16
Sep 24

Twenty years ago today, and this weekend, and today

Twenty years ago today Hurricane Ivan came ashore, straight up Mobile Bay. It came ashore as a Category 3 hurricane.

I woke up at that morning to go to work. My power was still on. The drive got treacherous pretty quickly. Visibility dipped. A 20-minute trip turned into almost a 40 minute drive, but the worst was yet to come for our area, which was a good 250 miles inland. That far away from the coast, hundreds of trees were down and power poles snapped. Miles and miles of power lines were on the ground before the worst had even arrived. Early on, the state broke its power outage record, with Alabama Power saying three-quarters of their customers were in the dark. We couldn’t communicate with people down on the coast.

Whole forests down there were snapped, shredded and felled by 100 mph winds down there. The eastern part of Mobile Bay took a wallop. In Gulf Shores, they had eight feet of water on the main drag. Everything almost a mile from the beach was underwater. A handful of people waited out the storm on the battleship, the USS Alabama which is a museum in it’s day job. One wind gauge on the ship broke after registering a gust of 105 mph, another recorded a 112-mph gust. “You could feel the whole superstructure of the ship move when a big gust would hit,” one of the men that worked there said. The USS Alabama weighs 85 million pounds, and she was shuddering.

Up in Birmingham, we reported the hell out of that hurricane. I was still relatively new in that newsroom — my last newsroom — and this was just the second big national story we’d had in my first few months there. So I was showing off a little, maybe. But it was important. Before the next day was out, the estimates were already rolling in that there was more than $10 billion dollars in damages and some places would be in standing water and without power for weeks. I think I worked about 15 hours that first day and something just short of that the next day. I was calling everyone I knew and reporting their experience online. Back then, I knew a lot of people all over the region. I was calling the parents of ex-girlfriends: Do you have power? What happened where you are?

Don’t know how you may be related to them in your day job (if not directly, certainly spiritually?) … but these guys are Pulitzer prizing their blog today. Especially great for those of us with ties to the area but who are not there.

Only al.com eligible for a Pulitzer. This was 2004 and it was all so very new. But in 2005, Hurricane Katrina went to New Orleans. Our colleagues at our sister company, The Times Picayune and nola.com won two Prizes, and they deserved them both and more.

We were writing a lot more than a blog. We were putting together multimedia stuff as it came in. We were running a weather central microsite complimenting the wire copy and the NWS content. We were moving fast and doing creative things and telling a statewide, regional story. We didn’t win a Pulitzer, but we were paving the way, 20 years ago today.

I had a 35-mile ride on Friday. Almost thwarted just six or so miles in. I bunny hopped a railroad track and caught the rear wheel on the far track and popped the tube, right after this lovely little spot.

So I stood in someone’s yard, taking the wheel off the frame and the tube out of the wheel. I fiddled with a new tube and finally got everything ready to pump it up. I carry a pocket-sized hand pump. All hand pumps have a limitation. They just won’t push enough air pressure to let you do much more than get safely home. And that’s when it works well. But my pump is 11 years old, it was probably cheap when I bought it, and they don’t even sell the thing anymore.

It works … some of the time. Earlier this summer, for example, it really didn’t. In that yard today, it didn’t. After I limped a bit farther down the road and stopped in a field to try again, my pump decided to get its act together. I had a good stiff tire and did the whole ride I’d planned out. Just a bit later than I’d expected. But the views were wonderful nonetheless.

I did the last few miles in the extended neighborhood. Enjoying this view on a perfectly quiet road, soaking this in. This is why I enjoy riding in the evenings.

  

(If that’s not the nighttime video, just refresh the page and scroll back to it. There’s an autoplay function here I can’t turn off right now.)

I had a nice and easy 20-mile ride today. Easy, and somehow I found myself sprinting along a road at 36 mph, which is about where I max out these days. I’m not even sure why I did that, and I felt it for a good long while thereafter.

