Hope to have new post soon!

Hello, folks. Sorry, I've been awfully busy of late and hope to get back to posting soon. I knew my time would be an issue when I started this blog, but I'm going to keep plugging.

I have to say, though, that if I don't get some better response to this blog soon, I will have to dump the blog for now — or at least suspend posting for awhile. I just don't have time to talk to walls. I know it's a Catch 22.....to get more response and followers I need to post more regularly. But as long as I have a day job exhausting me from week to week, and as long as my free time is devoted to my own freelance projects and to my family — that's simply not going to be possible. This blog will have to be one of the tickets to provide more free time for me someday — that has to happen first.

It's a shame, really. Because I have a lot to say and a lot of creativity inside of me. But at this point in my life, my time is limited.

All that is to say, I hope to have a new post up soon — and hope to one day be at a point in my life when I can indeed devote more time to endeavors such as this.

See you soon!

Rememberin' These

Most of you know I'm a huge soul/r&b fan. A close second in is classic jazz.....with classic reggae coming in at a close third. In the near future, I'll do a post on why I'm that way. I'm sure everyone is dying to know. Well, at any rate, it's caused many a person I've known to scratch their head.

But that doesn't mean I don't have a love of all good music. That goes for pop. And even a little country (which shares many roots with r&b). 

Like me, my dad did not consider country music to be his favorite genre of music. But like me, he respected it and even did like a few artists. They were exceptional, usually. 

One of those exceptions — the biggest exception of all, really — were The Statler Brothers. On this, he and I agreed 100 percent. The Statlers had an amazing gift for singing about many things — but nostalgia was what they did best — and so why would they not show up in this blog?

They were unique in that way. Nostalgia is usually associated with other types of music — dixieland jazz, ragtime, early rock and roll, etc. You would expect songs that deal with being a kid in the 1940s, and growing into your teen years in the late 50s, to sound much like the music of those eras.

But the Statlers stuck to their country style, and yet amazingly, somehow still pulled off a feeling of genuine, deep loves of previous decades. Somehow, someway, they continually captured what it must've been like to live in those times — you can feel what they're feeling. My father, who did live in those times, confirmed they were dead on in their wistful recollections.

In the early 70s, they had a stream of nostalgic hits — The Class of '57, Carry Me Back and Whatever Happened to Randolph Scott? among them. The link below is to my favorite — Do You Remember These? 

Unless you were very impressed by the 1940s and 50s as I was at a young age, you may not share my enthusiasm for any of this.

But as you listen, at least try something out. Imagine a kid today trying to relate to this — and ask yourself how many kids today experience anything remotely like what is being mentioned in this song? How many of these 68 items listed (yes, I counted — 68) have anything in common with today's culture? I was a kid when this song was released. And I did share similar experiences with the kids of my dad's era. But if I had a son today, would he share those things with me? I would think not. How sad that would be.

I don't mean sharing the exact item or movie or food in every case — but I mean sharing something similar in spirit at least (though in some cases, the exact items did remain the same between the 50s and the 70s).

Perhaps nothing illustrates the lack of understanding of "Yesterday's Saturdays" in today's young people, than this: While researching for this post, I continually came across this misunderstanding about the Statler's opening lyric: Many thought they were referring to "cereal" (that you would eat!), rather than "serial" (the cliffhanger adventures they actually were referring to!). Yikes. Maybe I am getting up there in years myself — but to see that error over and over was a bit dismal.

I had created a graphic to illustrate this shift in culture, but decided not to bore you and just allow you to listen and decide for yourself. At any rate, it's an entertaining look back. 

Yes — I do remember these, actually. I truly do.

"Ahh, The Thrill of It All . . . "

The theater is large. Very, very large. Not large just because your unworldly eyes are magnifying everything in sight — though your eyes are doing that, of course. No, it actually is a large, overwhelming area of carvings, curtains, decor and caverns you sit in. Light music plays in the background — nothing loud or obnoxious, of course. The seats — my gosh, the seats have their own voices. Somewhat squeaky in tone, but heartwarming nevertheless.

There are few distractions, while you wait on the large curtain to part — save your own anticipation. When it does, a portal to another world of black and white and fantasy will open up to you once again. You squirm a bit with impatience — but far down inside somewhere, there’s a nagging feeling you should relax and enjoy these moments. Of course, you’ll be back next week. There will always be — next week.

