Age of Anxiety

“We would rather be ruined than changed
We would rather die in our dread
Than climb the cross of the moment
And let our illusions die.”

         W.H. Auden, “The Age of Anxiety”

English-born W.H. Auden (1907-1973) completed “The Age of Anxiety” in 1946, the year he became a U.S. citizen and seven years after emigrating to America.  Set in a New York City bar, “The Age of Anxiety” deals with cultural and psychological themes, as four characters discuss issues of personal identity in a rapidly changing industrial world.

Historian Lance Trusty passed away, Naomi Goodman informed me.  John Trafny, one of Lance’s grad students, confirmed the sad news.  He was a popular speaker to area organizations, witty and urbane.  Impressed, I tried to emulate him when I talked to local groups about regional history.  Trusty wrote an afterword to Powell A. Moore’s “The Calumet Region: Indiana’s Last Frontier,” which summarized events between 1933 and 1977, and in 1984 published “Hammond: A Centennial Portrait.”  His writings appear in several Steel Shavings, including this excerpt from “Town on the Ridge: A History of Munster, Indiana” (1982), reprinted in “Age of Anxiety,” covering the postwar years between 1945 and 1953:

The imminent possibility of annexation by Hammond clouded every town issue between 1945 and 1950.  A Times editorial claimed Hammond was “as necessary to Munster as a mother cat to a nursing kitten.”  Why should that city continue to build water mains, provide high school seats, and other services “to accommodate another community?” asked the editor, who observed: “Hammond has lost many of its leaders in business, the professions, and in labor to Munster.  We feel the loss of their counsel.”

          Amalgamation was supported by Mayor Vernon Anderson, who was certain it was the only logical means for Hammond’s development.  But a 1948 town referendum indicated widespread opposition, and a bill was introduced into the General Assembly prohibiting the annexation of either ridge town, Munster or Highland.  The debate ended inconclusively.  Hammond’s failure to gobble up its neighbors was probably due more to inertia than to the loud noises emanating from the suspicious ridge towns.

  . . .

          The late forties marked the end of the peaceful farmer’s town on the ridge.  The needs and expectations of the new suburbanites and, above all, their sheer numbers, fundamentally changed Munster.  Newcomers expected new schools, more police cars, more municipal garbage trucks, more sewers, smooth roads, and a thousand and one other civic improvements that collectively made life comfortable but expensive.  The old Dutchmen could only shake their heads as they partitioned their farms into blocks of homes and retreated to the rural splendors of DeMotte and beyond.

My Eighties Steel Shavings, titled “The Uncertainty of Everyday Life,” contained an article by Trusty entitled “End of an Era: The 1980s in the Calumet” that summarized contemporary economic developments::

  The age of labor-intensive industries, which had given birth to the ever-Smoky region at the turn of the century, died in a wave of automation and consolidation, leaving behind a variety of huge plants but few jobs.  The forces that had created the Region’s cities were depleted.  Moreover, the search for alternatives, usually envisioned as clean, high-tech, industries, met little success in the 1980s.  Everyone wanted that sort of business, and invariably the grimy Calumet became the also-ran in the “find a new plant” contest.  A steady growth of low-paying jobs in the service industry was only a minor palliative.

The phrases “Age of Anxiety” and “Uncertainty of Everyday Life” cpertain to all recent decades, as the pace of change accelerates, affecting the nature of work and job security, even in stodgy academia, where stimulating live lectures, like those in which Lance trusty excelled, are becoming obsolete. the Trump presidency or the current flu epidemic, there is presently much cause for unease among those prone to nervousness.

 photo by Robert Blaszkiewicz ("running out of places to put the snow")

The phrases “Age of Anxiety” and “Uncertainty of Everyday Life” cpertain to all recent decades, as the pace of change accelerates, affecting the nature of work and job security, even in stodgy academia, where stimulating live lectures, like those in which Lance trusty excelled, are becoming obsolete. the Trump presidency or the current flu epidemic, there is presently much cause for unease among those prone to nervousness.

 "Reejin Rat" at Hammond Ciciv Center, 2017; Times photo by Tony V. Martin

Bob Kasarda has a Times column where he answers inquiries about the Region, including the derivation of that term.  After speaking to me on the phone, he wrote: “James Lane, a history professor at Indiana University Northwest, said the simplest part of the answer is that the name is a derivative of the Calumet Region.  The Calumet Region is defined by the areas surrounding the Grand Calumet and Little Calumet rivers, he said, which are connected to Calumet River just over the border in Illinois.”  Kasarda went on to quote Ken Schoon about the various theories on what “Calumet” meant, ranging from “little reed” and “pipe of peace” to “a deep, still water” or “a ship that draws a lot of water.”

Indoors most of the weekend except for taking James to bowling and Culver’s, I re-watched a couple favorite movies: “Fargo” (I’d forgotten about the Paul Bunyon statue in Brainerd resembling an ax murderer) and “Nobody’s Fool” (I didn’t recall the strip poker game with Sully’s attorney’s artificial leg in the pot). In “One True Thing” (1998), based on a novel by Anna Quindlen and starring Renee Zellweger and Meryl Streep.  William Hurt plays a pompous, self-absorbed English professor (the usual professorial stereotype in films, unfortunately).  I caught up on “Divorce” episodes (both parties are immature but ingratiating) and learned a new nickname for dolt – cement-head.  After reading a New York Times magazine cover story about Ru Paul, I checked out a “Drag Race” episode, but – nothing against it -  it just wasn’t my cup of tea.   While I didn’t tune in to the winter Olympics, I enjoyed news reports of the unified Korean women’s hockey team being cheered on by North Korean cheerleaders singing and swaying in syncopated unison as grumpy Vice President Mike Pence groused over their warm reception.

