by Teri Blair
Years ago, I was given a reading list by my 11th grade English teacher. I was in the college prep class, and the list of 100 or so books were ones he wanted us to read before we graduated from high school. It wasn’t just his idea. He told us a committee of English professors had compiled it. These books were considered the bare-bones-minimum to have read before we darkened the first door of a collegiate hall. The list included all the classics. Most of us got to two or three of them. We instead invested our time cruising up and down Main Street in convertibles and drinking chocolate shakes at Hardees.
But I held onto the list. In the countless moves I have made since I graduated from high school in 1979, I never lost the list. I made several resolves through the years to read each and every book, and with every resolve I would read a few more. Finishing them before college changed to finishing them during my lifetime.
And then this summer, something happened. A fire was lit under me, and I can’t stop. I read O, Pioneers! (Willa Cather), The Crucible (Arthur Miller), and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Betty Smith). I read The Red Badge of Courage (Stephan Crane) and White Fang (Jack London). I have read twenty books from the list back-to-back — the intensity and desire to continue building with every book.
There is one that stood out for me. One I curiously have liked better than all the rest. Thornton Wilder’s The Bridge Of San Luis Rey. It is the story of Brother Juniper, a Franciscan monk living in Peru. One day, the most famous bridge in the country suddenly (and without warning) collapses, killing five people. Brother Juniper is desperate to make sense of it, to understand why these five died. He researches the life story of each of the people, trying to find connecting links/clues/a rationale. He wants to know if the way we live our life really makes a difference or matters. He wants to know if a Divine Force is orchestrating events. Or even cares. The book is fabulously written, a real page-turner.
I finished the book about a week ago, ten days at the most. I finished it right before the funeral of my cousin Shawn, the one who died unexpectedly when his car overturned on a country road. I was thinking about it when we stood around his grave in silence. I kept thinking about it when I returned to Minneapolis. Why some are taken and others left. Why I am left.
And then on Wednesday, in my beloved city, the bridge went down. And Thornton’s book was no longer simply a great piece of literature. In the first hours of learning about the 35W bridge, I had the strangest sense that the book was coming true specifically for me. It was eerie and confusing and I wanted it to stop and not get that close. I did the only thing I could think of; I read the next book on my list: Thornton Wilder’s Our Town. Emily’s famous line, spoken from the grave, now rings in my head. “Does anyone ever realize life while they live it? Every, every minute?”
I crossed over the bridge six hours before it collapsed. The speed limit was only 40 mph, and I remember it clearly — the men with hardhats and orange vests, the traffic diverted to one side, the midday sun heating up the concrete. I replay the drive slow-motion in my head, understanding that at that moment the bridge was straining, barely able to maintain its load, almost ready to release. It was breathing its last breath. We didn’t know.
I have realized this week that I am not afraid of dying. I am afraid of never living. I am afraid of mindlessly grinding through years being half-conscious and blandly molded to the status quo. I am afraid of never realizing my life.
And so I walk slower. This one act is real. My connection to life.
-related posts: Bridge to Nowhere – The Great Connector, Fear Of Bridges, Minneapolis At Night, Natural Wonders: A Pentagram, The World According to Mr. Schminda (et al.)
redravine.wordpress.com 
Terri — This is a fabulous essay for many reasons. I want to know more about so many things. I want to know the names of all the other books on your high school list and I want to read your reviews after you’ve read them. I want to know about the people who died when the 35W bridge collapsed. I thought that you might say you were going to research their life stories, as Brother Juniper did in Peru. I am reminded of the the writing you did in Kansas last year and I’m thinking that maybe it was preperation to tell this story…another tragedy.
You’ve made me feel profoundly grateful to be alive…in this very moment.
Thank you.
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I agree — the power of this piece is not only what it gives us but also what it makes us ask. I also want to know what else was on that list of books. (Teri, if you ever feel so inclined to reproduce it, we can do so here and link it to this post.) And I feel compelled to read Bridge Over San Luis Rey, and to read it as soon as I can. (I also am struck that this is the first time I’ve heard of that book in connection to the I-35 bridge collapsing. Admittedly, I hadn’t heard of the book at all until I read your piece, Teri.)
The other thing regarding your comment, breathepeace, is that it hits home one of the many things I appreciate about blogs — the ability to hear others’ immediate reactions to writing. I read Teri’s piece two or three times and yet I hadn’t had that same connection to her research in Holcomb, Kansas. I’m glad you did.
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That makes three of us who want to read the list. I’m heading for the library to get BRIDGE… One of the things I especially appreciate about this blog is links to fantastic books. I blush to admit that I had not even heard of Paulo Cuelho until someone here referred to him. Our library has most of his books — in Spanish! I’ve read the three English ones and at my request, the latest several are now in processing.
