When John Suta was young, he wanted to be an opera singer. Almost became one. Taught himself five languages. Studied the piano. Mastered the harmonica. But what made him happy could not pay the bills. So he raised two sons on a pipe fitter’s wage and waited for his bliss.
One day after Suta retired, he saw an old French horn in a secondhand store. It reminded him of his dream delayed. Suta bought the tarnished instrument for seventy-five bucks and set out to make it as beautiful as the music he hoped to play. His retirement pay left little for lessons, so he found another way to learn how to play it. He showed up at Roosevelt Middle School in Eugene, Oregon, and asked to join the beginning band. Principal Dan Barron thought it was a great idea: “What an opportunity for our students to see a grandpa starting at point one, learning how to play.”
Okay, the kids thought it was funny, then they heard the seventy-four year old’s first sweet note.
“He’s good,” a kid with a clarinet whispered.
Suta held the note so long, the trombone player next to him lost his grip on the slide and it clattered into a music stand. Laughter tumbled down the risers. Principal Barron shook his head and marveled:
“That man has lived with music all his life. He’s lived it and he’s watched it lived a whole bunch of times.”
Suta started with the sixth grade band. For three years, he rarely missed a practice despite heart trouble and nerve damage that made it difficult to walk.
The morning we met, Suta shook my hand and said, “I’m a real eighth grader now.” Just another thirteen year old with sixty-four years experience at being thirteen. #americanstory
In Joplin, Missouri, a songbird watched them from a broken tree, framed in a blood red sky. It began trilling at the dawn, flapping its wings above a half smashed car that seemed to float on a sea of rubble. The worst tornado in sixty years had punched through its home, shattering nearly everything for thirteen miles, but the songbird didn't seem to notice. It was looking up, not down. The day's first sunbeams lit the car's interior, haloing a picture of The Madonna tilting against the dashboard. Her face was turned toward the window, looking out at what was left of eight thousand homes. That robin in Joplin, Missouri, was a beautiful reminder of the promise of spring -- re-birth, the victory of life over death. We've had so many weather disasters in this century, there is little time to linger or appreciate that promise, but it's always there, rising from the rubble. A walk through Kyle Maddy's house, not far from the songbird, showed me that. The tornado took everything, except a water stained wedding dress. Two months later, his fiancé, Kelsi Gulliford, finally had a place to wear it. Diners at the restaurant where Kyle worked helped make their wedding day possible. His boss, Donnie Bennett, explained, "Some people would come in and buy a seven dollar salad and leave one hundred dollars."
Kyle Maddy beamed as his bride approached in the wedding gown. Two little dots, water spots, practically invisible, were all that remained to remind them of that terrible night. "Ladies and gentlemen, the loving couple, Mr. and Mrs. Kyle Maddy!" What followed was a full-throated roar. On Kyle and Kelsi's big day, the city had something it needed as badly as rebuilding -- a cry of joy and not pain. #americanstory
Dr. Leila Denmark opened her practice in 1928, Atlanta’s first female pediatrician. She had been healing sick babies for seventy years.
“When I started out,” Doc Denmark recalled, “we had no immunization.”
She treated a set of triplets who eventually died of whooping cough. Their deaths so touched the doctor, she went home and developed a vaccine to help prevent the disease, the same vaccine that now protects millions of youngsters worldwide. At one hundred Leila Denmark was still giving lectures at medical conferences, the world’s oldest practicing physician.
“I took an oath one time to look after sick people,” she said earnestly. “They didn’t tell me when to quit.”
Most days the sun set before Dr. Denmark. She worked ten hours, helping children get well. Some of their mothers drove to the clinic before dawn because Dr. Denmark took no appointments. First come, first served. They passed the time swapping medical advice Dr. Denmark had told their mothers and their mother’s mothers. No one complained about the wait.
“Not when you get advice that’s going to cut down all the time that you’d waste at other doctor’s offices,” one new mom explained.
To save her patients’ money, Dr. Denmark worked without a nurse all those years, did her own filing, answered her own phone, but the moments she spent with sick children were not sliced too thin for thought. Each child received all the attention needed to restore health.
