DERBY DAY

I don’t recall exactly when my parents determined that I should go to boarding school (although I do remember my mother giving me a couple of articles to read on the subject, one in the old Holiday magazine and another in Town and Country), but I do remember trollish relatives of mine speaking ill of the decision.  From today’s time and space distance, the episode seems like our family’s version of the movie Gentleman’s Agreement.   I remember clearly discussions concerning traditional prep school anti-Semitism, and especially ones about “latent homosexuality,” which was said to core-infect these institutions.  I’m certain overhearing these conversations taught me the word “rife.”

The day they dropped me off at The Gunnery in 1967 really was “the first day of the rest of my life.”  On our way, the school requested that we pause at JFK Airport to pick up another incoming freshman from Alabama named Martin Love, who was matriculating on a scholarship sponsored by a group called ABC (“A Better Chance”).  A cheerless kid, Martin and I never became friends, not even for a day.  

But I’ll always be glad we were assigned to retrieve him because while we were waiting in the Eastern terminal, the Lovin’ Spoonful arrived and in wild style began carooming around the baggage area in wheelchairs, à la A Hard Day’s Night.  I recognized the band immediately (even new member Jerry Yester), and although we didn’t speak, I consider our brief encounter one of my “formative experiences.”

I am introspective and personally reflective only when challenged; defensively, I usually find a way of fading to gray, tuning out.  This day, my life transition day, I was for the most part ignored (I suppose it was my parents’ life transition day also) and the ringing changes meant absolutely nothing to me until the very end when they departed and all that remained were I and "my own devices.”  Darkness early-verged into the Connecticut afternoon sky and slight fall chill hit the air.  The surrounding campus buildings, which all would eventually seem like home, were alien and minatory, and people, some of whom would become friends or at least familiars, seemed the same way.  For a brief moment only, for the very last time ever, I felt existential confusion and a gulping onset of fear and tears. Then, suddenly, everything was pure oxygen.

  

All school images, Washington D.C. and Virginia: Frances Benjamin Johnston, 1899.

  
Kevin Ayers: Derby Day (Link)

See My Friends -- Sravana Belagola

“Sravana Belagola has remained for more than a thousand years a great Jain pilgrimage place.   

Sravana Balagola is also known as Jain Badri. 

Jain Badri is a true representative of all that is designated by the phrase Jain Religious Culture and embodies the finest and most gracious Jain moral precepts.   

It is significant to Jains as Bodh Gaya to the Buddhists, Kashi to the Hindus, Mecca to the Muslims and Jerusalem to the Jews and Christians.   

The magnificent monolith of Lord Gommateshvara (ಗೊಮ್ಮಟೇಶ್ವರ) is representative of the finest elements of Indian iconography and is a world heritage.”

NOTE:  The above passage, taken from Bal Patil’s Jainism -- An Eternal Pilgrimage (Mumbai, Hindi Granth Karyalay, 2008) makes me think about my friend Elizabeth Jeffords, resident in Bangalore, India these Past few years.  Bangalore is quite close to Sravana Balagola in Karnataka state, and I’m fairly sure Elizabeth has visited this holy site and seen the statue of Lord Gommateshvara.  Elizabeth’s passage to India and her work among the HJIRA is extraordinary and loving and I’m full of admiration for her accomplishments.  So many of us just became lawyers, you know?  In full view of these ancients, I’d just like to say that I hope our friendship lasts as long as this monolith.  I’m into making long-term plans at the moment.  The photo immediately above shows Sravana Balagola as it was in the 1890s and is from the Curzon collection’s souvenir of mysore volume.  The below photo shows Sravana balagola today.

The Kinks: See My Friends (Link)