A few nice how to apply eye make up images I found:
Don Towers – July 2011 (also known as Scrapdaddy) …item 2.. Florida’s Metal Detector Fanatics Fight High Tide and Murky Laws (Thursday, Jul 18 2013) …
Image by marsmet532
"It’s not a finders-keepers world," adds Roger Smith, Florida’s official underwater archaeologist, a ,000-a-year position in Tallahassee.
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……..*****All images are copyrighted by their respective authors ……..
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… message header for item 1. Dr. Gray and the Myth of Progress
ACCORDING TO GRAY (John Gray), much of the progress we see at the moment has been bought by robbing the future to pay the present (using up crucial resources, building up massive debt), or by rich countries shifting the burden to poorer countries (moving sweatshops and polluting factories to China and India). Other authors, like Kirkpatrick Sale, go farther, stating that progress, in the form of sprawl, congestion, resource depletion, overpopulation, the decline of communities and the rise of corporate rule, will not lead to an earthly paradise, but to hell on earth.
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… marsmet522 photo
Collier’s The National Weekly (1902) … Don Towers of Cocoa, Florida..a/k/a Scrapdaddy (July 15, 2011) …item 2..The Solo (Carl Palmer) …
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…..item 1)…. Dr. Gray and the Myth of Progress …
… The American Spectator … spectator.org/ … ANOTHER PERSPECTIVE …
By CHRISTOPHER ORLET on 4.4.13 @ 6:07AM
Faith in progress is the Prozac of the thinking classes.
spectator.org/archives/2013/04/04/dr-gray-and-the-myth-of…
"The march of the human mind is slow," quoth Edmund Burke in his Speech on Conciliation with America (1775). A contrarian by nature, Burke spoke at a time when Enlightenment ideas of progress were ascendant. Enlightenment thinkers were united in the belief that the human condition, freed from superstition and monarchy, would continue to advance until man obtained a kind of earthly paradise.
For a group of thinkers who dismissed Christian eschatology it sure sounded like an echo of Christian faith. But then even atheists need something to believe in. If you cannot have your Heaven paved with streets of gold and your 72 virgins, you can always strive for your workers' paradise on earth. What matters is having faith in something — God, progress, doesn't matter what. As long as you have a reason to get out of bed in the morning.
Enlightenment ideas received a bad name in the 20th century when the ideologies they spawned (Marxism, fascism, the cult of the free market) led directly to two world wars, a Great Depression, the rise of totalitarianism and the Holocaust. But the myth of progress marches on, says John Gray, one of our most outspoken debunkers of progress. "What none of the Enlightenment thinkers envisaged," writes Gray, "is that human life can become more savage and irrational even as scientific advance accelerates."
In such works as Heresies: Against Progress and Other Illusions, Straw Dogs, and the soon-to-be published The Silence of Animals: On Progress and Other Modern Myths, Gray has steadfastly hammered away at the mythical edifice of progress. "Improvements in government and society are [real], but they are temporary," he says. "Not only can they be lost, they are sure to be. History is not progress or decline, but recurring gain and loss." The upshot is that while progress seems to indicate a forward direction, history is not linear, it is cyclical. Just like the Greeks said it was.
Gray is not referring to scientific progress, which is undeniably real, but progress in morals, values, ethics, and politics. As for the former, Gray thinks we are flying blind into a techno future made more precarious by these same advances. "The world today is a vast unsupervised laboratory in which a multitude of experiments are simultaneously underway." Some scientific advances may cure cancer and extend life expectancy, others will lead to genocide, nuclear war, or, God help us, Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.
Gray is careful to distinguish between progress and advances. Much of what we mistake for political or social progress — the end of slavery, bans on capital punishment, women's rights, animal rights, civil rights — are merely improvements. Hence they can be reversed at any time. Take the example of torture. As soon as post 9-11 America needed enhanced interrogation techniques torture returned. Gray believes any of these advances could be undone should the need arise.
ACCORDING TO GRAY, much of the progress we see at the moment has been bought by robbing the future to pay the present (using up crucial resources, building up massive debt), or by rich countries shifting the burden to poorer countries (moving sweatshops and polluting factories to China and India). Other authors, like Kirkpatrick Sale, go farther, stating that progress, in the form of sprawl, congestion, resource depletion, overpopulation, the decline of communities and the rise of corporate rule, will not lead to an earthly paradise, but to hell on earth.
Every advance, every increase of knowledge is a mixed good, Gray says. Many modern advances — like women's rights, which progressives hold up as the epitome of progress — have seen mixed results, from the rearing of children in day care centers to the abortion mill. Programs for the poor prompt cycles of welfare dependency. Labor union victories lead to jobs moving overseas. Egalitarianism accelerates to the coarsening of society and popular culture. And God help us if our technology ever becomes self-aware, à la the Terminator films.
In his debunking of progress, Gray stands in a long line of conservative skeptics. Perhaps G.K. Chesterton deserves the last word on so weighty a subject. Said Chesterton: "The fatal metaphor of progress, which means leaving things behind us, has utterly obscured the real idea of growth, which means leaving things inside us."
