NPR's On the Media featured an interview with a college professor who tells students to buy term papers off the internet and try to defend them as their own.
While that may be in interesting exercise in learning one more reason it is wrong to buy papers, that is not his purpose.
He does it, he says, and he may have been joking because the alternative seems unlikely, because there is no more originality in art or music so why should their be in writing?
Ok, so John Cage or Sting or Sir Paul aren't doing anything new, they are just rehashing what has been written before? And there is no difference between what Roseanne Cash did on The List and what she is recording now?
Talk about flawed theories.
I wish I had caught the professor's name, but I was driving through Mahlon Dickinson State Park which means the radio reception was iffy. I would like to read some of the things he wrote (publish or perish, you know) and see if I could find out where he stole it from.
I'm a big fan of academic freedom, but I think the line should be drawn at teaching students to break one of the 10 Commandments. Just as a for instance.
Stealing is stealing.
Plagiarism is plagiarism.
You don't encourage it, certainly not in an academic setting. Not even as a joke.
There is plenty of room for creativity. The last great thing has not been written. Not even close.
30 December 2013
20 November 2013
When Will They Ever Learn
No, this isn't an anti-war column, although I could easily write one of those. There are plenty of things people don't seem capable of learning.
One of those is not to foul their nests.
You would think it's pretty obvious, you don't throw your garbage on the floor or out the window, do you? I mean when that lunatic group down in Philadelphia threw their garbage out their windows in a row house, the neighbors went out and bought guns. Ostensibly because of the rats, but who knows for sure?
But people who live and fish and swim and otherwise have fun in Lake Hopatcong seem to have a problem understanding that throwing things in the lake is pretty much the same as throwing things out the window.
About 400 volunteers took the time one chilly Saturday morning to pull the stuff out of the lake, or at least at the edge of the lake, which was lowered five feet for the five-year drawdown to allow lakefrom home and business owners to do repairs on docks and other structures without the expense of erecting a coffer dam. The volunteers, led by 40 team leaders, didn't go into the muckiest parts of the lake for safety reasons, but they still pulled out thousands of aluminum cans, glass and plastic bottles, cell phones (lots and lots of cell phones) articles of clothing, tools and many, many tires.
Now, it's likely some of those things -- like the cell phones and some small tools -- fell out of pockets when someone leaned over while fixing a boat. It's also likely a few of those cell phones was thrown at someone during a dockside domestic dispute, probably fueled by the contents of some of those cans.
But some of the debris was the result of carelessness. Of not thinking or not caring. And that's just wrong. The lake isn't just a playground. It's a water source for downstream. It's a mechanism to recharge the watershed that has been robbed of water by development in the Musconetcong River Watershed. It's also home to fish and other aquatic animals and provides sustenance for muskrat, mink, raccoon and other mammals.
The Lake Hopatcong Foundation, which sponsored the clean-up, hopes the sheer about of debris found will be a wake-up call to lake residents and visitors.
One of those is not to foul their nests.
You would think it's pretty obvious, you don't throw your garbage on the floor or out the window, do you? I mean when that lunatic group down in Philadelphia threw their garbage out their windows in a row house, the neighbors went out and bought guns. Ostensibly because of the rats, but who knows for sure?
But people who live and fish and swim and otherwise have fun in Lake Hopatcong seem to have a problem understanding that throwing things in the lake is pretty much the same as throwing things out the window.
Now, it's likely some of those things -- like the cell phones and some small tools -- fell out of pockets when someone leaned over while fixing a boat. It's also likely a few of those cell phones was thrown at someone during a dockside domestic dispute, probably fueled by the contents of some of those cans.
But some of the debris was the result of carelessness. Of not thinking or not caring. And that's just wrong. The lake isn't just a playground. It's a water source for downstream. It's a mechanism to recharge the watershed that has been robbed of water by development in the Musconetcong River Watershed. It's also home to fish and other aquatic animals and provides sustenance for muskrat, mink, raccoon and other mammals.
The Lake Hopatcong Foundation, which sponsored the clean-up, hopes the sheer about of debris found will be a wake-up call to lake residents and visitors.
19 November 2013
Who is a Journalist?
It used to be easy-ish to define.
We didn't call ourselves journalists, but we knew who we were.
We called ourselves newspapermen or newspaperladies. We distinguished ourselves from broadcast folk. They were a little effete, you know? They didn't speak, they intoned.And the TV people were "hairdos." We were the real deal.
We were professional in the sense most of us at least went to college. Not everybody majored in journalism. Being a Good, Little, Italian Girl, I majored in English/Secondary Education so I would get not only a diploma, but also a piece of paper that said I could get a job.
It lied, but that's beside the point.
I did get a newspaper job -- not exactly as a reporter, more like doing the recipe column, the Puzzlegraph, which was some sort of word-play contest I had to judge and send out the prizes for, fill-in as darkroom tech and occasionally on the stat camera and do weddings, engagements, baby announcements and cover one municipality. And a couple of municipal courts.
You have no idea how many people light fires in parks when fires aren't allowed. Just sayin'. . .
Later, I became a reporter. Covered three towns, answered the phone, took the ad proofs to Cohen's of Washington because they wanted them on a day the ad rep was working in another town, took pictures of guys with trout on the first day of the season, took pictures of guys with deer on the first day of the season.
You know, a reporter.
Not a journalist.
After Woodward and Bernstein, the term journalist came closer to the lexicon. Then "investigative" was added as a modifier/ A mostly unnecessary modifier, since every reporter has to dig on occasion. And it is digging, like grave digging. Not some exciting romp.
Today, the digital revolution has produced all sorts of people who call themselves journalists. Many erroneously.
The New Jersey Professional Chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists held a two-hour form on the question of who is a journalist. Notice I didn't say "to answer the question," because we were reasonably sure we couldn't.
What did become clear, unsurprisingly, was that people who have worked in the news business for years, who chose it as a profession in spite of the long hours and low pay, don't believe random bloggers and other "citizen journalists" fit any definition we are familiar with.
Not because they don't have degrees. Not even because they don't have employers who are actual. publishers. But because they aren't practicing journalism the way we practice it. Some are ethical. Some can research. Some are objective. But not all of them are. Some aren't even willing to write under their own names.
We talked -- something we love to do -- argued a little -- something else we love to do, and came to the conclusion we should do these forums more often.
If anyone knows about professional journalism, it's
Pulitzer Prize winner Jonathan Alter.
Michael Stephen Daigle has worked for traditional and
new media.
John Ensslin and Clay Dobosh listen to the debate on
who is a journalist.
We didn't call ourselves journalists, but we knew who we were.
