Acting Citizen: Farewell to Moristotle & Co.

–30– (look it up)

By James Knudsen

Whose idea was it to put the fourth Saturday on the 22nd?
    Whose idea was it to fill this week with all manner of things to run around attempting to accomplish in July San Joaquin Valley heat?
    Whose idea was it to have a scatter-brained, unemployed actor contribute one column a month? It happened so long ago that I’m not sure who should receive the credit... or blame.

Acting Citizen: Fletcher-Munson Curves

By James Knudsen

I imagine it is the experience of most that there are people we get to know when we are children and they are nearing the end of their lives. Our memories of them are formed in a child’s mind and the span of time we get to know them is shorter than most of our other relationships. And when they die, what we are able to learn about them after they’re gone is usually limited. And sometimes, we get a second or third chance to learn more about them.

Acting Citizen: Let Us Consider

By James Knudsen

I am blocked. Obstructed, hindered, barricaded. From any useful thoughts on the subject of Moristotle, Morisco, Acting Citizen, Fourth Saturday, Fifth Dimension, Marilyn McCoo, Age of Aquarius…. what is the proper tone for the final musical number in Hair?
    Let us consider the plight of the artist for a moment. Tasked with bringing order to chaos, evoking thought, wrenching emotion, and creating works that will stand for eternity. Heart on sleeve, the artist plunges into the task and gives the viewer everything. If you encounter this person, run.

Acting Citizen: All Night Long Radio

By James Knudsen

“Hello?” I muttered into the telephone receiver. My voice sounded like I had just woken up, because I had. I had just woken up because it was the middle of the night.
    “Could ya turn down the radio?” the voice on the other end implored.
    “Of course.” There was no reply, just click.

My Life [2]

High School Days

By Jim Rix

“After being graduated from TUHS.” I know that Chapter 1 said the next chapter would begin that way, but let’s pause a bit before we proceed to pick up with the autobiography I sent to the teacher who is writing her own biography of her days in Tulare. Maybe I shouldn’t have given high school such short shrift in what I sent to her.

The Loneliest Liberal: In above under out yonder

By James Knudsen

A close acquaintance recently offered the following. “Life’s roads are often difficult, but there’s always a map to take us in a new direction.”
    Given that I was born under the sign of Pisces, one might expect the water of the oceans to be the place I go to chart adventures or a new path. I suspect geography is playing a larger role than astrology in this case, because born in California’s Central Valley, with its dry, open expanses, 140 miles from the nearest ocean, has anchored me to the land with greater force than being born under the sign of water-bound Pisces. And so it’s roads and not oceans, seas, or rivers that have borne me on my memorable travels.

The Loneliest Liberal: Mo...m

By James Knudsen

[Originally published on February 28, 2015.]

Two-thousand fourteen ended with my siblings and me officially joining the ranks of the orphans following the passing of our dad Mo. I commemorated the event by changing the wallpaper on my smart phone to a very “Mad Men” shot of dad that was taken at a studio. This was replaced after a month with a picture of Dad and Mom which remains to this day.

Four Years Ago Today: In appreciation of Tom Lowe

By Susan Werner

[Originally published on November 23, 2014. Tom Lowe, the author of yesterday’s column, had died a month earlier, on October 24. The author submitted this tribute under these words:

The Loneliest Liberal: Past wisdom

By James Knudsen

Conventional wisdom holds that those who forget the past are destined (or is it doomed?) to repeat it,  or at the very least elect a reality television star/white dwarf President. And while I don’t advocate for living in the past, as it is impossible to make anything great again, I do recognize the value of keeping select pieces of history. Museums, libraries, parks – these places, along with any home owned by myself or my siblings – are well stocked with pieces of history. How selective we have been in the keeping is open to debate. For the most part we just aren’t very good at throwing anything away. And when you add in the fact that since the beginning of this century, Dad and his two siblings have passed on and left a trove of over 200 combined years of accumulation…well, there’s a lot of history to consider.

The Loneliest Liberal:What’s in this stuff?

By James Knudsen

One of the common gripes from conservatives is that progressives have abandoned standards. “Anything goes, as long as it doesn’t harm anyone,” is the adage that fuels this contempt for progressives and their acceptance of things that are considered out of the mainstream. The slippery slope to anarchy or a state-run-Orwellian dystopia awaits us all if we stray from the tried and true.

The Loneliest Liberal: Bon mots

By James Knudsen

Late May is that time of year when graduation fever is in the air. Caps, gowns, pomp, circuitous routes to a bachelor’s degree are all on the minds of parents and students alike. Having been a student until well into my mid-thirties, I can understand at least one side of this. More recently, I have become acquainted with the matter of financing education. Teaching at a community college, I have, on more than one occasion, had a student explain that their recent spate of absences was due to being homeless. And each semester I encourage students who are looking for a cause to take up the issue of textbook prices, because, make no mistake, it’s a racket. On the national level, the subject of college expensiveness has become a talking point for some. And on the very local level, for the fourth year, a Bon Mot Morris Knudsen Memorial Scholarship has been awarded.