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…..item 2)…. Florida’s Metal Detector Fanatics Fight High Tide and Murky Laws …
… Miami New Times … www.miaminewtimes.com/ …
By Allie Conti Thursday, Jul 18 2013 …
www.miaminewtimes.com/2013-07-18/news/florida-s-metal-det…
Brian Deutzman braces himself against the pounding surf just off South Beach and slowly waves his fluorescent-colored metal detector underwater. His eyes narrow as faint electronic beeps resonate in his oversize headphones. Tall, pale, and draped in a thin white shirt, he looks like a combination of a hipster Ghostbuster and an actual ghost. Beachgoers point and laugh while children swim around in circles, trying to find out what he’s looking for.
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img code photo … diamond grill
media.miaminewtimes.com/florida-s-metal-detector-fanatics…
Anyone lost a diamond grill?
Brian Deutzman
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Wooomp. Deutzman freezes as he hears a long robotic tone. The 24-year-old scavenger finds plenty of trash, from rusted batteries to soda can tabs to enough pennies to cancel out a thousand wishes. But that noise means he’s found something larger. It’s the same tone he heard when he nabbed a priceless 19th-century watch and when he stumbled upon a full diamond grill.
Deutzman reaches into the sand, feels something solid, and pulls out a half set of human teeth. "It’s from some castaway at sea," he says, noting the teeth with gold dental work will net on eBay if they’re real.
It’s just another surreal day in the life of a metal detector scavenger. Hordes of geezers drive to South Florida’s beaches every week to search for petty change and pass the time. There are 30,000 to 50,000 of these folks in the United States, including thousands in Florida, according to Mark Schuessler, president of the Federation of Metal Detector and Archaeological Clubs. For the vast majority, beachcombing is a way to play pirate and supplement their social security checks.
A hardy few such as Deutzman make a living finding discarded treasure. It’s a daily crapshoot made all the more difficult by a mess of state, federal, and local scavenger laws that baffle detectors. But Deutzman says it’s the only way he wants to live.
"They’re doing it without a purpose," he says of his geriatric competitors. "I’m doing it to survive."
The first metal detector was invented by Alexander Graham Bell in a last-ditch, futile effort to find an assassin’s bullet inside President James Garfield, but handheld machines weren’t sold commercially until the 1960s. Detectors were first used by troops during the Korean War to sweep for mines, and a few soldiers took such a liking to the equipment that they pined for it when they returned to the States.
One such enthusiast was Stuart Auerbach, a South Florida native who fell in love with the machines while in Korea. After searching for mines, he would sweep for coins that he’d enclose with love letters to his wife. When his tour ended, he took a surplus Army detector back to Miami. As he was combing the beach one day in 1955, a stranger approached and asked how he could get in on the action. A business idea was born, and Auerbach’s firm, Kellyco, has been in operation ever since.
The hobby has grown as amateurs have uncovered amazing finds. In 1989, a Mexican scavenger stumbled upon a nearly 27-pound hunk of gold in the Sonoran Desert. A retired English electrician sweeping the countryside in 2001 found a Bronze Era cup valued at 0,000 and later sold it to the British Museum. Perhaps most incredible of all, in 2009 a Scot named Dave Booth discovered .5 million worth of ancient necklaces one hour into his first metal-detecting session.
Today, the hobby is hitting an all-time peak. Last year, Kellyco moved 800 to 1,000 machines a day during the holidays, setting a new sales record, in part because a wave of reality TV shows such as Alaska Gold and Swamp Hunters makes the sport seem exciting and lucrative. (Bray Entertainment, co-creator of Pawn Stars, is casting a new show about Florida treasure hunters.)
"In all my years, I’ve never seen so many companies run out of inventory and parts," Auerbach says.
The majority of people picking up metal detectors are amateurs looking for a fun diversion. But a hard-core few can make serious bucks or legit historical finds. Take for instance Gary Drayton, who might be the most famous detector in Florida.
The 52-year-old Pompano Beach house painter and paper hanger has found at least ,000 worth of scrap gold since he moved here in 1989, he says. His most famous discovery is the "green-eyed monster," a 300-year-old Spanish ring with nine emeralds that he found on the Treasure Coast in 2005. He says the piece was appraised at 0,000 to 0,000.
Others get into detecting more for the history than the cash. Bob Spratley, who lives in Saint Augustine, took up digging full-time after retiring as a real estate broker in 2004 and has found scores of artifacts. "I could probably fill a couple of museums," says the 66-year-old, whose 3,000-square-foot home is filled with relics. He’s never sold anything he’s found. "It’s our heritage, and I don’t think it should be sold," he says. "I save history; I don’t sell history."
On the gray-hair-dominated metal detector scene, Deutzman is a very different kind of character. Born in Hollywood, Florida, he caught the bug after getting a detector as a Christmas gift when he was 12. Days later, he uncovered a ,500 platinum engagement ring set and decided from that point, he’d never do "real work," he says.
He graduated from South Broward High School, studied film at the University of Central Florida, and then moved to New York, where he eventually ran into Abel Ferrara, an indie director. After Deutzman showed him a college project titled 3 by 3, 1 by 1, Ferrara produced a version that eventually screened at the 2012 Cannes Film Festival.