Your moving feet stick here and there to the floor. But at least the air conditioning feels good. Works better than the window unit at home. The aroma of chocolate and caramel float to your nostrils as you open your precious own box of — Milk Duds! Careful — don’t spill that coke.

The lights dim. Yeah — this guy knows that a dark theater is important. Thank you, projector-man. The curtain majestically opens. The beam of light from above hits the square-ish screen and the movie preview begins. It’s soon followed by a newsreel, a classic cartoon, a comedy short (you hope it’s Laurel and Hardy or The Three Stooges) and, at last, the next great chapter of The Adventures of Captain Marvel. Did the Scorpion succeed in knocking off our hero last week? But after another cliffhanger, we’re not done. The big, wonderful B-western rounds it all out — though you certainly don’t call it a “B-western.”

As you leave the theater, you “rest easy” in the knowledge that you’re not finished. It’s onto the local convenience store for a couple of comic books. Now your weekend is complete. Christmas and summer vacations are nice — but this is living!

*  *  *  *

 The above scene more than likely took place sometime between 1940 and 1950., in which case you would’ve spent approximately 20 cents that day. Because of the propensity to re-release movies and serials often in those times, it could be any one of those years.

For me, the scene took place during the summer of 1971 at the long gone Carolina Theater in downtown Columbia, SC. For me, that day would’ve cost approximately a buck.

It’s ironic that this could happen in ‘71 in a way, since the pop culture of the times was so anti-everything that was about the era of the 1940s. By now, the hippy styles and attitudes of the late 60s were beginning to permeate middle America, even in the sunny South — and those styles would fully be present in the mainstream in a couple of years.

But on the other hand, older generations of the early 1970s were looking back at the 1940s with warm smiles. This was all prior to the big wave of 50s nostalgia that was to hit big around 1973.

While all of this was going on, my father had worked hard to re-create this scene just so I could experience the same thing he had in the late 40s when he was a kid. Thanks to his connections and strings in town, he managed to pull it off. He was able to do so again for a few years in the mid-70s as well, when another local theater acquired some old Republic and Columbia serials. But nothing was ever quite as accurate to the “old days” as that first recreation in 1971 featuring what many critics consider the greatest movie serial of all-time, The Adventures of Captain Marvel — the 1941 Republic Pictures’ adventure based on the old Fawcett comics hero. (Personally I think the Spy Smasher serial, another Fawcett hero and another Republic serial, gives it a run for its money!).

“Chapter Plays” as the serials were called in some circles, were like comic strips or comic books come to life. Truly, they well-emulated the very atmosphere of many Golden Age strips of the times. Some of them weren’t only like the comics. Sometimes the characters were taken from actual comics. Some were based on radio programs. Some were merely inspired by such sources, but were original characters. Republic was the best of the lot, but Universal, Columbia and others tried their hand. They began in the 30s with the coming of sound — and ended, for all intensive purposes, in the mid-50s as television became more and more of a threat.

There were one or two chapters a week, each Saturday morning at your local theater. The total chapters occasionally were 11 in number  — but there were usually a total of 12 or 15. The serials were my favorite part — as I tend to lean more to fantasy and super-heroing in my tastes.

For my pop, it was the B-westerns that were the ultimate highlight, starring the likes of Roy Rogers or Allan “Rocky” Lane. These features followed the serial chapter. On the surface to modern eyes, these are often dismissed as “corny” and pushed aside. No. Not so fast. A deeper look at the stories (often under the direction of greats such as William Whitney) reveal that they are not as simple as being thrown into the “bad in guy in black hat, good guy in white hat” category. In fact, they aren’t like that at all.

But the western genre has become so unbelievably foreign to today’s youngsters, I don’t know where to begin to try to make a connection for them in a western setting. Sad. And, perhaps, the demise of the classic-styled western symbolizes, in many ways, the demise of many things that were once good and innocent about our society. A simplistic view of good and evil? Perhaps. But where have the complexities of today’s “dramas” gotten us exactly? Yeah. Exactly.