But before that, corn stalks!

It’s a nice time to be outside, so I’m spending a lot of time outside.

I also had a swim on Saturday. The pool was chilly, but that makes you go faster, they say. I think if there’s anything to that it’s just because you’re trying to get out of the water. But there was a comfortable 1,720 yard workout. That’s a mile, which sounds like a lot, but it isn’t, not really.

Today, I had another mile swim, and it was a bit faster, but still slow. But fast for me, because i was trying to get my laps in before the chill set in. The thermometer said it was 76 degrees.

And so I begin to wonder, what is my tolerance? And how many more outdoor swims can I have before we find out?

Quite a few, I’m hoping.


13
Sep 24

The 1954 Glomerata, part two

Seventy years ago, things were different, but almost everything looks familiar. You can see it in the photos of campus life from the beautiful old yearbooks. And this is a look at my alma mater’s yearbook, the Glomerata, which I collect. My grandparents aren’t in this book, but their peers are. Maybe some people they knew, or would know later, are in here, though we’ll never know.

This is the second installment of our glance through 1954. Part one is here, but I’ll put them all in the Glomerata section, of course. You can see others, here. Or maybe you’d like to click through to see all of the covers. I wouldn’t blame you. They’re quite handsome. The university hosts their collection here.

In 1954 the university was in the middle of the G.I. Bill enrollment explosion. The campus had their second largest ever enrollment, and the campus was still in a growth phase. I put a fair amount of context in the part one post, so let’s just jump in.

Since this is a highlight feature, rather than a complete look, I’ve been using a few rules — minimal buildings and minimal head shots– and I’m breaking both of my rules here. Just because this line art is well done.

This is a drawing of Comer Hall, which houses the College of Agriculture, where I spent half of my time. There was a computer lab on the third floor in my day, a small auditorium classroom on the second floor, and my advisor, the dean, had his office on the first floor. There was a fallout shelter in the basement, and that might be one of the few parts of the building I didn’t know anything about. It was built in 1920, burned and rebuilt in 1922. It is named after B.B. Comer, an early 20th century Alabama governor. And a progressive one, at that. (Progressive among his contemporary peers, to be sure.)

That’s the dean, E.V. Smith (no relation) who was director of Extension from 1951 to 1972 and a real power player of his era. The research center in nearby Shorter is named for Smith. There, researchers conduct experiments on plant breeding, animal husbandry, horticultural innovation, biosystems engineering and more. It’s comprehensive.

The younger man is the student president of the college of agriculture. I’m not sure when those positions disappeared, but we’ll figure it out in other books. Buck Compton was from a place called Nanafalia, which sits on a ridge above the Tombigbee. One of the 75 people there would have to drive some distance to find a town you’d ever heard of or read about. It’s the sort of middle of nowhere that’s surrounded by a lot of nowhere, is what we’re saying. It’s a small place now, it was small when Compton grew up there. Anyway, he met his wife, Barbara, in college when they were sophomores. They graduated and got married in the summer of ’54.

He joined the Air Force, and when he left the service, he returned to the family farm. He and his dad ran cattle, a timber company and a country store, and the cattle and store were still in operation until just a few years ago. She was a high school history teacher. They were married for 62 years until he died, in 2016. She passed away in 2020. Together, they raised two daughters, and they had five grandchildren.

On the same page are two smaller photos meant to be evocative of the CoAg experience. (I wonder if anyone called it that in the 1950s …) They’re a bit fuzzy because I resized them, but we’re obviously examining and weighing produce.

And it looks like we’re working on a small disc harrow here.

I wonder how long all of that equipment remained in use on campus, and where it went when they upgraded.

Here’s a drawing of Tichenor Hall, which is where I spent much of the rest of my time. By the time I showed up it was filled with journalism students. (Don’t laugh, there were a lot of us then.) The basement had some geography folks, but it was mostly just us. Tichenor was built in 1940, and is named after Isaac Taylor Tichenor, the university’s third president, serving in that role from 1872 to 1881. He was also a pastor, having served as a chaplain during the Civil War, a farmer, a mining executive and in the leadership of the Southern Baptist Convention.