We called ourselves newspapermen or newspaperladies. We distinguished ourselves from broadcast folk. They were a little effete, you know? They didn't speak, they intoned.And the TV people were "hairdos." We were the real deal.
We were professional in the sense most of us at least went to college. Not everybody majored in journalism. Being a Good, Little, Italian Girl, I majored in English/Secondary Education so I would get not only a diploma, but also a piece of paper that said I could get a job.
It lied, but that's beside the point.
I did get a newspaper job -- not exactly as a reporter, more like doing the recipe column, the Puzzlegraph, which was some sort of word-play contest I had to judge and send out the prizes for, fill-in as darkroom tech and occasionally on the stat camera and do weddings, engagements, baby announcements and cover one municipality. And a couple of municipal courts.
You have no idea how many people light fires in parks when fires aren't allowed. Just sayin'. . .
Later, I became a reporter. Covered three towns, answered the phone, took the ad proofs to Cohen's of Washington because they wanted them on a day the ad rep was working in another town, took pictures of guys with trout on the first day of the season, took pictures of guys with deer on the first day of the season.
You know, a reporter.
Not a journalist.
After Woodward and Bernstein, the term journalist came closer to the lexicon. Then "investigative" was added as a modifier/ A mostly unnecessary modifier, since every reporter has to dig on occasion. And it is digging, like grave digging. Not some exciting romp.
Today, the digital revolution has produced all sorts of people who call themselves journalists. Many erroneously.
The New Jersey Professional Chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists held a two-hour form on the question of who is a journalist. Notice I didn't say "to answer the question," because we were reasonably sure we couldn't.
What did become clear, unsurprisingly, was that people who have worked in the news business for years, who chose it as a profession in spite of the long hours and low pay, don't believe random bloggers and other "citizen journalists" fit any definition we are familiar with.
Not because they don't have degrees. Not even because they don't have employers who are actual. publishers. But because they aren't practicing journalism the way we practice it. Some are ethical. Some can research. Some are objective. But not all of them are. Some aren't even willing to write under their own names.
We talked -- something we love to do -- argued a little -- something else we love to do, and came to the conclusion we should do these forums more often.
If anyone knows about professional journalism, it's
Pulitzer Prize winner Jonathan Alter.
new media.
who is a journalist.
16 November 2013
In the Company of Giants
While it is incomprehensible to some of us that he was never so honored before, maybe the same year as his buddy, Pete Hamill, nevertheless, the Deadline Club chose Breslin and seven fellow journalism legends to induct into their Hall of Fame on Thursday, November 14.
The luncheon was at Sardi's, as you can tell from the smiling faces on the wall above Breslin and Alex Tarquinio, president of the Deadline Club. I believe that is Lucille Ball in the upper left-hand corner.
Breslin talked about getting into journalism after learning the electrician who fixed things in his grandmother's basement in Richmond Hill would occasionally drive to Ossining (literally "up the river) to throw the switch on the electric chair at SingSing. He wanted to watch. Of course, but the time he was working for The Long Island Press and could go, he no longer wanted to see the spectacle.
I shook Jimmy Breslin's hand once before. When I lived in NYC, he and Norman Mailer, ran for Mayor and City Council President of the city and they announced on Staten Island, because no one had ever announced there before, not on The Forgotten Borough. So, once settled on Staten Island, they decided to announce at Wagner College, certainly one of the loveliest places on the Island, and a bit of an anomaly, a Protestant Parochial College within the city limits.
That earlier experience didn't diminish meeting him again.
I met his friend, Hamill when Alex asked me to herd the attendees to their tables. I pointed out to Pete it was above my pay grade, but asked him to find his seat.
Breslin wasn't the only honoree who brought friends.
Cindy Adams was the first honored, alphabetically. She came with Barbara Walters, who looks much more frail than Breslin.
Adams was funny. She talked about how her career started because her husband knew the Shah of Iran, who, was, at that time, dying in a city hospital. She also told of her acquaintance with Manuel Noriega ("if you're indicted, your invited"), including being cut off when he called her from prison by her Yorkshire Terrier, Jazzy.
Carol Loomis is a senior editor at Fortune and the editor of a biography of Warren Buffet. My daughter the accountant says "there are a lot of those," but hers is Tap Dancing to Work. The audience related to her talk about being afraid every day at work. "Fear is a great motivator."
Linda Mason was the first woman to work as a producer for the CBS Evening News. She worked with Walter Cronkite, which is very much like working with God. She started her career at the Times-Herald-Record in Middletown, NY.
After the luncheon (which was amazing) and speeches, we sophisticated, classy journalists acted like school kids with our heroes.
Of course.
We were in the company of giants.
08 November 2013
Parks and Rec
I really am not a situation comedy person.
Ok, I kinda enjoyed Seinfeld. Friends, Will and Grace, but I haven't really loved a sitcom since Murphy Brown. and before that, Wings.
Which probably means I have a thing for "workplace" sitcoms as opposed to "family" sitcoms. Which those of my vast number of readers with a Freudian bent will undoubtedly interpret in some sinister manner.
The point is, I have been totally loving Parks and Recreation.
For one thing, it's hysterically funny. For another, it's almost painfully real.
For those of you not familiar, P&R is about a small city in Indiana and the employees of its parks and recreation department, notably the deputy director Leslie Knope, played by Amy Poehler. Leslie is one of those relentlessly optimistic civil servants who takes her job seriously and works hard. In other words, she's constantly besieged by the public, her co-workers and the city council. Living proof that no good deed goes unpunished.
The other main characters are: Ron, the director of P&R, who hates government in any way, shape or form; Tom, the sleazy, womanizing co-worker; April, the depressed and Goth intern; Ann Perkins, a nurse with a giant hole int he lot next to hers; Andy, Ann's ex-boyfriend who fell in the hole and then lived in it; Donna and Jerry, two co-workers with lesser roles, but lots of fun when allowed. A few other occasional characters drop in: Orrin, a performance artist who rarely moves; John-Ralphio, a friend of Tom's with the personality of a car insurance commercial; Mona Lisa, J-R's sister who is mean as a snake.
As the seasons moved on, there were some changes. Mark, the city planner who dated Leslie and then Ann, leaves, and the city is invaded by bureaucrats from Indianapolis. Chris is hyperactive, manic and tiresomely healthy. Ben is quieter, smart and cute.
Naturally, various other city employees and officials drop in now and again.
Another character is City Hall which is festooned with murals painted in a more simple time. And by simple, I mean a time during which it was perfectly ok to treat the local Indian tribe like dogs. Or worse. The murals are a hoot.
In pretty much every episode, an incident arises that reminds me of something I covered as a municipal beat reporter.