The Loneliest Liberal:This Day in History

Photo by Jim Rix, 1976

By James Knudsen

Did you know that on this day in history, April 28, 357, Constantius II visited Rome for the first time?
    Me either. Or that April 28 is the day on which Benito Mussolini was killed by Italian partisans? Or that Charles DeGaulle resigned as President of France on this day in 1969? None of those events are committed to memory for the simple reason that they haven’t had much impact on my life. However, on this date in 1967 something did happen that has had a profound impact on me (and many others), I got another sister, Morissa Camille Knudsen. Here are some things you may or may not know about her.

The Loneliest Liberal’s Christmas magic

By James Knudsen

Nowhere on my resume has the title “journalist” ever been found. There have been half-hearted attempts, but this morning I finally put all arguments to rest. I am not a journalist, reporter, news anchor, or any other member of the Fourth Estate. Why? Because a responsible reporter would have at least made an attempt to confirm that Fox News is continuing its absurd, asinine, annual assault on the aural orifices known as the “War on Christmas.” There’s no war, but there is a disease that kills Christmas.

Second Saturday's Sonnet

Vern Oliver Morris Knudsen
(July 12, 1927 - November 13, 2014)

Out of rich memory

By Morris Dean
 
 

 





 
Time was, this Morris touched and changed us all,
he listened and loved us, always handy,
he seemed to hold our fledgling souls in thrall,
he exposed us to writers in flagrante¹,

he aroused our wits to the language game,
he'd laud our Capricorn, Familias,
or something else we didn't know its fame.
Morris fathered well: our four friends² and us.

And very often now we think of him:
Casa Knudsen open for cheese and wine,
everyone bright and eager, in the trim,
"No leftovers!" And now, here at this shrine,

all's left us of our friend and mentor Mo:
many memories of riches he bestowed.

Until I saw this photo or Morris in James Knudsen's
memorial montage, I didn't know that Jude Law looks 
a lot like Morris looked in his youth. Jude is lucky.

_______________

1. The first book Morris brought to my attention (in Latin I or II) was Nabokov's Lolita.
2. Most of us whom Morris touched and changed know and are friends not only with Morris's two children but also with his two step-children. See James Knudsen's column "Mo...m," February 28.

Copyright © 2015 by Morris Dean

Fourth Saturday's Loneliest Liberal

This isn’t my usual gig, this isn’t how I work, maybe I should have said “no”

By James Knudsen

“No” never entered my head. For a number of years I’ve known that someday, this task would fall to me. I’ve had plenty of time to prepare. Whether I’ve actually used that time is another matter. But Saturday, March 28, 2005 has arrived (as of publication). Today I am the master of ceremonies for my father’s memorial service. He’s been dead for four months and now it is time to provide some closure.

Fourth Saturday’s Loneliest Liberal

Mo...m

By James Knudsen

Two-thousand fourteen ended with my siblings and me officially joining the ranks of the orphans following the passing of our dad Mo. I commemorated the event by changing the wallpaper on my smart phone to a very “Mad Men” shot of dad that was taken at a studio. This was replaced after a month with a picture of Dad and Mom which remains to this day.

Fourth Sunday through Tom's Looking Glass

In appreciation of Tom Lowe

By Susan Werner

[Editor’s Note: The author submitted today's article under these words:

I am writing with appreciation of Tom Lowe, and his contributions to illustrating our activism for human rights at St. Mary’s Center in Oakland, California, a non-profit community of hope, healing, and justice serving extremely low-income preschoolers and seniors, with comprehensive services for seniors who are homeless or at risk of homelessness.

Fourth Saturday’s Loneliest Liberal: About the Panhard

Dad’s kind of car

By James Knudsen

“All that remains is the Panhard. But not for long. That is a story for next time...”
    Last month I ended my column with a sort of a cliff-hanger. I’d written about growing up in an ordinary town with unordinary cars, owned by an extraordinary father. I had planned to write about the final disposition of that vehicle, because it’s a good story. But the story became more complex and more completed. It recent days I’ve heard much, from many, about just how extraordinary he was. But first, let’s review that Panhard.

Fish for Friday

Edited by Morris Dean

[Anonymous selections from recent correspondence]

Today I awoke to the news of the death of Morris Knudsen (July 13, 1927 – November 13, 2014), educator, father, grandfather, and all-around conspicuous character from my home town.

Fourth Saturday’s Loneliest Liberal: Cars

The ones my dad had me grow up with

By James Knudsen

I’m sure everyone has a tale to tell of how they were embarrassed by their parents. It was rarely deliberate. Parents are usually too harried with the tasks associated with being parents to have the time necessary to formulate a plan to make their children want to crawl in a hole and disappear from the sight of every teen/pre-teen peer they know or wish they knew. More often it is the case of an adult being who they are. Recent events have caused me to consider my dad and the way he went about being who he is.