist, I have recently taken on the added responsibilities of planning and producing festivals and other special events for one of the local borough councils, here in the northwest of England. Hence, the recent absence of regular journal entries.

Working within the environment of local government, especially for someone who is not a career governmental functionary, is a very interesting experience. Doing so within the confines of British local government is an entirely different dynamic harkening back to the age of Feudalism. Remember the classic Mark Twain tale, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court? Well friends, I am currently living that tale. I'll let you know how the story progresses...

Look Up In The Sky!

A milestone in aviation history is expected to be made today as European aircraft manufacturer Airbus Industries is set to carry out the maiden test flight of its A380 double decker “super-jumbo” airliner. More than 50,000 people are expected to be on hand to watch and cheer as the world's largest passenger jet rolls down the runway and climbs into the skies above the southern French town of Toulouse. Many more will be watching the live television coverage.

There won’t be many cheering voices in the United States, however.

Competition between Airbus and U.S. aviation giant Boeing has always been intense, even feverish at times. The A380 has become not only a symbol of the latest battle between two competing aircraft builders, and high capacity long-haul aircraft versus smaller capacity short-haul aircraft, but of the growing political and cultural war between America and Europe.

The growing animosity spreading across the Atlantic Ocean goes well beyond a clash of words between presidents Bush and Chirac over the war in Iraq, Bush’s refusal to answer Chirac’s telephone calls, or the attempted renaming of French Fries to Freedom Fries by a small group of childish Fox News-watching Americans.

The production of the A380 has intensified a trade row between the US and Europe over government subsidies paid to the aircraft industry. The European Union and the United States have accused each other of helping Airbus and Boeing with illegal government subsidies. Airbus receives support from the European countries where its various consortium members are headquartered. Boeing receives financial incentives from the states of Washington and Kansas, where it’s two major production facilities are located (plus billions of dollars through its countless U.S. defense contracts). Talks broke down earlier this month and it looks as if both sides are heading for a showdown at the World Trade Organization (WTO).

As for me, a simple aviation enthusiast who automatically looks skyward in response to the sound of ANY type of aircraft engine, I will be eagerly keeping my eyes peeled for this latest of mankind’s technological achievements.

Nothing Trivial About The Bard

A bit of cocktail trivia that was originally shared with me by my wonderful high school English Literature teacher, Ms. Merle Gould, way back in 1976. Today is famed dramatist William Shakespere's baptismal day. The Bard was born on April 23rd and baptized three days later on April 26th.

Just a little something to keep stowed away until you need to jumpstart a conversation that has come to a screeching halt, at the next social gathering you're attending. I'm always glad to be of service...

George Washington Slept Here? His Ancestors Certainly Did!

Today being a warm and sunny spring day, Sarah and I packed up the photographic gear and made our way north to nearby Lancaster and the coastal village of Heysham. After downing a caffe latte in a teashop that we found along one of Heysham’s many cobble stoned alleyways, we took a short stroll to the ruins of Saint Patrick’s Chapel, which lies on a high grassy bluff overlooking Morecambe Bay.

A few miles further up the road is the village of Warton, which has the distinction of being the ancestral home of both Winston Spencer Churchill and George Washington. The local pub is named in honor of the first president of the United States and the imposing bell tower of Saint Oswald’s Parish Church was built by one Robert Washington over 500 years ago. Inside the church, we found framed copies of both Washington’s and Churchill’s family trees. The last member of the Washington family to live in Warton was Thomas Washington, who was the vicar of this very same church from 1799 to 1823.

While pouring me a pint of ale, the owner of the George Washington pub and inn shared with us that on every July 4th the Stars and Stripes is proudly flown from atop the church tower that President Washington’s ancestor had built. It is comforting to know that the people of Warton hold no grudges over the War for Independence.

Before Sarah and I began our return journey towards home, we paused long enough to photograph Rev.Thomas Washington’s tombstone and to sign the church’s guest registry. It was interesting to note that someone from Maryland had made a pilgrimage to this church and had signed the registry book just a few days prior to our own visit. We may have to make a special return visit to Warton in July.

What Now, Fellow Catholics?

Approximately twenty-fours hours have elapsed since a column of white smoke appeared above the Vatican’s Sistine Chapel, announcing the successful election of a new Pope.

Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, often referred to as The Enforcer and God’s Rottweiler, for his role as the dogmatic head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (the papal department that was once known as the Holy Inquisition) will now be known the world over as Pope Benedict XVI. It was an open secret before the conclave that all but two of the bishops from his native Germany were opposed to his candidacy. What now lies in store for the Roman Catholic Church, and the state of ecumenicism? At this stage, your guess is as good as mine.

In a biographical profile published in today’s edition of The Guardian, the former Cardinal Ratzinger is quoted as saying that rock and roll music is intrinsically un-Christian and the festivals where rock music is performed take on a cult-like tone. I guess Andrew Lloyd Webber had better not make any plans to stage a revival of Jesus Christ Superstar in Rome anytime in the near future…

RMS Titanic

Ninety-three years ago today, on April 14, 1912, the RMS Titanic struck an iceberg while sailing on her maiden voyage from Southhampton to New York. Of the approximately 2,223 passengers and crew on board, there were only 705 survivors.

Two very notable people who distinguished themselves on this fateful night were from the local area where Sarah and I currently reside. The ship's very talented bandleader, Wallace Hartley, was born and raised just a few miles away in the town of Colne. He and his fellow musicians calmed the passengers with their music, playing their instruments right up to the Titanic's final minutes afloat. A monument honoring the memory of Mr. Hartley was constructed not far from Colne's municipal hall. Also keeping order, and doing his best to save as many people as possible, was Second Officer Charles H. Lightoller. A native of nearby Chorley, "Lights" would go on to distinguish himself 28 years later when he navigated his personal cabin cruiser to the shores of Dunkirk in 1940, successfully saving the lives of many British soldiers who were fleeing the advancing Nazi onslaught.

Tonight, Sarah and I shall raise a glass and toast the memory of Titanic and all who sailed upon her. I hope that if the opportunity presents itself, you will all pause and take a moment to do the same.

The Assassination of Richard Nixon

I am self-admittedly very jaded when it comes to viewing and enjoying a motion picture. What is being projected up on the cinema screen of late tends to rarely impress me. The same can be said of the actor Sean Penn. For years, my impression of him has been that of an angry and immature young man who was using acting has a means to channel his inner angst at the expense of the theater-going public, instead of seeking out the services of a good psychiatrist.

I experienced an epiphany yesterday afternoon, while sitting in a movie theater in Manchester.

Sarah and I finally had the opportunity to see The Assassination of Richard Nixon, which opened in British cinemas on April 8th. Before preceding any further, I must make a disclaimer. This film was written and directed by the fiancé of someone whom we consider to be a very special friend; someone who Sarah happened to work with when she was still at Warner Bros. That now being said, we just viewed “A Film by Niels Mueller” that took me on an emotional roller coaster ride not experienced since I first saw Michael Cimino’s The Deer Hunter (with a strong dose of Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman thrown in for good measure). I have but one word to pass along to Niels: Bravo!

Watching Sean Penn interpret Niels' script and direction, we witnessed an individual who has finally matured as an actor, and more importantly as a human being. From now on, I shall look upon and treat Sean Penn with the newfound respect that is due him. As for Niels Mueller, his blip is clearly on the radar screen; here is a writer and director that we should all be keeping our eyes on.

Farewell MG Rover (?)

The BBC had reported late last night that the venerable automobile manufacturer MG Rover is going into receivership. All of the morning newspapers are featuring this as their lead story, as well. After 100 years, the last remaining British-owned automaker it is to be no more.

Unlike many other members of the male gender, I never considered myself a testosterone-driven car dude. Automobiles have always served a practical purpose to me; a means of transportation to effectively get from Point A to Point B. However, as far back as I can remember, I have always dreamt about driving upon that winding ribbon of highway that stretches from Point A to Point B, and beyond to the exotic destination known as Wanderlust, from behind the steering wheel of a 1947 MG TD.

Vauxhall has long been a subsidiary of General Motors. Jaguar and Land Rover are both owned by the Ford Motor Company, and Rolls Royce was acquired not long ago by BMW (Germany’s final revenge for losing two wars to Great Britain, I suppose). And now, with the Chinese-owned Shanghai Automotive Company backing out of a proposed Hail Mary merger, the bells of doom are already tolling throughout Birmingham and the rest of the UK.

Why were the Chinese approached, and not a U.S. automaker, to “save” MG Rover? More importantly, why didn’t MG Rover export its product to the very profitable U.S. automotive market? American car enthusiasts love the MG and would have queued up to purchase the very zippy, yet affordable, MG TF as quickly as it could roll off the assembly line. The MGB and MG Midget were both very popular in America during the 1970s. Has the British government properly handled this situation? Should it not have stepped in long ago, in the national interest, when MG Rover’s financial situation was first becoming apparent?