I mean, I've never covered a giant hole being turned into a park, but I have covered the rivalry among municipal departments and it does get just as weird as it does on TV. As does the rivalry between neighboring towns.
I would highly recommend Parks and Rec to anyone, but especially to anyone who has experience with municipal government.
Ok, I kinda enjoyed Seinfeld. Friends, Will and Grace, but I haven't really loved a sitcom since Murphy Brown. and before that, Wings.
Which probably means I have a thing for "workplace" sitcoms as opposed to "family" sitcoms. Which those of my vast number of readers with a Freudian bent will undoubtedly interpret in some sinister manner.
The point is, I have been totally loving Parks and Recreation.
For one thing, it's hysterically funny. For another, it's almost painfully real.
For those of you not familiar, P&R is about a small city in Indiana and the employees of its parks and recreation department, notably the deputy director Leslie Knope, played by Amy Poehler. Leslie is one of those relentlessly optimistic civil servants who takes her job seriously and works hard. In other words, she's constantly besieged by the public, her co-workers and the city council. Living proof that no good deed goes unpunished.
The other main characters are: Ron, the director of P&R, who hates government in any way, shape or form; Tom, the sleazy, womanizing co-worker; April, the depressed and Goth intern; Ann Perkins, a nurse with a giant hole int he lot next to hers; Andy, Ann's ex-boyfriend who fell in the hole and then lived in it; Donna and Jerry, two co-workers with lesser roles, but lots of fun when allowed. A few other occasional characters drop in: Orrin, a performance artist who rarely moves; John-Ralphio, a friend of Tom's with the personality of a car insurance commercial; Mona Lisa, J-R's sister who is mean as a snake.
As the seasons moved on, there were some changes. Mark, the city planner who dated Leslie and then Ann, leaves, and the city is invaded by bureaucrats from Indianapolis. Chris is hyperactive, manic and tiresomely healthy. Ben is quieter, smart and cute.
Naturally, various other city employees and officials drop in now and again.
Another character is City Hall which is festooned with murals painted in a more simple time. And by simple, I mean a time during which it was perfectly ok to treat the local Indian tribe like dogs. Or worse. The murals are a hoot.
In pretty much every episode, an incident arises that reminds me of something I covered as a municipal beat reporter.
I mean, I've never covered a giant hole being turned into a park, but I have covered the rivalry among municipal departments and it does get just as weird as it does on TV. As does the rivalry between neighboring towns.
I would highly recommend Parks and Rec to anyone, but especially to anyone who has experience with municipal government.
07 November 2013
We Don't Need Another Hero
I have never been one to have "heroes."
Role models, maybe, but not "heroes."
I remember Jane Fonda once saying women have to be their own heroes. I get that. All too often we don't have anyone appropriate to look up to. More than women in the "first wave," but not so many.
Which is not to say we don't look up to people in our profession.
I had the opportunity to meet one of the people I have long admired.
Geneva Overholser has had many prestigious jobs in the newspaper business, but she first rose to fame when she took a phone call from a rape victim to wanted her story told.
The press doesn't report the names of victims of sexual assault, but often we wonder if that actually is a good or a bad thing. Protecting their privacy is a good thing on the surface, but doesn't it also perpetuate the idea that there is something to be ashamed of?
The woman who called Overholser at the Des Moines Register thought so. Her name was published and more important, her story was told. It was told in a five-part series, after the trial of the rapist, that won the Register a Pulitzer Prize.
"When we won the Pulitzer," Overholser said, "it sounded like we were campaigning for change, but we were just telling a story."
That's the whole point of what we do as journalists, we tell stories. Sometimes those stories strike a chord and things change and sometimes they don't, but when they need to be told, we tell them.
When I read about Overholser's decision to run the series, I was very impressed because I knew she would take some flak, but I also knew she was doing the right thing.
Which is a hell of a thing to aspire to. So often doing the right thing isn't easy and it results in flak from unimaginative people. Or angry people. Or people with agendas.
So maybe I have some heroes.
Role models, maybe, but not "heroes."
I remember Jane Fonda once saying women have to be their own heroes. I get that. All too often we don't have anyone appropriate to look up to. More than women in the "first wave," but not so many.
Which is not to say we don't look up to people in our profession.
I had the opportunity to meet one of the people I have long admired.
Geneva Overholser has had many prestigious jobs in the newspaper business, but she first rose to fame when she took a phone call from a rape victim to wanted her story told.
The press doesn't report the names of victims of sexual assault, but often we wonder if that actually is a good or a bad thing. Protecting their privacy is a good thing on the surface, but doesn't it also perpetuate the idea that there is something to be ashamed of?
The woman who called Overholser at the Des Moines Register thought so. Her name was published and more important, her story was told. It was told in a five-part series, after the trial of the rapist, that won the Register a Pulitzer Prize.
"When we won the Pulitzer," Overholser said, "it sounded like we were campaigning for change, but we were just telling a story."
That's the whole point of what we do as journalists, we tell stories. Sometimes those stories strike a chord and things change and sometimes they don't, but when they need to be told, we tell them.
When I read about Overholser's decision to run the series, I was very impressed because I knew she would take some flak, but I also knew she was doing the right thing.
Which is a hell of a thing to aspire to. So often doing the right thing isn't easy and it results in flak from unimaginative people. Or angry people. Or people with agendas.
So maybe I have some heroes.
05 November 2013
What are We Doing to Our Kids?
I'm not one of those people who laments what the younger generation is coming to.
I always thought that was pretty silly because every generation has trouble with the next one.
But whenever I hear from people who still have kids in school I do worry about the generation that is running the public education system in this country.
For one thing, the country on this subject, as on so many, the country is upside down.
For every $1 spend on early childhood education, $7 is saved later. But, since the Reagan administration, preschool programs have been underfunded.
It's not rocket science. If you send kids to preschool, they get a head start on education -- hence the name of the program: Head Start.
In Italy, where pretty much all children go to preschool, there is virtually no spending on special education later because kids with problems are diagnosed early and dealt with. And considering the obscene amount of money we spend in America on special ed (which is fodder for about 10 more columns) we should really look at that.
Then when kids get into public school, the same government that doesn't want to spend any money on preschool doesn't want to spend money there either. Unless that money goes to more testing. Teachers are inundated with paperwork for evaluation after evaluation. Kids are taught to do well on tests that may or may not have anything to do with anything else. What's wrong with that picture? Maybe everything?
When my kids were in elementary school, even in a tiny town, they had a certain number of opportunities to do projects. Egg drops, roller coasters, science fairs, talent shows. From what moms tell me, the kids in grammar school today don't get a chance to do even basic reports. Even if they had those opportunities, when would the teachers get a chance to grade their papers?