I remember Thornton Wilder from high school. Our drama club did OUR TOWN when I was a freshman. Obviously I don’t remember much about it. We did THE CRUCIBLE the next year. I remember more about that one. Horrors! TREE IN BROOKLYN was on our bookshelf at home. I read it, but don’t recall a word.
Maybe teenagers aren’t ready to fully appreciate these great books. Or, maybe we appreciated the ones we read, were shaped by them, and the shape continues to morph, long after the books are forgotten. Since Teri is in a contemplative mode right now, maybe that’s why she didn’t read the books sooner. Maybe now is her own best, most open time when she’s finally ready to “get them.”
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I would be happy to share the list with Red Ravine. Just let me know how to develop a link, and I will type the books from the mimeographed (yes, mimeographed!) pages.
It is very helpful for me to read your comments. You are able to be objective and wise. You are able to think beyond the immediate to the possibilities, and that will be very helpful when I am a little further down the road. Say more. I’m listening.
You know, in Minneapolis we are still not allowed anywhere near the bridge. The reasons for that are obvious and reasonable. It does, however, keep it uncomfortably unreal to not see it. For those of us who need to sit in the midst to grasp, the processing comes slowly.
A word to the wise about Bridge Over San Luis Rey…I tried reading it first. The beginning of the story takes place in Peru, and then there is a shift to Spain. Wilder uses a bit of Spanish in the way he identifies the characters to the reader, and I found it slowed me down and I began to lose track of who was who. I don’t know Spanish. My library had the book on tape, and hearing someone read it removed all the confusion for me.
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You can send me the list of books in an email and I will post them just as we did your post. No hurry, though. I didn’t realize it was mimeographed, or if I did, I forgot.
Your library must be a good one. I couldn’t imagine finding many old literary classics on tape in my library.
Back to your piece, I did want to say another thing that struck me was the thread tying together the loss of your cousin, the loss of the bridge (real and symbolic), and the deaths of the people who were on the bridge when it collapsed. You said people are not allowed near the bridge right now, and I have this question that I’m afraid might be painful to hear, but I’m going to trust you’ll understand where it’s coming from: Is there a need just as you were able to have ritual around your cousin’s death to have ritual with the bridge collapse, and if so, what might that ritual be at this point (notwithstanding anything formal the City might do at a later date)? Does seeing the bridge play a part in that for you?
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Oh, no offense taken! I think it is a good question. The only things I’ve really grasped in my life are the things I have found myself in the middle of. I got Holcomb, Kansas when I sat outside the Clutter house and stared at it. I understood Wounded Knee when I sat on the battlefield in South Dakota for an afternoon. You get the idea. It probably explains why I have so many miles on my car. It’s been the only plan that has worked, and now I can’t do it. I don’t have a Plan B, and I just want to keep staring at Plan A.
I look forward to emailing you the book list from Glenwood High School. You will get it soon.
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To Teri Blair,
The first thing I thought of upon seeing the pictures of that bridge collapse was The Bridge over San Luis Rey. I recall we read it in Grade 12 lit class. The message that it is useless to read too much into the random events that determine our lives – even its end – I found comforting and inspiring. Live life to the fullest. You never know when it’s going to stop.
Thanks, ybonesy, for giving space here to Teri as a guest writer. This is one of the best posts I’ve come across in a long time.
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Teri,
I am still digesting your piece and will be reading it several times before I am able to focus on all of the mental pictures your words invoke. The one thing that struck me is that most disasters cause us to have a visceral response of – why them and not me.
I came to the realization when I was waiting for my first liver transplant, slowly watching myself die, that we usually don’t have the ability to discern the why when we are still dealing with the raw emotion that comes with trauma. It is only later when we can view it in context that we can start to guess why it was or wasn’t us. I have learned not to force the why but to allow it to come later in a “Eureka!” moment when I reflect on where I am and how I got where I am now. That is when the reason it happened will begin to make sense.
I am often torn by the debate of whether or not it is just chaos theory, chance, luck, divine intervention or timing that we are spared while others are not. I finally ended up believing that we are constantly given opportunities to learn and grow. Being open to those moments, recognizing them and learning the lesson often means that we have to slow down and live life, not just go through the routine of the living. It sounds to me like that is the lesson you are taking away from this and that you will ultimately be a better person because of it.
So, one lesson I have learned is not to ask why, rather ask what is the lesson I need to learn from this.
Back to your post, I know I will have more to say after I read your post a few more times. I am looking forward to seeing where it will take me.
