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"What's up, Mr. T?" I said, walking into my father's office. "Where's rest of the A-Team?" I must have driven him crazy asking him to repeat his signature line from the show: 'I PITY THE FOOL!" Again, and again. He always did.

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"I PITY THE FOOL!"

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As we walked through the front door that afternoon, Laila ran off find my mother. As usual, I only had one thing on my mind - my father. I raced off to where I knew he'd be waiting to sweep me into his arms He wasn't in his office, so I ran into the kitchen, where Edith, the cook, was preparing lunch. Turkey sandwiches and lemonade.

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"Are you hungry, Hana?"

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"No," I said, grabbing a pickle and a popsicle from the refrigerator "Where is Daddy?"

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"Upstairs, resting. Go comb your hair. He has-" Before Edith could finish her sentence, I ran out of the kitchen, straight upstairs into the guest bedroom where Dad usually took his daytime naps - a habit he'd acquired from years of training and fighting.

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I pushed open the bedroom door. "Daddy ... " I began, wanting to tell him that I'd swum a width of the pool all by myself. "Daddy, I ... - I stopped dead in my tracks. My father was lying in bed, under a white sheet with one hand behind his head, and sitting in a chair beside him was the unmistakable figure of Michael Jackson. Politicians, actors. even most singers might have been unrecognizable to my young eyes. but the King of Pop? He was one of my favorites, pure and simple. I was never the type to be a fan of anyone, even as a child, but this was two years after Thriller and Michael was a megastar. I didn't have any posters of MJ pinned on my wall or a pile of magazines with him on the cover, but I'd been performing his "Billie Jean" act for my father for months, and the fact that he was now at my house, sitting in the bedroom with us ... It was enough to send me into a hysterical fit.

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Michael was lifting his black fedora hat, showing my father his white bandages. He'd been injured filming a Pepsi commercial when pyrotechnics had set his hair on fire. It was a massive news story. And some believe that the painkillers he was given at that time eventually contributed to his addiction to anesthetics, which ultimately led to his death in 2009.

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I stepped out of the room for a minute and closed the door. "Michael Jackson!" I screamed. "Michael Jackson!"

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Laila came running out of my mother's room. "Where is he?" she? asked,

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"In there," I pointed. "With Daddy!"

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My mother had already told her. She had changed into her pink dress the white ruffles. I was still in my swimsuit and shorts, my curly hair reaching in all directions, as if I'd just stuck a fork in an electric socket! Michael probably thought I looked like the beast that swallowed Tokyo. And if he didn't already, he would before he left - especially after the question I asked him. But that was still an hour or so away. In this moment I hadn't marked him with any lasting impression of me. To him, I was still just Muhammad Ali's eight-year-old daughter. A wild little girl excited to find Michael Jackson in her house.

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Dad used to visit the Jacksons at their house in Encino. He'd bring his black briefcase and perform magic for them. Sometimes Michael came to the house when we were at school and sat on the sofa in Dad's office, where so many celebrities and politicians who the world admired came to admire him. I think he was their guiding light, the man the stars looked up to.

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"Hana, do you know who this is?" asked Dad as Laila and I walked back into the room. "This is the most famous singer in the world." I stood there for a second, with my mouth wide open. I knew exactly who I was looking at.

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As Michael sat smiling at me, with his hat in his hand, I couldn't stop staring at the white bandages wrapped around the top of his head.

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"Hi, Michael Jackson," said Laila.

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"Hello."

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"What happened to your head?" I asked.

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"I had an accident," he said.

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"Does it hurt?"

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"Not anymore." He smiled.

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I smiled back, then quickly shut the door and ran around the house, screaming to anyone who would listen that Michael Jackson just smiled at me and was in my daddy's bedroom. Jose, our neighbor's housekeeper's son, didn't believe me. Sara, the teenager who lived up the street who Mom let babysit us sometimes, didn't believe me. Lora and Felisha, the two girls I sometimes played with, didn't believe me. And the man sitting in his red sports car across the street couldn't be convinced either.

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I went back in and out of the room again at some point before Michael left. I wanted to call Kim and Karen to tell them who'd been at my house when they'd dropped me off.

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"Karen!" I shouted. "Guess who's here?"

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"Who?"

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"Michael Jackson!"

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"Liar!" she said.

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"It's true!" I said.

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"Hana said Michael Jackson is at her house," Karen said in the

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background.

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"Sure he is," shouted Kim, probably rolling her eyes.

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"He's here!" I said again. "Upstairs with Daddy, eating a sandwich ... ~ Their loss, I thought.

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After the excitement settled, I went back upstairs and jumped on my father's bed. I don't remember what they were talking about, but for the next hour or so I lay next to Dad, staring at Michael, wondering what really happened between him and Billie Jean.

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The first time Michael came to the house I was too young to remember. My mom had invited him back to Fremont Place as a surprise for my father. Mom casually mentioned years afterward that while we were still living at Fremont she used to eat at a vegetarian restaurant called the Golden Temple, a quaint little place on Third Street, a ten-minute drive from the house. After leaving Jane Fonda's workout studio on Robertson Boulevard she would stop there for lunch. Michael Jackson was usually the only other person eating there. Eventually he and Mom sat together, until Michael hired the chef to work for him privately and the restaurant closed. One day my grandmother was there with Mom, trying to sell Michael Avon cosmetics over lunch. I can only imagine the look on my mother's face! Michael was sweet and nice about it, but Mom was embarrassed.

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"I don't care if he doesn't come back," I fibbed. "I like Prince better anyway."

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Hani Ali "At Home with Muhammad Ali: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Forgiveness" (2019)

Back in New York City, Tani participated in his first tournament in 2018 with the lowest chess rating, 105, of any participant. He worked hard and attended a free summer chess program in New York City schools, and soon he began to win. Chess trophies began to stack up in the homeless shelter. He won chessboards as well, making it easier to practice. "He is so driven," Coach Martinez told us. "He does ten times more chess puzzles than the average kid. He just wants to be better."

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Still, it was hard for Tani. He came home from school crying one day when classmates teased him about being homeless. At an immigration hearing, he misunderstood the judge and burst into tears when he thought he was about to be deported back to Nigeria. On the plus side, Tani had an enormously hardworking and supportive family. His dad, Kayode Adewumi, held two jobs: he worked long hours as an Uber driver using a car he rented and also passed a real estate exam and became a licensed real estate salesman. His mom took a course to become a home health-care aide. It was easy to see where the boy's diligence and ambition came from. Likewise, the family was enormously nurturing and proud of Tani's achievements. Every Saturday, his mom took him to a three-hour free chess clinic in Harlem, and his dad let him use his laptop computer with chess software that the school provided free of charge. Even Tani's older brother, fifteen-year-old Austin, who aims to become an engineer, regularly took time off to accompany Tani to chess events. The family is very religious but, a bit reluctantly, allowed Tani to miss Sunday church services to attend chess tournaments.

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"Tani is rich beyond measure," Russell Makofsky, who oversees the chess program, told us - for what the boy lacked in family financial resources he received in family love and support. In 2019, with a rating that had swelled to 1587, Tani went to the state tournament. It had been only a year since he had started playing chess, but he had evolved into an aggressive, intuitive player. In one round, he boldly exchanged a bishop for a much less valuable pawn, and the school coaches worried that he had made a foolish move. But they fed the move into a computer simulator, and it declared that Tani's chances of winning had just increased: it saw, as Tani had, that the gambit improved his position several moves later. At this level, Tani was competing mostly against kids from elite private schools with their own $100-an-hour chess tutors, but in the end, Tani won that game and was undefeated in the entire tournament. He won the state championship for his age group.