I remember the look in Dad’s face when he would sit back and remember: “Ahhh, the thrill of it all,” he would say with that wistful look. Hardbacks and softcovers such as To Be Continued, The Great Movie Serials, All in Color For a Dime and yes, The Thrill of it All, adorned our bookshelves — all great movie books of the 1970s. The great fanzine, Yesterday’s Saturdays, seemed always present on our coffee table. An LP titled The Nostalgic Voices and Sounds of Old Time Radio played on the family stereo playing the sounds of Ray Noble and old radio programs (“I am The Whistler, and I know many things…..”).

So here I am. It’s 2014. I find myself in the odd position of being nostalgic for nostalgia. And just as my father was nostalgic for eras prior to his birth (the 20s and 30s), I feel the same way about the 30s, 40s and 50s — much to the confusion of many of my peers.

Lately, I’ve thought a lot about something: As time goes on, and folks from my father’s generation and older continue to pass, we are losing valuable connections to a previous era. I cannot stand for this. I cannot let this go. I am officially now taking it upon my duty to keep the pop culture of 1930s, 40s and 50s alive. Whether it’s the pulps, music, comics, serials, radio or movies of the era — we must not lose this connection. No matter how today’s media continues to overwhelm it. Preserving art is an art unto itself, after all.

I see something even worse in today’s younger folks — particularly the kids — than simply a threat of losing any “connection” to these eras. There is simply no awareness of anything beyond the current. None. There no understanding or even an attempt to understand what the world of 50 or 60 years ago was like.  There is no ability to put oneself in the shoes of a kid in 1938 and obtain a true understanding of the atmosphere of those times. Now granted, I had an unusual upbringing. But even so, I think at least some of the kids of my generation had an interest in the past. That seems so rare in kids today. The current world of computers, ipads, ebooks, web sites and digital files is such a long, long way from the world of, say, 1946.

I find myself sad about that. I miss an era I missed out on in the first place.

How does one explain what I’m trying to explain? Folks — I feel I was there. I know what it was like to be a kid before I was a kid. I just do. I can’t explain it. But there’s a feeling, atmosphere, a vibrancy within. You know it when you have it. I wish I could make everyone understand, love and feel what I feel. I know many folks of my own era don’t get it, much less generations younger than myself. Sigh.

Eventually, someone has to take up the mantle of carrying on the knowledge of these things. Eventually, it cannot be someone who was actually there. None of us lives forever. That includes me. But while I’m here, I volunteer my services to carry this on. Whether it’s memories, or what influences my art and fiction, I want to keep the adventure going. We must not let this go. With the advent of modern media in the 20^th Century, there is no excuse to allow this to happen. None.

But why do I feel this way? Well, it’s an odd thing. My era had a lot in common with my father and grandfather’s era and vice-versa. Essentially, childhood didn’t change much from the 1930s to the early 1980s. Oh sure, there were SOME differences. But I’m speaking about the basics. The basic things every little kid enjoyed and loved. Beginning in the mid to late 1980s, that all begin to rapidly change thanks to technology. If I had a son today, there’s no way he could relate to me the way I related to my father. His experiences would just be so alien to me — and mine to his.

On the other hand, decades prior to the 1980s had their own distinctive flavor. But since 1988 or so, pop culture hasn’t changed too much. Trends formulate on a slower pace, while technology advances at a rapid-fire pace. Weird, huh?

I’ll go into a deeper analysis of this in my next blog post. We’ll looks at what common ground kids of the 1940s and kids of the 1970s shared. And how virtually none of that territory is shared by kids today. Don’t worry, it will be fun.

For now, I’ll just sit back with a faraway look — “Ahh, those golden days of yesteryear.”

The original Daredevil's mystery artist

A few months ago, I finally broke down and bought Dark Horse's wonderful volumes reprinting the Golden Age Lev Gleason comics — "Silver Streak Comics" and "Daredevil Comics" — the purpose being to focus on the original Daredevil primarily (a character, which many of you know, has no connection to the later Marvel version). I always loved this character and his unique costume design — and these books (Silver Streak Comics Archives volumes 1 and 2 — and Daredevil Archives volume 1), were a dream come true, as I certainly had zero hope of ever owning the original comics. 

I was priced out of the comic collectors market many years ago. But fortunately, we are in the Golden Age of comic reprint books.

