Speaking of Never Forgetting

Forty years ago today New York Governor Nelson Rockefeller unleashed the full and brutal armed might of the state against the rebellious prisoners at the Attica State Prison. Hundreds were shot and injured. Dozens were killed indiscriminately by Rockefeller's storm troopers, including prison guard hostages who had been unharmed by the rebels:

William Allen, Elliott (L. D.) Barkley, John B. Barnes, Edward Cunningham (hostage), John J. D’Arcangelo (hostage), Bernard Davis, Allen Durham, Willie Fuller, Melvin D. Gray, Elmer G Hardie (hostage), Robert J. Henigan, Kenneth E. Hess, Thomas B. Hicks, Emanuel Johnson, Herbert W. Jones Jr. (hostage), Richard J Lewis (hostage), Charles Lundy, Kenneth B. Malloy, Gidell Martin, William B. McKinney, Lorenzo McNeil, Samuel Melville, Edward R. Menefee, Jose Mentijo, Milton Menyweather, John G. Monteleone, (hostage), Richard Moore, Carlos Prescott, Michael Privitiera, William E. Quinn (hostage), Raymond Rivera, James B. Robinson, Santiago Santos, Barry J. Schwartz, Harold Thomas, Carl Valone (hostage), Rafael Vasquez, Melvin Ware, Elon F. Werner (hostage), Ronald Werner (hostage), Willie West, Harrison Whalen (hostage), Alfred William

The New York Times revealed a newly-released tape recording of Rockefeller reporting to President Nixon on the success of the attack on the prisoners: “They did a fabulous job,” Rockefeller told Nixon. “It really was a beautiful operation.” You can hear how disgusting Rockefeller's gloating is on an audioclip at the NYTimes link.

As far as I'm concerned it is Rockefeller's name that should be forgotten.

(Names from the excellent downloadable resource "Attica Prison Uprising 101: A Short Primer" from Attica Is All Of Us.) The more you read about the rebellion and its causes and aftermath, the more furious you will be.

Sometimes It's Not What You Expect

Above is the scene up in Margaretville, New York, on Sunday in the aftermath of Hurricane Irene. This was shot from the second floor of a commercial property owned by dear friends of mine. The building in the background is apparently now close to collapse...it housed a number of shops, a pub, and several floors of apartments. Margaretville is hundreds of miles away from me: I'm five long blocks from New York Harbor, and Margaretville is nestled safely up in the Catskill Mountains.

After the freak earthquake earlier in the week, we dutifully prepared to face nature's wrath this weekend. I stocked up on supplies, filled pots with water, shut windows and stayed indoors. Cut off from my boyfriend and others by the shutdown of the city's transit system, I waited out the storm. I listened to the mayor on the radio every once in a while sternly telling people to prepare for the worst.

In the middle of Saturday night I woke up and peered out the front door to a bizarrely apocalyptic sight: in the heavy rain water was flowing over the front sidewalk in a sheet as the trees shook and rustled in the furious wind. But shortly after I woke up in the morning the sun came out, the rain gone, the air calm. While the wind returned in the afternoon, there was no residual flood, and no trees had crashed onto our house. The feral cats out back didn't even seem to be wet.

The storm crashed into shore not far from here, and yet everything in the city had a pro forma feel to it. It took a day for the subway to be switched back on. I saw a neighbor airing out a wet basement. A friend photographed a tree that had split in two. But it was anticlimactic, a lot of wind and rain but it sure didn't feel like what we thought a hurricane would feel like. But in upstate New York, and neighboring Vermont, catastrophe.

Check out the Watershed Post website: amidst the heartbreaking photos is a live blog and a spreadsheet being used to locate survivors stranded by the wild uproar of the mountain rivers and streams. It's all broken roads and bridges and collapsed homes amidst brown water. I go up there once or twice a year to share the green tranquility of my friends' vacation homes: I recognize these familiar sights in disbelief. And the Metro North train line to my godfather's house in the Catskill foothills may be out for months, the trainbed washed completely away in many places.

The authorities had tried to protect something, whether the city or even merely their own reputations. We prepared for the worst, but the worst went elsewhere. We fool ourselves when we think someone other than Nature Herself is in control: by Her merest whim we survive. She moves on without looking back. Until next time.

And Now for a LIttle Natural Beauty

I spent the weekend up in the Catskills with my boyfriend at a beautiful century-old farmhouse owned by some friends of ours. The weather was extraordinary: bright and sunny alternating with thunderous downpours. The Catskills are low mountains but mountains nevertheless, and the weather is so much more dramatic than down here in the city.


The transitions from rain to dry made for some spectacular skies, hence these photos. Not trying to say anything particularly profound here, except how wonderful it is to get out of the city now and again to see what the world actually looks, feels, and smells like.


These pictures were taken in New Kingston and in Bovina, two very small towns about an hour further out from Woodstock.


This last one is not upside down, that's a reflection in a frog-filled pond. It was the Fourth of July weekend, but of course, these sights are a bit more than a couple hundred years old. I'm back in the city tonight, listening to fire-crackers and helicopters in the warm summer night.

(Photographs by me; click on them to see them larger.)