Tichenor is one of those complicated 19th century people in modern eyes. He was a proponent of slavery. He felt the Confederacy lost their war because of the Union’s industrial strength. And that’s how he framed his work at the university, pushing for big changes in higher education and diversity in the local economies, sort of a preview of the New South that was to come.

Roger Allen went to college at Auburn, played baseball and graduated with a chemistry degree in 1918, and a master’s the next year. After lab work during World War I and some time in New York and at Howard College, he came back to the Plains to teach in 1928. They pulled him out of the classroom for a quarter-century run as an administrator, and he was at the helm when the College of Science and Mathematics saw a great deal of growth. He retired in 1967.

Bill Fickling was from Georgia, where he was a three-sport star, including two state championships in the hurdles. In college, he played varsity basketball and ran an incredibly respectful 110-meter hurdles, where he was a conference champion in his sophomore year. His dad was a real estate powerbroker, and Bill Jr. took on the family business. Junior did well for himself. He married Miss America, Neva Jane Langley, in 1955. They were together for 58 years, until she died in 2012. They raised four children. Her obituary is clear: her pageant life did not define her. But it followed her anyway. Bill was still active in his community through the twenty-teens.

A few scenes from Tichenor Hall. That looks like an adding machine of some sort.

And those typewriters, they even look clunky for their day. I hope at least some of them landed in the hands of collectors.

When I was in school we were working on Macs. They were almost as clunky, but incredibly modern. You never think about those things when you’re young and working on a deadline. I wonder what they are typing, and if it stuck with any of those students long after the assignment was complete.

This is Samford Hall, the modern administration building. The graduate school was housed there in the 1950s. Today it is the icon building for photos and branding, and it should be. It’s still a lovely place in the Georgia colonial style.

I include this one in appreciation for the dodging and burning that someone undertook to get this in the book. In darkrooms, you did this with paper and light. I had two courses in undergrad that were darkroom intensive, and I never mastered the analog skill. Whoever did this, though, had some talent. And whoever is in silhouette here is working on pages we might see later.

Did you notice the Coke bottle? That was a nice touch.

These next few are staffers of the Glomerata, and I include them because they gave us this wonderful book. That’s Fred Nichols on the left, he was the editor of the yearbook. He was from Columbiana, Alabama, and was involved in all sorts of stuff on campus. President of his fraternity, in two different leadership groups, edited the Greeks’ rag, was an associate editor of the newspaper (which we’ll see in our next installment) and in the student senate. I’ve no idea how he managed to study industrial management. He went into the Air Force for a time, got married and they raised two children and two grandchildren. He died in 2001. You’re going to meet her in just a few moments.

The guy on the right is Tommy Tate, who was the business manager. He ran track, was recognized in one the mysterious leadership groups and studied business. I’m not sure what became of him. Tate is a surprisingly common name.

Look at the middle photo. The guy on the right is Batey Smith. He studied architecture, served as a captain in the U.S. Army and then went home to create ahugely important Tennessee firm, helping to build modern Nashville. In 1999 he and his wife established an endowed scholarship at AU. His was a hugely successful career, the lifetime achievement sort of career. Founding member of this. board member of that. He and his wife retired to Auburn in 2013 and he lived there until he died, in 2022 at 88.

The woman on the right side of the right photo is Jean Cross. She studied home economics. If I’ve got the right one, she married a football player. He would become a high school coach and athletic director in Georgia, where they lived until they retired to Florida.

I’m not sure why these two got their own photo. Maybe they were late to the picture sesh. But they’re worth talking about.

