January 2011

Here we are with only nine months left in which our computers have to learn that two-digit numbers signifying a year must be assumed to follow a 20 and not a 19. Otherwise they will shut down the world. My apprehension is lightened by a certain Luddite smugness—so much for smart machines! But while thinking about this and related issues, it occurs to me that a minor note of interest about the November 1998 election has been overlooked. The 106th Congress, chosen then and sitting now, will be the last to serve in the twentieth century.

In 1942, after all five of the Taylor brothers had enlisted to fight in World War II, they posed for this group portrait, sent to us by Alton Taylor, of Queens, New York. He is at the far right.

On April 21 Maryland’s colonial assembly passed “An Act Concerning Religion,” more commonly known as the Religious Toleration Act. Despite this title, the opening sections of the act concerned anything but toleration; they prescribed death for anyone who “shall from henceforth Blaspheame GOD , that is curse him, or shall deny our Saviour JESUS CHRIST to bee the son of God, or shall deny the Holy Trinity. …” Cheap by comparison were “reproachfull words or speeches concerning the blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of our Saviour, or the holy Apostles or Evangelists … ,” which occasioned only a fivepound fine for a first offense. Profaning the Sabbath by swearing, drinking, playing, or working would cost the violator two and a half shillings.

On April 4 a detachment of five hundred soldiers marched from Philadelphia into Bucks and Northampton Counties, Pennsylvania, to put down a revolt against the United States government. The force was overwhelming, and the campaign, which brought together state militia, federal regulars, and even a company of artillery, had been prepared meticulously for weeks. There was only one problem: By the time the soldiers arrived on the scene, there was no longer any rebellion.

On April 10 the world’s first book of crossword puzzles appeared in stores around the country. Within days, sometimes hours, it disappeared, as ravenous fans snapped up any copies they could find and the publishers scrambled to print more. The Cross Word Puzzle Book did not introduce such puzzles to America; they had been a popular Sunday feature in the New York World since that paper printed the first modern crossword in December 1913. But by making a batch of fifty puzzles conveniently available in book form, with no need to wait a week for the next one, the Plaza Publishing Company had unexpectedly created a fad of monstrous proportions. Answers were not included in the book (they could be obtained by mail), so obsessive puzzlers besieged librarians, professors, and experts of all kinds to ask for the names of Roman emperors, Albanian rivers, and tropical beasts. Among industry insiders, however, the most frequent question was: What on earth is the Plaza Publishing Company?

On April 2, at the Academy Awards ceremony in Los Angeles, a naked man ran across the stage as David Niven was reading an introduction. Niven was shaken but recovered his customary urbanity fast enough to quip, “Just think, the only laugh that man will ever get in his life is by stripping off his clothes and showing his shortcomings.” The incident marked the high point—or low, if you prefer—of a practice that vied with Pet Rocks for the coveted title of Dumbest Fad of the 1970s: streaking.

Watergate dominated the news in April, as it had for more than a year. Each day seemed to bring new evidence of malfeasance by President Richard Nixon and his staff, and in a nation unaccustomed to having a criminal in the White House, the revelations were taken quite seriously. As the House Judiciary Committee took up the question of impeachment, Nixon knew his time to wriggle out of the mess was running short. In the football metaphors that he loved so much, the President was trailing by two touchdowns late in the fourth quarter. So, like any coach in such a predicament, he called for an onside kick.

Between mid-September and mid-June the Troy Savings Bank Music Hall offers some sixty concerts, including many by internationally known classical artists, plus a series featuring top jazz artists and an acoustic folk series. Music at Noon, which comprises ten free concerts featuring regional artists, takes place at midday the second Tuesday of the month, from September through June.

The Music Hall is located at the intersection of Second and State Streets in the city’s downtown area, and the box office is at 7 State Street, closer to the corner of First Street. For a schedule, call 518-273-0038 or visit www.troymusichall.org .

Troy, New York has always had its sleeves rolled up to its biceps. Lying along the Hudson River and part of a metropolitan area that includes both Albany, the state capital, and Schenectady, the city marks the Erie Canal’s eastern terminus. When that waterway was completed in 1825, Troy floated into an era of prosperity.

The Convention & Visitors Bureau, at 305 Commercial Street (207-772-5800; www.visitportland.com ), offers information and brochures about accommodations, restaurants, transportation, and historic sites. Once you’re in town, you can find many local sources of information about Portland, including newspapers and bookstores, and, in the summer, helpful uniformed guides who stand on street corners in the Old Port. Greater Portland Landmarks, an organization at 165 State Street (207-774-5561), has publications on the city’s architecture and history, including four self-guided tours of historic neighborhoods.