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"It's an inspiring example of how life's challenges do not define a person," Jane Hsu, the principal of his school, told us. Makofsky, the chess administrator, just shook his head wonderingly. "One year to get to this level, to climb a mountain and be the best of the best, without family resources," he told us. "I've never seen it."

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We are hopeful that grit will triumph over vulnerability. In Manhattan, we walked with Tani back to his homeless shelter as he lugged his huge trophy. An elderly white woman on the street looked at this scrawny black boy with an oversize trophy and asked him, "What's that for?" Without stopping, he said matter-of-factly, "Chess. I won the state chess tournament." The woman's eyes opened wider. "Chess?" she repeated. "Wow!"

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Tani's triumph reflects his brilliance and diligence, but also a combination of circumstances that too rarely come together. It helped, of course, that Tani's family is strong and was committed to getting him into the chess club and to every practice and tournament. It was also crucial that the chess club was willing to waive all fees and admit him. None of this would have happened if PS 116 hadn't taught chess and employed a first-rate chess teacher devoted to helping Tani improve his game. Most homeless kids don't have Tani's talent, but they also don't have his opportunity or drive. "I want to be the youngest grand master," he told us.

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Nick wrote about Tani in his Times column, and the resulting outpouring of goodwill was staggering. Within hours, a handful of families had offered housing to the family. One woman had an empty furnished home that she was prepared to let them live in, another had extra space in her apartment overlooking Central Park, and another said she would help rent the family an apartment near Tani's school. Several others offered to buy Tani's dad a car so he would not have to rent the car that he drives for Uber. A company offered jobs to Tani's parents. A couple of private schools offered full scholarships. Lawyers offered immigration advice. President Bill Clinton invited Tani and his family to visit him in his Harlem office, so the boy took the morning off from school for that. And hundreds of readers contributed to a GoFundMe page that quickly raised more than $250,000 for Tani and his family.

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A few days later, we helped the Adewumis move into their new home, a pleasant two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, not far from his school. A generous reader had paid the rent for the first year, and another family had furnished it. "I have a home," Tani told us giddily, as he raced around the empty rooms. "I have a home!" He said he was particularly excited about eating a home-cooked meal for the first time in a year. "I want my mom's cooking again," he explained.

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The Adewumis were overwhelmed but grounded, They politely declined the scholarship offers from elite private schools, while saying that they might reconsider when Tani reached middle school. For now, he would remain loyal to the elementary school that had given him a chance and welcomed him onto its chess team even when he could not pay fees. "This school showed confidence in Tanitoluwa, so we return the confidence," his mom told Principal Hsu. And then, fighting tears, they hugged.

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The challenge is that when we highlight an inspiring story like Tani's, readers invariably want to support that particular child rather than the class of people similarly affected. Humans are moved to help individuals, not to address structural problems. But the solution to child homelessness is not winning the state chess championship. That's not scalable. So what the Adewumis did next was particularly meaningful. They decided not to touch the quarter-million dollars in the GoFundMe account, aside from 10 percent that they would give to their church as a tithe. The rest went into a new Tanitoluwa Adewumi Foundation to be used to help struggling immigrants like the ones they had been a week earlier. "God has already blessed me," Tani's dad explained. "I want to release my blessing to others."

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We asked Tani what he thought about handing over this vast sum rather than, say, keeping a few dollars to buy a bicycle or a video game, or simply going out for a celebratory dinner. "I want to help other kids," he said, but just a trace of wistfulness crossed his face when we mentioned the other options. So we pressed him: Wasn't there anything he wanted? After a long silence, he confessed: "Well, maybe a computer," he said. "That would be nice." As soon as Nick reported that, of course, Tani was deluged with offers of computers.

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Exactly a month after the first article appeared, Tani's parents had a Nigerian-style dinner in their home for all the people who had helped them, from the chess coach to the donor of the new car parked outside. Philip Falayi, a Nigerian pastor who had let the Adewumis sleep in his church for their first few days in New York, blessed the food, and Tani played chess in the corner with one of his school buddies. A bookshelf of donated chess books, the towering state chess trophy and a practice schedule to prepare for the national tournament completed the scene. "We are so thankful to everyone," Tani's dad told those present. "This happened because of all of you."

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To see Tani with his trophy was to sense the possibilities when needy kids are supported. It's the same sensation we had cheering the graduation for Women in Recovery, and the right policies can replicate both kinds of opportunities. We say "policies" because there's a risk that recounting such a heartwarming tale may leave the impression that charity can solve social ills entirely rather than fill gaps. The outpouring of help for Tani's family was moving, but kids should have housing even if they are not chess prodigies. What we need is not just the dazzling generosity that people showed Tani's family, although that was transformative here, but systemic solutions to help children even when they don't know a bishop from a pawn. So we should be inspired, yes, but inspired to try to build comprehensive systems to replicate that web of support as much as possible for all kids, and that requires Americans to show generosity not only in private charity but also in public policy.

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Nicholas Kristoff "Tightrope: Americans Reaching for Hope" (2020)

Healthy Self-Esteem

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One of the most pivotal reasons i think i was able to succeed in the neurotypical world as an adult was because Mother fostered a strong, healthy sense of self-worth in me as a young child. It wasn't one particular thing she did that other parents didn't do. Actually, in the '50s and '60s, consciously building your child's self-teem wasn't part of the psychology of parenting. Back then kids just naturally did more things together, especially outdoor activities, cause there weren't video games, DVDs, and computers to capture solitary attention indoors as there are today.

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Even so, I think Mother unconsciously realized two important things about self-esteem:

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Self-esteem is built little by little, through real achievements. For instance, when I created beautiful embroidery, that project rook time, effort, and patience to complete and made me feel good about myself.

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The literal, concrete mind of the autistic child requires that self-esteem be built through tangible accomplishments, coupled with verbal praise.

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The "fix it" mentality that seems more prevalent today wasn't part of my younger years, either. While I did have speech therapy in elementary school, and would visit a psychiatrist once a month, both of these activities were conducted in a manner that to me didn't feel like something was wrong with me that needed "fixing." Nowadays, kids are being whisked off to one evaluation after another and go from therapy program to therapy program, some five or more days a week. What message is that sending the child other than that parts of him are somehow unacceptable, or that his autism is bad? I think the intellectually gifted child suffers the most. Asperger's children with IQs of 140+ are being held back by too much "handicapped" psychology. I have told several parents of brilliant AS children that in the old days, the diagnosis was gifted, not disabled. Attitudes strongly influence how we perceive spectrum kids today.

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Throughout elementary school, I felt pretty good about myself. I flourished with the many projects I created, the praise they received from family and teachers, the friendships I shared, and the new experiences I mastered. When I won a trophy at winter carnival, that made me happy. When Mother had me sing at an adult concert when I was in sixth grade, I felt good about that. Even during the difficult high school years, my special interests kept me moving forward. I could revert to my hobbies when things got tough socially. They helped me get through those years.

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Today, kids are being reinforced for the littlest things. It's setting up a cycle of needing approval for every little thing they do. The Wall Street Journal has run many articles lately about young kids entering the workforce who need constant praise from their manager or they can't get their job done. Parents and teachers need to take a look at how they're reinforcing children. As a child ages, the amount of praise he or she receives from others falls off dramatically. A child who constantly receives praise for making efforts into the social arena is going to face a rude awakening later in life, which can negatively affect his motivation to stay socially involved. It's a Catch-22, and one that needs more attention than it's currently being given.

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I wasn't praised all the time by Mother or my teachers; far from it.

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Neither were other kids. We were praised when we did something significant, so the praise was really meaningful and was a strong motivator. The everyday things, such as behaving at dinner, in church, or when we visited Aunt Bella, were not praised. It was just expected that I would behave. But when I made a beautiful clay horse in third grade, Mother really praised that.