Many more questions will be asked in the coming days and weeks, not only by the soon-to-be jobless autoworkers and parts manufacturers in and around the Longbridge assembly plant in Birmingham, but also by the British populace at large as Tony Blair and the Labour Party seek re-election and a referendum on their domestic economic policy on May 5th. I’m going to sadly miss you very much, MG.

Pope John Paul II

The news of the death of Pope John Paul II did not come as a big surprise; I, along with the rest of the world, have been pretty much prepared for it for some time. The day of his funeral has now been set for this coming Friday.

He never received a large approval rating from me, primarily because he undid most of the progress set into motion by Vatican Council II. Saying that, I still remember attending the Papal Mass at Dodger Stadium, back in 1987. While I could never agree with his views on issues such as priestly celebacy, female clergy, and birth control, there wasn't anything that would keep this former altarboy from attending a Mass celebrated by the Pope. While I pray that the next pontiff will be more progressive in his thinking, with a College of Cardinals made up primarily of John Paul II-appointees I am not holding my breath.

Good to see that the archbishop of Los Angeles, Cardinal Roger Mahoney, is already in Rome; he was briefly interviewed outside the Vatican yesterday by the BBC. Once considered by many as the possible future first American Pope, I believe that the attrocious way he has handled the recent cases of sexual misconduct among priests in Los Angeles has pretty much negated his chances. But, we shall see in about two-weeks time.

One good thing has already come about: Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles have been forced to delay their marriage ceremony a day, so that it won't conflict with Friday's Papal Funeral. Poor kids.

Calendar Girls, Part Deux

Sarah and I were apparently a big hit with our Behind-the-Scenes at the Oscars presentation; we had a very attentive audience of about sixty ladies.

Lots of ooohs and ahhhs were heard as images of Debbie Reynolds, Shirley Temple, and Douglas Fairbanks were projected on the screen. I had also included many of the photo images that I had personally taken, as well. The attendees seem to really enjoy hearing the many personal anecdotes from the twelve Academy Award show productions that I had worked on, and were asking plenty of great questions. One of the women in the audience came up to us afterwards and inquired if we might be interested in doing it again for another group in the autumn. Looks like I might have to get myself an agent and take this show on the road.

I Might Have To Give Up Eating Lamb

Lambing Season is well underway, here in the Ribble Valley. When traveling along the many country lanes that crisscross this little corner of the world, the sight of newborn baby lambs prancing and grazing upon our lush green meadows is very much in evidence and quite hard to miss. I have spent the past two days attempting to capture on film this very glorious sight. We will see if I have been successful when the fruits of my labor return from the processing lab. During this past holy week of Easter, it was difficult not to be reminded of the symbolism of the Lamb of God while gazing out across the neighboring pastures.

While returning from an errand in Warrington this afternoon, Sarah and I spied a sign outside a small roadside store, which read, “Come And See Our Newborn Lambs.” How could we refuse such an invitation? The store was closed, but the owners were home in their farmhouse next door. Before you could finish humming the notes to Mary Had A Little Lamb, my better half was stroking the soft curly fur of one three-day old lamb, and I was feeding another one milk from a bottle. It gets even better. Both of these little critters were each wearing wool sweaters, fashioned out of the sleeves of an old human-sized sweater. All the while, a month-old lamb (sans sweater) was lying nearby chewing on some blades of grass and patiently waiting for us to turn our attention towards her. Where in Beautiful Downtown Burbank could someone have this kind of experience? Someone please let me know.

Calendar Girls

Remember that wonderful movie Calendar Girls, which told the story about members from the Women’s Institute who posed “almost nude” for a charitable fund-raising calendar? Well, the story was a true one, and there really are WI chapters throughout Great Britain. And just like in the movie, I am told, they commence each meeting by singing the Anglican hymn, Jerusalem.

I am to be the guest speaker, next week, at a meeting of the local WI chapter. Somehow, through no intention or fault of my own, news of my existence on these British shores has managed to leak out among the populace. I have been asked to give a presentation chronicling my behind-the-scenes experiences working on the Academy Awards. In an act of charitable mercy, so that they won’t be subjected to a talk on the nocturnal mating habits of the ring-tailed marmoset, I have accepted their invitation. I’ll report back on how it went.