But Deutzman had trouble making a living in New York, where he found mostly unpaid jobs in the film industry. So he returned to South Florida this past February with hopes of landing a gig at a production company. After a series of interviews, he became frustrated to learn that paying jobs were just as tough to find in Miami.
"I walked out of the office, brought up eBay on my phone, bid on a metal detector, and didn’t answer anyone’s business calls after that," he says.
Since March, he’s spent 20 hours a week fulfilling his boyhood fantasy and living off people’s detritus. Scores of well-off tourists get drunk on the beach every weekend, leaving plenty of rings, watches, and even gem-encrusted grills dropped in the sand. In only three months, Deutzman says, he’s found about ,000 worth of scrap gold.
As Deutzman’s finds piled up, though, he made an unpleasant discovery about state law. Until 2005, amateur archaeologists were free to keep anything they found as long as they disclosed the location of their excavations to authorities — a rule that also applied to metal detectors. But that year, Florida did away with the program because of widespread noncompliance. (Only seven people regularly reported their finds, according to the Florida Public Archaeology Network.)
Now, any artifacts older than 50 years must be surrendered to the state’s Division of Historical Resources. Earlier this year, a group of amateur archaeologists petitioned state Sen. Alan Hays of Umatilla to draft a bill that would reinstate the old rules, but the proposal never got off the ground.
Even worse, Florida law is head-scratchingly complex when it comes to finding valuables in or around the ocean. If lost rings or jewelry wash ashore or are hidden near the surface, it’s generally OK to keep them. But any historical artifact found at sea needs to be reported to state officials, and would-be archaeologists are forbidden from excavating below the sand in state waters, which extend from the high-tide line to three miles out, says Corey Malcom, chief archaeologist at the Mel Fisher Maritime Museum in Key West.
"It’s not a finders-keepers world," adds Roger Smith, Florida’s official underwater archaeologist, a ,000-a-year position in Tallahassee.
Those murky rules are a real problem for serious metal detectors. They argue that not only are the rules rarely enforced and impossible to police, but also they ignore that detectors provide a free clean-up service, removing metal and glass objects that would be a nuisance to swimmers. Though scavengers might pocket the occasional old coin, they also bring big money to Florida.
"They need to realize this is a hobby and see what we do," Spratley says. "People come to Florida from all over with metal detectors in their suitcases."
On Deutzman’s Fourth of July excursion to the waters off South Beach, it’s a moot point. After just a few hours in the baking sun and roiling tide, he gives up and trudges home with the set of teeth rattling in a red satchel around his waist.
His pin-up beauty of a girlfriend, Karen, is waiting at their Mid-Beach apartment with a protein shake and hopeful eyes. When he throws his gruesome find on the table, she recoils and asks, "What kind of backward country are these from?"
Deutzman shakes his head sadly, but he knows he’ll be back at it tomorrow, looking for whatever treasures that night’s party crowd drunkenly drops on the sand.
"Relative to my peers, I feel very fortunate," he says. "I have no debt, no immediate need to take up work, and the ability to spit in the face of every cheap prick who thinks I should work for free to make them rich."
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The Fifth Second Chance ~ George Anastaplo
Image by Viewminder
My camera and my life long love of people have led me to make the acquaintance of some really fascinating individuals.
If you ask any street photographer, they will tell you that the pictures they most remember are the ones they didn’t take…
the photograph that they ‘saw’ but ‘missed.’
The one that got away.
That’s how I met a man named George Anastaplo.
I saw him walking down the street while I was on the way to a very special dinner that I was already late in getting to.
As I passed him up on the sidewalk there I resisted with everything that I had the urge to stop and photograph him.
I wanted to impress the woman that I was with with the fact that indeed I possessed a modicum of self control and that I didn’t have to ‘pop’ every interesting looking person that I encountered in life.
After we arrived at the dinner I thought about the man that had just looked so fascinating to me out there on the street.
The man whose picture I didn’t take.
The shot I missed.
Then fate did a funny thing just then.
That man sat down at the table right next to me.
Fate has given me so many second chances to capture ‘his soul’ in a photograph.
I swore to myself that day that one day I’d get ‘the shot that I missed.’
The ‘soul portrait.’
Fate is a funny thing indeed.
And she has always been good to me.
I am going to get that photograph.
Someone sent me a link to this article today… I’ve cut and pasted the entire thing and a link to the original article… It’s not my work and if doing that isn’t cool somebody let me know…
"One door closes"
An article written by Richard Mertens in ‘The University of Chicago Magazine.’
You can find the original article here: mag.uchicago.edu/law-policy-society/one-door-closes
"Are you a member of the Communist Party?" George Anastaplo, AB'48, JD'51, PhD'64, refused to answer that question, a refusal that shaped his life.