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Parents can start kids on the road to healthy self-esteem by offering praise associated with something concrete they can see or touch or smell. This has real meaning to the literal, concrete thinking mind of the ASD child. Especially when kids are young, encouraging them to engage in activities with visible, tangible outcomes helps them learn the direct connection between their actions and their abilities, their sense of mastery and control over their world. You can't build things or paint pictures or create anything concrete without making choices, learning sequencing skills, seeing how parts relate to a whole, learning concepts and categories. This, in turn, lays the groundwork for more advanced skills to form, skills indigenous to the less-concrete world of social interactions.

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Try building self-esteem in your child from the outside in, starting with tangible projects, and your child will find his own self-esteem blossoming from the inside out.

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Temple Grandin "The Way I See It: A Personal Look at Autism & Asperger's" (2011)

Helen Keller And Martha Graham

66 Fifth Avenue,

New York December 1952

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Before she taught Helen Keller each new word and phrase, Annie Sullivan used to say, 'And ... '

'AND open the window!'

'AND close the door!'

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Everything life had to offer began with this little word.

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The first word Helen ever learned was w-a-t-e-r. In Helen Keller's dark, silent childhood, her teacher placed her hand beneath the spout of a well.

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'As the cool stream gushed over one hand she spelled into the other the word water, first slowly, then rapidly. I stood still, my whole attention fixed upon the motions of her fingers. Suddenly I felt a misty consciousness as of something forgotten - a thrill of returning thought; and somehow the mystery of language was revealed to me. I knew then that "w-a-t-e-r" meant the wonderful cool something that was flowing over my hand. That living word awakened my soul, gave it light, hope, joy, set it free! ... I left the well-house eager to learn. Everything had a name, and each name gave birth to a new thought. As we returned to the house every object which I touched seemed to quiver with life. That was because I saw everything with the strange, new sight that had come to me.'

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Now aged seventy-two, Helen Keller still dreams of being like other women: what must it be like, she wonders, to see and hear? However much she gains the upper hand over her disabilities, there are still many perfectly simple and basic things within easy reach of everybody else that she can never hope to master, or perhaps even to comprehend: dance, for instance.

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She has gained the respect of some of the most distinguished people in the world, but sometimes she thinks she would swap it all for the chance to dance. 'How quickly I should lock up all those mighty warriors, and hoary sages, and impossible heroes, who are now almost my only companions; and dance and sing and frolic like other girls!' she confesses to a friend.

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But she abhors self-pity; when she feels it looming, she forces herself to count her blessings.? '... I must not waste my time wishing idle wishes; and, after all, my ancient friends are very wise and interesting, and I usually enjoy their society very much indeed. It is only once in a great while that I feel discontented, and allow myself to wish for things I cannot hope for in this life.'

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Dance comes to symbolize the carefree land from which she is forever exiled. 'There are days when the close attention I must give to detail chafes my spirit, and the thought that I must spend hours reading a few chapters, while in the world without other girls are laughing and singing and dancing, makes me rebellious; but I soon recover my buoyancy and laugh the discontent out of my heart. For, after all, everyone who wishes to gain true knowledge must climb the Hill Difficulty alone, and since there is no royal road to the summit, I must zigzag it in my own way ... Every struggle is victory.'

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Still feted wherever she goes, Helen Keller is taken by a friend to meet the electrifying Grande Dame of modern dance, Martha Graham. Graham is immediately taken by what she calls Helen's 'gracious embrace of life' and is impressed by what appears to be her photographic memory. They become friends. Before long, Helen starts paying regular visits to the dance studio. She seems to focus on the dancers' feet, and can somehow tell the direction in which they are moving. Martha Graham is intrigued. 'She could not see the dance but was able to allow its vibrations to leave the floor and enter her body.'

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At first, Graham finds it hard to understand exactly what Helen is saying, but she soon grows accustomed to what she calls 'that funny voice of hers' On one of her visits, Helen says, 'Martha, what is jumping? I don't understand'

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Graham is touched by this simple question. She asks a member of her company, Merce Cunningham, to stand at the barre. She approaches him from behind, says, 'Merce, be very careful, I'm putting Helen's hands on your body; and places Helen Keller's hands on his waist.

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Cunningham cannot see Keller, but feels her two hands around his waist, 'like bird wings, so soft' Everyone in the studio stands quite still, focusing on what is happening. Cunningham jumps in the air while Keller's hands rise up with his body.

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'Her hands rose and fell as Merce did,' recalls Martha Graham, in extreme old age. 'Her expression changed from curiosity to one of joy. You could see the enthusiasm rise in her face as she threw her arms in the air.'

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Cunningham continues to perform small leaps, with very straight legs.

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He suddenly feels Keller's fingers, still touching his waist, begin to move slightly, 'as though fluttering.' For the first time in her life, she is experiencing dance. 'Oh, how wonderful! How like thought! How like the mind it is!' she exclaims when he stops.

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Helen Keller and Martha Graham appear together in a documentary film, The Unconquered, in 1953. Still wearing her hat, Keller stands in the middle of a group of dancers 'feeling' the dance, while Graham and her dancers circle around her. She has a look of ecstasy upon her face.

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Almost half a century later, Martha Graham, now aged ninety-six, is busy dictating her autobiography. Her hands are crippled with arthritis. She looks back on Helen Keller, who died over twenty years ago, as 'the most gallant woman I have ever known'. And then it suddenly strikes her why, way back in the 1950s, Helen had been quite so excited by her visits to the studio.

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'The word "and" is inseparable from the dance, and leads us into most of the exercises and movements. It led her into the life of vibration. And her life enriched our studio. And to close the circle, all of our dance classes begin with the teacher saying, 'AND ... one!' "

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Craig Brown "Hello Goodbye Hello" (2011)

Ask Well

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I was recently prescribed antibiotics and I'm worried that it might kill the "good" bacteria in my gut. What can I do to minimize the damage?

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Since penicillin was discovered in 1928, antibiotics have transformed once life-threatening infections into treatable conditions. But in the process of wiping out the "bad" bacteria, they can decimate the "good" ones, too.

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For most people, these effects on the gut microbiome are temporary, said Dr. Tien Dong, a gastroenterologist at UCLA Health. If you're generally in good health, "you'll likely recover on your own," he said.

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Still, you can take actions to encourage that recovery by paying attention to your diet.

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Antibiotics affect the microbes in your gut in a similar way that wildfires affect the plants and animals in a forest, Dr. Dong said. The landscape regrows, but with less diversity than before. The first plants to repopulate after a fire are weedy and opportunistic, and they grow all over the place. The same thing happens in the gut after antibiotics, Dr. Dong said. The initial bacteria to return are fast-growing generalists that quickly take over the gut. This forms a less diverse and therefore less healthy microbiome.

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Fortunately, broad-spectrum oral antibiotics won't kill your entire native flora, said Amy Langdon, a microbial genomicist who recently left a postdoctoral position at Simon Fraser University in British Columbia. Similar to how random patches of greenery might survive in a burned landscape, small communities of good bacteria can hide in parts of the digestive tract that antibiotics can't reach. "We're counting on those to reseed the intestine," Dr. Langdon said.

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Over time, those survivors can edge out the weedy competition and rebuild a healthy microbiome.

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That process may take longer for some people, such as small children, older adults or those who take antibiotics frequently. But most adults can expect their gut to return to normal within a couple of months, Dr. Dong said.

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Your diet may be the most important element of recovery after antibiotics, said Pawel Kiela, an immunobiologist at the University of Arizona Cancer Center who researches the gut microbiome. Some types of food are better at encouraging the "good" microbes to grow and discouraging the "bad."

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Healthy gut bacteria tend to prefer fiber, for instance, Dr. Kiela said.