“I used to spend a long hour with every new patient,” Doc Denmark recalled, her eyes twinkling. “I’d find out why he was sick and then I’d tell the mother how to keep him well. She didn’t come back often. It messed up
That, she grinned, was the reason she finally retired – at one hundred and three. Her life of leisure lasted more than a decade. She became the oldest doctor who ever lived. #americanstory
El reconocido actor Frankie Muniz sorprendió a sus seguidores esta semana al incorporarse en la nueva temporada de Dancing with the Stars ( programa de baile parecido a Bailando por un sueño). Allí el actor reveló que debido a un problema de salud es incapaz de recordar sus años de trabajo en Malcolm. Entre 2012 y 2013, Muniz sufrió varios ataques isquémicos transitorios (mini derrames) e incluso tuvo nueve contusiones que le dejaron secuelas irreversibles, entre ellas la pérdida parcial de su memoria, confesó que no recuerda haber viajado a Australia. Frankie a sus 31 años se dedica a ser piloto de carreras donde a tenido varios accidentes automovilísticos, sin embargo no se ha determinado si esa es la causa de su pérdida de memoria ya que no ha sido tratado por algún médico especialista. •• #americanstory#facebookmarketing#webmarketing#mobilemarketing#storyteller#marketingagency#TellYourStory#NetworkMarketingPro#realestatemarketing
I was adopted so I don’t have any family history. My husband really wanted me to do the ancestry.com thing so we did that and found out that I am 49% Irish and the other 51% Western European. It was really cool because our grandkids came out with very red hair and that was cool to connect that. We definitely want to go to Ireland some day and see how we’re related.
Here in America they don’t have orphanages anymore, they have foster care. They were finding that very healthy babies who had all the food they needed, personal hygiene, all that was met, they were rolling to the wall and dying because they know now you need to be held. Without that human contact there was no reason to cry to get a bottle. So they stopped having orphanages in America and that’s why they have foster care.
The sad part is back in the ‘60’s, closed adoptions. I can go find out who my parents are if I pay for a lawyer and pay to get my records opened. I’ve gone down to the courthouse and asked them for some records and I’ve been told by the clerks, it’s none of your business. Even medical history and stuff, when I started having babies whenever they asked me for that form it was always a big X. It was kind of cool when I started having babies because now I have someone that looks like me. - Loretta
Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jesmyn Ward (Bloomsbury India, 2017) is an intimate portrait of a family and an epic tale of hope and struggle. It examines the ugly truths at the heart of the American story and the power — and limitations — of family bonds. Jojo is thirteen years old and trying to understand what it means to be a man. His mother, Leonie, is in constant conflict with herself and those around her. She is black and her children's father is white. Embattled in ways that reflect the brutal reality of her circumstances, she wants to be a better mother, but can't put her children above her own needs, especially her drug use. When the children's father is released from prison, Leonie packs her kids and a friend into her car and drives north to the heart of Mississippi and Parchman Farm, the State Penitentiary. At Parchman, there is another boy, the ghost of a dead inmate who carries all of the ugly history of the South with him in his wandering. He too has something to teach Jojo about fathers and sons, about legacies, about violence, about love. Rich with Ward's distinctive, lyrical language, Sing, Unburied, Sing brings the archetypal road novel into rural 21st century America.
Jesmyn Ward is an associate professor of creative writing at Tulane University. She is the author of the novels Where the Line Bleeds and Salvage the Bones, which won the 2011 National Book Award. She is also the editor of the anthology The Fire This Time and the author of the memoir Men We Reaped, which was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award. In 2016, the American Academy of Arts and Letters selected Ward for the Strauss Living Award. .
A gift 🎁 is always something special , if you don't know how to express your love ❤️ just let me do it for you ) a customized cookie will make your someone feel special 🙌🏼 contact via direct 🔝 _______________________________________________________________Холодное, осеннее🍂 , раннее утро , когда ты и кровать кажешься одним целым 👐🏼 и всю идиллию прерывает будильник, срабатывающий в 4:30 утра 😭 то чувство , когда ты ненавидишь свою работу , только потому , что надо вставать так рано . Об этом думает Рома каждый день , когда приходит тот час в 5 утра отправляться на работу , которая находится в 50 км от дома 🏡. Утром дорога занимает 40 минут без пробок , но стоит задержаться и выйти на 10 минут позже , как 40 минут могут обратиться в целый час . И вот подъехав к работе , подойдя к запертой двери он достаёт ключ 🔑....а нет стоп ✋🏼 все было бы гладко если бы он достал ключ, моя история закончилась бы на данном предложении. Осознав то , что золотой ключик остался дома, наш герой задумался о том , что же предпринять. Заказ по работе должен быть готов сегодня к 10, поэтому время на то чтобы вернуться назад нет. И тут на ум приходят слова из песни Би-2 " are you a gangsters ?" - No , we are Russians . Наша киргизская закалка не дала ему опустить руки и он благополучно , заклеив угол окна скотчем разбил окно зажигалкой 😂👌🏼 чтобы отворить замок . На его счастье , рядом не проезжали копы ибо они подумали , чтоб грабеж происходит средь бело дня и провёл бы он остальные полдня в сизо оправдываясь о добрых намерениях и любви к работе 😂 😱🤦🏼♀️ к слову о том , что сделал начальник , когда увидел это 🤷♀️ , он сказал , что поступил точно так же 👼🏼 заказ готов-заказчик счастлив , а что ещё ему надо 🤝😉. #shapoblog#americanstory#russiangirl#russianamericans
Television did not begin in New York or Los Angeles. It was the brainchild of a fourteen-year-old farm boy, the vision of a fellow with a funny name: Philo T. Farnsworth. A kid named Corbin McMurtrey told me about him. "He invented the first picture tube and the first TV."