R3
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letters,
Oh, good to hear from someone else who has read Bridge Over San Luis Rey. I sense more people may be picking up a copy soon. You don’t mention how long it has been since you were in your 12th grade lit class, but it sounds like the message of the book has stayed with you. It’s a testament to the writing and the message. And, how much we all long for clarity around these life questions that Wilder broached.
I feel an almost pleasing sense of apathy this week. I keep wanting to shrug my shoulders and say, “Oh, whatever.” Like you said, we never know when life is going to stop.
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R3,
You refer to your “first” liver transplant. This must mean there were two…something I have never heard of. But you’ve been brought to the edge, of that I can be sure. I was trying to think of what it is called when someone has earned the right to speak having been through something severe. Is it “earning your stripes?” That doesn’t sound quite right. But whatever the saying, when I meet someone who has been to the depths, I listen to what they say.
I agree with you. Asking “Why, why why?” is futile. It is the only question available at the beginning, but quickly becomes tiresome going ’round and ’round in one’s head. When people are not able to move beyond that three-letter word, their lives seem to evaporate and fade. Inch by inch.
What life comes down to is very simple. So simple, but so hard to keep coming back to. This moment. Right now. What do I give my time and love to right now? So much easier to do fantasy long-range planning.
May I ask: having had transplants and facing death, does the staying awake for life come easily, or do you still feel yourself being lulled to sleep?
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Teri,
You are right that I have had two liver transplants and will probably have a third before I say, “Let someone else have the next one.” But that is another story.
To answer your question – “having had transplants and facing death, does the staying awake for life come easily, or do you still feel yourself being lulled to sleep?” I would have to say that answer is rather complex and maybe I need to write about the whole process now that you brought it up but I will do that another time.
The simple answer is that a few years after the first transplant I did find myself falling asleep on life. I fell into the day-to-day routine and would have to shake off the grime of everyday existence to wake myself up to the responsibility I owed to my donor and his family. I would periodically do reality checks to make sure that I wasn’t taking life for granted. I would intentionally break my routine so I didn’t become trapped in it.
With the first transplant I also was of the mind set that it took 33 years for my own liver to fail and that I would have at least that much on the new liver. My view was long term, I was planning on seeing my grand children and enjoying my retirement while at the same time I realized that each day could be my last. Keeping focused on the later part is what kept me “awake”.
When I started getting sick seven years after my transplant and was told I would need another transplant my view changed dramatically. I was initially depressed and lived day-to-day facing my mortality until I stepped back and realized I had fallen into a trap that was keeping me from living. Over the next two years I “put my affairs in order” (created a power of attourney, drafted my will, made my funeral arrangements. et al) and started living with the disease that eventually took my first donor’s liver.
With the second transplant I immediately took on a view where I would be living my life in 10 year chunks. I re-prioritized my goals, took my kids to Disney World and started looking at what would make me say to my maker, “I wish I would have done that.” and made plans to never have say that to myself or anyone else. Today the mundane can overwhelm me for a few days to a week on but I always go back to living. I have a fun hobby that keeps me meeting new people and going new places. I have so much to teach my kids and want them to know who I really am so I focus on that every chance I get. I live my life day to day.
The second transplant woke me up and gave me insomnia so it is hard for me to be lulled to sleep.
R3
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R3,
Yes, yes, please write the whole transplant story. This comment was just a few paragraphs, and I was riveted to my computer screen. Beyond just the obvious hospital stays and anti-rejection drugs, I would love to read what it is like to have a donor’s organ, what it feels like to lose your own, what contact (if any) you’ve had with the donor family, etc. Now that I think about it, I’ve never had a conversation with someone who has had a transplant. Is there a “no-talk” rule that surrounds it? Maybe that’s my imagination, only.
Thinking of your life in terms of never wanting to have to say, “I wish I had done this or that,” makes a lot of things clear. So simple. I think simple is better any longer.
Are you serious that the 2nd transplant gives you insomnia, or were you waxing poetic?
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waxing poetic.
I sleep like a log (almost said baby but they are up every two hours.) It has helped me appreciate the things I have in life and drives me to enjoy life more.
I am also see the transplant as a responsibility that I have to the donors and their families to live the best life I know how and to honor their memories.
No, I have not had an opportunity to meet the donor families.
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[…] 9th, 2007 by ybonesy In her post Thornton Wilder & Bridges, guest writer Teri Blair said this about Mr. Schminda, her former teacher: Years ago, I was given a […]
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I just published THE LIST of books. Find it here:
https://redravine.wordpress.com/2007/08/09/the-world-according-to-mr-schminda-et-al/
Thanks again, Teri!
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Ybosney,
Thanks for the posting the list.
Teri,
Thanks for sharing the book.