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In a 2021 study, scientists transplanted human fecal bacteria into two groups of mice: one on a low-fiber diet and another on a standard diet of mouse chow, which usually contains a mix of high-fiber grains.

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After both groups were given antibiotics, the gut diversity of the mice on the low-fiber diet recovered more slowly than those on the standard diet, and some of their "good" bacteria never re-grew. Their low-fiber diets also gave them a lower microbial diversity to begin with.

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Federal health officials recommend that you consume at least 21 to 38 grams of fiber per day, depending on your age and sex.

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For some people, antibiotics can cause diarrhea, bloating and cramping - and high-fiber foods can make symptoms like bloating and gas worse, Dr. Dong said. If you're not feeling up for a big salad or a plate of veggies while taking the drugs, it's OK to wait until your symptoms have settled, he said.

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Isobel Whitcomb

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So what did you do Friday night? One hundred and twenty people in Saline County, Kan., spent the night in the sheriff's new jail. The experience was billed as Slumber in the Slammer. For 20 bucks, visitors got a chance to be booked, have a mug shot taken, eat with a rubber spoon and sleep in a cell. One participant told the local news she did not realize what people in jail had to go through. Not clear how many booked return visits, though.

I never did see Michael Jackson at the house again after that visit. I often wondered if Jamal was right - if it was because of the question I had asked him. But it may have been because the divorce was imminent and we were leaving Fremont the following year.

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My father often spoke to Michael and his brothers over the telephone, but at that time I was too young to know who they were. I was three years old and sitting in his lap dripping my popsicle all over him as Dad's ever-rolling tape recorder captured one of their conversations, on December 8, 1979:

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"Hey, Marlon," said my father. "Do your kids like popsicles?"

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"Yeah, they love them."

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"Mine tool" he said. "I don't know what it is about them. My little girl, Hana, is only three years old, and she's always asking for a popsicle ... "

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"So does my little girl," he said. ...

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Marlon had called my father to see if Dad would introduce them onstage. They were performing at The Forum in Los Angeles.

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"I wish I could," he said, "but I'll be in Hong Kong ... "

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A few days later Marlon called back to see if anyone in the family wanted tickets to the show.

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"Marlon Jackson of The Jackson 5!"

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"Did I wake you?"

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"No ... you all aren't The Jackson 5 anymore, are you?"

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"No, we had to change our name when we left Motown because they claimed they owned it. Now we're just The Jacksons."

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"Who are you with now?"

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"We're with CBS-Epic Records."

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"1 thought y'all were with Kenny Gamble."

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"We used to be with Kenny Gamble, we were with CBS and they wanted us to record with him, but we're doing our own stuff, we're writing and producing our own songs. The Temptations just rejoined and signed with Kenny Gamble."

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"They're not doing anything much now, are they?" Dad asked.

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"Yeah, they're getting ready to come back out-the original Temptations."

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"Hold on Put those back, Laila," he said in the background. "My

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two daughters are in here cuttin' up, tearing up and drawing. Talkin' about 'Daddy, I want to write,' then they take my pen and scribble on paper."

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"That's sweet," said Marlon.

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"I take all that stuff and mark the date on it. When they get older, I'm going to show it to them. It's valuable."

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"Yeah, we save our little girl's drawings too. She goes to nursery school. .. "

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"Yeah, keep all that stuff ... So, what's up, Boss?"

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"We just wanted to know if anyone in your family needed tickets to the show."

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"Yeah, when is the show?"

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"December 18th, which is next Tuesday, at The Forum."

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"Hold on - let me see where I'll be ... " He reached for his datebook.

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"No," said Marlon, "you'll be in Hong Kong. I wanted to know if your in-laws wanted tickets."

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"Yeah, man, I'd like to get five of them - my sisters and brothers-in-law would love to go to the show. Can you mail them to me?"

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"Yeah, no problem, I'll mail them. I have your address ... You live on 55 Fremont?"

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"Yeah, man, the zip code is 90005."

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"Okay, I'll get you five tickets. My wife, Carol, wants to know if Veronica is going to Hong Kong with you?"

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"Yeah, she's going ... Well, I sure am thankful you're calling me and are going to give me those tickets. I'm so honored I'm going to give them to my sisters and brothers-in-law. They'll want to go see you."

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"Okay, I'll get this right out to you." "We've got to hang out one day, you hear?" "Okay, we will."

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"Okay, take care," said Marlon. "I love you."

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"I got your phone number. I'll call you as soon as I get free," said Dad. "Thank you, brother."

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Dad hung up the phone and spoke into the recorder: "That was Marlon Jackson of The Jackson 5; they left Motown, so they're now called The Jacksons. This is December 8, 1979. I'm downstairs with Hana and Laila ... What's Laila doing, Hana?"

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"She's messing with your papers ... "

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Hani Ali "At Home with Muhammad Ali: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Forgiveness" (2019)

The Boston Globe tracked down ninety-three valedictorians who had appeared in its newspaper between 2005 and 2007 in a "Faces of Excellence" series. These were hardworking, smart, outperforming kids, mostly of color, and nearly one-quarter had aimed to be doctors. Yet not one has become a doctor, and one-quarter failed to earn a BA within six years. Four became homeless, one spent time in prison and one died. The Globe described "an epidemic of untapped potential," which seems about right whether one is talking about black neighborhoods in Boston or rural white communities in Oregon, not to mention Latino parts of Texas or Native American country across the West.

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Some Americans assume that the grim difficulties affect only those on the bottom rung of the ladder, but that's incorrect. The economic and social fabric for much of America has been ripped apart, and this is expensive for everyone: the White House estimates that the opioid epidemic costs the United States half a trillion dollars a year - more than $4,000 per American household annually.

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One mechanism by which pain on the bottom is transmitted throughout the nation is the political system. Some 60 million Americans live in a rural America that is suffering, and the U.S. political architecture gives the frustrations of these rural Americans disproportionate political influence. They have particular weight in the Senate, where each state has two senators, so a Wyoming voter has sixty-eight times as much clout in choosing a senator as a California voter. This baked-in bias in the Senate and Electoral College in favor of small, rural states will continue to give rural voters outsize influence for the foreseeable future, and rural America has for decades endured economic decline and social turmoil that have left voters angry and disillusioned. The political consequences are visible: Working-class Americans helped elect President Trump. The reasons they backed Trump were complicated and sometimes included nativism, racism and sexism, but about 8 million of these voters had supported Barack Obama in 20I2. Many cast ballots for Trump as a primal scream of desperation because they felt forgotten, neglected and scorned by traditional politicians.

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Nicholas Kristoff "Tightrope: Americans Reaching for Hope" (2020)

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Gustav Mahler refuses to kneel before Auguste Rodin

Rue de l'Universite,

Paris

April 23rd 1909

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A group of Mahler's admirers in Vienna has been persuaded by Alma Mahler's stepfather, the painter Carl Moll, to commission the great Auguste Rodin to sculpt the composer's head. At first, Rodin is indifferent. Only after being told that Mahler is a great composer, on the same level in music as he is in art, does Rodin agree to lower his regular price to 10,000 francs for a clay bust, with an additional charge for bronze casts.

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Mahler is restless by nature, not the sort of man to agree to sit still for any length of time, so they appeal to his vanity, too, by telling him that the idea has corne from Rodin himself, as Mahler's head interests him so much. Flattered, Mahler agrees.

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He arrives in Paris from America. He is suffering from rheumatic heart disease, and has been unable to hike in the mountains, so can no longer 'wrest my ideas from Nature'. On April 22nd, their go-between Paul Clemenceau writes a letter to Rodin: 'If you are free to do so, please come tomorrow, Friday, at 12.30 to have lunch with us at the Cafe de Paris. Mahler will be there. We could arrange everything while dining. Remember that Mahler is convinced that it is your wish to do his bust, or he would have refused to pose.'