But as great as these volumes are, there's an interesting omission (or lack of an educated guess, at any rate), in the Daredevil Archives volume. The first issue of Daredevil was titled, "Daredevil Battles Hitler" — nice, since it came out in 1941 just prior to the U.S.'s entry into the war. This first issue of what would become "Daredevil Comics" (a.k.a. "The Greatest Name in Comics!"), is a fascinating look at Golden Age storytelling. Daredevil essentially spends the entire issue teaming up in different stories with various Lev Gleason characters to battle, not only Hitler, but his arch villain "The Claw" as well. 

The forward by cartoonist Michael T. Gilbert is outstanding, but I'm surprised he doesn't take a guess at the artist on the Daredevil/Lance Hale team-up in this issue. One of the tricks to guessing the work of artists in the Golden Age is to observe the lettering. Back then, many artists lettered and inked their own strips. This doesn't always work (for example, Bob Wood is often seen aping the work of Kane, Finger, and various Batman artists) — but it often does. It's one of the ways to quickly recognize the work of Carl Barks, famed Donald Duck artist.

My guess at the artist? I'm willing to bet it's Carl Burgos — creator of Timely/Marvel's original Human Torch. The original Torch was always my favorite Timely character, so I'm really familiar with the look of his work. Burgos always had a charming, simple style that suited the Torch — and works pretty well here, too.

Remember — back in those days — artists often worked in "factories" — churning out work for houses like Funnies, Inc., who in turn would sell that work to various publishers. Centaur, Lev Gleason, Quality, Timely and others used work from these houses. So it's very possible that Burgos could have work in print for Gleason and Timely at the same time.

Take a look at the Torch page I've included here from the same year — 1941. This story is from Marvel Mystery Comics No. 20. The lettering style alone is enough to convince me. But the angles of the heads and figures — the broken motion lines — all of those things lead to one conclusion: it's Carl Burgos! Hooray!

One last note: Why my preference for the Original Human Torch, over the other flagship Timely characters — Captain America and Sub-Mariner? I've always had a thing for characters who either wore full-face masks or were faceless. Thus why I prefer Burgos' Torch over the later one of Fantastic Four fame. And why characters such as Spider-Man, Black Panther, Iron Man and Dr. Fate became so well-loved by myself. And that includes the original Daredevil, for that matter! I love that air of mystery.

And I love the work of Burgos. No — he's no Frazetta or Adams. But everything that's charming about the work of the Golden Age is summed up in his work of the early 1940s. Safe to say, if you can't warm up to his art, there's probably not much in the Golden Age that's going to appeal to you. But if you can imagine being a kid during the late 30s or early 40s, maybe you can imagine the thrill his work gave a couple of generations of kids.

Tales of Stone: A Tribute to Darlin' Dick Ayers (1924-2014)

In 2004, I had the good fortune to work briefly with the great Dick Ayers. I was doing freelance work for the fledgling Mecca Comics Group — which unfortunately didn't make it as a business in the long run. Mecca folded soon after this work was published, but Mecca did provide me with some wonderful experiences and encounters with some veterans of the industry. The most memorable of these was my work with Mr. Ayers on the second (and sadly, last) issue of Brother Destiny. I had written a back up story to fill some space, but it turned out to be better than the main story, I think. But I was to ink the story, too.

I'll never forget the day a batch of Ayers original art arrived at my door. Pencils on vellum paper. Wow. He prefers vellum? Interesting. Uh, wait a second...I have to ink this! Am I up for it? This is the artist that made his mark inking Jack Kirby in the late 50s and early 60s, not to mention his own great pencils. What am I doing?

Needless to say, I was pretty nervous when I laid that first Windsor and Newton brush to paper. I'm inking Ayers? He's the expert inker — his work I had admired for years. Visions of stone men on Easter Island flashed through my head, but I shook it off and with some very nice encouragement from the Darlin' one himself, I did OK.

Just a few months before I had met Joe Sinnott at a local convention, and he had encouraged me to use more blacks in my inks. I kept his advice, and the advice of Mr. Ayers, in mind as I worked. Joe Sinnott and Dick Ayers. Not bad.

I couldn't hope to live up to the work of either, but I chalked it up as a learning experience.

Most fun was writing a tale and having Dick Ayers imagine it. I understood how writers for great comic artist must feel when they see their thoughts come to life. I tried to only enhance his vision with my inks.

"The Pharaoh" was a character I wasn't too crazy about, but the Mecca editors insisted on his creation. I felt it was an unoriginal idea, but they wanted it. So I tried to create the character with a twist. This time the Pharaoh wouldn't be a bad guy, but a good guy — doing good for his people and fighting evil. Well, it's nothing spectacular, but I tried to have fun.