Jackie Roberts wrote about duplicate bridge player Terry Bauer for her Indiana History assignment.

        September 13: I called Terry and asked him about his family.  He and his wife Stephanie have six children, 2 boys and 4 girls, as well as 13 grandchildren.  He grew up in South Bend, the oldest of eight children.  His mom taught him to play bridge when he was about 10. He told me that he had just recently gotten back into playing bridge.  One thing he likes about it is meeting new people.  He moved had just recently gotten back into playing to Michigan City 20 years ago for a job as a school psychologist.  I asked his likes and dislikes of the region.  The former included proximity to Lake Michigan, being near family, and proximity to Chicago.  His dislikes were the harsh winters, air quality, and stagnant economic region. 

October 4: Terry and I met at the Portage Library.  I asked him about growing up in South Bend, and he replied: “There were eight of us children in a three-bedroom house. I played sports, and was always outside.  It was back in the day when kids were outside all day, instead of inside on technology.  I grew up in a white, middle-class, predominantly Catholic neighborhood.  In school, I was interested in Math.” Asked if his wife played bridge, he said, “No.  She doesn’t have a competitive bone in her body.”  Regarding bridge players, he said that some are in the 80s and 90s; and although their memories might be fading in other areas, they remember everything about playing bridge, and are good at it.  Terry told me he met his wife at the Defense Language Institute in Monterey, California, adding: “She was in the Army, and I was in the Air Force.  I checked her in.  It took me 2 weeks to ask her out.  Two weeks later I proposed, and two weeks after that we were married in Monterey.  She was released from the service when she became pregnant.”  About his playing bridge, he said: “My mother used to host Bridge Tournaments at the house, and I would fill in when they needed another player.  I played some in High School and while I was in the service.  I didn’t have the time when I was working, but since I’ve retired I’ve started to pick it back up again.”

        October 24: I saw Terry play at the Duneland YMCA in Chesterton and  met Terry’s partner Dottie Hart, who was entertaining throughout.  She was feisty and kept everyone laughing.  I could definitely see why Terry liked her as a partner.  I also met other people, as during the game they were constantly switching tables.  It was a pleasant experience, and I enjoyed myself immensely.  The people were very welcoming, and I could see the attraction with the experience.

        November 7: Terry answered my email, writing: “Hi, I am doing well and continue to play as much bridge as I can.  Dottie and I were able to score some points in a STAC game, not sure what that stands for, but it allows for extra silver points if you score well.  With those few extra silver points I was able to move up to the next level in bridge standings.  Also last week I continued playing with my regular partner, Bill Birk, from Illinois who has tutored me in several bridge conventions (ways of bidding in very competitive games and tournaments).  I was also happy to play again with another partner, Dee Marshall, who I played with regularly until she had some medical issues with her heart and had to take off six months.  I am attaching a picture that I took this week with my mother, daughter, granddaughter, and great grandson- a five generation picture!  Good luck on your project.  Terry”

 Terry Bauer and Dottie Hart; below, playing against Jim and Marcia Carson

Terry Bauer’s bridge partner Bill Birk (above) wrote this after a recent regional tournament in Indianapolis:

  Terry took first out of 38 pairs in the Saturday Gold Rush overalls, scooping 6.66 gold.  He followed that effort by earning a first-place tie in the 17-team Sunday Gold Rush Swiss, teaming with Mary Kocevar, Carolyn Potasnik, and Bill Birk.  In only his third regional competition Terry earned 11.33 gold during the two days.

  I really enjoy playing with Terry.  He is a fierce competitor who never appears to lose his composure.  Terry is a quick learner, as he seems to never make the same mistake twice.  He is always pleasant and considerate, even of his opponents.  We played together in his first regional when we drove to Champaign last May for the day. I still smile as I recall Terry telling me that he did not realize getting gold was that difficult.  Later that year we had a successful Kalamazoo Regional, gathering over 9 master points – with 6.80 being gold.  To date Terry has had 7 days of regional play and has a haul of 19.74 gold – and I thought he said it was hard to get gold.

Here’s how Greg Bishop and Ben Baskin of Sports Illustrated described the Superbowl victory celebrants that night in downtown Philadelphia:

            Around midnight, two students at the Merriam Theater of the Arts leaned out of a fifth-story window, trombones in hand, and led the thousands assembled below on Broad Street in a deafening rendition of “Fly, Eagles, Fly.”  The Crisco that state police had lathered onto street poles two weeks earlier had been replaced by hydraulic fluid – so fans simply uprooted the poles from the ground and carried them down the streets on their shoulders.  Others climbed atop traffic lights and surveyed the unprecedented scene unfolding beneath them.

            Some 2,000 college students marched from Walnut to 30^th Street and, en masse, chanted “Fuck Tom Brady” and “Big Dick Nick.”  Other revelers stood atop cars and threw dollar bills into the air.  One man dressed as Santa – a costume that evokes the most ignominious moment in franchise history – crowd-surfed down the road, not too far from where a Christmas tree was set afire. 

            Others, certainly, took it too far.  At the Ritz-Carlton hotel, one fan after another cascaded down the awning until eventually it collapsed.  Cars were flipped, drones were flown; fireworks and smoke bombs were set off, bottles thrown.  The fence at City Hall was mounted and climbed, as were garbage trucks and fire trucks and tractor trailers and the Rocky statue, upon which a number 86 Ertz jersey had been placed.  A police horse was stolen and trotted through the city.