In 1911, Thomas Edison Predicts What the World Will Look Like in 2011: Smart Phones, No Poverty, Libraries That Fit in One Book

Thomas_Edison_crop

The end of 2015 has been dom­i­nat­ed by crises. At times, amidst the dai­ly bar­rage of fear­ful spec­ta­cle, it can be dif­fi­cult to con­ceive of the years around the cor­ner in ways that don’t resem­ble the next crop of blow-em-up action movies, near­ly every one of which depicts some vari­a­tion on the seem­ing­ly inex­haustible theme of the end-of-the-world. There’s no doubt many of our cur­rent chal­lenges are unprece­dent­ed, but in the midst of anx­i­eties of all kinds it’s worth remem­ber­ing that—as Steven Pinker has thor­ough­ly demon­strat­ed—“vio­lence has declined by dra­mat­ic degrees all over the world.”

In oth­er words, as bad as things can seem, they were much worse for most of human his­to­ry. It’s a long view cul­tur­al his­to­ri­an Otto Friedrich took in a grim sur­vey called The End of the World: A His­to­ry. Writ­ten near the end of the Cold War, Friedrich’s book doc­u­ments some 2000 years of Euro­pean cat­a­stro­phe, dur­ing which one gen­er­a­tion after anoth­er gen­uine­ly believed the end was nigh. And yet, cer­tain far-see­ing indi­vid­u­als have always imag­ined a thriv­ing human future, espe­cial­ly dur­ing the pro­found­ly destruc­tive 20th cen­tu­ry.

In 1900, engi­neer John Elfreth Watkins made a sur­vey of the sci­en­tif­ic minds of his day. As we not­ed in a pre­vi­ous post, some of those pre­dic­tions of the year 2000 seem pre­scient, some pre­pos­ter­ous; all bold­ly extrap­o­lat­ed con­tem­po­rary trends and fore­saw a rad­i­cal­ly dif­fer­ent human world. At the height of the Cold War in 1964, Isaac Asi­mov part­ly described our present in his 50 year fore­cast. In 1926, and again 1935, no less a vision­ary than Niko­la Tes­la looked into the 21st cen­tu­ry to envi­sion a world both like and unlike our own.

Sev­er­al years ear­li­er in 1911, Tesla’s rival Thomas Edi­son made his own set of futur­is­tic pre­dic­tions for 100 years hence in a Cos­mopoli­tan arti­cle. These were also sum­ma­rized in an arti­cle pub­lished that year by the Mia­mi Metrop­o­lis, which begins by laud­ing Edi­son as a “wiz­ard… who has wrest­ed so many secrets from jeal­ous Nature.” We’ve con­densed Edison’s pre­dic­tions in list form below. Com­pare these to Tesla’s visions for a fas­ci­nat­ing con­trast of two dif­fer­ent, yet com­ple­men­tary future worlds.

1. Steam pow­er, already on the wane, will rapid­ly dis­ap­pear: “In the year 2011 such rail­way trains as sur­vive will be dri­ven at incred­i­ble speed by elec­tric­i­ty (which will also be the motive force of all the world’s machin­ery).”

2. “[T]he trav­el­er of the future… will fly through the air, swifter than any swal­low, at a speed of two hun­dred miles an hour, in colos­sal machines, which will enable him to break­fast in Lon­don, trans­act busi­ness in Paris and eat his lun­cheon in Cheap­side.”

3. “The house of the next cen­tu­ry will be fur­nished from base­ment to attic with steel… a steel so light that it will be as easy to move a side­board as it is today to lift a draw­ing room chair. The baby of the twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry will be rocked in a steel cra­dle; his father will sit in a steel chair at a steel din­ing table, and his mother’s boudoir will be sump­tu­ous­ly equipped with steel fur­nish­ings….”

4. Edi­son also pre­dict­ed that steel rein­forced con­crete would replace bricks: “A rein­forced con­crete build­ing will stand prac­ti­cal­ly for­ev­er.” By 1941, he told Cos­mopoli­tan, “all con­struc­tions will be of rein­forced con­crete, from the finest man­sions to the tallest sky­scrap­ers.”

5. Like many futur­ists of the pre­vi­ous cen­tu­ry, and some few today, Edi­son fore­saw a world where tech would erad­i­cate pover­ty: “Pover­ty was for a world that used only its hands,” he said; “Now that men have begun to use their brains, pover­ty is decreas­ing…. [T]here will be no pover­ty in the world a hun­dred years from now.”

6. Antic­i­pat­ing agribusi­ness, Edi­son pre­dict­ed, “the com­ing farmer will be a man on a seat beside a push-but­ton and some levers.” Farm­ing would expe­ri­ence a “great shake-up” as sci­ence, tech, and big busi­ness over­took its meth­ods.