So many experienced teachers are retiring as soon as they are eligible because teaching isn't what they went into. They are getting evaluated many times a year, even after they have proved their worth. They are bogged down in inane paperwork that has nothing to do with education. They are administering tests that are meaningless.
They are unhappy.
And how can the best people possibly go into teaching? Why would they be interested? People go into teaching because they like children, they like teaching, they want to make a difference. If they don't have that opportunity, they might as well find another profession.
I always thought that was pretty silly because every generation has trouble with the next one.
But whenever I hear from people who still have kids in school I do worry about the generation that is running the public education system in this country.
For one thing, the country on this subject, as on so many, the country is upside down.
For every $1 spend on early childhood education, $7 is saved later. But, since the Reagan administration, preschool programs have been underfunded.
It's not rocket science. If you send kids to preschool, they get a head start on education -- hence the name of the program: Head Start.
In Italy, where pretty much all children go to preschool, there is virtually no spending on special education later because kids with problems are diagnosed early and dealt with. And considering the obscene amount of money we spend in America on special ed (which is fodder for about 10 more columns) we should really look at that.
Then when kids get into public school, the same government that doesn't want to spend any money on preschool doesn't want to spend money there either. Unless that money goes to more testing. Teachers are inundated with paperwork for evaluation after evaluation. Kids are taught to do well on tests that may or may not have anything to do with anything else. What's wrong with that picture? Maybe everything?
When my kids were in elementary school, even in a tiny town, they had a certain number of opportunities to do projects. Egg drops, roller coasters, science fairs, talent shows. From what moms tell me, the kids in grammar school today don't get a chance to do even basic reports. Even if they had those opportunities, when would the teachers get a chance to grade their papers?
So many experienced teachers are retiring as soon as they are eligible because teaching isn't what they went into. They are getting evaluated many times a year, even after they have proved their worth. They are bogged down in inane paperwork that has nothing to do with education. They are administering tests that are meaningless.
They are unhappy.
And how can the best people possibly go into teaching? Why would they be interested? People go into teaching because they like children, they like teaching, they want to make a difference. If they don't have that opportunity, they might as well find another profession.
04 November 2013
Farewell, Larchmont
Those of us who came of age in the era when dads went to work and moms stayed home looked at Betty Freidan a little differently than her contemporaries.
She must have scared the women who drove their husband's to the station every morning, who wore housedresses and aprons, who mixed martinis and got dinner on the table every night by 6. Not that they loved the life they had, but it was the only life they knew.
And for the ladies at Larchmont Station, it may not have been fulfilling, but it had its perks, nights in the city, shopping sprees on Fifth Avenue, summers at the Jersey Shore or in the Catskills.
Unbeknownst to them, and their children, not all women of the 1950s and 60s had that life.
It was a less connected time. We didn't have a 24-hour news cycle. We didn't know everything that happened to everyone else.
That was good and bad. We weren't bombarded by fake news, but we also didn't have a handle on people who weren't just like us.
The Larchmont Ladies may have been dissatisfied, but there were far more women who didn't have the advantages of Catskill summers and Bonwit Teller charge plates.
"The best poverty prevention is a paycheck," former Vermont Governor Madeline Kunin told a roomful of professional women at the Journalism and Women Symposium in Essex Junction, VT.
Kunin was from the generation that was scared by Freidan, but she herself wasn't scared by much of anything.
A graduate of the Columbia School of Journalism, Kunin wasn't prepared for the reception, or lack of it, when she applied for newspaper jobs.
She was prepared to move ahead in any career she chose, journalism, politics, academia. And now, author and speaker.
She talks about the feminist movement of Betty Freidan and its broader implications. "She asked women to make the most of their education which is asking for peace and prosperity," Kunin said. Countries that repress women are repressing themselves. They can't maintain prosperity without women."
She counts the US as one of those countries in the sense that it celebrates traditional male values.
"The business community is opposed to family friendly values," she said, even when they are multi-national companies that abide by those values in the other countries in which they operate.
Kunin inspired not only the students and young professionals int he audience, but also the experienced professional women.
She must have scared the women who drove their husband's to the station every morning, who wore housedresses and aprons, who mixed martinis and got dinner on the table every night by 6. Not that they loved the life they had, but it was the only life they knew.
And for the ladies at Larchmont Station, it may not have been fulfilling, but it had its perks, nights in the city, shopping sprees on Fifth Avenue, summers at the Jersey Shore or in the Catskills.
Unbeknownst to them, and their children, not all women of the 1950s and 60s had that life.
It was a less connected time. We didn't have a 24-hour news cycle. We didn't know everything that happened to everyone else.
That was good and bad. We weren't bombarded by fake news, but we also didn't have a handle on people who weren't just like us.
The Larchmont Ladies may have been dissatisfied, but there were far more women who didn't have the advantages of Catskill summers and Bonwit Teller charge plates.
"The best poverty prevention is a paycheck," former Vermont Governor Madeline Kunin told a roomful of professional women at the Journalism and Women Symposium in Essex Junction, VT.
Kunin was from the generation that was scared by Freidan, but she herself wasn't scared by much of anything.
A graduate of the Columbia School of Journalism, Kunin wasn't prepared for the reception, or lack of it, when she applied for newspaper jobs.
She was prepared to move ahead in any career she chose, journalism, politics, academia. And now, author and speaker.
She talks about the feminist movement of Betty Freidan and its broader implications. "She asked women to make the most of their education which is asking for peace and prosperity," Kunin said. Countries that repress women are repressing themselves. They can't maintain prosperity without women."
She counts the US as one of those countries in the sense that it celebrates traditional male values.
"The business community is opposed to family friendly values," she said, even when they are multi-national companies that abide by those values in the other countries in which they operate.
Kunin inspired not only the students and young professionals int he audience, but also the experienced professional women.
31 October 2013
Mangement is Not a Dirty Word
Being a boss is not the worst thing that can happen to a woman.
A lot of you know exactly what I'm talking about.
We start out our careers like gangbusters. We move up through the ranks and finally we reach management and, OMG, we have people we need to supervise. We are bosses!
It's especially difficult when we move up through the ranks at one business because we have developed friendships at work. Then the dynamic changes. And, being women, we try to stay friends with our former peers, which never works.
We can be friendly, but we are no longer friends.
We have to be the boss. We have to make decisions about people we really like. and about a few people we really don't like.
It isn't easy, but advice and assistance from someone who has already done it is a big help.
I heard some good advice at JAWS in Vermont last weekend.
For example: good work is not the same as good leadership. Boy is that true. I know I'm a much better reporter than editor/manager. I had to learn a whole new set of skills for that job.
A good leader spots those qualities in others, even when they don't see them in themselves. Still, leadership is largely learned.