Justice Hugo Black once called George Anastaplo, AB'48, JD'51, PhD'64, "too stubborn for his own good." Sixty-some years later, Anastaplo sits in a basement room in the Gleacher Center, in downtown Chicago, surrounded by a dozen adult-education students, the picture of cheerful amiability. At 86 years old, Anastaplo has taught in the University of Chicago's Basic Program of Liberal Education for Adults for 55 years. A small man with white hair and clear gray eyes, wearing running shoes and an old tweed jacket, Anastaplo is lively and relaxed. A photocopy of Emerson's essay "Friendship" lies on the table in front of him.
"I was appalled by how elitist Emerson was in his view of friendship," says one student, a middle-aged woman.
Anastaplo's eyes light up. He leans forward, and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "You were appalled?" he says. She reads from a passage in which Emerson writes, "'I do then with my friends as I do with my books. I would have them where I can find them, but I seldom use them.' Give me a break!" she exclaims, rolling her eyes. Delighted, Anastaplo swivels his head around the room. "Any reactions?"
This was not the life Anastaplo envisioned. On the morning of November 10, 1950, three days after his 25th birthday, he put on a coat and tie and headed downtown to the offices of the Chicago Bar Association, on LaSalle Street, for what he assumed would be the last step to launching a legal career in Illinois. The son of Greek immigrants from downstate Carterville, Anastaplo was a World War II veteran—he had navigated B-17 and B-29 bombers—and a top student at the University of Chicago Law School.
He had already passed the bar exam. He had begun talking to firms in the city. All that remained was a routine interview with two members of the Illinois Bar Association's Committee on Character and Fitness. Anastaplo expected 15 minutes of pleasantries. Other applicants were waiting outside.
But the interview took an unexpected turn. After a few harmless questions, one of the lawyers asked Anastaplo if a member of the Communist Party should be eligible to practice law in Illinois. Anastaplo was surprised. "I should think so," he said. But didn't Communists believe in overthrowing the government? the lawyer asked. In the long colloquy that followed, Anastaplo, invoking George Washington and American political tradition, insisted that the right to revolt was "one of the most fundamental rights any people have." The committee members were unconvinced. Finally the second one asked, "Are you a member of the Communist Party?"
Although this question was much in the air in the 1950s—earlier that year in West Virginia, Senator Joe McCarthy had brandished a list of Communists he claimed had infiltrated the State Department—no one seriously thought that Anastaplo was a Communist. Nor did anyone doubt his intellect, character, or patriotism. "If the mothers in Carterville have their way, all their boys will be like George," Fred K. Lingle, one of his high-school teachers, had told the committee in a written statement. And yet Anastaplo had determined that, as a matter of principle, the committee had no right to ask about his political beliefs or affiliations. "I think it is an illegitimate question," he replied.
Thus began a decade-long confrontation pitting an unknown but determined young Army reservist and Law School graduate against the Illinois Bar Association and the climate of fear and suspicion that then pervaded public life in the United States. Anastaplo never did become a lawyer. But the case made him famous as an example of resistance to communist witch-hunting and launched him on a long and prolific career as a scholar, law professor, and teacher of great books, a good-natured contrarian, gadfly, and independent thinker.
In the months and years that followed his first interview with the Committee on Character and Fitness, Anastaplo had many chances to change his mind and answer the question. He had plenty of encouragement to do so, including a warning from his Law School dean, Edward H. Levi, U-High'28, PhB'32, JD'35, that he was making a big mistake. But he refused—and kept on refusing. He declined, as one writer put it, "to follow the line of least resistance." For its part, the Illinois Bar was no less intractable: it simply refused to admit him. Anastaplo sued. The two sides fought back and forth through ten years of hearings and rehearings, rulings and appeals, until the case landed before the Supreme Court in 1960.
By then Anastaplo had spent a decade practicing law, all on his own behalf. He made the oral argument himself. On April 24, 1961, the court ruled against him, upholding the Illinois Bar five to four. In a lengthy petition for rehearing that he had little hope would succeed, Anastaplo wrote, "It is highly probable that upon disposition of this Petition for Rehearing, petitioner will have practiced all the law he is ever going to."
With that valedictory flourish, Anastaplo moved on. But although he had lost, neither he nor the case was forgotten, thanks primarily to Justice Black, whose dissent raised Anastaplo to something more than a legal footnote. Black had not taken Anastaplo seriously at first. Of his lawsuit, Black had confided to Chief Justice William Brennan, "This whole thing is a little silly on his part." But recent cases had left Black worried about the fate of the First Amendment and of what he later called "that great heritage of freedom." In Anastaplo he found freedom's champion. "The very most that can fairly be said against Anastaplo's position in this entire matter is that he took too much of the responsibility of preserving [this country's] freedom upon himself," Black wrote. He compared Anastaplo to great lawyers like Clarence Darrow and then, taking measure of the nation's ills, decried "the present trend, not only in the legal profession but in almost every walk of life" in which "too many men are being driven to become government-fearing and time-serving because the Government is being permitted to strike out at those who are fearless enough to think as they please and say what they think." He concluded with an exhortation that still resonates: "We must not be afraid to be free." Black liked this dissent so much that he had parts of it read at his funeral in 1971. When Brennan, who voted with Black, read it, he told him, "You've immortalized Anastaplo."