David Irvine’s dad was on the faculty, and he’s a senior in this photograph. He studied art at Auburn, became a tank commander in Europe during the Korean War, came home and earned his master’s and doctorate degrees in educational psychology and counseling from UNC. He became a school counselor and a teacher. After retirement he became a writer. As of this writing, he, at 92 (!!!) is still writing for his local paper, The Daily Dispatch (Henderson, North Carolina).

The office space gets a little more crowded for the last series of Glomerata staff photos. Let’s see what we can find.

Kathryn Keith studied psychology and became a teacher, a vice principal and homemaker in Georgia. She and her husband of 50 years raised one child, a grandchild and a great grandchild. She passed away in 2006. Frances Walthall married an Auburn man who became a manager at Alabama Power. They had four children and 14 grandchildren. Her husband died in 2007, but she’s still living in the state.

Irene Donovan finished at Auburn, and then went to graduate school at Tulane. She became a social worker, helping families in Louisiana and Georgia throughout her career.

June Sellers married Fred Nichols, the editor of this yearbook we mentioned above. She survived her husband. They had two children and two grandchildren. She started the kindergarten program at her church, volunteered at Children’s Hospital in Birmingham, was in DAR and volunteered and was a member of a sackful of other organizations. In her later years she moved into an assisted living facility. Her 2007 obituary said “she participated in every activity and was, not surprisingly, a member of the Social Committee” there. Hers was a life of service and doing.

Mary Ann Willman, from Columbus, Georgia, was a sophomore studying home economics. She married Haskell Sumrall, an Auburn man, a BMOC who became a captain in the Marine Corps. They lived in Florida until retirement. They had three kids. She died in 2014, and he passed away in 2020. They are buried at Miramar National Cemetery, in California.

Bill Whitaker died just this year, at 91. He met his wife in college, while he was studying electrical engineering. Whitaker joined the Air Force and stayed in until 1968. By then he had a master’s degree and a lifelong infatuation with computers. He worked at IBM, then went into sales with another big firm, and put in machines at places like Oak Ridge, Red Stone and Cape Canaveral. He returned to Alabama to head up the data processing department of Trust National Bank. He started his own company, eventually sold it, went to Memorex and another place or two before retiring.

The woman standing next to him the photo? That’s his future wife, Margaret, a sophomore from Mobile. They had two kids and two grandchildren and what sounds like a full and hopefully wonderful life. They were married for 68 years.

All of these photos will wind up in the Glomerata section, of course. You can see others, here. Or maybe you’d like to click through to see all of the covers. The university hosts their collection here.


12
Sep 24

The press section put me over the top

This will be quick, because I am behind. (Watch this now become a 3,000 word, two-hour post.) It was a lovely day, foggy this morning, but then the low clouds turned into mist and it all rolled out just before noon. The mercury got to 81, found that this was an appropriate effort for mid-September, and stared there. It was all delightful.

Two news items piqued my interest today. If you get two a day, you’re probably working too hard at it. If you get more than two a day, you’re probably living in a decade-long election cycle and you should put down the phone, close the computer, and walk away. So I stopped at two.

This first one, simply because I came up with a slogan that should appeal to two opposed elements of modern society, Republicans who think their pets are at risk from their neighbors, and anyone else that would like to not catch an illness from a sick neighbor in denial.

NJ Republican governor candidate introduces bill to outlaw wearing masks in public

A Republican candidate for New Jersey governor introduced new legislation Thursday that would prohibit people from wearing masks in public, just weeks after a similar bill was passed in Nassau County on Long Island.

The bill would prohibit masks in certain circumstances, but even its sponsor, Sen. Jon Bramnick, acknowledged that it is a long way from passing.

[…]

According to Bramnick, there are people using masks to disguise themselves and commit crimes, and that’s who he wants this bill to target.

He believes that ultimately it would be an additional charge when a crime is being committed and that “legitimate mask wearers have nothing to fear.”

The bill would make it a petty disorderly persons offense for people to congregate in public while wearing masks or obscuring their faces in some way to conceal their identity.