I didn't have to learn to show respect for my employees or to show them I cared about them or to put them as human beings first in my perception -- which are all things that are essential in management.
The tougher thing is, actually, being tough on people. At least for a chronic people-pleaser like me.
Many of us, when we get into managerial positions, assume the same loyalty from our people as we were willing to give. But, it's hard not to notice when someone is chronically late or calls in sick regularly on Mondays.
So, we end up having to take care of those situations while keeping effluent from falling on our other employees.
When something befalls a loyal employee, we've got to have his or her back and say "come back when you're whole."
It's called "managing up," dealing with superiors. And, it's not always fun.But, if you don't protect your employees, no one else will. And your loyalty to them will bring out their loyalty to you.
A lot of you know exactly what I'm talking about.
We start out our careers like gangbusters. We move up through the ranks and finally we reach management and, OMG, we have people we need to supervise. We are bosses!
It's especially difficult when we move up through the ranks at one business because we have developed friendships at work. Then the dynamic changes. And, being women, we try to stay friends with our former peers, which never works.
We can be friendly, but we are no longer friends.
We have to be the boss. We have to make decisions about people we really like. and about a few people we really don't like.
It isn't easy, but advice and assistance from someone who has already done it is a big help.
I heard some good advice at JAWS in Vermont last weekend.
For example: good work is not the same as good leadership. Boy is that true. I know I'm a much better reporter than editor/manager. I had to learn a whole new set of skills for that job.
A good leader spots those qualities in others, even when they don't see them in themselves. Still, leadership is largely learned.
I didn't have to learn to show respect for my employees or to show them I cared about them or to put them as human beings first in my perception -- which are all things that are essential in management.
The tougher thing is, actually, being tough on people. At least for a chronic people-pleaser like me.
Many of us, when we get into managerial positions, assume the same loyalty from our people as we were willing to give. But, it's hard not to notice when someone is chronically late or calls in sick regularly on Mondays.
So, we end up having to take care of those situations while keeping effluent from falling on our other employees.
When something befalls a loyal employee, we've got to have his or her back and say "come back when you're whole."
It's called "managing up," dealing with superiors. And, it's not always fun.But, if you don't protect your employees, no one else will. And your loyalty to them will bring out their loyalty to you.
30 October 2013
When Women Run the World
The Journalism and Women Symposiums go by the acronym JAWS and are illustrated by a Great White Shark.
Which isn't to say these women are in the least bit predatory.
Just that they have a sense of humor.
JAWS moves around from year to year and in 2013 was in Essex Junction, Vermont.
It couldn't have been a prettier location, even a few weeks past "peak" that uniquely New England season that refers to the time of year tourists known as "leaf peepers" triple the population of the Northeast states.
The Essex, Vermont's Culinary Resort was packed with some of the brightest, most erudite women ever to sit in the same room and lament the calorie counts in brownies.
Not to pick on men -- although it is tempting -- but women are decidedly un-sharklike when they get together to talk about being professionals and working toward life goals. Women nurture. Not to say men can't be nurturing, too, but it is less instinctive. Most men are like the adult male dog who first pushes the new puppy in the house away. A few male dogs -- I had one -- will wash and cuddle a puppy or even a kitten, but most don't think that way. There aren't being mean. They are being alpha.
Women don't have the time to be alpha.
We are too busy juggling the aspects of our lives to worry about anything as silly as finishing on top of the heap.
So, when professional women get together, they don't waste time playing games. They hold seminars and workshops and they talk. They network. There is a lot of give and take. People take suggestions from each other.
JAWS attracts some of the top women in journalism as speakers and attendees.
One of the sessions was on women in management presented by Amy Resnick, exectuive editor of Pensions & Investments; Paula Ellis, a former Knight Poundation officer, and Stacy Marie Ishamel, a financial blogger.
Among the salient points they addressed were several that should have been obvious, but occasionally get lost in the clutter of management.
All jobs are consequential and a corollary to that is that every employee, including a contract employee, requires a relationship with the supervisor and that relationship is important.
Remember, if you aren't a manager now, you might be someday soon.
Which isn't to say these women are in the least bit predatory.
Just that they have a sense of humor.
JAWS moves around from year to year and in 2013 was in Essex Junction, Vermont.
It couldn't have been a prettier location, even a few weeks past "peak" that uniquely New England season that refers to the time of year tourists known as "leaf peepers" triple the population of the Northeast states.
The Essex, Vermont's Culinary Resort was packed with some of the brightest, most erudite women ever to sit in the same room and lament the calorie counts in brownies.
Not to pick on men -- although it is tempting -- but women are decidedly un-sharklike when they get together to talk about being professionals and working toward life goals. Women nurture. Not to say men can't be nurturing, too, but it is less instinctive. Most men are like the adult male dog who first pushes the new puppy in the house away. A few male dogs -- I had one -- will wash and cuddle a puppy or even a kitten, but most don't think that way. There aren't being mean. They are being alpha.
Women don't have the time to be alpha.
We are too busy juggling the aspects of our lives to worry about anything as silly as finishing on top of the heap.
So, when professional women get together, they don't waste time playing games. They hold seminars and workshops and they talk. They network. There is a lot of give and take. People take suggestions from each other.
JAWS attracts some of the top women in journalism as speakers and attendees.
One of the sessions was on women in management presented by Amy Resnick, exectuive editor of Pensions & Investments; Paula Ellis, a former Knight Poundation officer, and Stacy Marie Ishamel, a financial blogger.
Among the salient points they addressed were several that should have been obvious, but occasionally get lost in the clutter of management.
All jobs are consequential and a corollary to that is that every employee, including a contract employee, requires a relationship with the supervisor and that relationship is important.
Remember, if you aren't a manager now, you might be someday soon.
29 October 2013
The Secret of Our Success (or Not)
Riker Danzig says the bright red neon sign towering over Morristown's green, a touch of modernity in the historic town.
The distinguished law firm is proud of its status as the firm with more female partners than any other in the area. And the firm doesn't just rest on its laurels. Twice a year, Riker Danzig, led by the female partners, holds women's leadership events.
Networking is the goal of most attendees and they make the most of the cocktails and hot hors d'orves. Riker Danzig partners and associates mingle with accountants, real estate brokers and other businesswomen. It's a typical scene except for gender.
Each event has a speaker, also female, followed by dessert and coffee. Probably because the attendees are women, the desserts learn toward chocolate. Stereotyping, but delicious.
At first, the cocktail receptions moved around, but Riker Danzig settled at the Guevenor Morris (now renamed the Westin Governor Morris, but natives know that is incorrect). It is the perfect venue with a balcony for the cocktail party adjacent to a spacious banquet room. And the food and service are consistently great.