Anastaplo has been called many things, some worse than stubborn. Sidney Hook, the leftist New York intellectual turned anticommunist crusader, described him as "a very much confused young man—both philosophically and politically—with a large bump of self righteousness." On the other hand, Leon Despres, PhB'27, JD'29, a Hyde Park alderman and one of Anastaplo's most fervent admirers, dubbed him the "Socrates of Chicago."
But Studs Terkel, PhB'32, JD'34, who interviewed Anastaplo twice on Chicago's WFMT, may have hit closest to the truth when he described him simply as "one of those rare individuals who belongs to himself." Anastaplo remains an unconventional figure, a lecturer in the Graham School's Basic Program, a law professor at Loyola University of Chicago since 1981, and a writer of unusual range and productivity, with articles and books on subjects as diverse as the US Constitution, the Bhagavad Gita, and the lights at Wrigley Field. Shut out of the law, Anastaplo poured his energies into new channels, where, his friends say, he has proven himself as much his own man as he was before the Committee on Character and Fitness.
"To use a cliché, George really marches to his own drummer," says Stanley Katz, an old friend and a professor at Princeton's Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs. "I don't know anybody of whom that is truer."
Anastaplo inspires strong feelings. To a dwindling number of old friends and admirers—he has outlived not only his antagonists but also most of his old supporters—he is a heroic figure who stood up for liberty and decency at a dark moment in American history. At its 40th reunion, his Law School class gave him a bronze plaque that read "In admiration of a life devoted to high principle." He has been nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize.
Later generations know Anastaplo mainly as a gifted teacher and writer who delights in expressing unpopular or idiosyncratic positions. His first book, a close reading of the First Amendment, holds that the amendment does not apply to the states, in contrast to the views of almost every other constitutional scholar. Once, at a ceremony honoring him for his defense of civil liberties, Anastaplo surprised the audience by arguing for the abolition of television. On a talk show, he defended Richard Nixon against Gore Vidal, asserting that Nixon's Watergate transgressions were minor compared to the actions of some other presidents, such as Harry Truman.
"He has always behaved as some kind of gadfly," Laurence Berns, AB'50, PhD'57, an old friend, said in a 1986 Chicago magazine article written by Andrew Patner, X'81. "When the conventional opinion goes overboard in one direction, he tends to move in the other."
But Anastaplo is more than a gadfly. He is an intellectual omnivore, a generalist who respects few intellectual boundaries. In lectures, essays, and op-ed pieces, he often returns to favorite subjects, including the Constitution, the Greek classics, Shakespeare, and Lincoln. He comments frequently on contemporary issues involving questions of rights and liberties. Recently, for instance, he criticized the use of drones against terror suspects.
In fact Anastaplo writes about whatever interests him. He has published about 20 books, a dozen book-length law-review articles, and hundreds of essays. Many of his books treat aspects of the Constitution (including one on Lincoln and the Constitution), but they also explore literature (The Artist as Thinker: From Shakespeare to Joyce, Swallow Press, 1982), non-Western ideas (But Not Philosophy: Seven Introductions to Non-Western Thought, Lexington Books, 2002), religion (The Bible: Respectful Readings, Lexington Books, 2008), and other subjects far from his training in law and Western political philosophy. This variety is in part a consequence of teaching in the Basic Program, where, during a typical week last fall, he led discussions of Emerson, Plutarch, and Newton's Principia, and where, he notes with a kind of pride, "I teach whatever other people don't want to."
It is also an expression of a lively curiosity and the freedom to follow it. Anastaplo frequently attends University lectures, panels, and colloquia—the Franke Institute for Wednesday lunch, a Physics colloquium on Thursdays—where, he laments, he is often the only layman in the room. As his friend Stanley Katz suggests, Anastaplo exemplifies an older intellectual ideal, one envisioned by Robert Hutchins's university and Mortimer Adler's Great Books of the Western World.
Friends have long marveled at his capacity for work. His eldest daughter, Helen Newlin, U-High'67, JD'75, CER'02, says that in winter he would rise and begin working as soon as the family's modest wood frame house had cooled sufficiently to wake him. John Murley, a professor at the Rochester Institute of Technology in whose house Anastaplo stayed while a guest lecturer in the 1980s, remembers that his typewriter began clattering away at 5 a.m.
"I have always had the overwhelming feeling, when I'm with him, that I should get much more serious about my work," says Murley.
In person Anastaplo is mild, courteous, and funny. He is a classicist at heart, with a deep faith in reason, moderation, and human goodness, and devoted to the search for enduring values. He is skeptical of modernity. He dislikes what he calls "value-free social sciences." He is fascinated by the physical sciences but thinks their influence has been bad, chiding scientists for their "abandonment" of "common sense." His 1961 petition to the Supreme Court included his own exhortation: "We must try to take seriously again the concern and conditions for virtue, nobility, and the life most fitting for man."
"He's a person who is profoundly conservative, with a small 'c,' " says Katz. "He's deeply committed to traditional values … that for him are more than intellectual. … The bar-admissions case was about that. This is simply a man for whom principle is everything."