Mr Schminda,
Thanks for introducing Teri to such a great list of books.
Now, I think I will start on it and share it with my daughter who devours books.
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Teri,
If you graduated from High School in 1979, we’re about the same age. I escaped in 1977, a year ahead of schedule.
@ybonesy – have bookmarked that list – thanks!
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I graduated around that same time (waffle stompers, painter pants, flannel shirts) and there’s no way Bridge Over San Luis Rey would have hit my English Literature class. But then again, I was such a derelict by the time I got to 11th grade, maybe I just don’t remember…
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R3 — I’m with you; I’m going to print the list and start reading the books (some aloud to Dee and Em, if they’ll agree). Also, I just wanted to tell you that there is something special about being able to talk to someone who’s had an organ transplant. Like Teri, I have lots of questions and would love to read more about your experiences.
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One of the last times I studied with Natalie Goldberg she had given us all an assignment to read a book we had always wanted to get to. We wrote brief paragraphs about our book, and these mini-reports hung on the wall for everyone to read during the course of the retreat. She said (after reading them herself), “You’re keeping great literature alive!”
When I hear about you passing on these books to your children, I want to mimic Natalie. “You’re keeping great literature alive!”
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Thank you, 100 times 100, for saving that reading list. We were issued a very similar list in our college prep course in high school. I have read a large number of those books, and have toyed with the idea of finding “the list” somehow, and continuing my “education” in literature.
I have come to you via Corky’s Log.
I will continue to visit here, and look around.
Again, thank you most sincerely for saving the list.
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I had a feeling about Corky and all his friends ; – ).
It took reading your comment to snap on something, which was, you guys took college prep courses in high school. No wonder you read these books! Man, where was I in high school? I was a smart student, but I blew it all off, I think.
Thanks for dropping by. Come back soon.
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Leslie,
I’m glad to here you have been thinking about searching, and here it is…the old list. Happy reading over the weekend.
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Hi Teri,
I graduated from high school in 1969. Seems this ‘list’ has been in development for a while.
I had marvelous English teachers that ‘stretched’ the curriculum beyond the limits. They knew I was a book fiend, and gave me stuff to read that would maybe get them arrested these days 🙂
I am delighted to find this blog. I will be hanging around and reading. There is much here to discover.
Thank you all so vey much.
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Leslie,
Well, it was the 60s, right? There had to be a few teachers pushing the envelope…no surprise they were in the English Department. English teachers seem to come up a lot on Red Ravine. Do you remember any of the forbidden titles?
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James Baldwin’s, The Fire Next Time, and
Trumbo’s Johnny Got his Gun, (which I see is on the list now, but wasn’t then)
are two I remember most.
I’m not sure why they steered me toward the more controversial, for the time, but they did.
We even had an great little old lady English teacher that taught The King James version of the Bible as Old English Literature. Can’t imagine her getting away with that secular approach today. She taught it as if it were Shakespeare.
My parents were pretty good about giving me latitude with reading material. I read On the Beach when it first came out, and Silent Spring, so I think the die was cast early on for me…
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Of all the titles you listed, I haven’t read any of them. You’ve piqued my interested, however, and after I finish Native Son (Richard Wright), I’m going to read one you’ve named. It seems an honor that your H.S. teachers singled you out as one who could handle, enjoy, and comprehend the controversial.
It also strikes me as appealing to read the Bible as simply a piece of literature, to enjoy its history and poetry and adventure stories. I grew up on the Bible as the “theological cornerstone of all life,” which has led me down many winding paths. But that’s another story.
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I don’t know that I was anything more than just a precocious pest that teachers had to keep busy, so that they could proceed with their classes without me interrupting !
I STILL shout out the answers without being called on…
I remember the teacher, as much as the taught, from that semester on the Bible. She was grand.
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Leslie, I can’t believe you brought up On the Beach. It was one of the books I read early in my life – I think I might have been in 5th or 6th grade (could that have been possible that I read it that young?). Anyway, I was riveted to it. And it changed the way I looked at the world.
I can remember the cover was orange and covered by one of those cellophane wrappers (when I read it in the 60’s). And I remember the feel and smell of the book, too. Strange. Books have a huge impact.
I wasn’t introduced to James Baldwin’s work until last year in one of Natalie Goldberg’s workshops. I wonder what it would have been like to read his books when I was a teenager?
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R3, if you ever want to submit a piece to red Ravine on your transplant(s), let ybonesy and I know. I know you’ve talked about writing some things down about the experience. And we are sure open to reading. There are so many ways to view the world, depending on our experiences. And your unique way of looking at life sounds incredibly rich.
