History Has Its Eyes On You, Part Deux

So, dear friends, the Schuyler statue is gone.

After being called out in the newspaper over its lack of follow through, Albany hastily arranged for the removal of Philip Schuyler to parts unknown.

They hoisted him up and carted him away, and then another crew proceeded to rip apart the statue’s base, where they uncovered a time capsule placed there in 1925. Albany Mayor Kathy Sheehan was so excited, she practically danced a jig over the rubble when the workers pulled out the copper clad case that was brimming with interesting and well-preserved artifacts.

Ironic? Yes. Sheehan has demonstrated throughout the Schuyler mess that her understanding of history is like that of a fifth grader. This is the good guy, that’s the bad guy, black is black and white is white, and there shall be no gray areas betwixt the two. No context and zero nuance.

She demonstrated this again lately when a Times Union columnist asked her about Mayor Erastus Corning 2nd. “Love it or hate it, we’re stuck with part of Corning’s legacy, which is [Interstate] 787 and the Empire State Plaza.”

Huh. That’s the best you can do when discussing such a complex and interesting character as Corning? All I can conclude is that she’s pandering to her base, or — and I’m sorry to put it this way — that she’s just not very sharp.

Schuyler’s demise is anticlimactic, at best. Off he goes to some warehouse, like that big wooden crate in Raiders of the Lost Ark. Maybe if Sheehan were a bolder politician, she would have made a real statement, like melting down the statue. Then, perhaps, she could have used the molten bronze to fill some of Albany’s potholes.

History Has Its Eyes On You

Poor old Philip Schuyler. He gets short shrift in Hamilton, appearing only very briefly in one number — and he doesn’t get to sing a single word in a show with about a million words. But that’s not the worst of Philip Schuyler’s problems.

Lately there’s been a lot of controversy in Albany over Schuyler’s slave ownership, a complicated fact that makes our view of his legacy a little blurry. In Albany, they recently decided to take Schuyler’s name off an elementary school, and the city is now removing the heroic statue of Schuyler that stands before city hall.

Like a lot of prominent people in colonial times, Schuyler’s legacy is patchy. Research by a historian at the Schuyler Mansion historic site estimates that Schuyler owned something like 40 slaves at one time or another to run his household and property. There’s also solid evidence that he facilitated slave ownership by his daughter Elizabeth and son-in-law Alexander Hamilton. Yes, Hamilton.

This really complicates our view of the ten-dollar founding father and his father-in-law.

Not an easy one.

We can’t compare our world today to what was common in the late 1700s, when the people fighting our war for liberty were slave owners, most notably George Washington.

So let’s consider this for a second: If we’re going to remove the Philip Schuyler statue from in front of Albany City Hall, next have a look at the statue of Washington across from the Alfred E. Smith building. Yeah, and rename Washington Avenue. And Washington Park, Washington County, Washingtonville, the Washington Tavern. Washington D.C., too. Let’s get his ass off the quarter and dollar bill, while we’re at it. Time to wipe that wig wearing, wooden toothed, slave-owning motherfucker right off the map.

Yes, let’s do all those things and more, because it will change… nothing.

I’m not going to pretend to have any answers here. History is full of people that did great things, but whose hands are stained with stuff that can’t be washed off.

This may be going out on a limb, but I’d bet you that most people couldn’t tell you who that statue depicts, but if it makes everybody feel better, let’s pack Schuyler on a truck and drag him away. The Schuyler Mansion would be a good place for him; at least there, people would know who’s up on the pedestal and what he was all about — good and bad.

Button Pushers

One day there was an elevator repairman working in the lobby, so it was the the perfect time to ask a question that vexed me: Hey, about that close door button — does it really work?

For years I’ve watched as people furiously push the close door button on the elevators in my building. This always seemed odd, especially on the way up. Are you really in that big a hurry to get to your office? Good for you, you eager beaver!

He was happy to talk elevators. “Oh, it works — but only when the elevator is in manual mode, like when the fire department is operating it. These doors are timed, and there’s nothing you do can make them close more quickly.” He went on to explain that it assures the elevators are accessible.

This is due to rules in the Americans With Disabilities Act of 1990 that established standards for how long the door should stay open to accommodate folks with mobility issues. You can’t just override that and make the door shut faster, and this button does not do what many people assume it does.

Nevertheless, it’s interesting to watch people press that button. For some folks it must be satisfying to push a button and see the door shut, even if in truth they did not cause it to close. To others, it may feel like a tiny space in their lives where they can exert some control over the universe. I get that. Either way, I will keep my mouth shut. Nobody likes a know it all.