The bar case was not his only clash with authorities. In 1960 the Anastaplo family drove a Volkswagen microbus across Europe, one of many summer trips the family made. On a public square in Moscow, Anastaplo approached a group of British tourists handing out copies of an American magazine, attracting a crowd. He meant only to warn them they could get in trouble, but when the police showed up, he says, someone pointed him out, and he was arrested along with the others. The next day he was expelled. In 1968 Greece's military rulers threw him out of the country for criticizing their regime. C. Hermann Pritchard later quipped, "Any man who is kicked out of Russia, Greece, and the Illinois Bar can't be all bad."
As a teacher, Anastaplo has a talent for inducing thoughtfulness, says Laurence Nee, a tutor at St. John's College in Sante Fe and a former student of Anastaplo. Once, Nee recalls, Anastaplo gave a talk on Constitution Day at the University of Dallas, a conservative Catholic institution where he taught for many years, flying down regularly from Chicago. Flag burning was in the news, and Anastaplo began by handing out photocopies of a canceled stamp bearing the image of a flag—in effect, a mutilated flag.
"His first motion isn't to argue for or against a position," says Nee, then a graduate student in Dallas. "It's, 'Have we thought about this?'"
Students like his obvious love of learning. He often scribbles notes in class, and he tries to approach each work afresh, using a clean text whenever he can. "He has a kind of boyishness to him still," Nee says. "I think that's part of his appeal. He enjoys learning. You can see the pleasure he takes in it."
Monday and Tuesday mornings this past fall, Anastaplo taught at the Gleacher Center, then walked briskly up Michigan Avenue, a canvas tote in each hand, to teach jurisprudence and constitutional law at Loyola. He uses public transportation (or his feet) whenever possible, and until a few years ago he biked to classes downtown, pedaling an old three-speed up the lakeshore path.
Anastaplo's freewheeling and often philosophical approach to the law is a welcome contrast to the "nuts and bolts" fare of other courses, says Rebecca Blabolil, a recent Loyola graduate who took Anastaplo's class last fall. "His classes are an opportunity to think and exercise a part of your brain that has been dormant for the three years you've been here," Blabolil says. During one week, for example, he discussed the Emancipation Proclamation, a new Supreme Court ruling concerning images on cigarette packs, and Civil War songs, which he described as a neglected window into sectional differences.
Anastaplo's Law School classmates remember him as brilliant and witty, although quiet, even solitary. He was clearly not a typical law student. "He had his own ideas about how to spend his time," says Abner Mikva, JD'51, who went on to become a congressman, federal judge, and adviser to President Clinton. Instead of joining the Law Review, a sure path to advancement, Anastaplo audited other courses at the University. When Dean Levi decreed that students wear coats and ties to class, Anastaplo continued to show up in jeans. When a lecture bored him, he would pull out a newspaper and read.
Few of his classmates, then, were surprised when Anastaplo defied the Committee on Character and Fitness, says Alexander Polikoff, AB'48, AM'50, JD'53, who later helped write a friend-of-the-court brief for him. "He was strong willed and stubborn when it came to constitutional principles."
At the hearings Anastaplo was polite but confident. Transcripts suggest he was more than an intellectual match for his questioners. But he seems to have misjudged them. He arrived as if armed for a graduate seminar, laden with books, citing Jefferson, Locke, and English parliamentary rules, expecting to engage in real debate. To the lawyers on the committee, however, his arguments seem to have been mostly beside the point. The anxieties over communism in America, fanned by far right, anti–New Deal Republicans, were real, if misguided, and the lawyers could not easily discount them. In Chicago schoolteachers had been forced to take loyalty oaths. An Illinois legislative committee had been investigating communist sympathies among the faculties of Illinois universities, including the University of Chicago. Anastaplo's talk about revolution was alarming.
"I had a feeling that George was not a communist in any shape or form," said the late Edmund A. Stephan, who presided over a rehearing of Anastaplo's case in 1958, in the Chicago magazine article. "But at that time, 'communist' meant somebody who would overthrow the government. It wasn't something to be trifled with."
A bigger issue for the lawyers—and a decisive one for the Supreme Court—was whether Anastaplo could get away with refusing to answer questions. His manner, as much as his arguments, exasperated some committee members. One told Patner he was "a smart aleck."
"The big mistake, if it was a mistake, was in assuming that other people in other institutions had sense and good will, and they didn't," concludes Lawrence Friedman, AB'48, JD'51, LLM'53, a former classmate and today a professor of law at Stanford University. "It was an age of intolerance and moral panic. He was asking for trouble, and he got it. You don't argue with George—'Why are you doing this?' It won't do any good. I think it was admirable. He stood up for his principle. And he took the consequences."
At the Law School, sentiment ran heavily against him. Students seem to have respected his principles but doubted the wisdom of his position.
"I think the majority felt that it was impractical," says Ramsey Clark, AM'50, JD'51, a classmate and a former US attorney general. "It was kind of a quixotic gesture that might hurt the Law School a little bit. And I think some, and I shared this, felt some pain for what you might call a self-inflicted injury. But I admired him."
A few Law School professors defended Anastaplo, but most did not. Several wrote a proposal, likely never adopted, to discourage other students from following his example. Levi, who went on to serve as University president and US attorney general, urged Anastaplo to reconsider.