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Teri, I’ve been waiting a bit before commenting on your piece. I’ve read it several times now, and each time I find it more and more comforting. I was happy to be able to post a piece by a fellow Minneapolitan, someone local who knows what it’s been like here in Minneapolis the last week, experiencing the collapse of the I-35 Bridge.
What I loved about your piece was how solid it was. Unwavering at the end. I could tell you had worked through a whole process around the bridge. And it’s been the same for me – a process of sitting, holding, watching, letting the event move through me. It also moves through the city. And we all keep going.
The other thing I enjoyed was the way you tied it all to great literature. It was my own 8th grade English teacher, Mrs. Juarez, who first taught me about great literature when she taught Dickens (who BTW is sadly missing from this list!)
And it was Natalie who really hit it home for me as an adult, and as a writer. So now I get to say to you, “You’re keeping great literature alive!” Thank you!
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Ditto, R3.
Re: the bible as literature, it wasn’t until I took a class on the folk tradition of making art having to do with Catholic saints that I ever cracked open the Bible. (I was a bad Cathecism student, too.) Anyway, we read a few portions from the Hebrew Scriptures in that retablo-making class, and a wonderful teacher and rabbi walked us through the Bible portion of the study. It was fascinating. I’m not sure I could get into it on my own, but reading it and, as he called it, “having a conversation about it,” I found to be a great practice.
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QM,
Good to hear from you, I appreciate your feedback and thoughts.
When you said you are sitting, watching, holding, and letting the experience move through you, I was nodding and nodding. Because there are still five people missing, still Navy divers here, still the County Medical Examiner giving daily TV reports, we stay with it. I think it is something of the silver lining of this shock to our city. We can’t just be stunned and sad for a day or two and forget it. Forget it and go back to petty living and petty problems. Ever in our mind are the names and faces of the people unaccounted for. The funerals that happen one by one as bodies are found. I sense a deep and permanent change happening in me, and I wonder if I hear that in what you are saying, too.
A mirror is held to our faces day after day. What are we doing? Why are we living? What are we becoming? What now? Really, what now? It is, somehow, the gift we are left with from those who perished.
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QuoinMonkey,
On the Beach was pubished in the early 50’s, I believe. What I remember about it most was being annoyed at the characters for not getting along, in light of their assured demise.
Baldwin scorched my poor little high school brain. I read him, but wasn’t sure I “got” it. I should read him again, now.
I think his righteous anger really scared me at the time, and I don’t think I had enough life experience to know the significance of what I was reading.
I think that happens all too often, but it plants the seeds, and that is a good thing.
Teri, There is a blog on my blogroll named The Great Elsewhere. There is a post on it that is apropos to the discussion of the bridge collapse, but different. It is heart rending, too, and makes me think moment by moment about being alive. I haven’t been able to comment to it. It is too raw.
http://greatelsewhere.blogspot.com/2007/08/let-us-say-prayer-for-every-living.html
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Leslie,
Thanks for the lead for “Let Us Say Prayer…”I read it a few times. The human experience and condition is a common thread. I forget that. I wrongly begin to think my condition or my experience is so unique. Not so.
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I, too, just read that post. It reminds me of when I first read Teri’s post and suddenly had all these questions, especially questions about the tragedy she was experiencing. What was Eric describing? What happened? What was his role? I think it’s also human nature to want to know about tragedy, all the details, and we cringe and sometimes my stomach even flutters, as if something’s dropped to the bottom of it, and yet I have to know. I want to know. And I don’t want to know.
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Eric is quite the writer. I have been visiting over there for a bit now. I believe that “Let Us Say a Prayer” must be some very local news about a missing boy in South Carolina.
My first reaction to the post was to pound him with questions. I want all the details. What I’m gathering is he might have helped search, and thinking that, I couldn’t bear to ask a single question.
The closest I have come to loss like that is death of my mother many years ago, and there are no words available for those times. Proximity to sympathetic people is the best to hope for.
Thanks for the back and forth, ybonesy, and Teri, and QuoinMonkey.
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[…] “40 Days, 8 Flags, and 1 Mennonite Choir.” This post is a follow-up to ”Thornton Wilder & Bridges,” a piece Teri wrote shortly after the August 1, 2007, […]
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It’s The Bridge of San Luis Rey, not over it.
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Ah, you’re absolutely right. That was our miss. It’s been corrected. — QM and yb
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Good catch on the typo. Maybe that’s why I’ve been hearing Thornton turning over in his grave lately.