The latest even featured Lisa Shallot of Goldman Sachs who spoke about her rise through the ranks and offered some tips from her experiences for women on the way up.
Most of the mature women in the audience nodded frequently as Shallot spoke about characteristics of many women in the workforce.
Nothing sparked affirmative gestures as quickly as when she talked about women as reluctant to focus on their strengths. Even in their annual reviews, most women focus on their needs for improvement rather than on what they do well.
Shallot advised women to list their strengths, even to the extent of looking at past performance review and asking friends and colleagues for their observations. She pointed out often others perceive strengths in an individual that may escape the person herself. Friends and colleagues may also not see the very thing the woman thinks is her major strength.
Accepting challenges and moving out of one's comfort zone were other items of advice Shallot offered.
The audience questions revealed the group was seriously paying attention, but they didn't hesitate to head straight for the chocolate.
The distinguished law firm is proud of its status as the firm with more female partners than any other in the area. And the firm doesn't just rest on its laurels. Twice a year, Riker Danzig, led by the female partners, holds women's leadership events.
Networking is the goal of most attendees and they make the most of the cocktails and hot hors d'orves. Riker Danzig partners and associates mingle with accountants, real estate brokers and other businesswomen. It's a typical scene except for gender.
Each event has a speaker, also female, followed by dessert and coffee. Probably because the attendees are women, the desserts learn toward chocolate. Stereotyping, but delicious.
At first, the cocktail receptions moved around, but Riker Danzig settled at the Guevenor Morris (now renamed the Westin Governor Morris, but natives know that is incorrect). It is the perfect venue with a balcony for the cocktail party adjacent to a spacious banquet room. And the food and service are consistently great.
The latest even featured Lisa Shallot of Goldman Sachs who spoke about her rise through the ranks and offered some tips from her experiences for women on the way up.
Most of the mature women in the audience nodded frequently as Shallot spoke about characteristics of many women in the workforce.
Nothing sparked affirmative gestures as quickly as when she talked about women as reluctant to focus on their strengths. Even in their annual reviews, most women focus on their needs for improvement rather than on what they do well.
Shallot advised women to list their strengths, even to the extent of looking at past performance review and asking friends and colleagues for their observations. She pointed out often others perceive strengths in an individual that may escape the person herself. Friends and colleagues may also not see the very thing the woman thinks is her major strength.
Accepting challenges and moving out of one's comfort zone were other items of advice Shallot offered.
The audience questions revealed the group was seriously paying attention, but they didn't hesitate to head straight for the chocolate.
23 September 2013
We All Wrote Bad Poetry in High School
The Baby Boomers wrote terrible poetry in the wobbling delusion we were Paul Simon.
We wrote deep, semi-insightful soliloquies, content and confirmed in the knowledge that we understood a world we hadn't yet observed, let alone touched.
Most of us gave up poetry when we realized we weren't even Donovan, let alone Paul Simon.
And our generation spawned another great poet of the American idiom, sprung from the Jersey Shore and Highway 9: Bruce Springsteen.
The jury is still out on the poet laureate of the post-Boomers, but another Jersey boy has dusted the Warren County dirt from his shoes and tossed a sports jacket over his jeans and published his fourth book.
BJ Ward teaches in the AFA program in creative writing at Warren County Community College, in itself proof that this bastion of rural Jersey produces more than farmers. A founder of the AFA program, the only one of it's kind in New Jersey and one of only three in the country, Ward has amassed a fan base somewhat smaller than Jon Bon Jovi, but substantial for this tiny corner of the Garden State.
His collegue
at WCCC, Brian Bradford, calls Ward the love child of Springsteen and Emily Dickinson, but, of the New England poets, I hear Frost in his words:
And I want to be as precise with my joy today
As allthe poets are with their suffering
I want to tell you how on August 13th, I was happy
even as the world surrounded my breakfast.
Yeah, that ain't Emily.
Perhaps a touch of Auden in My Mother's Last Cigarette, the poem he wrote for Pope John Paul II:
I said give me back my mother's eyes
when your priests, all of them, told her she was married
before God and God was watching
and she must pray harder. And we did.
We did.
I even hear a rhythm of Eliot on occasion, such as the title poem from Gravedigger's Birthday:
I did it all quietly with a sudden solemnity
not for the cat -- I barely knew it --
but for the motion, the first ancestral thing
I had done in years, aware this was traffic
with old gods.
I could be exaggerating, since BJ is a dear friend, but I don't think so.
Bradford says he will win a Pulitzer before too long.
If he doesn't, there is some flaw. Somewhere.
The new book is Jackleg Opera.
Buy it.
We wrote deep, semi-insightful soliloquies, content and confirmed in the knowledge that we understood a world we hadn't yet observed, let alone touched.
Most of us gave up poetry when we realized we weren't even Donovan, let alone Paul Simon.
And our generation spawned another great poet of the American idiom, sprung from the Jersey Shore and Highway 9: Bruce Springsteen.
The jury is still out on the poet laureate of the post-Boomers, but another Jersey boy has dusted the Warren County dirt from his shoes and tossed a sports jacket over his jeans and published his fourth book.
BJ Ward teaches in the AFA program in creative writing at Warren County Community College, in itself proof that this bastion of rural Jersey produces more than farmers. A founder of the AFA program, the only one of it's kind in New Jersey and one of only three in the country, Ward has amassed a fan base somewhat smaller than Jon Bon Jovi, but substantial for this tiny corner of the Garden State.
His collegue
at WCCC, Brian Bradford, calls Ward the love child of Springsteen and Emily Dickinson, but, of the New England poets, I hear Frost in his words:And I want to be as precise with my joy today
As allthe poets are with their suffering
I want to tell you how on August 13th, I was happy
even as the world surrounded my breakfast.
Yeah, that ain't Emily.
Perhaps a touch of Auden in My Mother's Last Cigarette, the poem he wrote for Pope John Paul II:
I said give me back my mother's eyes
when your priests, all of them, told her she was married
before God and God was watching
and she must pray harder. And we did.
We did.
I even hear a rhythm of Eliot on occasion, such as the title poem from Gravedigger's Birthday:
I did it all quietly with a sudden solemnity
not for the cat -- I barely knew it --
but for the motion, the first ancestral thing
I had done in years, aware this was traffic
with old gods.
I could be exaggerating, since BJ is a dear friend, but I don't think so.
Bradford says he will win a Pulitzer before too long.
If he doesn't, there is some flaw. Somewhere.
The new book is Jackleg Opera.
Buy it.
29 July 2013
I Am Not Snookie
And then, again, in the 80s.
And, I love The Shore. The photos above are Ocean Grove.