Legitimate mask wearers. Police will know the difference.

Look, politicians who need to demonstrate their tough-on-crime bona fides push these sort of proposals, without a single care about putting high risk and immunocompromised people in greater danger, all in the hope of squashing protests and heightening surveillance. That’s all we’re talking about here.

But here’s my idea. And it works as a slogan or bumper sticker.

You can’t eat the dogs or eat the cats if you are wearing a mask.

The newsroom’s editorial board calls this what it is.

Start with this basic question: What if a troublemaker simply decides to disguise his face with large sunglasses and a hat, instead? Are we going to criminalize sunglasses and hats, too? Where will it end?

Not to mention all the enforcement and constitutional problems that this bill presents. Even with an exception for people who wear masks for medical reasons, it’s a threat to personal freedoms, because it leaves it up to the cops to decide whether someone has a legitimate medical reason for wearing a mask at a public gathering.

How will they know that? It’s subjective. And based on past experience, we know what that means: Police will disproportionately stop and question Black and brown people, who have also been the most likely to continue wearing masks to protect against COVID-19.

And, as Jim Sullivan of the American Civil Liberties Union of New Jersey adds, this “overbroad and vague” bill “also gives law enforcement the ability to target people based on their political beliefs.”

This think piece … from Dan Froomkin, curiously enough, is just about the most frustrating thing you’ll find today.

Trump’s mental capacity is now topic one

The Donald Trump who melted down on the debate stage Tuesday night is not a well man.

He sounded like a lunatic. He expressed his belief in things that simply aren’t true. (Think: “They’re eating the dogs. They’re eating the cats.”) He was easily distracted. He repeated himself. He lied egregiously.

Is he competent to be president?

That’s a question journalists should be asking, prominently and relentlessly, until Election Day.

[…]

Concerns about Trump’s mental state are hardly new. They’ve been raised for years on social media, in opinion columns, and on cable TV. But they’ve generally been avoided by traditional news reporters.

The good news is that this is officially no longer a story that’s too hot for reporters to touch. A permission structure has been established — by the New York Times’s star political reporter Peter Baker no less.

PERMISSION?!? I yelled to no one at all. PERMISSION? NOW YOU HAVE PERMISSION?!?

I said Froomkin, curiously enough, because he started Press Watch for a particular reason.

Press Watch is an independent non-profit organization devoted to encouraging political journalists to fulfill their essential mission of creating an informed electorate and holding the powerful accountable. It is funded by donations from readers and the philanthropic community.

The Trump era, like never before, has exposed the weakness of the elite media’s refusal to be seen as “taking sides” in matters of public interest — even when it comes to verification of facts and democracy. As a result, corporate political journalism ends up spreading lies instead of shouting the truth. It engages in false equivalence that normalizes outrageous political extremism.

[…]

This website is intended to agitate for change. It encourages reporters to fight disinformation more enthusiastically and effectively, especially when our democracy and people’s lives are at stake. It identifies best practices that others can emulate. It urges the reality-based parts of the industry to explicitly condemn Fox News and other far-right propaganda outlets as disinformation operations.

People who love journalism are deeply troubled by the media’s loss of credibility with the public. Press Watch’s view is that we lose credibility by not fighting more assertively for the truth.

Permission. You don’t need permission. Or political cover. You need the support of your publisher and to inform your audience. A person, any person, running for high office is always under the microscope. Or should be. I can’t image how the news business has lost it’s credibility.

Permission.

It was a lovely afternoon for a swim, so I swam. My arms and feet took me one mile, but I ended up at the same place I started from. And that’s laps, to me. I say my feet, but it was mostly my arms. I am not a good swim kicker.

I keep forgetting to kick. Then I remember, and I kick. For about 15 yards, maybe less, and then I stop again. And a lap or so later I’ll remember, Kick! And so I kick. Maybe 10-15 years, and then I forget again. And I did this today for 1,720 yards. It was nice.