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lol. Teri, I bet it’s more because your writing is so strong. And Thornton is nudging you along. 8)
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Oh, I’ll totally get on board with that theory. Bring it on, Thornton Baby, bring it on. 🙂
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[…] Thornton Wilder & Bridges by Teri Blair […]
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Hey, it’s Thornton Wilder’s birthday today. I heard it this morning on The Writer’s Almanac. Happy Birthday, Thornton. He was born April 17th in Madison, Wisconsin, Thornton (Niven) Wilder (1897-1975):
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Of interest on Thornton Wilder — I heard on MPR this morning that composer Ned Rorem turned Thornton Wilder’s play “Our Town” into an opera in 2006. And the local Skylark Opera company opens the upper Midwest premiere this Friday, June 13th, 2008.
Singing in Grover’s Corners by Karl Gehrke, Minnesota Public Radio, June 11, 2008 (LINK)
You can read (or better yet, listen) at the link above how Thornton turned down a few offers (from Aaron Copland and Leonard Bernstein), and how Yale professor and poet J.D. McClatchy had to approach the playwright’s nephew and literary executor, Tappan Wilder.
McClatchy says audiences clearly feel deeply about the story:
Skylark Opera’s production of “Our Town” opens on Friday (June 13th) at Concordia University in St. Paul, Minnesota, and runs through June 22nd, in repertory with the Victor Herbert operetta, “Naughty Marietta.”
Great writers live on. Go Thornton!
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Oh, I’m so glad you posted this announcement. I bought tickets right after I read this. Opera and Thornton Wilder will be a killer combination.
Thanks, QM!
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Teri, I’m so glad you got tickets to see the Thornton Wilder opera My Town. It sounded intriquing to me. Hope you’ll come back and let us know how it is after you see it.
BTW, as fate would have it, I heard another piece on the I-35 Bridge yesterday. This time on the rebuilding.
There is an artist named Scott Anderson who says he’s not there to document the destruction. He’s there to paint the construction, the renewal. He believes he is continuing a long tradition of oil painters trying to capture a historic moment in time.
Here’s the link where you can listen to the piece. It’s fantastic. There is also a slide show of some of his paintings and the reconstruction efforts going on. I find it hopeful:
When bridge-building becomes art by Euan Kerr, Minnesota Public Radio June 11, 2008 (LINK)
In the piece it says that Anderson practices “plein air” painting – a style of outdoor painting done very quickly to capture a specific moment.
And this quote — doesn’t it sound a lot like writing?:
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I saw the opera “Our Town” tonight, and I have to say, I didn’t like it at all. I am curious why Thornton Wilder turned down the offer to turn it into an opera, but after tonight, I have my suspicions. Whenever I’ve seen the play, the minimalist set requires that I focus on the actors, their lines, the story. There is a quietness in the play. It makes you notice the movement of the characters lives, the dramatic conclusion in the cemetery.
Turning it into an opera made it lose that subtle, steady beauty. I was loud–loud voices, loud orchestra, loud combination of the two. I longed for the lines spoken without trumpets, flutes, and a piano putting on their own concert (in full volume) in the orchestra pit.
Some things should just be left alone.
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Teri, interesting thoughts about Our Town turned into opera. Makes sense that the quietness of a book, then a play, might have a different feel as opera. I wonder if it works better for some books than for others.
I’m not a fan of opera, only know what I’ve read. And it seems like there is a trend toward turning literature into opera including The Great Gatsby, A Streetcar Named Desire, and The Grapes of Wrath. Do you have any thoughts on how those 3 might have worked in opera form?
We are listening to poetry this morning by poets born from the years 1888 to 2006. We just listened to Carl Hancock Rux’s Eleven More Days in musical form. Poetry as opera is popular, too. Here’s his bio from this series:
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Teri, interesting about the opera version. I saw the play Our Town earlier this year, and I think I know what you longed for when you said “the minimalist set requires that I focus on the actors, their lines, the story. There is a quietness in the play. It makes you notice the movement of the characters lives, the dramatic conclusion in the cemetery.”
I also found the bareness of the set and the bigness of everything else to be key to the story.
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I saw “Grapes of Wrath” about two years ago at the Minnesota Opera. It was wonderful. So I know it’s possible to turn a great piece of literature successfully into opera.
But the book “Grapes of Wrath” isn’t quiet–in fact there are lots of scenes of violence and raucous behavior. “Our Town” is just the opposite. I probably have an over-active imagination, but I thought Thornton was on my shoulder last night wincing right along with me.
On the bright side (trying to find the silver lining), keeping great literature alive is valuable in pretty much any form it comes in.