But, they could well be Asbury Park -- which is where the party pix was taken.
The Shore is an essential part of summer. Every summer.
It is The Shore. Not The Beach. Some states may have beaches. I don't care about they.
And, it's Down the Shore. Not Down TO the Shore. Other states may need prepositions. We don't need no lousy prepositions.
Same with Up the Lake, which is the subject of the other 2 photos: Brady Cove on Lake Hopatcong and the dam at the Hopatcong State Park where the lake enters the Musconetcong River.
Ok, ok, I love having a tan and I don't think much about melanoma. I mean, seriously, this is a state where Ford Motor Company poured paint waste into a mine, where Ciba-Geigy snuck a pipe into the Delaware Bay in the middle of the night, where the mob deposited any number of bodies and who knows what else. We're gonna worry about the SUN? Be serious.
I may have, in my younger days, worn tight jeans and low cut tops. But, normal Jersey Girls know when it becomes too late to wear a Raceway Park halter top -- except maybe to weed the garden. It's been a long time since I sat on Big John Cassidy's lap in a dive bar in Keyport.
I have been known to wear oversize hoop earrings. Even now.
But, for the post part, I grew up. Mostly.
I probably didn't grow up as early as most people. That's why they call us Jersey Girls.
And, by the way, don't mess with us.
And don't call us Snookie.
09 July 2013
Sherlockian
Sherlock Holmes is an ico.
For most of us of my generation, Sherlock IS Basil Rathbone and Dr. Watson IS Nigel Bruce.
There are too few of those movies because of Bruce's early death. Rathbone knew Holmes and Watson are more than a team. They are a unit. To be the perfect Holmes, he must have his perfect Watson.
Perhaps the most perfect Holmes/Watson duo was Jeremy Brett/Edward Hardwicke.Also cut short by an early death, that partnership ended far too soon.
Some people are Sherlock purists. Good for them.
I figure Conan Doyle would be ok with a little license.
It's arguable Guy Ritchie's version is not Sherlock Holmes at all. They are action-adverture movies set in the 1890s.
I happen to like the two Guy Ritchie moves. Not as Sherlock Homes movies, but as fun movies. Robert Downey Jr.. is a fine actor in any role. He and Jude Law play off each other very well.
Sherlock Holmes has always been a buddy story. The play of the two characters against each other is an integral part of each Sherlock Holmes story. In that respect Downey/Law pulls it off.
And Jared Harris is the best Moriarity EVER.As bright as Holmes and subtle in his evil.
I was skeptical of a modern day Sherlock when my friend Cece pointed it out to me.
"You'll like it," she said.
When lots of people say than, you know you'll hate it, but Cece and I have known each other since 9th grade. We bonded over being the offspring of teachers in our high school. Math teachers. Lot of bonding there. So she knows me. Really KNOWS me.
I love it. Benedict Cumberbatch (don't you love British names?) is Sherlock for the modern era. A new version couldn't be done without a few modification. Watson has a blog. Sherlock has a cigarette habit, not cocaine, although he makes 7% references occasionally.
But Sherlock is still ignorant of things like basic astronomy. He's still awkward with women. And in love with Irene Adler.
It can be said there was already a modern Holmes in the American TV show, House, but that was just an homage, a reference. Holmes is ignorant of social graces. House was mean. Watson was married and far less neurotic than Wilson (although I'd watch Robert Sean Leonard read the phone book -- remember him in Dead Poet's Society? I mean he was a CHILD and was incredible.)
As for the present American show, Elementary, I can't watch it. Bringing Holmes/Watson to America is just too far. Even my son who adores Lucy Liu says it's too ridiculous to be watchable.
But, there will always be a Holmes. And, there will be successful and disastrous versions. Perhaps the originals would be a great choice for summer reading.
For most of us of my generation, Sherlock IS Basil Rathbone and Dr. Watson IS Nigel Bruce.
There are too few of those movies because of Bruce's early death. Rathbone knew Holmes and Watson are more than a team. They are a unit. To be the perfect Holmes, he must have his perfect Watson.
Perhaps the most perfect Holmes/Watson duo was Jeremy Brett/Edward Hardwicke.Also cut short by an early death, that partnership ended far too soon.
Some people are Sherlock purists. Good for them.
I figure Conan Doyle would be ok with a little license.
It's arguable Guy Ritchie's version is not Sherlock Holmes at all. They are action-adverture movies set in the 1890s.
I happen to like the two Guy Ritchie moves. Not as Sherlock Homes movies, but as fun movies. Robert Downey Jr.. is a fine actor in any role. He and Jude Law play off each other very well.
Sherlock Holmes has always been a buddy story. The play of the two characters against each other is an integral part of each Sherlock Holmes story. In that respect Downey/Law pulls it off.
And Jared Harris is the best Moriarity EVER.As bright as Holmes and subtle in his evil.
I was skeptical of a modern day Sherlock when my friend Cece pointed it out to me.
"You'll like it," she said.
When lots of people say than, you know you'll hate it, but Cece and I have known each other since 9th grade. We bonded over being the offspring of teachers in our high school. Math teachers. Lot of bonding there. So she knows me. Really KNOWS me.
I love it. Benedict Cumberbatch (don't you love British names?) is Sherlock for the modern era. A new version couldn't be done without a few modification. Watson has a blog. Sherlock has a cigarette habit, not cocaine, although he makes 7% references occasionally.
But Sherlock is still ignorant of things like basic astronomy. He's still awkward with women. And in love with Irene Adler.
It can be said there was already a modern Holmes in the American TV show, House, but that was just an homage, a reference. Holmes is ignorant of social graces. House was mean. Watson was married and far less neurotic than Wilson (although I'd watch Robert Sean Leonard read the phone book -- remember him in Dead Poet's Society? I mean he was a CHILD and was incredible.)
As for the present American show, Elementary, I can't watch it. Bringing Holmes/Watson to America is just too far. Even my son who adores Lucy Liu says it's too ridiculous to be watchable.
But, there will always be a Holmes. And, there will be successful and disastrous versions. Perhaps the originals would be a great choice for summer reading.
02 July 2013
A Family Affair
Years ago, when I covered Roxbury Township in Morris County, the municipal building was a sprawling structure on Horseshoe Lake.
Recently, I covered a meeting at the "new" Roxbury Township Municipal Building. Which, to me, was the old telephone company building. You know, when it was THE TELEPHONE COMPANY. When AT&T ruled the world. What was that movie from the 60s, "In Like Flint?" Where the phone company did rule the world? Somewhere is the phone I got from that building when I moved into an apartment in Hackettstown. There was a phone there and I asked them to turn it on. They said they couldn't. They said I had to get a phone. When I got to THE TELEPHONE COMPANY, they said I had to take a phone and plug it in. I said the building was built in about 1880 and you couldn't plug it it. The gal said, "It's an apartment?" "Right." "So you plug it in."