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The lunch goes well. Though the two men barely exchange a word - Mahler speaks French only falteringly, and Rodin doesn't speak a word of German - Clemenceau is delighted by the way they get on. 'The first encounter between these two men of genius was extremely impressive. They didn't speak but only sized each other up, and yet they understood each other perfectly.'

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Rodin gets down to work. Mahler has only a little time; he must leave for Vienna on May 1st. Each sitting lasts roughly an hour and a half. Rodin is a quick worker; he needs to be, because Mahler is such a fidget. In any game of musical statues, he would always be the first to lose. 'He couldn't keep still, even for a minute,' notes Alma.

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Despite all this, sitter and sculptor strike up some sort of rapport. 'Rodin fell in love with his model; he was really unhappy when we had to leave Paris, for he wanted to work on the bust much longer,' observes Alma. 'His method was unlike that of any other sculptor I have had the opportunity of watching. He first made flat surfaces in the rough lump, and then added little pellets of clay which he rolled between his fingers while he talked. He worked by adding to the lump instead of subtracting from it. As soon as we left he smoothed it all down and next day added more. I scarcely ever saw him with a tool in his hand. He said Mahler's head was a mixture of Franklin's, Frederick the Great's and Mozart's.'

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At each session, the Mahlers notice that one of the sculptor's mistresses is always lingering patiently in the next room while Rodin works away. 'Some girl or other with scarlet lips invariably spent long and unrewarded hours there, for he took very little notice of her and did not speak to her even during the rests. His fascination must have been powerful to induce these girls - and they were girls in what is called "society" - to put up with such treatment ... Sometimes we were interrupted by a loud knocking on the door; it was une amie whom Rodin described as troublesome. She was obliged to wait for hours in the next room, and she kept on knocking, which made Rodin nervous and furious.'

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Rodin works at a furious pace. 'He would step forward, then retreat, look at the figure in a mirror, mutter and utter unintelligible sounds, make changes and corrections,' writes Stefan Zweig, observing him at work.

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Only once is there a clash between the two artists. It arises from a misunderstanding. Rodin needs to look at Mahler's head from above in order 'to gauge its volume and contour', so asks him 'perhaps rather brusquely' to get down on his knees. But Mahler is notoriously touchy, and misinterprets the instruction. Why should he abase himself? 'The musician thought it was to humiliate him that I asked him to kneel,' Rodin realizes later.

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Instead of kneeling as requested, Mahler flushes red with anger and storms out of the studio. As a conductor, he is more used to bossing than being bossed. What he says goes: he once declared that he would use only his eyes to conduct were he not so short-sighted. But, despite the language difficulties, the two men soon patch it up, and before Mahler sets off for Vienna, he has agreed to fit in some more sittings in October.

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Rodin is thrilled by his own creation. 'There is a suggestion not only of Eastern origin, but of something even more remote, of a race now lost to us - the Egyptians in the days of Rameses,' he enthuses. He produces two busts of Mahler, one rougher and more expressionist, the other smoother and more naturalistic. On his fiftieth birthday, Mahler is presented with a book that has a photograph of his bust on its cover. Inside, there are tributes from his many admirers, including von Hofmannsthal and Zweig. Rodin himself writes the greeting, 'Au Grand Musicien G. Mahler:

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After Mahler's death, Rodin orders his assistant Aristide Roussaud to carve a marble version of the smoother bust. It can still be seen in the Musee Rodin. Bizarrely, it is labelled 'Mozart.' Alma Mahler ascribes this to a custodial error, but others point the finger at Rodin himself. Does he wish to somehow include Mahler's dying words, 'Mozart ... Mozart!' in his portrait? Or, ever conscious of commerce, does he think that the public will be more likely to come and see a sculpture of the most popular of all composers rather than the moody, difficult, modern composer whom cynics have sometimes chosen to nickname Herr Malheur?

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The two vexed comedians compare notes. 'There we were, two neurotics sitting, and talking, completely terrified about life and their careers. You would think that by this time Chaplin would be more or less convinced that he had a remarkable talent. But no! He was just as frightened as he had been when he first came to me and asked my advice.'

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That first meeting took place sixteen years ago, when the Marx Brothers were travelling from Minneapolis to Edmonton. With three hours to kill between trains in Winnipeg, Groucho walked up the main street to the Empress Theatre, where Chaplin happened to be playing. He heard great gusts of laughter coming from inside. 'I've never heard an audience laugh so forcefully in my life.' He went backstage, introduced himself to Chaplin and invited him to come and see the Marx Brothers perform.

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Chaplin accepted. As a prank, he chose to sit in the front row, reading a newspaper all the way through the show. The Marx Brothers said nothing about it at the time, but when Chaplin invited them to see his show, they switched places in their box with four Orthodox rabbis, all extravagantly bearded. Assuming that the rabbis were the Marx Brothers in disguise, Chaplin picked on them, whereupon all four rabbis stormed out in protest.

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When their paths crossed again in Salt Lake City, the Marx Brothers persuaded Chaplin to visit a brothel with them, but he proved too sheepish to take an active role, preferring to chat to the madam and play with her dog. Afterwards, he told the brothers that he had just refused an offer of $500 a week from Hollywood. 'No comedian is worth five hundred a week: he explained. 'If I sign up with them and don't make good, they'll fire me.'

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They didn't run into Charlie Chaplin again for another five years, by which time he had become a major Hollywood star, well known for his many lovers, some of them very young. When the brothers came to dinner at his mansion, uniformed butlers stood behind each of their chairs.

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For the rest of their lives, Groucho Marx and Charlie Chaplin maintain an edgy relationship, their admiration tempered by competitiveness." Like Chaplin, Groucho is forever looking over his shoulder for fear of being overtaken. When Monkey Business and City Lights come out at the same

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Groucho dies on August 19th 1977, Chaplin four months later, on Christmas Day 1977.

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Craig Brown "Hello Goodbye Hello" (2011)

Nobly nobly Cape St Vincent to the northwest died away

(Robert Browning)

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Well, if you think I can do THIS with flute players, you're crazy. Nobly nobly Cape St Vincent to the northwest died away.? This actually came up in the marital life of a young couple called John and Marcia.? I have offered the names to protect the innocent.

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They had only just been married.? And they'd just come back from their honeymoon and she had never cooked a meal. She had never cooked a meal for anybody.?

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And she decided that evening to embark on a great adventure of every young wife of cooking the very first meal for her husband. And she decided to make him a stew.

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And she thought, it can't be all that difficult; all I've got to do is get a good cookery book and follow the instructions and it must come out all right.

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So she went into her little kitchen, looking very sheek or "shake," and she cooked this meal and set it before her husband that evening. And he tasted it, and as he tasted it, he realized that this girl had never cooked before in her life.? She had no knowledge of cooking; she was merely working on her native womanly instinct on how to prepare a meal for a man.? And this meal; there was only one word for it: it was DIABOLICAL.

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And he put the food into his mouth because he didn't want to offend her and he rolled round and he swallowed it the best he could, although he too wanted to go pluuug, like Frank's flute player, but he couldn't. And he swallowed every bit of this horrible substance until he found something in his mouth which bring himself to swallow.

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So he took it out of his mouth and found it was a piece of folded paper.?

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And he thought, What the dickens is this?

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And he opened this little bit of paper and found there was some writing on it. And the writing read, " Nobly nobly Cape St Vincent to the northwest died away."

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And he called her over; he said, "Why the dickens is THIS in here?"

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And she said, "That's what it said in the cookbook."

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And he said, "What do you mean?"