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A year ago today the bridge came down. Lots of stories about survival. A picture in the St. Paul paper of a woman floating on a piece of concrete after escaping from a submerged car. Pictures in the Minneapolis paper of the 13 victims, faces we all became familiar with last August during the search effort. Remembering how reporters from around the world descended upon our town, and how we couldn’t wait for them to leave. Wondering how the families of the victims are coping today. It must feel like an endless day. Remembering how we called each other, to make sure everyone was safe. But not everyone called, and that’s harder make myself remember.
Remembering the mantra Natalie taught us: “….Awaken! Awaken! Awaken! Do not waste this precious life!”
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Teri, I had forgotten it was the anniversary until you wrote your comment #53. Oddly, I had seen two references to the Minneapolis bridge collapse in the news and in the paper while I was in the South. One was on the Georgia news and was talking about the state of bridges in Georgia being pretty good. They showed a photograph of the collapse last year. I was so strange to see it here in Georgia.
Thank you for the reminder. I’ll say an extra prayer tonight. It was a strange time. Last year, Liz and I were getting ready to go pick her mother up at the airport, when my mother called from PA to see if we were okay. We quickly turned on the TV and had not even heard about it until that moment. It was surreal. As fate would have it, Liz’s mom flew back into Minneapolis last night from Wyoming. I had not realized until now how close to the actual date that was.
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Thirteen months after the 35W bridge crashed into the Mississippi, it has opened today for traffic. After months of detouring to get around the city, it seemed like a wonderful shortcut to fly across the river. The bridge is wider, with a great feeling of expanse. If you drive on the outside lane, you can see the water (this would probably make ybonesy nervous). I thought I would feel sad and reflective; I didn’t. I felt happy.
I was on the bridge the day it went down, and I have been on it the day it opened. Something about that seems just right.
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Teri, at about 1p today, as I was pulling into a parking lot for a gathering, I heard the news on NPR about the I-35W bridge being completed and open. I thought of you. I am impressed by how diligently they worked at this. Just a hair over a year for a major bridge. Isn’t that something?
Yes, I would have felt most nervous and would not have picked the outside lane. I’m glad to hear it made you happy to drive over it. Time heals.
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Teri, I started a post on the bridge last night and ran out of steam. I am still working on it. Maybe I’ll get it out by tomorrow. It’s great you were able to be there today, to drive across the new bridge. I’ve seen photographs of the design but may wait awhile myself before traveling over it.
Everyone at work was talking about it yesterday — how they were trying to decide whether or not to change their alternate routes to work now that they are so established. It’s going to be interesting to see how different people respond to the drive over it. So many memories.
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There’s going to be a memorial for the victims at Gold Medal Park. I’m pretty certain your photos of the old flour mill have turned up on red Ravine, haven’t they, QM?
It was astonishing to watch the building of the new bridge. It went up so beautifully and quickly.
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Yes, I’ve got some posts out of the Gold Medal Park area that have been sprinkled around red Ravine. And I did a few posts after the bridge fell. I’ll try to post some links to them in the new piece. I saw a little on the Memorial design on the news last night. I’m really happy they are doing that.
That area by the river has always felt kind of sacred to me. It used to just be empty lots and old mill ruins, but has recently been affected by urban gentrification of the area. Still, it has a peacefulness that draws me. The Falls. And Spirit Island, the little island that used to be near the Falls that was sacred to the Indians. Good energy.
I also saw a time-lapse segment on the news, photographs of the bridge going up day by day over the last year. Really cool.
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QM,
Did you happen to catch the program on MPR the day before the bridge opened? All the big-wigs were at the dedication: Governor Tim Pawlenty, Senator Norm Colman, Senator Amy Klobuchar, Representative Keith Ellison and on and on the list went. There were also three girls from the “Miracle Bus,”–the school bus that teetered on the edge of calamity on August 1, 2007. The politicians all talked about the rarity of how quickly the bridge went up, and they all attributed it to the refusal of letting partisan politics get in the way. I may often roll my eyes about such rhetoric, but this time I really believed it. Amy (D) and Norm (R) said people would stop them in Washington and ask them how it could possibly be happening as it did–apparently rather unheard of.
It’s possible to work together.
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Yes, I was driving home the day that aired and was completely engrossed in the whole thing. In a way it made me sad, too. Because when situations like that come up, you see how people could be working together politically if they wanted to rather than bashing the other side. I’d so much rather put my energy into meeting in the middle.
The great thing was that it showed what is possible when we work together. I was so heartened by hearing those young girls and how grateful they were to be alive and to those who jumped in to help them that day.
I believed them, too, about the non-partisanship. They gave concrete examples of how politicians walked up to each other, shook hands, and said they were going to put politics aside. Then the amount of money they raised in a matter of days. In today’s us and them political climate, I found a lot of hope in that story. Hey, thanks for mentioning it.