Only the Best

I have a love/hate relationship with the Times Union’s big Best Of thing that they do every year.

I love to read it, but it’s a terrible way to determine that something is “best.” It relies on voting that is often skewed by the nominees — and in some cases, what these winners are “best” at is drumming up votes.

The paper supports this campaigning by pitching advertising to the nominees where they’ll encourage people to vote for them. If you have money for marketing, you have a better chance at being named best? That doesn’t sound fair to me.

But let’s talk about Kay’s Pizza for a second.

I’ve been to Kay’s — and yes, it was alright — but there is no way on God’s green earth that Kay’s is the best pizza in the area. No! Their pan style pizzas are heavily topped in a way that the crust does not support. What you get is a pizza that’s difficult to eat with your hands and requires silverware — and that’s a dealbreaker. Sorry, but this is New York and that’s the pizza of the provinces.

Do they have a devoted clientele? Yes. Is it a fun and busy place steeped in tradition? Of course. Do those who choose Kay’s think it’s great? Obviously. Is it the best pizza in the area? No fucking way.

Nevertheless, year after year, Kay’s comes out on top. Look, pizza debates are far too numerous (and tedious) and we don’t need another one. And I’m not going to imply that people in Rensselaer County wouldn’t know a good pizza from a hole in the ground. No, I’d never say that. And I won’t suggest that we shouldn’t trust the people who voted for Steve McLaughlin to vote for the best pizza. That would be a cheap shot.

But I will say this: Get online and cast your vote. My choices would be De Fazio’s or Romos, but it’s up to you. You have until March 3 to help stop the madness.

Art Imitates Art

One of my favorite paintings at the Clark Institute in Williamstown is Renoir’s Bather Arranging her Hair. The tasteful nude shows Suzanne Valadon, a model Renoir painted several times, sitting with her back to the artist and, well, arranging her hair.

Renoir has numerous paintings of nudes who are arranging their hair, bathing, drying off, standing up, sitting down — and even another painting called Bather Arranging her Hair. It was definitely a thing for him.

I like to imaging that the conversations between artist and model went something like this:

“Pierre — what shall I do, just sit here,” she’d ask. Renoir would scratch his head. “Oh, I don’t know — how about you arrange your hair.”

When I first saw this painting, it reminded me of something from my childhood. No, nude bathers arranging their hair was not part of my childhood, but one did appear in funny scene a movie that I loved: Those Magnificent Men In Their Flying Machines.

Sure, “Frenchman painting a nude woman at he beach” is an old trope (for good reason), but I love the similarity between the painting and the scene in the movie. The inspiration is unmistakable. Nitpickers may point out that the Renoir painted Bather some 25 years before the movie is set in 1910, but c’mon, man.

You can imagine how naughty this part of the movie seemed to me, even as a little boy. It’s certainly 50+ years since I first saw it, but it all came rushing back to me as I stood in that room at The Clark which holds like a billion dollars worth of art. I hope the people nearby didn’t hear me giggle.

Side note: If you’ve never been to The Clark, you should plan a visit. It’s an amazing place, and admission is free until the end of March. Plus, if you go now you avoid the Berkshires summer throng, so there’s that.

This Is the Week That Was

In my house, we do our part to support local journalism and still have the paper delivered. I don’t know, to me, the obituaries feel better in print.

Last Sunday, the stories in our Times Union seemed — oddly familiar. Hmmmm… the State Museum is returning more Indian remains. They must really have a lot of them! Home schooling? It’s still surging. Oh, and here’s Chris Churchill with yet another column about gas stoves; jeez, didn’t he just write about this? And, wait, what? Rensselaer County executive Steve McLaughlin is going on trial. Really — again? This guy can’t get a break!

Something wasn’t quite right here, so I checked the date on the paper: Sunday, January 22, 2023. Holy shit — have I become unstuck in time! No, it turns out that this was not a disconnect in the universe, just some sort of strange screw up that ended with me getting the prior week’s newspaper.

It seems that the features, comics and ads, all printed days earlier, were correct, but the news section was entirely from a week before. And how the hell does that happen? I have my theories:

At the newspaper factory, somebody loaded the file incorrectly and printed the wrong edition;
There was a stack of last weeks papers kicking around and they got mixed up with the new ones;
Our carrier had some old copies sitting around and didn’t check the date.