Back outside for the nightly chores, the view above was peaceful.

You can hear kids playing, and a few adults chatting up the street. It’s a perfect, mild THursday, and why wouldn’t they be outside doing those things until deep into the evening?

Let’s dip our toes back into the Re-Listening project. I’m playing all of my old CDs in my car, in the order in which I acquired them. So, I figured, why not write about them here, too? Pad the site! Content is king! And there’s nothing better than 20-year-old content!

Or so I told myself before I sat down to write about 2003’s “Long Time Coming,” Johnny Lang’s fourth studio album. I picked this up in 2006 or so. And, for me, it’s a record I’d listen to once in a long while. It doesn’t find a lot of extended play or repeats. Lang was a gifted performer — sadly, he’s had some health issues that took him away from music — and it’s important to remember here that he was 22(!!!) when he released his fourth album. But, with the exception of a few moments this one doesn’t really stand out as his earlier efforts did. It made it to #17 on the Billboard 200, which was his best placement yet, and great for mere mortals. His live record at the Ryman, in 2009, would climb to the second spot on the blues charts. And that makes sense, the guy was a seriously talented live perform.

This record, though, it wasn’t highly received, and while it hasn’t aged poorly, it isn’t a fine wine. And the Re-Listening project isn’t meant to be a review. I’m just posting music and occasionally trying to summon up a memory to go with a song. But I don’t have any here, because it just didn’t get that many spins. Right from the first track, you can feel the genre fusion beginning. There’s a bit of a lot of things on this album, and maybe that’s part of the issue. And, again, the guy’s 22 years old.

I’ve always thought this song should be on infinite rotation in produce sections across this great land of ours.

Tell me that you wouldn’t happily puzzle over the ripeness of that pineapple during that chorus.

If blue-eyed soul and blues had an exemplar … well, there are many … this would be one, too.

And that’s sort of the difficulty here. Lang had been blowing away critics and fans since he was 15 or so. Here, it just felt a little workmanlike.

As we realize, over and over, music is a strange business.

And there we go. Fifteen-hundred plus words. As I said, I’m behind.


11
Sep 24

You’re going to wonder what this sounds like

I made some more phone calls today. Left voicemails with different people. Finally got the gentleman I needed. He seemed helpful. He required of me a one page document, some other files and a couple of weeks of waiting. So at least that was resolved. Somewhat.

I also had a nice 31-mile bike ride this evening. Just me, myself and the endless hum of my wheels on the road. Even made a dorky little video abut it.

  

Every road on this route was a familiar one, and that’s OK. It was a day to be aware of the time, and that doesn’t always allow for exploration. Indeed, the pause to make that video took about three minutes and I questioned that in the moment. But I got back to the most familiar roads — the nine-mile square out in front of us, here where the heavy land and the green sands meet — and started the last 12 miles in the gloaming, which gave way to the final five miles in the early darkness. Most of that were on sleep little subdivision roads. But the part just before it, and just before the darkness, I was surrounded by farmland, and this is why I enjoy riding at that time of night.

That, my friends, is worth all of the little bugs you’re trying not to swallow when you ride between two fields.

We return once again to We Learn Wednesdays. For this feature, I’m riding my bike around the county to discover the local historical markers. This is the 47th installment, and the 79th marker in the We Learn Wednesdays series.

On a drowsy downtown street, in a town of low slung buildings, this one isn’t too much taller, not really, but it surely does feel like it when you stand back just a bit.

The church is celebrating 165 years. They’ve got a Salvation Army office on the premises and they also do all of the services and ceremonies and mission work you expect of an active congregation.

Their pride is the pipe organ, installed in 1880 after six years of fund raising. A Boston outfit built and installed the thing. Hook and Hastings, we learned in April they installed an organ at the Presbyterian church, which is down the street and around the corner, just three-tenths of a mile away. That organ went in in 1879, and maybe that’s how the company got this commission, as well. The original organ at Broadway church had 2 manuals and 20 stops. Wind was pumped first by hand, then water. They went electric in 1912. Updates in 1929 brought the organ up to 1,306 pipes.