Dick Ayers was patient, kind, smart and sold on the teachings of Burne Hogarth. Thank you Mister Ayers for one of the most memorable experiences of my life. And, it just occurred to me, this may very well be some of the last work by Dick Ayers. Enjoy!

Graphic Novel in the works

Well, I'm back at last, after a lengthy absence. Here's the reason why: I've been working simultaneously on a children's book and a graphic novel plot — this in addition to my day job. That's kept me pretty busy. But here are some results from the graphic novel end of things.

This is a little 6-page "prologue" to my graphic novel idea — very loosely based on my copyrighted character, Brother Destiny. In fact, it bears very little resemblance to what I have planned — which may feature an entirely new character. But it served well as a test run to determine what exactly is involved in getting this done, work-wise. Needless to say, I've got my work cut out for me.

One thing I determined for certain: Coloring my own work is going to prove to be very, very difficult if not impossible. It's not that I can't do it. It's that, a) it is EXTREMELY time consuming. And as a one-man show, I just can't do it and expect to ever complete a project. There is the possibility of paying someone to do it, which I will keep in mind. And b), I really, really, really don't enjoy it.

The most fun part of the process? Putting words and dialogue into the pictures. It feels like magic and almost seems to make the characters in my head come alive. It's really something. I enjoy that. I would love to tell stories full time. This is me. This is what I do. I love entertaining people with stories.

In even in this little bit of space, I saw the characters grow and mature a bit. What would they do with 100+ pages? I was rusty, but my art came along as I went. I was out of gas through much of it, but I kept pushing.

Oh well. Enough of that. Here's my work. Enjoy. Let me know what you think. And if you see a typo, that's on me, too. One-man show means you're the editor and writer, too. Thanks for checking it out!

Milton Caniff and the Art of Storytelling

In the summer of 1935, multiple events were taking place of great importance to, not only the future of America, but the world.

Franklin D. Roosevelt had been president for a little over two years and was implementing change with his “New Deal” to fight the depression which had worn down a nation. The Japanese Empire and Nazi Germany were gradually gaining ground in the Far East and In Europe. The Dust Bowl citizens were on the move to California to escape an endless nightmare. 

Entertainment was the last refuge for many. “Mutiny of the Bounty” starring Clark Cable was the latest Best Picture at the Academy Awards. Astaire and Rogers were well on their way to becoming the hottest dancing pair on Earth. Swing was becoming a serious movement in popular Jazz, as one Benny Goodman, inspired by Fletcher Henderson’s amazing band of the late 20s and early 30s, began a series of popular influential recordings. Radio continued to entrance audiences with programs like The Whistler, The Shadow and Tom Mix. 

Top hat and tails, indeed.

Figure 1. From October, 1934.

And Milton Caniff, writer and artist of the comic strip Terry and the Pirates, began making serious strides in his craft, as he evolved into one of the greatest storytellers in the history of comics.

For those who haven’t done it yet, and are serious students of comics, I would highly recommend picking IDW’s Terry and the Pirates volumes….which cover Caniff’s complete run on the strip, beginning in 1934. I put it off for years — and have no idea why. This, along with work by Carl Barks, Jack Kirby and others, is among the most important comics works in the history of the medium. 

Caniff, who influenced countless comic book artists over the years (John Romita Sr., Frank Robbins and Johnny Craig are among the first that to come to mind), demonstrates the magic of a brush — in regards to both art and storytelling.

Today, we’ll take a look at some studies of Volume 1 in the series. No spoilers in terms of storyline — only in terms of revealing some beautiful artwork.

Figure 2. From May 1935.

Over the years I’ve tried to define what it is about sequential art that I love so much. To start with, I love to draw and I love to write — so any medium that effectively combines the two is going to have it's appeal for me. But beyond that, I’ve always had a hard time putting into words what I love about this form of storytelling so much. What is it about comics that is so magical? (or used to be, at any rate — I refer to comic books and comic strips from the 1930s to the 1980s, primarily).

I’m going to, for the first time, really attempt to define why I love the form so much through a detailed inquiry of the early work of Caniff. Comics are so in my blood it's not easy — but I'll try.