We may never know; the Times Union didn’t reply to my snarky tweet asking what happened. The guy I called on the circulation hotline was puzzled, but had no info. He gave us a credit on our account for the paper.

My old boss used to say something like, “Newspapers are the only business in the world that relies on 11-year-old boys on bicycles as its distribution system.” No kids on bicycles anymore, but getting newspapers out — even as circulation numbers fall — remains a complicated affair. It’s a fresh product going to many different places every morning, right down to the customer’s driveway.

Not complaining. I sincerely like getting a paper and I’d be really disappointed if they stopped printing and delivering them. Details like bringing me the right one? That’s secondary.

The King of Comedy

The master of horror is not the master of humor. This was clear after Stephen King got into hot water for taking a shot at Utica.

I too was outraged, but not because he poked fun at one of our Upstate treasures, but because he botched the joke.

the Speakership is like that old joke: First prize is a week in Utica. Second prize is TWO weeks in Utica.
— Stephen King (@StephenKing) January 6, 2023

It would be funnier to say that in the race for speaker, the prize for second place is one week in Utica — and the prize for first place is two weeks in Utica. Structuring the joke that way is to say that winning the speakership is not a prize, but a burden, and that one would fare better by losing.

While engaging and suspenseful, nobody reads Stephen King books for the jokes — but who am I to criticize this amazing author who’s brought me many hours of enjoyment?

As for you, Utica: lighten up. There’s nothing more tedious than people getting butthurt when somebody pokes fun at their hometown. It would be much more Utica to tell Stephen King to stick it up his ass. That’s what Buffalo would do.

New and Improved

Price Chopper paterfamilias Neil Golub has a modest proposal: let’s rebrand Schenectady as “New Schenectady,” and finally get people thinking differently about the Electric City.

In recent decades Schenectady’s been the Capital Region’s red headed stepchild and the punchline of many jokes. But have you been to Schenectady lately? There are great restaurants and things to do and new development and grand renovation projects everywhere you look. Mohawk Harbor alone is a pretty big accomplishment. These days Schenectady’s punching above its weight, and again becoming a place people want to go to, not run away from.

As for adding the word new to something, the first thing that comes to mind is the failure of New Coke, but let’s reach further back, to the days of the Dutch settlers who named lower Manhattan New Amsterdam. I’d suggest that this strategy worked, drawing throngs of adventurous immigrants seeking good fortune and a fresh beginning. If you like Amsterdam, you’re gonna love New Amsterdam. It is unknown if the Dutch used a marketing firm to name the outpost, as Neil Golub did in coming up with New Schenectady, but it was such a great place that the English stole it away.

It’s tempting to poke fun at the New Schenectady idea — God knows that I did the first time I heard it — but at least they’re doing something. Changing with the times, working with what they’ve got, moving forward. In contrast Albany continues to lead the region in small thinking. Oh, wait, I’m sorry — didn’t Albany open a pedestrian bridge over 787, or something? Good job, Albany. You’ve got some catching up to do.

Turkey Time (Again)

I don’t usually repost things, but the holidays are about doing the same things over and over again. This one is from 10 years ago:

Oh, you poor ignorant bastard.

That’s what I thought at 7am when I saw the guy behind me at Price Chopper with a huge frozen turkey. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was sort of screwed, and the turkey sitting in his cart should probably already have been thawing for two days.

Truth is, you can cook a frozen turkey, at least according to the Iowa State University Extension. The problem with this is that dark meat always takes longer than the breast meat — and being frozen will make things worse — so there’s absolutely no way each will be edible. Which do you want to be cooked? It’s sort of like a Thanksgiving version of Sophie’s Choice — but I would probably not describe it that way to my guests while we’re sitting down to eat.

I was not there to buy a turkey, though, I was there for sweet potatoes — because it’s time to make my Albany Eye Sweet Potato Crunch. We’re not hosting Thanksgiving this year, but we’re bringing this to my sister’s. I’m also dropping off a tray of it at a local shelter so some less fortunate folks will enjoy it on Thanksgiving.

This recipe, whose roots are in the deep South, is one of the most decadent things you can get away with serving as a main dish. It’s creamy, fluffy, and sweet — and you should be prepared to fight over the leftovers.

Three notes: don’t ever, ever, ever use canned sweet potatoes. Also, I favor baking the sweet potatoes rather than boiling. Where I’m sitting right now I can smell them in my oven. And of course, double the recipe.

Finally, if you’re frying a turkey please try not to burn your fu**ing house down. Happy Thanksgiving.