A rebuild in 1961 gave the organ 52 stops and 1,462 pipes, the smallest is about the size of a straw, the largest is a booming 12 by 12-foot wooden box that stands 10 feet tall.

Broadway says theirs is one of the last large pipe organs in the region that is still in continuous weekly service. The man who plays it today has done so for more than two decades.

Next week, we’ll look at a historic house and, hopefully, find out why it is on the national register of historic places.

If you have missed any markers so far, you can find them all right here.


10
Sep 24

Day two of a bit of grrr

I am waiting for a phone call. I waited yesterday. I have waited today. Tomorrow, I’m making a lot more phone calls. I am tired of waiting.

While we wait … it has been brought to my attention that I did not run the site’s most popular weekly feature yesterday. Apologies have been rendered and forgiveness offered, contingent upon my remedying the situation. So here we are, checking in on the kitties.

The other day I was removing boxes from upstairs to the recycling staging area — the garage — but Phoebe got there before I could complete the task.

So those boxes stayed just like that for a while. Finally, she moved. Finally, I convinced her there would be other boxes. Also, I reminded her of the other three or four boxes that are always around for her.

At some later point, she curled up next to me for a mid-afternoon nap. I have resolved to not being inside on beautiful days such as that, but there’s no resisting a power move like this. She covered her eyes, and everything.

Poseidon is ready to be plugged in. How else can he know if I am keeping up my end of the cat photo feature bargain? (People tell him, I’m sure.) Fortunately for me, he doesn’t know the difference between a power plug and a network plug.

He’s still not online. Good thing, too. He’s definitely the cat that would land us in the news for buying $4,000 of catnip and self sealing stem bolts.

And much like his sister, if there’s something he can climb into, he’s already been in it twice.

When the groceries come in, he is very helpful. He surprises our storage procedures, chews on plastic, examines the vegetables, raids the pantry, and climbs in the bags. Much of it happening faster than I can type it.

He is a boundless source of amusement.

We return to the Re-Listening project. This is the one where I am listening to all of my old CDs in the car, in the order of their acquisition. It’s an excuse, one I didn’t need, to listen to my old music. And I’m writing about it here to pad the site, maybe share a memory or two, and to include some good music. These aren’t music reviews, because no one needs a decades old review. This is a 2002 CD, one that I picked up used a few years later, in about 2006, just to round out my collection a little bit. And it’s a soundtrack.

“I Am Sam” was a Sean Penn and Michelle Pfeiffer vehicle. Diane West was in it too, and so was Dakota Fanning. But most people just remember Penn, and the Beatles covers.

It begins with “Two of Us,” a song my lovely bride and I sometimes sing to one another.

We all come to discover Rufus Wainwright in our own time, and that is right and as it should be, I’m certain of that. And track three was when I discovered Wainwright, and my goodness can he sing.

The whole album is easily findable online, of course. And there’s a some good stuff on there, if you like the Beatles, and aren’t bothered by covers of Beatles classics. I’m hit or miss on some of their catalog, but there’s something for everyone. I like the Wallflowers, Eddie Vedder, and Stereophonics covers.

I just learned that the European version, which I do not have, has a Nick Cave rendition of “Here Comes the Sun.” Nick Cave is brilliant, but I’m afraid it’d make me sad. That’s the song I played when I did the newscast that George Harrison died. It’s been 23 years, this November, and that’s still what comes to mind when that song comes on. But when this soundtrack is in the player, I’m just waiting to hear that Wainwright track.

The movie itself, I remember thinking it was a missed opportunity.

In the next installment of the Re-Listening project, we’ll try an unimpressive bit of little blue-eyed soul.

But tomorrow, we’ll have a bit of history to contemplate. Be sure to come back for that.