A Bit of Light in the Grim Anniversaries.

The past week is that weird time of the year when, in the course of three days, we have a trilogy of back-to-back tragic anniversaries -- the San Francisco Earthquake and fire (April 18, 1906); the Oklahoma City Bombing (April 19, 1995) and the Columbine massacre (April 20, 1999). I left San Francisco last week to be in Denver where there were a few people from Oklahoma, so these three sad anniversaries were top of mind. I was in Oklahoma at the time of the 1995 bombing and routed through Denver the day of Columbine, so they hold special meaning.

Believe it or not, I wasn't around for the 1906 earthquake.

I just came across the great videos above by Rick Prelinger of The Long Now Foundation. Some great images of Bay history that I've never seen and interesting commentary.

When We Go Back to Denver in April...

...we are definitely going to visit the Denver Museum of Miniatures. I wonder if its nickname is "The Denvy Mini"?

Saying Goodbye to City of Juicy Proportions

Just as I was zipping up Josephine to catch I-70, I spied a familiar soul walking out of the Museum of Natural History.

"Well, Mr. Sullivan, I was about to give up on you."

"Oh, really, Mr. Junk Thief, was there a problem?"

"Well, let's just say..."

"Let's not say, Mr. Junk Thief. Shall we head back home now?"

"Very well. However, I am curious what you thought of the Rockies."

He turned around to regard them studiously as if for the first time.

"Ah, they are of juicy proportions, but that ornamental snow is a bit overdone."

To Think It All Comes Down to Doorknobs

After that very nasty episode downtown in the predawn hours, how ironic that I was now just north of the Colorado capitol building and strolling through what is now called "The Sherman Street Event Center".

Yes, what you thought you saw on the marquee is correct. UP.WITH.PEOPLE. This notorious group -- now based in Denver -- has the run of the place until early February.

As I strolled the place, I suddenly realized that my long infatuation with Louis Sullivan escalated in September 2008 when I saw one of his doornobs at MOMA (not to be confused with SFMOMA. I thought I'd touched the base of God...until...I saw...this...
Once called the "El Jebel Temple”, today it hosts a wide variety of balls and banquets to which I shall soon add one more notch. Yes, I will soon be in a former Shriner shrine.

Was I impressed? Yes.

But as I walked down Sherman with my contract, one question was on my mind. Where is Mr. Sullivan?

Devastating Denver Drama

If I seem a little frazzled as I write this at 8 a.m. it's because I am and am just getting my latte after rising nearly four hours ago. Just as I was enjoying a deep sleep, the phone rang, and it was "Mr." Sullivan demanding that I fetch him at the Brown Palace in downtown Denver and return him to our room at the Lotus Club of the Rockies.

"Can't you hail a cab yourself?" I asked.

"Oh, that's so unseemly," he replied.

Duty. Sleepiness. Slavishness. Which trait or was it all of them that took me down to the other end of downtown where I saw Mr. Sullivan sitting on a pumpkin colored velvet settee while a Guatemalan housemaid vacuumed the carpets with a mustard colored Dyson.

"Oh, I thought you'd never arrive," Mr. Sullivan exclaimed, throwing his arms around me for the first time during our journey just east of the Rockies. His mysterious disappearances and late night frolics were forgiven as the pleasant brush of his bear rubbed against my cheek.

"How could I stay here," he sighed. "Only after my second drink did I realize I was staying in a hotel of a Frank E. Edbrooke design*"

(Frank E. Edbrooke is said to have been "inspired" by the Chicago School architecture of Adler and Sullivan. Those from Chicago had a more randy word for "inspire".)

Let's Just Start Back at Zero

"Mr. Sullivan?"

"Mr. Junk Thief?"

"Where are you?"

"Where are you?"

"Steuben's at 17th and Pearl. Amazing flats across the street. I think you'd be impressed."

"Will you come pick me up?"

"Yes, just tell me where you are."

"You won't scold me."

"No, Mrs. Sullivan, just tell me where you are. I love Denver, but let's go home."

As We Depart Denver...

...Mr. Sullivan regard the Rockies and the Denver skyline, both of which are of juicy proportions.

Sucks Like a Dyson

Our week in Denver has been hectic. When I consented to letting Mr. Sullivan join me for this jaunt to Denver, I reminded him that it was a business trip. Much as I love discussing architecture, I simply wouldn't have much time to dedicate to taking photos of him or reviewing providential structures. Though he admired the Rocky Mountains which are of "juicy proportions", Mr. Sullivan was soon complaining about being ignored, and before I knew it, he was off on a tour of historic homes off Colfax and then to Cherry Creek.

Not that would complain, but I didn't see why he needed James Dyson as is tour guide. Though he has come back to our room at the Lotus Club of the Rockies every night, it has been after 3 a.m. with his suit perfectly vacuumed and smelling of espresso. He has been late or not showed up for most of our appointments together. I barely caught this snap of him racing past the Littleton city hall this afternoon. At this point, I am not sure we'll even be returning on the same flight together.


And here I thought it would be different with a 19th Century architect.

Sullivan's Travels

As our carriage arrived at San Francisco International Airport, and we stepped out to the terminal I had my doubts about the wisdom of allowing Louis Sullivan to join me on this short trip. But he knows how to be most persuasive.

Much to my surprise, this 19th Century architect breezed through the security screening and we were soon strolling leisurely through the terminal.An unexpected perk of traveling with a man of the Edwardian era and one who is an artist and poet is that he looks at small details. He was immediately drawn to the display of "antique" gambling machines in the United terminal.We opted not to walk along the mechanical sidewalk and instead observed these varying pre-Vegas mechanical oddities."Very steam punk," I observed. He stared back at me, clueless of what I was referring to, and I didn't bother trying to explain.
"Ah, many a penny lost with that one..." His head hung low, and it started coming together that these machines may have played some role in his financial demise.