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And she showed him. And there it said, "If you want your gravy to be a little thicker, put a little Browning in it."

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Denis Norden 571025b

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Ask Well

Buying organic can get expensive. Does the higher price tag come with health benefits?

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Autumn is in full swing, which means supermarket produce sections are ripe with the finest late-season fruits and vegetables - like apples, leafy greens and winter squash - and often pricier organic versions of each.

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If buying organic isn't in your budget this fall, experts say not to worry, as you're likely to get the same nutritional benefits from conventional foods. More important, they added, is that you follow a healthful diet with plenty of fruits and vegetables.

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The Department of Agriculture sets stringent guidelines for organic food producers. Certified organic produce, for instance, must be grown without the use of most synthetic pesticides and herbicides. And animal products such as meat, poultry, dairy and eggs must come from animals given year-round access to the outdoors and raised without growth hormones or antibiotics. Organic products can't use genetic engineering, either.

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One reason organic foods can be more expensive than their conventional counterparts is that producing them without synthetic pesticides or herbicides requires more labor, said Sean Svette, a dietitian and director of the nutrition and dietetics program at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs.

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With macronutrients like protein, carbohydrates and fat, there are no differences between organic and nonorganic foods, said Lizzy Davis, an assistant professor of nutrition sciences at the University of Alabama at Birmingham.

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Some studies do suggest small differences between micronutrients like vitamins, minerals and certain antioxidants. One study found, for instance, that organic marionberries and corn might contain higher antioxidant levels than their nonorganic counterparts.

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But these findings have been inconsistent, Dr. Davis said. And researchers haven't proved that these differences are big enough to affect health, she added.

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"Those studies are one-offs that haven't been replicated at a large scale," said Dr. Irene Mathieu, an associate professor of pediatrics at the University of Virginia School of Medicine. Most larger analyses have not been conclusive.

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Studies looking into organic foods' long-term health effects have been mixed. In a 2018 study of about 70,000 adults in France, researchers found that those who ate organic food most frequently had 25 percent fewer cancer diagnoses than those who never ate organic food. But several years earlier, a study of about 623,000 middle-aged women in Britain found no difference in cancer rates among organic versus nonorganic eaters.

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One explanation for such conflicting findings is that people who consistently eat organic food are more likely to have healthier diets and habits - and higher incomes than those who eat conventional, Dr. Mathieu said. So we can't say that the organic foods themselves caused any health results. These studies also rely on people to accurately remember everything they ate over months or years, which is notoriously challenging to do.

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Surveys often cite pesticide exposure as one of the main concerns with conventionally produced food. (Though organic foods aren't completely free of pesticides and herbicides. Mr. Svette said. Organic farmers are still allowed to use those that are not synthetically produced.)

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The experts said that there's currently no solid evidence that the synthetic pesticide levels we're exposed to when eating nonorganic foods can harm us. That doesn't mean that these pesticides are not harmful. Studies suggest that farm workers who are regularly exposed to high levels of these pesticides may be at higher risk of developing certain conditions like Parkinson's disease and possibly some cancers.

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Some people may prefer organic foods to avoid genetically modified organisms, or G.M.O.s, but there's little evidence that they pose a risk to human health.

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Mr. Svette said it's understandable that people might want to reduce their pesticide exposure not only for their own health, but for the health of farm workers.

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If you can't afford to buy everything organic, Mr. Svette recommended focusing on the foods you eat the most.

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Washing and scrubbing fresh fruits and vegetables under running water can also help reduce (but not completely eliminate) trace chemical levels on their surfaces, according to the Environmental Protection Agency. And discarding outer layers of leafy greens - like the outer leaves on a head of lettuce - can help, too, Dr. Davis said.

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Pesticides sometimes collect in the skin or fat of meat and poultry, she added, so it can't hurt to trim those parts.

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Ultimately, experts say that the best thing you can do for your health is to prioritize nutritious foods in general, whether they're organic or not.

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"A variety of fruits, vegetables and whole grains is really what's recommended for better health," Dr. Mathieu said. "We have strong evidence to support that."

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Caroline Hopkins Legaspi

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People in Georgia can now use a digital driver's license. It's an ID on their phones to get through airport security. To set it up, everybody needs to take a headshot, and the Department of Driver Services is asking people to keep their clothes on. The agency even used social media to ask people to stay, quote, "classy." This raises a question. What exactly were they seeing before they sent out that advisory?

In July of 1979, the renowned film critic Roger Ebert spent a day interviewing my father. By the end of their time together, he would have a unique story to tell. And because my father let the outside world in, Mr. Ebert's article would transport me back in time, allowing me to relive the moments I was once too young to remember.

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On a Tuesday afternoon, Roger Ebert was standing in the entrance of Fremont Place, admiring the mahogany paneling, the stained-glass window in the stairway, and the Turkish rug on which he was standing, when an insect started buzzing near his ear. He slapped it away but missed. Then it started buzzing at his other ear. He struck at the air, but nothing seemed to be there. My father was smiling to himself, pretending to be looking down the hall. When Roger turned his back, the insect attacked again. Dad grinned mischievously as Mr. Ebert turned in circles, slapping at his hair.

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Killer Bees was Dad's signature prank. Kings and presidents all over the world had experienced the buzzing. After Dad had his fun, he always explained.

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"Make sure your hand is dry. Then rub your thumb hard across the side of your index finger, like this, see ... " Dad showed Roger, making a vibrating noise. "Then hold it behind somebody's ear, sneak up on 'em, and they'll think it's killer bees. I catch people all the time ... " He smiled. "It never fails."

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Hani Ali "At Home with Muhammad Ali: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Forgiveness" (2019)

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In the 1980s and 1990s, Portugal also had a terrible drug problem, one of the worst in Europe, and lawmakers there, too, debated how to respond. In the end, the two countries took precisely opposite paths. The United States doubled down on the war on drugs and "zero tolerance" criminal justice approaches. In contrast, Portugal convened a commission and ended up adopting - under then prime minister Antonio Guterres, now the secretary general of the United Nations - a public health approach instead. Portugal treated drug addiction like a disease, rather than a crime. It decriminalized possession of all drugs, even heroin and cocaine, and focused on prevention through public education, as well as treatment of those with addictions to try to wean them of substance abuse.

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Many people around the world were horrified that a major nation like Portugal was abandoning the war on drugs and decriminalizing drug use. There was legitimate concern that this would lead to soaring use of hard drugs. We now have almost two decades of experience with these two diametrically opposite approaches, and it's clear which worked better.

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In the United States, drug use and fatalities have soared, thanks partly to street fentanyl. There were 6,100 deaths from illegal drugs in 1980, compared to 68,000 in 2018. Every fifteen minutes in America, another child is born with an opioid addiction. In contrast, Portugal's experiment proved a huge success. The number of people with addictions has fallen by about two-thirds, and its rate of drug-related deaths is now the lowest in Western Europe. In Portugal, 6 persons die of drug-related causes per million people between the ages of fifteen and sixty-four. In the United States, the figure is 348.

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Crackdowns on small-time drug offenders in the United States devastated many low-income families, especially in African-American communities, and the resulting felony records left black men in particular less employable and less marriageable. The United States has spent more than $1 trillion on the war on drugs, money spent locking up two-bit users rather than educating children. The war on drugs has been perhaps the worst single policy mistake of the last half century.

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One legacy of this policy blunder is that 70 million Americans now have a criminal record, according to the Brennan Center for Justice. That's slightly more than the number of Americans with a college degree, and we have more jails and prisons than four-year colleges. The war on drugs even reached into schools. In Ohio, a fourteen-year-old girl named Kimberly Smartt was suspended from a public junior high school for four months in 1996 after she gave a thirteen-year-old girlfriend a Midol tablet for menstrual cramps (Midol is a mild over-the-counter pain reliever).