7. “Books of the com­ing cen­tu­ry will all be print­ed leaves of nick­el, so light to hold that the read­er can enjoy a small library in a sin­gle vol­ume. A book two inch­es thick will con­tain forty thou­sand pages, the equiv­a­lent of a hun­dred vol­umes.”

8. Machines, Edi­son told Cos­mopoli­tan, “will make the parts of things and put them togeth­er, instead of mere­ly mak­ing the parts of things for human hands to put togeth­er. The day of the seam­stress, weari­ly run­ning her seam, is almost end­ed.”

9. Tele­phones, Edi­son con­fi­dent­ly pre­dict­ed, “will shout out prop­er names, or whis­per the quo­ta­tions from the drug mar­ket.”

10. Antic­i­pat­ing the log­ic of the Cold War arms race, though under­es­ti­mat­ing the mass destruc­tion to pre­cede it, Edi­son believed the “pil­ing up of arma­ments” would “bring uni­ver­sal rev­o­lu­tion or uni­ver­sal peace before there can be more than one great war.”

11. Edi­son “sounds the death knell of gold as a pre­cious met­al. ‘Gold,’ he says, ‘has even now but a few years to live. They day is near when bars of it will be as com­mon and as cheap as bars of iron or blocks of steel.’”

He then went on, aston­ish­ing­ly, to echo the pre-sci­en­tif­ic alchemists of sev­er­al hun­dred years ear­li­er: “’We are already on the verge of dis­cov­er­ing the secret of trans­mut­ing met­als, which are all sub­stan­tial­ly the same mat­ter, though com­bined in dif­fer­ent pro­por­tions.’”

Excit­ed by the future abun­dance of gold, the Mia­mi Metrop­o­lis piece on Edison’s pre­dic­tions breath­less­ly con­cludes, “In the mag­i­cal days to come there is no rea­son why our great lin­ers should not be of sol­id gold from stem to stern; why we should not ride in gold­en taxi­cabs, or sub­sti­tut­ed gold for steel in our draw­ing rooms.”

In read­ing over the pre­dic­tions from shrewd thinkers of the past, one is struck as much by what they got right as by what they got often ter­ri­bly wrong. (Matt Novak’s Pale­o­fu­ture, which brings us the Mia­mi Metrop­o­lis arti­cle, has chron­i­cled the check­ered, hit-and-miss his­to­ry of futur­ism for sev­er­al years now.)  Edison’s tone is more stri­dent than most of his peers, but his accu­ra­cy was about on par, fur­ther sug­gest­ing that nei­ther the most con­fi­dent of tech­no-futur­ists, nor the most bale­ful of doom­say­ers knows quite what the future holds: their clear­est fore­casts obscured by the bias­es, tech­ni­cal lim­i­ta­tions, and philo­soph­i­cal cat­e­gories of their present.

via Pale­o­fu­ture

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Niko­la Tesla’s Pre­dic­tions for the 21st Cen­tu­ry: The Rise of Smart Phones & Wire­less, The Demise of Cof­fee, The Rule of Eugen­ics (1926/35)

In 1964, Arthur C. Clarke Pre­dicts the Inter­net, 3D Print­ers and Trained Mon­key Ser­vants

In 1704, Isaac New­ton Pre­dicts the World Will End in 2060

Stephen Hawk­ing Won­ders Whether Cap­i­tal­ism or Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence Will Doom the Human Race

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Muhammad Ali Sings in Broadway’s First Black Power Musical (1970)

The Great White Way is lit­tered with flops.

Crit­ic Frank Rich evis­cer­at­ed a 1988 musi­cal based on Stephen King’s Car­rie, lament­ing that a poten­tial camp mas­ter­piece wound up as “a typ­i­cal musi­cal-the­ater botch.”

Pro­duc­er David Mer­rick pulled the plug on a 1966 musi­cal adap­ta­tion of Break­fast at Tiffany’s star­ring Mary Tyler Moore long before its offi­cial open­ing night, thus spar­ing the dra­ma crit­ics and the pub­lic “an excru­ci­at­ing­ly bor­ing evening.”

And then there is 1970’s Big Time Buck White, activist Oscar Brown, Jr.’s adap­ta­tion of Joseph Dolan Tuotti’s play. It fea­tured Muham­mad Ali—tem­porar­i­ly benched from box­ing for draft evasion—in the tit­u­lar role of a mil­i­tant lec­tur­er, deliv­er­ing a Black Pow­er mes­sage to a char­ac­ter named Whitey.