"I thought Anastaplo's position was ill-timed," Levi told the New York Times in a 1975 profile published after he became attorney general. "I thought the big problem was the teacher-oath cases. I thought to raise the non-Communist oath issue with the Character and Fitness Committee was the wrong way to do it, and because of the timing of the thing he would lose and hurt himself, and he did. We were all trying to help him, whether he knows it or not."
Indeed, Anastaplo felt betrayed. To this day he believes that if the Law School had stood up for him, the Illinois Bar would have backed down. For all his abilities, he says, Levi, then in his first year as dean, "was a timid man." The faculty, too, "were fearful." In his view, he was standing up to "hazing, harassment, whatever you want to call it." His years as a flying officer in the Army Air Corps had helped to give him confidence. "I wasn't going to be bullied."
While the bar-admissions case was under way, Anastaplo worked at different jobs, including, briefly, driving a taxi. He also studied political philosophy in the Committee on Social Thought under Leo Strauss. He taught, first in the Basic Program and then, after earning his PhD, at Rosary College, the University of Dallas, and eventually, Loyola, often holding two or three positions at a time.
His relationship with the University has been complicated and a source of disappointment. With three degrees, Anastaplo is as much a creature of the institution as anybody. But he remains marginal. For a long time he hoped to secure a regular faculty position, and each time was rebuffed. In April 1975, after Levi had departed for Washington, Anastaplo loaded a shopping cart with manila envelopes and pushed it the mile from his house on Harper Avenue to the Faculty Exchange mail office. The envelopes contained samples of his writing, a bibliography listing some 300 publications, and a letter making "a quiet … appeal to the good sense of the University faculty." They were addressed to acting president John T. Wilson, the provost, and the heads of schools, divisions, departments, and committees. He received a few replies but no offers. He never tried again.
Anastaplo did teach once at the Law School, in a not-for-credit course organized by Patner, then a law student. For many years he also met informally with graduate students in the University library. He recounts a separate occasion several decades ago when he was offered a course in the College and actually taught the first class—on the Declaration of Independence—only to have the offer withdrawn without explanation.
Anastaplo and his supporters say he was blacklisted because of the bar-admissions case and the opposition of his old dean, Edward Levi. He was too much of a troublemaker. Others offer different explanations. James Redfield, U-High'50, AB'54, PhD'61, a professor of classics and former master of the New Collegiate Division, recalls that he and Levi talked "more than once" about Anastaplo and that some professors recommended him. But Anastaplo lacked broad faculty support. The reason, Redfield suggests, was neither Levi nor the bar case but Anastaplo's link to Leo Strauss. "There was generally a hostility toward Leo Strauss on the humanities faculty," he says.
Katz believes that Anastaplo's scholarship was simply too unconventional. "He has not respected any of the norms of academic discourse," he says. "He's turned that into a virtue, but he never would have gotten tenure at the University of Chicago like that."
Still, Anastaplo has thrived in the academic hinterland, finding appreciative audiences at lesser known and often conservative institutions like the University of Dallas and publishing in obscure journals like the Oklahoma City University Law Review and the South Dakota Law Review. "The main thing is to write it the way I want it," he says. "That's what I've been able to do."
Anastaplo has taken care that his writings do not languish in obscurity. "My model in self-advertisement is Don Quixote, who seems to have reckoned that if he (as an artist of knight-errantry) went to the trouble of doing useful things, others should benefit from learning about them," he writes in an essay footnote. He collects many of his essays into books. In recent years friends have posted his writings on the Internet (at anastaplo.wordpress.com). And for most of his adult life Anastaplo has regularly sent packets of his writings to large numbers of friends and acquaintances. His children received packets when they were at college. So, in the last ten years of his life, did Hugo Black, who responded that he enjoyed them. "I have long thought and still believe that you have the capacity to make a highly useful citizen of this country," he wrote in 1969.
Anastaplo's work has attracted critical notice and often praise, but no large following. "George is prolific, original," says Geoffrey Stone, JD'71, an expert on constitutional law and a Law School professor since 1973. "But in the world of legal scholars, he isn't widely recognized." An exasperated Dean Alfange Jr., now a professor emeritus at the University of Massachusetts, noted in a 1974 review that Anastaplo would not extend First Amendment protection to artistic or literary expression: "Professor Anastaplo states that he knows of no one who agrees with his position on the First Amendment. It is unlikely that he will have to change that assessment as the result of this book." Another writer praised Anastaplo's "fervent and selfless moral vision, rooted in the classics of Western thought," and called him a "rare intellectual: thought and learning are not for him the meaning of life, inducing a withdrawal into books, ideas, and ideological posturings; they give meaning to life, enabling one to live it actively and as perfectly as possible."