Let’s focus on what huge strides Caniff made — in some ways quite suddenly — over the course of the summer of 1935.

Put yourself in the shoes of a boy, or even adult, in the times. Go on. You can do it. Remember, there is no internet, TV, computers, cell phones or other advanced forms of entertainment to distract you. You've just opened up the paper to the big comics section (the panels much, much larger that what you see today). In the background of your parents' den is a news report on goings-on in Europe, or an old radio program — or perhaps that's Duke Ellington's band playing. Your father is smoking his usual pipe — your mother sewing. You settle in on the wooden floor in a very modest home — and discover the much bigger world containing the wonder of a developing artist — named Caniff.

Figure 3. From Dec. 1936.

Figure 1 shows the very first Terry and the Pirates black and white strip from October, 1934. Nothing at all wrong here. In fact, let me point out that I disagree with some critics who almost seem to believe Caniff was a run-of-the-mill artist in the early strips. Already we see some skill with the brush and pen, and the ability to at least tell a story. The far away shot in the second panel helps establish the scene. But, on a page of strips in 1934, it probably simply blended in.

The brush work and line work is nice, but not used to any great lengths. Just enough for reproduction and effective illustrating.

But something began to happen to Canniff in the summer of the next year. The course of his stories (he had one story going on in the color Sunday strip; and another going on in the daily version) began to carry his acclaimed cast to far away nooks and crannies — to dark, shadowy places — to events that took place after the sun went down. When Pat and Terry go to sea and the sun goes down, something happens. It’s almost as if in the course of his storyline, he discovered the effects of blacks and the strength of the brush. Those darkened tales brought forth skills from Caniff’s fingers like a conjurer bringing forth miracles. Never before had such magic been performed.

Figure 4. The first Terry and Pirates
color strip, December 1934.

Take a look at Figure 2, as we jump to May of 1935. The black spots have grown. The scene is at night. The second and last panels show the allure of a silhouette. The faces, the hair, the shading….all are incredibly convincing. What’s more, the story evokes emotion. We feel the heartbreak between Pat and his girl, as they are forced to separate. That characters can feel so alive is one of the great accomplishments of the medium.

All of this is told in simple panel arrangement, proving fancy layouts and a lot of sheen aren’t necessary to tell a story. It’s what happens inside the panels that counts.

By Figure 3, we’ve jumped to December of 1936 — two years into the strip. We see action, convincing movement — and lush brushwork that gives shape, power and feeling. The brushwork has gotten thicker and more powerful. It would influence a generation.

Figure 5. From May 1935.
The shadowy lair of the Dragon Lady.

The big three of the early adventure strip world — Hal Foster, Alex Raymond and Milton Caniff — all deserve respect. But for my money give me Caniff above the other two. While Foster and Raymond could illustrate beautifully — Caniff’s ability to tell a story is superior, in my opinion. He used balloons, where the others functioned more as illustrators to a narrative text. Plus, even from a pure illustration standpoint, Caniff is just as good.

Check out Figures 4-6 for the same progression in the color strips. Here we see masterful use of color as well. Again — basic panel arrangements — but inside the panels the action bursts forth, even when figures are simply standing and speaking. In Figure 5, Pat, Terry and Connie have invaded the Dragon Lady's castle. The shadows within that castle seem to teach Caniff something about inking. 

Once, Marvel legendary inker Joe Sinnott was nice enough to take the time at a convention to sit down with me and critique my inking techniques. I was grateful he liked my line work and brush work — but what I remember him saying over and over again was "More black! More black! Don't be afraid to use more! More! More!" Now, several years later and looking at Caniff's work — I completely understand where he was coming from. Look at that Sunday strip in Figure 6! Those pictures are alive!

Figure 6. From March 1936. All out action!

It’s a perfect lesson on how a strip can come to life on it’s own — how the characters can grow and the art evolve. And how those same characters can initiate that entire progression. We also see how repetition in any art endeavor is so important. The ability to sit day after day and perfect a craft can never be underestimated. Talent, yes. But patience to actually do it? Much more important.

This ability to tell a story, through words and pictures, draws me in emotionally like no other combination. This is the magic of it all. This is why I love this art form.

I’m truly sorry many kids in the coming years will no longer experience this aura of a living world on a flat, printed page.

Well, I’m doing my best to keep it all alive. Let’s not lose our roots — 21^st Century be darned.