Ok. So, I went home and called the service people and made an appointment for someone to hard wire the phone. Except he didn't show up. Then he called. I told him the situation and he had the phone company turn on the phone. Did I return the phone they gave me? No. It was a gift.
But, I digress.
I went back to Horseshoe Lake with my friend Sheila last week. The municipal building now has a gym and, more significantly, a little theater.
We were there because a friend, Wayne Thorp, wrote a play and invited us, well, Sheila really, to see it.
It was a one-act play, featuring four women.
Sheila and I discussed how difficult it must be for a man to write dialogue for four women. Especially four women of a different generation. But Wayne pulled it off. These were educated women and he didn't make the mistake of making them sound less so the more they drank.
The plot of The Price of Illusion revolves around relationships.
In the beginning, I kept thinking the gals sounded amazingly like my cousins and I last fall discussing the dynamics of our lives and our moms over quite a bit of wine on the anniversary of their father's death.
Then things turned.
The friend of on sister, Helen, reveals a secret that changes the girls' idea of "family."
Helen, you see, who is from the other side of the tracks, is the illegitimate daughter of the girls' father. They don't believe her when she tells them, but another friend in on the action, Nicole, tells them their father routinely hit on their friends.
Ok, the plot was a bit contrived. What are the chances Helen would find out who her father was, would get a job at the same place as her half-sister, Cassie, and befriend her? But, if you could suspend your disbelief on that and just listen to the women, you see a more universal story underneath. A story about illusions shattered. How many of us have discovered a secret we had trouble believing about someone in our family. Maybe not a secret so terrible, but still.
There is also a class-warfare dynamic int he story since the sisters, Cassie and Tina, grew up affluent and Helen grew up in the projects. To a New Jersey audience, all Wayne needed was the word "Camden," and that said it all.
Common wisdom says you need two things to travel to Camden, Rosary beads and a Smith & Wesson.
Helen is also Latina, bringing a racial note to the story.
While most of us don't have family secrets that devolve into class and race stories, we can related to many of the issues discussed.
The production was Cabaret-style and wine and soft drinks and goodies provided by the Roxbury Arts Alliance, a venerable group that has done many events in the sprawling township for many years.
I believe that is the best setting for this play because the comfortable tables and chairs ambiance brought home the domesticity of the story.
Matt McCarthy directed. He kept Helen standing for the entire hour and a half -- or most of it. Sheila noted her shoes look uncomfortable, but I've worn shoes like that for hours, it's possible. The trick of making her sort of off-balance was well played.
The acting was superb.
Claire Bochenek as the prodigal sister, Cassie, expertly dissolved into drunkenness. Gianna Esposito as the "perfect" sister, Tina, deftly allowed her facade to crumble. Janine Lee Papio as Helen was tough and vulnerable. Jillian Petrie as Nicole, carried off a character that could be peripheral but was really pivotal.
I really hope The Price of Illusion gets another shot, especially in dinner-theater (or munchie-theater) format.
Recently, I covered a meeting at the "new" Roxbury Township Municipal Building. Which, to me, was the old telephone company building. You know, when it was THE TELEPHONE COMPANY. When AT&T ruled the world. What was that movie from the 60s, "In Like Flint?" Where the phone company did rule the world? Somewhere is the phone I got from that building when I moved into an apartment in Hackettstown. There was a phone there and I asked them to turn it on. They said they couldn't. They said I had to get a phone. When I got to THE TELEPHONE COMPANY, they said I had to take a phone and plug it in. I said the building was built in about 1880 and you couldn't plug it it. The gal said, "It's an apartment?" "Right." "So you plug it in."
Ok. So, I went home and called the service people and made an appointment for someone to hard wire the phone. Except he didn't show up. Then he called. I told him the situation and he had the phone company turn on the phone. Did I return the phone they gave me? No. It was a gift.
But, I digress.
I went back to Horseshoe Lake with my friend Sheila last week. The municipal building now has a gym and, more significantly, a little theater.
We were there because a friend, Wayne Thorp, wrote a play and invited us, well, Sheila really, to see it.
It was a one-act play, featuring four women.
Sheila and I discussed how difficult it must be for a man to write dialogue for four women. Especially four women of a different generation. But Wayne pulled it off. These were educated women and he didn't make the mistake of making them sound less so the more they drank.
The plot of The Price of Illusion revolves around relationships.
In the beginning, I kept thinking the gals sounded amazingly like my cousins and I last fall discussing the dynamics of our lives and our moms over quite a bit of wine on the anniversary of their father's death.
Then things turned.
The friend of on sister, Helen, reveals a secret that changes the girls' idea of "family."
Helen, you see, who is from the other side of the tracks, is the illegitimate daughter of the girls' father. They don't believe her when she tells them, but another friend in on the action, Nicole, tells them their father routinely hit on their friends.
Ok, the plot was a bit contrived. What are the chances Helen would find out who her father was, would get a job at the same place as her half-sister, Cassie, and befriend her? But, if you could suspend your disbelief on that and just listen to the women, you see a more universal story underneath. A story about illusions shattered. How many of us have discovered a secret we had trouble believing about someone in our family. Maybe not a secret so terrible, but still.
There is also a class-warfare dynamic int he story since the sisters, Cassie and Tina, grew up affluent and Helen grew up in the projects. To a New Jersey audience, all Wayne needed was the word "Camden," and that said it all.
Common wisdom says you need two things to travel to Camden, Rosary beads and a Smith & Wesson.
Helen is also Latina, bringing a racial note to the story.
While most of us don't have family secrets that devolve into class and race stories, we can related to many of the issues discussed.
The production was Cabaret-style and wine and soft drinks and goodies provided by the Roxbury Arts Alliance, a venerable group that has done many events in the sprawling township for many years.
I believe that is the best setting for this play because the comfortable tables and chairs ambiance brought home the domesticity of the story.
Matt McCarthy directed. He kept Helen standing for the entire hour and a half -- or most of it. Sheila noted her shoes look uncomfortable, but I've worn shoes like that for hours, it's possible. The trick of making her sort of off-balance was well played.
The acting was superb.
Claire Bochenek as the prodigal sister, Cassie, expertly dissolved into drunkenness. Gianna Esposito as the "perfect" sister, Tina, deftly allowed her facade to crumble. Janine Lee Papio as Helen was tough and vulnerable. Jillian Petrie as Nicole, carried off a character that could be peripheral but was really pivotal.
I really hope The Price of Illusion gets another shot, especially in dinner-theater (or munchie-theater) format.
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