The pri­mar­i­ly white Broad­way-going audi­ence that embraced the coun­ter­cul­tur­al “Trib­al Love-Rock Musi­cal” Hair two years ear­li­er with­held its love. In a col­or­blind world, we might be able to chalk that up to the champ’s sub-par singing chops or some clunky lyrics, but it would be a mis­take to turn a blind eye to the polit­i­cal cli­mate.

(Eight years lat­er, Ain’t Mis­be­havin’, a trib­ute to Fats Waller and the Harlem Renais­sance was a bonafide hit.)

Big Time Buck White ran for just sev­en per­for­mances, post­ing its clos­ing notice well in advance of its Jan­u­ary 18th appear­ance on the Ed Sul­li­van Show, above.

These days, the pro­duc­ers would prob­a­bly scram­ble to find a replace­ment, but Sul­li­van, a staunch sup­port­er of Civ­il Rights, hon­ored the book­ing, com­mand­ing his stu­dio audi­ence to give the cos­tumed play­ers “a fine recep­tion.”

After­ward, the champ thanked Sul­li­van for invit­ing him and “the group” so that view­ers who didn’t get a chance to could see “what type of play i was par­tic­i­pat­ing in.”

A bit of triv­ia. Play­bill cred­its actor Don­ald Suther­land, in the role of Black Man. He may be a movie star, but he’s some­thing of a Broad­way flop him­self, his only oth­er cred­it that of Hum­bert Hum­bert in 1980’s Loli­ta, Peo­ple Magazine’s Bomb of the Year.

Above is anoth­er scene from the musi­cal, shared by Ali’s admir­er, Mike Tyson.

via Messy N Chic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of The Black Pan­thers: A Short Doc­u­men­tary on the Rev­o­lu­tion­ary Artist Emory Dou­glas

Dick Van Dyke, Paul Lyn­de & the Orig­i­nal Cast of Bye Bye Birdie Appear on The Ed Sul­li­van Show (1961)

Leonard Cohen’s 1983 Musi­cal for Cana­di­an Tele­vi­sion: I Am a Hotel

Watch Stephen Sond­heim Teach a Kid How to Sing “Send In the Clowns”

David Byrne Dis­cuss­es Here Lies Love, His Dis­co Musi­cal with Fat­boy Slim on the Life of Imel­da Mar­cos

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

How Marcel Marceau Started Miming to Save Children from the Holocaust

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

If we think about the times evil has most notably reared its head, many of our minds go right to the Holo­caust — as, no doubt, did Mar­cel Marceau’s, espe­cial­ly since he had first-hand expe­ri­ence with the hor­ror of the Nazis, hav­ing lost his father in Auschwitz, and even used the art of mime against it.

The Jew­ish Marceau (née Man­gel) got his first expo­sure to mime from a Char­lie Chap­lin film, which he saw at the age of five. Lat­er, when France entered the Sec­ond World War, he and his fam­i­ly moved around the coun­try to flee the Nazis, from whom it became increas­ing­ly dif­fi­cult to hide as time went on. “I was hid­den by my cousin Georges Loinger who was a hero­ic Resis­tance fight­er,” Marceau recount­ed in a 2001 speech. “He said, ‘Mar­cel must hide for a while. He will play an impor­tant part in the the­ater after the war.’ How did he know that? Because he knew that when I was a child I cre­at­ed a the­ater for chil­dren already.”

The skills Marceau cul­ti­vat­ed per­form­ing for oth­er chil­dren came in more than handy not just after the war but dur­ing it, as he per­formed for young­sters on the run from Hitler. ”Marceau start­ed mim­ing to keep chil­dren qui­et as they were escap­ing,” said doc­u­men­tar­i­an Philippe Mora, son of the Resis­tance fight­er who smug­gled refugees along­side Marceau. “It had noth­ing to do with show busi­ness. He was mim­ing for his life.”

“Paris was lib­er­at­ed after the Amer­i­cans entered in August,” said Marceau, “but the war was­n’t fin­ished. Two months before the lib­er­a­tion of France, I entered a famous the­ater school and a mas­ter of mime, Éti­enne Decroux, said to the young stu­dents, ‘Who wants a part?’ And I said I. And I mimed the killer. And the killer was a Nazi, but of course I did­n’t say Nazi.” Impressed with his impromp­tu embod­i­ment of evil, Decroux asked his name. “I said Mar­cel Marceau,” his new sur­name inspired by a gen­er­al who fought in the French Rev­o­lu­tion, the “Marceau on the Rhine” of Vic­tor Hugo’s poem (“and I was born in Stras­bourg on the Rhine,” the artist adds). “That’s a beau­ti­ful name,” said Decroux. And thus the career of a mime leg­end tru­ly began.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mar­cel Marceau Mimes the Pro­gres­sion of Human Life, From Birth to Death, in 4 Min­utes