Philo was plowing a field on the family farm near Rigby, Idaho, day dreaming about sending pictures through the sky, when he noticed the sun glinting off the parallel lines he had made in the dirt. In a single, blazing moment of inspiration, it occurred to him that a picture could be broken down into lines, too, beamed into space and then put back together on a television set.
The teenager drew a sketch of his camera tube for chemistry teacher Justin Tolman who was impressed enough to keep it. That’s all Philo needed. By his twenty-first birthday, with no formal training, Philo T. Farnsworth had successfully built a TV camera that could send a picture to a television set.
His son, Skee, told me, “The first human image on TV was my mother. My dad was getting some kind of funny glaze on her picture in the monitor and he couldn’t figure out what it was coming from.” Fire? Philo ran into the other room to see. His cameraman was smoking. That smoke, drifting in front of the lens, was one of the first moving images
on television. #americanstory
Позади 5000 км, 3 часовых пояса, 4 климатических зоны и 16 городов 🌇🌄🌉🌌🌃🎇🏙🏞 и 14 планок😄💪🏻
Повторять не рекомендую 😄🙈 Надо быть немножко Крейзи, чтобы проехать такой #roadtrip 🌎Это одновременно очень быстро для такого расстояния и одновременно очень долго в разлуке с семьей 😧😕 Сейчас я со своими любимками 😍 Кайфую от размеренной и спокойной жизни 😄😄😄
Most of us are lucky if we have one good idea. Thomas Edison had 1,093 -- more moneymaking patents than anyone in American history. The most successful inventors today have about half that. John Spirk and his best buddy, John Nottingham, were perfecting their four hundred and sixty-fifth patent when I dropped by their office in Cleveland, Ohio. They worked in an old Cathedral that they bought when it was down to a congregation of termites. “It’s inspirational,” John Spirk chuckled, waving his hand over his army of creators, “an innovation factory. Sixty-thousand square feet of ideas.” Most of us have never heard of Nottingham and Spirk, but their money making inspirations – Dirt Devil vacuum sweepers, SpinBrush electric toothbrushes, Scotts fertilizer spreaders and the like – are all around us. They work differently than most inventors. Instead of dreaming up something they hope we will buy, they look for what we need. “Haven’t you ever been in the kitchen,” asked Nottingham, “picked up something and said, ‘They should do something?’ Well, we’re the ‘They.’”
Their products earn billions.
Spirk pointed out “Most inventors feel they have to create something revolutionary, brand new, never been done before. That’s wrong! Everything is a variation on something that existed in the past.”
“Inventions that make money,” Spirk confided, “must be mindlessly simple to use.” The genius of these two inventors is their ability to find the simplest solutions. A contractor wanted to charge them twenty-six thousand dollars to paint the vaulted ceiling in their cathedral. He would have to erect scaffolding. It would keep them from working and take weeks. Instead, they did it themselves. “We had a fishing pole and a sponge,” Spirk said. “One of our guys dunked the sponge in the paint. Lifted the pole to the ceiling. “THUNK, THUNK, THUNK! “Finished in one afternoon. It looks pretty good, doesn’t it?” Cost them a six-pack of beer. #americanstory
LA! I'm coming to share my new record with you, that I happened to have recorded in your city of dreams with my friend/mentor/producer, Val McCallum! The album is called "American Story" and is out 10/27! The show is 11/02 at Genghis Cohen with Mr. Val McCallum himself! Gonna be a special night you won't want to miss! I love LA! ❤️#randynewman#genghiscohen#losangeles#americanstory#valmccallum