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Portugal's experience helped convince us that the United States and other countries should try the public health approach, too, and it's encouraging that more localities are moving in that direction. One reason is simply that the opioid crisis, while still disproportionately affecting low-income families, increasingly is striking middle-class communities as well. In Ohio, the lieutenant governor discovered that both her sons were wrestling with addictions. The public is showing far more sympathy to middle-class white kids struggling than it ever showed to blacks like Geneva Cooley. The mantra moved from "lock 'em up" to "treat addiction like a disease." The recent emphasis on treatment rather than punishment, now that white kids are overdosing in large numbers, is welcome and long overdue, but those in the black community have reason to see it also as hypocritical.

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Nicholas Kristoff "Tightrope: Americans Reaching for Hope" (2020)

Can parents on a limited budget put together a good program for their young autistic child? The answer is yes, with a little thought and planning. I have talked to parents who have put together their own successful EI program after reading a few books and enlisting the help of volunteers. Self-motivation and an unfailing desire to help their child are needed as much as is education about autism. The absolute worst thing a parent can do is to let their child sit and watch TV all day or zone out unaware of his or her surroundings. This is precious time wasted, never to be regained.

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Both research and practical experience have indicated that twenty or more hours of intense one-to-one interaction with an effective teacher and/or adult can kick-start speech and improve language and other behaviors in children with ASD. In many parts of the country a public school will provide only one or two hours a week of therapy with a speech therapist, an occupational therapist (OT), or a behavioral specialist. This is not enough to be really effective, but it does present an opportunity for training of the individuals who work with the child outside of the school day. This is especially true for parents, who need to take the lead and provide supplemental instruction themselves.

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I recommend that parents in those situations approach the school therapists as "coaches" who can educate them about their child's autism and teach them how to do more intensive therapy at home. It also helps if family members or volunteers who are working with the child (for instance, a grandmother who has volunteered to work with a four year old) visit the school every week and watch the professional therapist work with the child. The professionals can give volunteers therapy assignments to work on with the child during the week. Invaluable information can be gleaned by watching sessions "in action" that no amount of reading will ever convey. Conversely, it might also be helpful from time to time to pay the therapist to spend an hour or two observing how the in-home program is unfolding. Sometimes a small change to a program can make a world of difference and it often takes a trained eye to spot situations like this. The weekly get-togethers are also a perfect time to discuss the child's progress and review goals and objectives for the coming week so everyone can keep track of progress and program changes.

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Church and civic groups are a great place to find people who might be willing to work with a child. Other sources of help include students from the local high school or college students. When looking for volunteers to help teach the child, try to be specific about the types of things they will be doing. For instance, grandmothers might feel comfortable volunteering to "play" with a child, or help provide "simple structured, repetitive drills" - those are familiar skills most people possess. Yet the same grandmother might feel ill-equipped if you ask them to "help out with the therapeutic behavior program designed for a child with autism." Most people don't know what that type of program entails, and they may think that only someone with a college degree would have relevant skills. Be sure to mention that you (or someone else) will be providing them with basic education and training on autism to further reinforce their ability to handle what comes up. Many people are genuinely interested in helping others, provided they get some training on how to do it.

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I have observed that some teachers and therapists have a knack for working with children with ASD and others do not. Passive approaches do not work. Parents need to find the people, both professionals and non-professionals, who know how to be gently insistent, who keep the child motivated to learn, are child-centered in their approach, and are dedicated to teaching children with autism in a way they can learn, instead of insisting the child learn in the way they teach. Doing so naturally engages the child, which is the foundation of any effective program for children with autism, no matter what the cost.

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Temple Grandin "The Way I See It: A Personal Look at Autism & Asperger's" (2011)

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In 1971, Taking Of was finally to open in the theater at the Plaza in New York. The first show started at high noon on a Sunday, and Michael Hausman and I had decided to go and case it. That morning, I woke up at four and couldn't go back to sleep. At six o'clock I ran out to get the Sunday Times. I rifled through the thick paper and found a pretty favorable review. They even ran my picture.

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I read the whole paper and then decided to treat myself to a grand opening of my first American film. At ten o'clock I headed to the garage down the street to get my car. It was an old green Mercedes, now pretty much a beater because it hadn't been driven for over a year. I'd brought it over from Europe, so it still had Czech license plates. I was going to drive to the cinema, get breakfast somewhere, and stretch the coffee till Mike showed up.

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I was so jittery that day that I ran a red light as soon as I pulled out of the garage. The moment I saw flashing lights in my rearview mirror, I realized I hadn't grabbed my wallet when I left the house. I had no driver's license on me, no passport, no ID of any kind, and strange license plates.

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The cop didn't give me the time of day. He booked me the moment he heard my accent. At the station, I told the desk sergeant I was a Czech film director, which made me not only a car thief but a Commie car thief. I tried to explain that the whole thing was a matter of nerves. My first American movie would be opening at the Plaza in another hour, and I just hadn't been able to think straight.

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The more I talked, the more suspicious the cops got. They were about to throw me into the holding cell when I had a brainstorm: "Wait! Do you have a copy of today's New York Times here?"

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They sneered as they watched me leaf through the paper. They thought they had me cold. I got to my smudgy picture and showed it to them. Their sneers melted away. Suddenly I was Mr. Hollywood. A VIP from the movies. They quickly called the Plaza Theater for me and got hold of Michael Housman.

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By the time Mike bailed me out, he was laughing so hard that if someone had canned his laughter we'd still be hearing it on sitcoms. He was still snickering as we stepped into the movie house, but he stopped the moment he entered the auditorium: the premiere of my first American film drew a total of eight people.

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Mike and I stayed at the Plaza all day, and we slowly calmed down. By late afternoon, the shows were selling out. The moviegoers were laughing and enjoying themselves during the film, but they seemed puzzled by its open ending. The runaway daughter has come back home, but it's hard to say for how long. Clearly no one in the family has learned anything from the trauma. The New York audiences seemed unsatisfied. Nevertheless, when the last show ended, Mike and I were happy with what we had seen.

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The reviews ranged from excellent to a pair of write-ups that said I was slinging mud at America and should go back to spit on the country I came from perhaps there was some meaning in that both were penned by fellow immigrants from Communist countries. The film later had a nice run in Europe, but it didn't make any money in America. Its quiet ending had a lot to do with this, but the fact that Universal didn't support the film with a single word of advertising didn't help any either. Taking Off ran for sixteen weeks. It was never widely distributed, and it still isn't available on video.

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Because I had to defer my pay for Taking Off until the profits came in, I never saw a penny. I was broke, and my American visa was running out. I had to decide where I was going to live and work. The most important decision was easy: going back to Czechoslovakia was no longer a viable option. For one thing, I was afraid to return because I knew how the Communists mistrusted anyone who had lived abroad and had nothing to show for it. Secondly, I was too vain to go back a loser. My American film hadn't conquered Hollywood, and I had nothing but a few reviews to show for it. But I was resolved to try again. In my heart of hearts I knew I was going to make a successful movie in America a movie I wouldn't mind taking home to Prague.

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Finally, when you're down and out, even tiny things blow up in importance, and I simply didn't have the money for the ticket. So I wrote a polite letter to the Czech authorities requesting their permission to stay abroad longer. They quickly answered that I was to come back to Prague for the proper stamp. It was clear that once I did, I'd never get out again, so I wrote back that I didn't have the money for the airfare and all I was asking for was a stamp that the Czech Embassy in Washington could easily give me.

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The next thing I heard was that Barrandov had fired me. The die was cast. I was an emigre, so I applied for a green card. A few months later, I received notification to appear at the Immigration Office.