How Alice Herz-Som­mer, the Old­est Holo­caust Sur­vivor, Sur­vived the Hor­rif­ic Ordeal with Music

Mem­o­ry of the Camps (1985): The Holo­caust Doc­u­men­tary that Trau­ma­tized Alfred Hitch­cock, and Remained Unseen for 40 Years

The Touch­ing Moment When Nicholas Win­ton Met the Chil­dren He Saved Dur­ing the Holo­caust

Behind-the-Scenes Footage of Jer­ry Lewis’ Ill-Con­ceived Holo­caust Movie The Day The Clown Cried

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Time Travel Back to Tokyo After World War II, and See the City in Remarkably High-Quality 1940s Video

In May we fea­tured col­or footage of a bombed-out Berlin a month after Ger­many’s defeat in the Sec­ond World War. Today we have footage of Tokyo, the oth­er Axis pow­er’s cap­i­tal city, shot in that after­math era, albeit in black-and-white — but at such a high lev­el of clar­i­ty and with such smooth­ness that it feels as if it could have come from a his­tor­i­cal movie made today. These clips, assem­bled into a sort of music video by the record pro­duc­er and DJ Boo­gie Bel­gique, take us for a ride down a shop­ping street in the Shin­bashi dis­trict, past mar­ket stalls in Shibuya, along­side the riv­er, and even into areas meant exclu­sive­ly for the occu­py­ing Amer­i­can forces.

Giv­en that, and giv­en the obvi­ous­ly high tech­nol­o­gy used to cap­ture the footage itself, the occu­py­ing Amer­i­can forces more than like­ly shot this film them­selves. But when did they do it? Clear­ly, Tokyo has had time to build itself back up after the immense destruc­tion of the war, but how much time exact­ly? The Japan-watch­ers at Rock­et News 24 have put their heads togeth­er to answer that ques­tion. “Japan was occu­pied from 1945 to 1952, so it was most like­ly around that time,” writes that site’s Scott Wil­son.

He goes on to enu­mer­ate the visu­al clues that help pin down the year, includ­ing one poster for “Hat­su Imai, the first woman elect­ed to the Japan­ese House of Rep­re­sen­ta­tives in 1946” and anoth­er for Mir­a­cle on 34th Street, orig­i­nal­ly released in Novem­ber 1948. The con­sen­sus, in any case, seems to call this the Tokyo of the late 1940s, the city that Yasu­jirō Ozu, one of Japan’s most beloved auteurs, used as a set­ting in films like The Record of a Ten­e­ment Gen­tle­manA Hen in the Wind, and Late Spring.

But Ozu nev­er includ­ed any vis­i­ble traces of the Amer­i­can occu­pa­tion, much less the clear pres­ence we see in this doc­u­men­tary clip, in large part due to the demands of the Amer­i­can cen­sors. They frowned on any direct ref­er­ence to the Unit­ed States, to the point that they almost cut out of Late Spring the admir­ing ref­er­ence to Gary Coop­er, to whom the main char­ac­ter’s match­mak­ing aunt com­pares the suit­or she’s cho­sen for her. That main char­ac­ter, named Noriko, went on to appear in Ozu’s Ear­ly Sum­mer in 1951 and Tokyo Sto­ry in 1953 — not as the exact same per­son each time, but always played by Set­suko Hara, rest her sweet soul, as the arche­typ­al young-ish woman in post­war Tokyo. How many real-life Norikos of Shin­bashi or Shibuya, I won­der, turned their heads to watch the Amer­i­can cam­era crew pass by?

via Rock­et News 24

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Haunt­ing Unedit­ed Footage of the Bomb­ing of Nagasa­ki (1945)

Dra­mat­ic Col­or Footage Shows a Bombed-Out Berlin a Month After Germany’s WWII Defeat (1945)

Berlin Street Scenes Beau­ti­ful­ly Caught on Film (1900–1914)

Watch 1920s “City Sym­phonies” Star­ring the Great Cities of the World: From New York to Berlin to São Paulo

1927 Lon­don Shown in Mov­ing Col­or

Lon­don Mashed Up: Footage of the City from 1924 Lay­ered Onto Footage from 2013

Three Films Cap­ture 1940s New York, Chica­go & Los Ange­les in Vivid Col­or

An Intro­duc­tion to Yasu­jiro Ozu, “the Most Japan­ese of All Film Direc­tors”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­maand the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future? Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Martin Luther King, Jr. Writes a List of 16 Suggestions for African-Americans Riding Newly-Integrated Buses (1956)