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When I think about how harmoniously the politicians worked together on the new bridge, I first want to cross my arms and say, “Geez, guys. Couldn’t you do this all the time? You know, work together?” But then I have to look at myself, and how quickly my blood can start to boil when having a conversation with someone across the aisle from me.
I’m reading a book for Taos right now called At Hell’s Gate. It’s a memoir about a Vietnam vet who became a monk. The chapter I read this morning talked about the Holocaust, and how other nations (like the U.S.) turned away from Germany when they knew what was going on. To look squarely at the situation would have required looking in the mirror, and to admit things like how the Native American people were systematically destroyed in America.
So it all comes back to ‘Let it begin with me.’ Darn it. It’s so much easier to point fingers.
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[…] theater in Minneapolis that closed in 2008; and 40 Days, 8 Flags, And 1 Mennonite Choir and Thornton Wilder & Bridges, both prompted by the August 2007 collapse of 35W bridge in Minneapolis. Teri was also one of our […]
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Tomorrow our Poetry and Meditation Group will be heading to St. Croix Falls, Wisconsin to participate in The Big Read. The National Endowment for the Arts is sponsoring these events all over the country to encourage the reading of great literature.
As Thornton Wilder was from Wisconsin, we will be getting copies of Our Town and The Bridge of San Luis Rey, listening to speaker(s), and I think be getting some sort of direction for how to best utilize our time with these famous novels.
I feel fortunate to have a circle of multi-age friends who think this is a great was to spend a Saturday–together with literature.
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[…] and I jumped in my Subaru and headed east to the small river town of St. Croix Falls, Wisconsin. As Thornton Wilder was from the Badger State, this community had chosen Our Town and The Bridge Over San Luis Rey. We […]
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Today, August 1, remembering the 35W bridge collapse four years ago. I was walking around one of the lakes at 6:30 p.m. when someone told me the bridge had gone down. I thought that meant a few pieces had fallen off.
Today we have a beautiful new bridge and a remembrance garden for the 13 victims. I’m thinking of their families today.
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Teri, I was remembering the bridge yesterday, too. Liz, oliverowl, and I were talking about how exactly 4 years ago, August 1st, oliverowl was flying into the Twin Cities for her annual visit. It was when she landed that she found out what had happened. Liz and I were cleaning, doing laundry, making the bed with clean sheets, getting ready to go pick up oliverowl at the airport, when my mother called from PA to see if we were okay. “Why?” we asked. Then we switched on the TV to see the crumpled bridge in the Mississippi. It was so shocking.
I thought of all the families yesterday and was grateful for the memorial. I have not seen it yet, but hope to soon. I was also thinking of the bridge when we were standing under it taking photographs during Pride a few months ago. You can’t pass the spot and not remember. I don’t think we’ll ever forget. Thank you for stopping by yesterday and leaving your comment. I remember you had been on the bridge earlier that day, hadn’t you? Minnesota responded with courage and grace. Amazing people helping other people, for the good of all.
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Quoin,
I really wanted to go to the dedication yesterday, but had another commitment. I am anxious to go the Memorial Garden.
Yes, I was on the bridge a few hours before it collapsed. Because there were construction workers resurfacing the road, we had to drive slowly. Maybe 20 mph. So I remember it well. Later, when I heard survivors talk about the sound of an explosion when the bridge fell into the Mississippi, I thought of how my niece and I would have felt if it had been us.
You’re right about how the state responded…no politicians bickering for their own way. Working together.
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Teri, isn’t it the truth? What happened to that spirit of compromise? I was talking to someone today, a person on the more conservative side, and he said he was thinking of becoming an Independent. I, on the more liberal side, said that I was having the same thought. Seriously. I am considering it.
On a sad note, I thought I heard today that the new I-35 Memorial was vandalized last night. I didn’t catch the whole thing on the radio, only a snippet. I wanted to tune into the local news tonight and see what happened. I think they said some of the letters were taken. Did you hear about it?
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I went to visit the Memorial today. It was very moving…more than I expected. On the 13 pillars (for the 13 who died) something had been written about each person. It was pretty apparent family members got to write what would be on the pillar. It was very noticeable that many spoke of spirituality. I had forgotten what a cross-section it was of people who perished. Many races, many ages, many traditions.
When the repairs to the vandalism are complete, the lettering will say:
“Our lives are not only defined by what happens, but by how we act in the face of it, not only by what life brings us, but by what we bring to life. Selfless actions and compassion create enduring community out of tragic events.”
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[…] Memorial — Day & Night, Bridge To Nowhere — The Great Connector, Fear Of Bridges, Thornton Wilder & Bridges, Minneapolis At Night, The Name Game (What’s In A […]
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