At 86, Anastaplo maintains a busy schedule of teaching and writing. "That's how you stay alive," he says. He is in the middle of a projected ten-volume series called Reflections, each volume a collection of essays, or "constitutional sonnets," as he calls them, on various topics. In the third volume, for example, titled Reflections on Life, Death, and the Constitution (University Press of Kentucky, 2009), he takes up Pericles's funeral oration, assisted suicide, obliteration bombing, and "The Unseemly Fearfulness of Our Time." In the meantime he is trying to publish a collection of essays on the aftermath of 9/11, as well as a book-length series of interviews he conducted a decade ago with a Holocaust survivor. He would like to write a book about Roma people and about Sophocles's Oedipus Tyrannus, a work he considers "the greatest of our plays."
Despite his full life, Anastaplo remains aggrieved by the bar-admissions case. He finds it ironic when people tell him they admire what he did. Last year, on the 50th anniversary of the Supreme Court decision, he wrote, "If such people had expressed their admiration publicly in the 1950s, the Character Committee would probably have backed away from demands that were being made only of me."
After anticommunist fervor cooled in the United States, friends and supporters tried several times to get Anastaplo finally admitted to the Illinois Bar. The Committee on Character and Fitness itself had a change of heart: in 1978 it voted 13 to 4 to certify him. But Anastaplo refused to reapply, and without his cooperation these efforts died. "George doesn't want to let them off the hook," says Katz.
Indeed, Anastaplo has done his part to keep the case alive. He has spoken about it occasionally and has chronicled it in immense detail, publishing not only most of the essential documents but also much correspondence and commentary about it afterward. "Frankly, I felt, and still do, that staying out on the terms I did was more instructive," Anastaplo says. "I figured that, all in all, it was better to stay out."
Was he too stubborn for his own good? Certainly Anastaplo sacrificed what might have been a lucrative law career. As a graduate of a leading law school, he might have found other opportunities open up to him as well. Many of his fellow students, including Mikva, Clark, Friedman, and Robert Bork, AB'48, JD'53, went on to distinguished careers in government and academia. From a practical point of view, says Clark, Anastaplo's actions in 1950 were "catastrophic."
But the practical point of view never was Anastaplo's. In the end, he says, his case proved "liberating and even empowering." It made him a symbol of principled resistance and set him on what he calls "my career as a naysayer." More than that, losing the case gave him the freedom to "do what I want to do and publish what I want to." Those who know him say they cannot imagine him doing anything differently.
"George is always at peace, as far as I can tell," Clark says. "He was confident. The consequences, which he fully understood, were not a concern. He was determined to live a life of principle as far as he understood it. … And that's the type of life he's lived."
Richard Mertens ‘The University of Chicago Magazine’ March-April 2012
mag.uchicago.edu/law-policy-society/one-door-closes
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World’s first study of rider’s eye movements
Image by NTU – Brackenhurst
Equine scientists have collected evidence to prove how the miniscule eye movements of elite riders can determine their success in show jumping. In a world first, the team at Nottingham Trent University have been able to use state-of-the-art technology to compare the ‘visual strategies’ of riders of varying experience, providing the first detailed insight into the gaze behaviour of elite equestrian athletes.
In sports involving hand-eye coordination, elite athletes are known to direct their gaze, make predictive eye movements and focus on important relevant features for longer than non-elite athletes. In show jumping however, these visual strategies are particularly important during the approach to a jump, where the skill of both the rider and the horse will determine the appropriate take-off point.
Using a hi-tech mobile eye tracking device, the Nottingham Trent University team has been able to record exactly what a rider looks at – and how long for – when approaching a jump. A spectacle mounted unit is able to monitor the minute movements of the rider’s eye and then overlay those movements onto a video of where the rider is facing. When played back, the footage shows a red circle to depict exactly what the rider was looking at, frame by frame, during the approach to a jump.
A show-jumper, event rider, point to point rider and non-competitive rider were all asked to make five rounds of an identical three jump course, with each round recorded by the mobile eye tracking device. By playing back the footage, the researchers were able to monitor the rider’s point of gaze at each stage of the course and determine how long they spent looking at specific areas or features.
Preliminary analysis revealed that when approaching a jump, riders rapidly alter their point of gaze from the ground before a jump, to the jump itself and then to the ground beyond. However, the more experienced show jump rider was found to fix their gaze on the jump much sooner than each of the other riders – up to 3.05 seconds earlier before take off than the least experienced non-competitive rider – as well as spending significantly longer fixated on each point.
Tim Stockdale – Olympic show jumper and honorary graduate of Nottingham Trent University – met with the university’s research team to try the system himself, and offered his own thoughts on how the findings might be put to good use:
"To be able to gather data and information like this is fascinating. A rider’s eye movements are crucial to their success in show jumping, and this system allows us to demonstrate the behaviour of elite riders, and analyse other rider’s performance and point out where they might be going wrong. It’s got the potential to be a really important tool for the sport."
Carol Hall from Nottingham Trent University’s Equine Science research team, said: "The findings from this study have the potential to be applied in elite equestrian training and to significantly improve performance in equestrian sports. By understanding the visual behaviour of successful show jumpers, we’ll be able to assist in the training of up-and-coming riders, as well as providing ‘safer’ training programmes for novice riders. I’m confident that our work will help to improve human safety and equine welfare throughout the sport."
CHECK OUT OUR VIDEO ONLINE AT:
ntu.ac.uk/news_events/news/releases/eyegaze.html
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