Montgomery Bus Integration Suggestions

Last Tues­day, Decem­ber 1st, marked the 60th anniver­sary of Rosa Parks’ refusal to relin­quish her seat at the front of a Mont­gomery, Alaba­ma bus, and as some peo­ple point­ed out, the sto­ry many of us were told as chil­dren about Parks’ act of civ­il dis­obe­di­ence was fab­ri­cat­ed. Parks was not a hum­ble, elder­ly seam­stress worn out from a long day of work, a myth author Her­bert Kohl sum­ma­rizes as “Rosa Parks the Tired.” She was a well-con­nect­ed activist and NAACP leader who had already ini­ti­at­ed actions to inte­grate local libraries. Of her gross­ly over­sim­pli­fied biog­ra­phy, Parks remarked in her mem­oirs, “I was not tired phys­i­cal­ly, or no more tired than I usu­al­ly was at the end of a work­ing day. I was not old, although some peo­ple have an image of me as being old then. I was forty-two. No, the only tired I was, was tired of giv­ing in.”

Nor was Parks the first to brave arrest for refus­ing to give up a seat at the front of the bus. That same year, 15-year-old Claudette Colvin refused to give in, and sev­en months lat­er, so did 18-year-old Mary Louise Smith. Nei­ther of their arrests, how­ev­er, had the pow­er to spark the Mont­gomery Bus Boy­cott, the action that brought nation­al atten­tion to the civ­il rights move­ment and to Mar­tin Luther King, Jr.’s lead­er­ship role. King would lat­er recall that “Mrs. Parks was ide­al for the role assigned to her by his­to­ry” because “her char­ac­ter was impec­ca­ble and her ded­i­ca­tion deep-root­ed.” King’s repeat­ed empha­sis on “char­ac­ter” through­out his direc­tion of the boy­cott and beyond often seems an awful lot like what is today dis­par­aged, with good rea­son, as “respectabil­i­ty pol­i­tics”—the notion that only those who con­form to con­ser­v­a­tive, mid­dle-class norms of dress and behav­ior deserve to be treat­ed with dig­ni­ty and to have their civ­il rights respect­ed.

But this was not nec­es­sar­i­ly his point. His embrace of non­vi­o­lent resis­tance was in part a strate­gic means of pre­sent­ing the Jim Crow pow­er struc­ture with an implaca­ble unit­ed front that could not be moved to react in ways that might seem to jus­ti­fy vio­lence in the eyes of a large­ly unsym­pa­thet­ic public—to make it clear beyond any doubt who was the aggres­sor. And the vio­lence and repres­sion direct­ed at the boy­cotters was sig­nif­i­cant. They were attacked while walk­ing to work; King’s and civ­il rights leader E.D. Nixon’s hous­es were both fire­bombed; and King, Parks, and 87 oth­ers were indict­ed for their par­tic­i­pa­tion in the boy­cott.

Nor did the boycott’s suc­cess in 1956 put an end to the attacks. As a site com­mem­o­rat­ing this his­to­ry sum­ma­rizes, “After the boy­cott came to a close, snipers shot into bus­es in black com­mu­ni­ties, at one point hit­ting a young black woman, Rosa Jor­dan, in the legs.” And on one sin­gle night in 1957, “four black church­es and two homes were bombed.” These acts were on the extreme end of a dai­ly series of aggres­sive con­fronta­tions and humil­i­a­tions black rid­ers faced as they board­ed the new­ly-inte­grat­ed Mont­gomery bus­es. To help those rid­ers nav­i­gate this envi­ron­ment, King pre­pared the list of guide­lines above on the week before the bus­es inte­grat­ed. You can read a full tran­script of the list below, thanks to Lists of Note, who include it in their recent book-length col­lec­tion.

King makes his agen­da clear in the intro­duc­to­ry para­graph: “If there is vio­lence in word or deed it must not be our peo­ple who com­mit it.” Some of these direc­tives encour­age great pas­siv­i­ty in the face of often extreme hos­til­i­ty. It is very dif­fi­cult for me to imag­ine respond­ing in such ways to insults or phys­i­cal attacks. And yet, the boy­cotters had already dai­ly, and calm­ly, faced death and severe injury. As white Luther­an min­is­ter Robert Graetz—whose home was also bombed—remembered lat­er, “Dr. King used to talk about the real­i­ty that some of us were going to die and that if any of us were afraid to die we real­ly shouldn’t be there.”