"Alas, much in life is an endless gamble, is it not Mr. Junk Thief?" he queried.
He brushed his hands against each box, examining it closely until we reached the food court. "Might I find fish and chips or refreshing aspic?" he asked. I assured him that we'd have fuller fare once reaching Denver and steered him over to have a little snack of red bean ice cream and Oi Ocha green tea. "You know, Frank Lloyd Wright introduced me to these in the pre-teens," he said. I patted a bit of ice cream that had dripped onto his beard. "That was before our parting of the ways..." He stared off into the crowd, not exactly sullen but clearly not as refreshed by our snack as I had been.

Noticing there was a bit of ice cream on his hands, I took Mr. Sullivan to the men's room to wash up. You've really not lived until you've shown a 19th century architect how to use a Dyson hand dryer. After I explained who Mr. Dyson is and his passion for design, Mr. Sullivan asked, "Will we meet him in Denver?"

Hello, Lotus Club? Sullivan, Reservation for Two. One Bed, Please

Never try to argue with a dashingly handsome and poetically persuasive 19th Century architect. I caved in and agreed to let him go.

Little Louis Wants to Fly

Junk Thief is heading off to Denver tomorrow, and all day long Louis Sullivan has been pleading: "Take me along! Take me along!" Oh, what to do? Can a 19th Century architect handle increased security screenings? Is the TSA ready to see a 19th Century architect prove that he doesn't have a bomb in his pants? This may be a difficult decision.

Home and Dry

Last week was extremely busy and intense with work, but things ended on a positive note in my corner despite difficult news on the larger horizon But...better days are potentially on the horizon.

It was 67 degrees cloudy as I left and I tried to ignore the too familiar Denver-United announcement of "flight attendants will remain seated due to turbulence but will begin service as soon as it's safe". If it's not safe, then why do we have this plane in the to begin with?

It was good to be home and see Bow so excited and gorgeous local weather as Denver get pulmeted with the above storm that is just beginning. Now it will be exciting to see United deliver my bag sometime between 6 and 10 p.m. tonight.

View from My Room Wednesday Evening...

...and now it's blazing sun and in the 40s.

Brace for Impact

I'm back into heavy travel mode and very challenging work for the next three months. It's not a complaint about my work, just the challenge of finding money in the current environment.

Leaving Bow with her English nanny this morning was difficult, but I take comfort in knowing that she will be in the best possible care.

Despite all the travel and destinations in my many years, descent into two airports -- Chicago and Denver -- typically stress me out the most. I usually know the forecast before I fly and those five letters WINDY did not relieve any stress for this trip, and the ride down was true to leaving most people on the flight either screaming or green faced. And it seems to be a 12 months a year thing for coming into Denver.

I made it, there are remnants of last weeks snow and more coming (twice) before I leave. At least going back up is usually easier than coming down.

The Speech

Putting Barney Smith before Smith-Barney was a great line that may be remembered more than Obama's speech itself which had challenges with the physical dynamics and what came before it. Rhetoric or not, it was uplifting to at least hear coherent sentences and the right rhetoric. Perhaps I expected it to have more heart or echo more of "I have a dream". But simply acknowledging that speech, daring to speak about abortion and gay marriage, and the journey of the messenger were enough for me.

What will most resonate in the morning will likely be Pamella Cash-Roper. Get rid of that dreadful Dr. Phil and give this woman a show. She's a good reminder of why we must march forward and the types of people this election is all about. Her humor in the face of adversity will stick with me for some time.

One Step Ahead of the Dogs

Okay, I know that much of it was rhetoric and heavily scripted, but at least it's rhetoric we've not heard on a national stage for much of the past eight years. These words from Denver were stirring: On that path to freedom, Harriet Tubman had one piece of advice: "If you hear the dogs, keep going. If you see the torches in the woods, keep going. If there's shouting after you, keep going. Don't ever stop. Keep going. If you want a taste of freedom, keep going."

Wet in Denver

Am I the only one watching the DNC in Denver, albeit in and out? Nothing was off script, but I'm a sucker for thing such as the Ted Kennedy speech and even seeing a family values spouting Michelle Obama.

And the FOX News skybox being attacked by the sprinklers was the best off-script moment on day one.

I could have been here today

Headlines of the past 36 hours

• I got a customer alert call from Orbitz at 5 a.m. yesterday about the cancellation of all flights through Denver.
  
• I spent most of the next four hours trying to get through to customer service at Orbitz and United. The 5-8 voice prompts all ended with a hang up call.
• I worked with the travel agent who books my business trips on alternates. I often whne that I have to go through an agent instead of just booking it myself. This time, I consider him my best new friend since he finds a ticket, albeit at three times the original cost, 10 hours longer and with 1000 more miles.
• At 7 p.m., I begin a series of flights that take me from Oakland to Portland to Houston to Oklahoma City.
• The slight conjestion I had in the afternoon is developing into a miserable cold as I am wedged into the seat on the long Portland-Houston flight next to a two-year-old boy named Alberto who reaches out for my fingers several times and kisses my shoulder midway into the flight.
• I arrive in Oklahoma at 10:30 a.m. where it is a glorious 28 degress (I'm not being ironic; I'm a winter person) and bright, crisp and clear. If it were like this year-round I would move back.
  
• I arrive at my aunt's memorial service 20 minutes before it starts.