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A dour man with a clip-on tie faced me across an office counter. "Your application for a green card has been denied."

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"How come?"

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"Because you've lied on your application."

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"What did I lie about?"

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"You stated that you've never been a member of the Communist Party."

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I stared at him in shock. "Look," I said, "I don't know what you know, but personally, I've never been a member of any political party, much less the Communist Party."

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Our sources indicate otherwise," said the bureaucrat. You are now subject to deportation proceedings."

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That shook me up, so I scrambled to find an immigration lawyer. He agreed that the situation was serious, but he appealed the case and was able to delay my deportation.

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A year later, I got another notification from the Immigration Office. It summoned me to see the old clip-on tie. He was as dour as ever.

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"Mr. Forman, you've never been a member of the Communist Party," he notified me, and handed me a green card.

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I don't have a factual explanation for what had happened. I think that the U.S. government had gotten its information from sources that worked both sides of the Iron Curtain. The Americans probably didn't have an independent network of informants in Czechoslovakia, so they didn't have much choice about whom they dealt with. And when the Czech State Security wanted to hurt some emigre, it just passed on information doctored to suit its purposes.

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I hadn't particularly minded being in legal limbo for a year. It meant that I couldn't work, which I wasn't eager to do anyway. I'd seen clearly just how much I had to learn about America before I could make films here. I realized that there would always be some things in America I'd never completely catch up on, which was okay as long as I was conscious of this fact and operated within my limitations, but I had to change my whole style of working.

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In America, I simply couldn't go after an original story from every-day life and shoot it with nonactors. I could still adapt books or plays to the screen, but I'd have to learn everything about the world in which the story was set in order to make it as true as I could.

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The bottom line was that if I walked into a bar in my neighborhood and didn't understand every single word that was said, I had no business trying to make movies like Loves of a Blonde or Fireman's Ball anymore.

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Milos Forman, "Turnaround: A Memoir" (1993)

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If you know of a better hole go to it

("Old Bill" Bruce Bann's father, in WW I, war cartoon)

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This was some years ago; there was a meeting of the London Symphony Orchestra and I forget who was really yielding the baton, which as you know is French for batton.? It's that corset stay that the conductor waves about to keep the chaps in time.? Keeping the score.?

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And they were playing, I think, In a Monastery Garden.

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And they got to the part "Nee naa naa naa nyaa na naa na na"

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And the flute should go "doobill da da da da" (like that you see)

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They got to "Nyah nyah naa naa." "No flute."??

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And the conductor was aghasted.? And he threw down his baton. And he said, "Is the flautist here?"

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And a chap stood up and said, "Yes.? I'm the flautist."

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And he said, "WHY didn't we get the flute there."

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And the chap said, "You don't realize.? I'm working under considerable difficulties down here,? Because actually you put me up against a right hand wall. I cannot play my flute unless I bore a hole through the plaster."

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So the conductor said, "Oh, come on chap. Change place with the cellist. He'll move his cello over there, and you take your flute over there on the other side."

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So, they started again.? "Gentlemen please.? After the third beat. One two three."

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"Da da dyee da da da."

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"No flute again."? So the conductor's face was ashen. He flung down his baton again.? And said, "Why no flaut."

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And the man stood up, looking very sheepish this time. "I'm most terribly sorry, but I have one tooth in the front which is false, which isn't a true tooth, it's actually a manufactured one."

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The conductor said, "I KNOW.? But why?"

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He said, "It's fast lodged in the aperture of my flute.? And when I have to go 'too too too too' across the top of it, it's producing no noise."

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And the conductor said, "I know Gerald.? I know.? But this is the rehearsal.? The concert is tonight. What are you going to do?"

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He said, "I do know of another flute which has a rather better aperture."

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And the conductor said, "For heaven's sake, Gerald, if you know of a better hole, go sss it."

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Frank Muir 571025a

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Ask Well

I've heard that bone broth has a ton of health benefits. Is there any truth to that?

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On TikTok, influencers and medical professionals agree: Bone broth does a body good.

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Drinking the golden-brown elixir, they say, can alleviate joint pain, soothe digestive discomforts and smooth skin.

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There's a little science behind these claims, but important caveats, too.

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Bone broth is made by simmering meaty bones for many hours, said Rachael Mamane, the former owner of a small batch stock company called Brooklyn Bouillon and the author of the cookbook "Mastering Stocks and Broths." Often, cooks use bones from beef, pork or chicken, especially those with joints and with connective tissue still attached.

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It's similar to other types of broth or stock in terms of ingredients and taste, and any of them can be a base for soups or stews. But the hours of simmering bone broth help extract more protein from the bones and connective tissue than is typically found in other broths and stocks, Ms. Mamane said.

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A carton of chicken bone broth made by the brand Pacific Foods, for example, contains nine grams of protein per serving, whereas its chicken stock has six grams and its chicken broth has one.

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Most of the protein in bone broth comes from collagen, which makes animals' tissues stronger and more flexible, said Keith Baar, a professor of molecular exercise physiology at the University of California, Davis. As the broth simmers, the collagen dissolves from the bones and tissue, Dr. Baaresaid said

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One common claim is that the amino acids, or protein building blocks, in bone broth can help our tendons, ligaments and cartilage manufacture their own collagen, benefiting joint health.

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In theory, this makes sense, Dr. Baar said. And some small, limited studies have suggested that Collagen and gelatin supplements may potentially strengthen muscles and tendons, help athletes recover and reduce pain in people with knee osteoarthritis, said Dr. Baar, who has received research funding from companies that make collagen supplements.

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But this hasn't been tested with bone broth. So even if collagen supplements do end up being good for your joints - and the jury is still out - we can't assume that bone broth will be, too, said Louise Burke, a professor of sports nutrition at Australian Catholic University in Melbourne.

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Bone broth is relatively high in the amino acid glutamine, and some animal and small-scale human studies have suggested that glutamine supplements may reduce gut inflammation, said Dr. Michael Camilleri, a gastroenterologist at Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn.

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He said that it's plausible that sipping bone broth could be good for your gut, but we can't yet say that it's "a miraculous cure" for gastrointestinal symptoms.

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The collagen in your skin is partly responsible for its firmness and elasticity, said Dr. Rajani Katta, a dermatologist at Baylor College of Medicine in Houston. She considers the evidence for collagen supplements to be preliminary and unconvincing, and she wasn't aware of any studies of bone broth's effect on our skin.

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That said, bone broth is a good source of protein, said Amy Bragagnini, a dietitian in Grand Rapids, Mich. It's "light and easy on the stomach," so it can help you stay nourished when you're sick or don't have an appetite.

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Just know that it may not be the cure-all some influencers claim.

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Alice Callahan

Actress Teri Hatcher, a star of the ABC hit "Desperate Housewives," was not desperate in real life, but she was ready to find love again, so she joined the dating app Hinge. The app promptly rewarded her leap of faith by kicking her off. They told her they thought she was a Teri Hatcher impersonator. The confusion was cleared up, but Hatcher says she is done with dating apps. She says she is happy and does not need a man; she has a cat.

Dad loved pulling out his phone book and calling his famous friends to amuse people. But there were times when he and my mother were hanging out at home when he'd pick up the phone just to call and say hello.

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"Hello, may I speak to Mr. Newman?"

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"He isn't home right now. May I ask who's calling?"

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"Tell him, MUHAMMAD ALI called!"

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"Hello, Muhammad, this is his wife, Joanne ... "

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Paul Newman's wife, Joanne Woodward, was also a famous actress but had chosen to keep her maiden name. Not realizing this, Dad replied, "Joanne Newman - nice to meet you."

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Hani Ali "At Home with Muhammad Ali: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Forgiveness" (2019)

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