 

INTEGRATED BUS SUGGESTIONS

 

This is a his­toric week because seg­re­ga­tion on bus­es has now been declared uncon­sti­tu­tion­al. With­in a few days the Supreme Court Man­date will reach Mont­gomery and you will be re-board­ing inte­grat­ed bus­es. This places upon us all a tremen­dous respon­si­bil­i­ty of main­tain­ing, in face of what could be some unpleas­ant­ness, a calm and lov­ing dig­ni­ty befit­ting good cit­i­zens and mem­bers of our Race. If there is vio­lence in word or deed it must not be our peo­ple who com­mit it.

For your help and con­ve­nience the fol­low­ing sug­ges­tions are made. Will you read, study and mem­o­rize them so that our non-vio­lent deter­mi­na­tion may not be endan­gered. First, some gen­er­al sug­ges­tions:

1 Not all white peo­ple are opposed to inte­grat­ed bus­es. Accept good­will on the part of many.

2 The whole bus is now for the use of all Take a vacant seat.

3 Pray for guid­ance and com­mit your­self to com­plete non-vio­lence in word and action as you enter the bus.

4 Demon­strate the calm dig­ni­ty of our Mont­gomery peo­ple in your actions.

5 In all things observe ordi­nary rules of cour­tesy and good behav­ior.

6 Remem­ber that this is not a vic­to­ry for Negroes alone, but for all Mont­gomery and the South. Do not boast! Do not brag!

7 Be qui­et but friend­ly; proud, but not arro­gant; joy­ous, but not bois­ter­ous.

8 Be lov­ing enough to absorb evil and under­stand­ing enough to turn an ene­my into a friend.

Now for some spe­cif­ic sug­ges­tions:

1 The bus dri­ver is in charge of the bus and has been instruct­ed to obey the law. Assume that he will coop­er­ate in help­ing you occu­py any vacant seat.

2 Do not delib­er­ate­ly sit by a white per­son, unless there is no oth­er seat.

3 In sit­ting down by a per­son, white or col­ored, say “May I” or “Par­don me” as you sit. This is a com­mon cour­tesy.

4 If cursed, do not curse back. If pushed, do not push back. If struck, do not strike back, but evi­dence love and good­will at all times.

5 In case of an inci­dent, talk as lit­tle as pos­si­ble, and always in a qui­et tone. Do not get up from your seat! Report all seri­ous inci­dents to the bus dri­ver.

6 For the first few days try to get on the bus with a friend in whose non-vio­lence you have con­fi­dence. You can uphold one anoth­er by a glance or a prayer.

7 If anoth­er per­son is being molest­ed, do not arise to go to his defense, but pray for the oppres­sor and use moral and spir­i­tu­al force to car­ry on the strug­gle for jus­tice.

8 Accord­ing to your own abil­i­ty and per­son­al­i­ty, do not be afraid to exper­i­ment with new and cre­ative tech­niques for achiev­ing rec­on­cil­i­a­tion and social change.

If you feel you can­not take it, walk for anoth­er week or two. We have con­fi­dence in our peo­ple. GOD BLESS YOU ALL.

via Lists of Note

Relat­ed Con­tent:

‘Tired of Giv­ing In’: The Arrest Report, Mug Shot and Fin­ger­prints of Rosa Parks (Decem­ber 1, 1955)

Read Mar­tin Luther King and The Mont­gomery Sto­ry: The Influ­en­tial 1957 Civ­il Rights Com­ic Book

‘You Are Done’: The Chill­ing “Sui­cide Let­ter” Sent to Mar­tin Luther King by the F.B.I.

200,000 Mar­tin Luther King Papers Go Online

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Striking Poster Collection from the Great Depression Shows That the US Government Once Supported the Arts in America

WPA Caesare & Cleopatra

Of the rare and extra­or­di­nary times in U.S. his­to­ry when the U.S. gov­ern­ment active­ly fund­ed and pro­mot­ed the arts on a nation­al scale, two peri­ods in par­tic­u­lar stand out. There is the CIA’s role in chan­nel­ing funds to avant-garde artists after the Sec­ond World War as part of the cul­tur­al front of the Cold War—a boon to painters, writ­ers, and musi­cians, both wit­ting and unwit­ting, and a strange way in which the intel­li­gence com­mu­ni­ty used the anti-com­mu­nist left to head off what it saw as more dan­ger­ous and sub­ver­sive trends. Most of the high­ly agen­da-dri­ven fed­er­al arts fund­ing dur­ing the Cold War pro­ceed­ed in secret until decades lat­er, when long-sealed doc­u­ments were declas­si­fied and agents began to tell their sto­ries of the peri­od.

BOOK TALKS

Of a much less covert­ly polit­i­cal nature was the first major fed­er­al invest­ment in the arts, begun under Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s New Deal and cham­pi­oned in large part by his wife, Eleanor. Under the 1935-estab­lished Works Progress Admin­is­tra­tion (WPA)—which cre­at­ed thou­sands of jobs through large-scale pub­lic infra­struc­ture projects—the Fed­er­al Project Num­ber One took shape, an ini­tia­tive, write Don Adams and Arlene Gold­bard, that “marked the U.S. government’s first big, direct invest­ment in cul­tur­al devel­op­ment.” The project’s goals “were clear­ly stat­ed and demo­c­ra­t­ic; they sup­port­ed activ­i­ties not already sub­si­dized by pri­vate sec­tor patrons… and they empha­sized the inter­re­lat­ed­ness of cul­ture with all aspects of life, not the sep­a­rate­ness of a rar­efied art world.”

Big Tent Theatre

Under the pro­gram, known sim­ply as “Fed­er­al One,” Orson Welles made his direc­to­r­i­al debut, with a huge­ly pop­u­lar, all-Black pro­duc­tion of Mac­beth; Walk­er Evans, Dorothea Lange, and oth­ers doc­u­ment­ed the Great Depres­sion in their now icon­ic pho­to­graph­ic series; Diego Rivera paint­ed his huge murals of work­ing peo­ple; folk­lorists Alan Lomax, Stet­son Kennedy, and Har­ry Smith col­lect­ed and record­ed the pop­u­lar music and sto­ries of SouthZora Neale Hurston con­duct­ed anthro­po­log­i­cal field research in the Deep South and the Caribbean; Amer­i­can writ­ers from Ralph Elli­son to James Agee found sup­port from the WPA. This is to name but a few of the most famous artists sub­si­dized by the New Deal.

Sioux City Public Art School

Thou­sands more whose names have gone unrecord­ed were able to fund com­mu­ni­ty the­ater pro­duc­tions, lit­er­ary lec­tures, art class­es and many oth­er works of cul­tur­al enrich­ment that kept peo­ple in the arts work­ing, engaged whole com­mu­ni­ties, and gave ordi­nary Amer­i­cans oppor­tu­ni­ties to par­tic­i­pate in the arts and to find rep­re­sen­ta­tion where they oth­er­wise would be over­looked or ignored. Fed­er­al One not only “put legions of unem­ployed artists back to work,” writes George Wash­ing­ton Uni­ver­si­ty’s Eleanor Roo­sevelt Papers Project, “but their cre­ations would invari­ably enter­tain and enrich the larg­er pop­u­la­tion.”

modern dance

“If FDR was only luke­warm about Fed­er­al One,” GWU points out, “his wife more than made up for it with her enthu­si­asm. Eleanor Roo­sevelt felt strong­ly that Amer­i­can soci­ety had not done enough to sup­port the arts, and she viewed Fed­er­al One as a pow­er­ful tool with which to infuse art and cul­ture into the dai­ly lives of Amer­i­cans.”

macbeth wpa

Now, thanks to the Library of Con­gress, we can see what that infu­sion of cul­ture looked like in col­or­ful poster form. Of the 2,000 WPA arts posters known to exist, the LoC has dig­i­tized over 900 pro­duced between 1936 and 1943, “designed to pub­li­cize exhibits, com­mu­ni­ty activ­i­ties, the­atri­cal pro­duc­tions, and health and edu­ca­tion al pro­grams in sev­en­teen states and the Dis­trict of Colum­bia.”

Big White Fog

These posters, added to the Library’s hold­ings in the ‘40s, show us a nation that looked very dif­fer­ent from the one we live in today—one in which the arts and cul­ture thrived at a local and region­al lev­el and were not sim­ply the pre­serves of celebri­ties, pri­vate wealth, and major cor­po­ra­tions. Per­haps revis­it­ing this past can give us a mod­el to strive for in a more demo­c­ra­t­ic, equi­table future that val­ues the arts as Eleanor Roo­sevelt and the WPA admin­is­tra­tors did. Click here to browse the com­plete col­lec­tion of WPA arts posters and to down­load dig­i­tal images as JPEG or TIFF files.

Art_classes_for_children_LCCN98510141

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load Vin­tage Film Posters in High-Res: From The Philadel­phia Sto­ry to Attack of the Crab Mon­sters

Yale Launch­es an Archive of 170,000 Pho­tographs Doc­u­ment­ing the Great Depres­sion

Young Orson Welles Directs “Voodoo Mac­beth,” the First Shake­speare Pro­duc­tion With An All-Black Cast: Footage from 1936

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Take a Virtual Tour of Machu Picchu, One of the New 7 Wonders of the World

Briefly not­ed: Google will now let you pay a vir­tu­al vis­it to one of my favorite places on the plan­et — Machu Pic­chu, the great Inca ruins locat­ed in the Andes in Peru. There’s noth­ing like vis­it­ing Machu Pic­chu in per­son. But if you can’t get there, you can do worse than take this tour.

Take a train ride through the Andes, to this his­toric site. And once you’re there, vis­it the His­toric Sanc­tu­ary of Machu Pic­chu, includ­ing The Tem­ple of the Three Win­dows, the Tem­ple of the Sun, the Astro­nom­i­cal Obser­va­to­ry, and the Sacred Rock, among oth­ers parts of this UNESCO World Her­itage Site. You can also explore more Inca arti­facts over at the Museo Machupic­chu at Casa Con­cha, which holds the largest col­lec­tion of such arti­facts in the world. Hap­py trav­els.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Take a 360° Vir­tu­al Tour of Tal­iesin, Frank Lloyd Wright’s Per­son­al Home & Stu­dio

Rome Reborn: Take a Vir­tu­al Tour Through Ancient Rome, 320 C.E.

Take a 3D Vir­tu­al Tour of the Sis­tine Chapel, St. Peter’s Basil­i­ca and Oth­er Art-Adorned Vat­i­can Spaces

Prize-Win­ning Ani­ma­tion Lets You Fly Through 17th Cen­tu­ry Lon­don

 

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Vintage Footage Shows a Young, Unknown Patti Smith & Robert Mapplethorpe Living at the Famed Chelsea Hotel (1970)

Here at Open Cul­ture, we can’t get enough of the Chelsea Hotel, which means we can’t get enough of the Chelsea Hotel in a cer­tain era, at the height of a cer­tain cul­tur­al moment in New York his­to­ry. Though it strug­gled as a busi­ness for years after it first opened as an apart­ment build­ing in 1884 and changed hands left and right until the 1970s, it hit its stride as an icon when a cer­tain crit­i­cal mass of well-known (or soon to be well known) musi­cians, writ­ers, artists, film­mak­ers, and oth­er­wise col­or­ful per­son­al­i­ties had put in time there. One such musi­cian, writer, artist in oth­er media, and col­or­ful per­son­al­i­ty indeed has an espe­cial­ly strong asso­ci­a­tion with the Chelsea: Pat­ti Smith.

You may remem­ber our post back in 2012 fea­tur­ing Smith read­ing her final let­ter to Robert Map­plethor­pe, which she includ­ed in Just Kids, her acclaimed mem­oir of her friend­ship with the con­tro­ver­sial pho­tog­ra­ph­er.

For a time, Smith and Map­plethor­pe lived in the Chelsea togeth­er, and in the footage above, shot in 1970 by a Ger­man doc­u­men­tary film crew, you can see them there in their nat­ur­al habi­tat. “The Chelsea was like a doll’s house in The Twi­light Zone, with a hun­dred rooms, each a small uni­verse,” Smith writes in Just Kids. “Every­one had some­thing to offer and nobody seemed to have much mon­ey. Even the suc­cess­ful seemed to have just enough to live like extrav­a­gant bums.”

These fif­teen min­utes of film also includes glimpses into a vari­ety of oth­er lives lived at the Chelsea as the 1970s began. If you’d like to see more of the place at its cul­tur­al zenith — made pos­si­ble by the state of 70s New York itself, which had infa­mous­ly hit some­thing of a nadir — have a look at the clip we fea­tured in 2013 of the Vel­vet Under­ground’s Nico singing “Chelsea Girls” there. Just after the 70s had gone, BBC’s Are­na turned up to shoot a doc­u­men­tary of their own, which we fea­tured last year. Smith has long since left the Chelsea, and Map­plethor­pe has long since left this world, but even now, as the hotel under­goes exten­sive ren­o­va­tions that began in 2011, some of those “extrav­a­gant bums” remain.

via Please Kill Me

Relat­ed Con­tent:

New York’s Famous Chelsea Hotel and Its Cre­ative Res­i­dents Revis­it­ed in a 1981 Doc­u­men­tary

Nico Sings “Chelsea Girls” in the Famous Chelsea Hotel

Iggy Pop Con­ducts a Tour of New York’s Low­er East Side, Cir­ca 1993

Pat­ti Smith Reads Her Final Words to Her Dear Friend Robert Map­plethor­pe

The Life and Con­tro­ver­sial Work of Pho­tog­ra­ph­er Robert Map­plethor­pe Pro­filed in 1988 Doc­u­men­tary

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­maand the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future? Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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