Nanuq’s New Nook

Last year I read a news item that a polar bear named Nanuq’s was going to be relocated to the Columbus Zoo as part of a polar bear breeding program. I imagine there was a conversation that went something like this:

“Okay, Nanuq.  Rise and shine buddy. It’s moving day.  You’re going to another zoo.”

“No, you are not going to the Bronx Zoo …. No, you are not going to the San Diego Zoo… Okay, I’ll tell you where you’re going: you’re going to Columbus, Ohio.”

“Settle down.  Nobody likes a whiny polar bear … seriously, get a grip on yourself. The grizzly bears are going to start teasing you about being a cry baby.  Look, Nanuq, you are going to Columbus, Ohio whether you like it or not … well, the jokes on you buddy I didn’t ride a horse in here.”

“What do you mean, ‘come back in three months?’ Polar bears don’t hibernate.”

“Now, come on.  Settle down.  You’re going to like the Columbus Zoo.  They’ve set you up with a nice apartment, and your roommates are going to be twin sisters.  No kidding! Their names are Anana and Aurora.”

“Hey, where’d that polar bear go, anyhow? How did he get into the cab of the truck?  No, look Nanuq, stop that.  You do not have a license to drive and stop pulling the air horn while you’re at it.”

Nanuq Post Script: Elvis and the Polar Bears

Since Nanuq arrived in the Columbus Zoo a year ago, apparently he’s been putting his time to good use.  There are reports that both of his roommates – polar bear twins Anana and Aurora – are in a family way.  The Columbus Zoo has an unlikely expert on detecting polar bear pregnancies; a beagle named Elvis, who has been trained to detect signs of pregnancy by sniffing polar bear scat.  My best guess is, that Columbus zookeepers present Elvis with scat samples from the polar bears cages.  Because if he sniffs out the scat in the usual canine style, then Elvis is one incredibly brave beagle!  No definitive word on whether we will be hearing the pitter patter of little polar bear paws anytime soon, but the word from the Zoo is, “Elvis definitely knows his S#*t!”

Happy Birthday USMC

Today, November 10, 2013, marks the 238th anniversary of the establishment of the United States Marine Corps. Happy Anniversary to all my Marine friends!

November 5th: American Amnesia

I wonder how many people reading this who are not history professors are aware of the significance of November 5^th.  Over in England, I understand it is a pretty big deal as Guy Fawkes Day.  Clear back in 1605, a disaffected Catholic named Guy Fawkes had placed gunpowder kegs beneath Parliament and planned to blow up every member of that body in an attempt to restore Catholic rule to England.  He was caught in the act, tried and executed for treason.  This gave rise to a popular rhyme:

Remember, remember

The 5^th of November

Gunpowder, treason & plot

I see no reason why the gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot

This was also the unofficial celebration of lets bash Catholics day in England.

In American, however, Guy Fawkes and his treason are pretty much forgotten. While I’m frequently exasperated at the average American’s lack of historical knowledge, in this case, I think a bit of national amnesia can be a very good thing.

November 9th: A very big day in Germany

I vividly in remember 1989 — 24 years ago today — when the Berlin wall came down.  I was old enough to remember when the Berlin wall was built. That structure has always impressed me as an essential reminder of the evil nature of the Soviet system.  What kind of society has to be ready to shoot people to keep them from leaving?

A professor of German history once pointed out to me that there have been a number of landmark events in Germany that took place on November 9th: in 1918 Kaiser William abdicated the German throne and German liberal politicians proclaimed a German republic (sadly that didn't work out very well). In 1938 was Kristallnacht, when the Nazi’s organized brutal attacks on Jewish businesses and synagogues throughout Germany.  It was a terrible omen of what was to come. I’m glad I was alive November 9, 1989.  It was an event that gave me hope for the future of mankind.

Smokin’ Joe in Tokyo

Joe Frazier soon established himself as the best amateur heavy weight in Philadelphia.  Since Frazier was under 6’ tall, he couldn’t dance and jab like taller fighters.  He had to bore in and pummel his opponents’ midsections until he saw an opening for a left hook to the jaw.  In 1964 his manager, Yancey Durham commented that, when Frazier threw a combination, it was as if his gloves were smoking and that’s how Frazier got the nickname, Smokin’ Joe.  By early 1964, Joe Frazier had established such a fearsome reputation, that he was invited to participate in the United States Olympic trials where he cut a swath through the opposition and reached the finals.  His opponent in the final match was a man named Buster Mathis, who was about 4 inches taller and 40 pounds heavier than Frazier, and was known by the nickname, the Dancing Bear.  Mathis had heard all about Joe’s reputation for launching devastating body blows and had taken precautions.  Years later, Joe commented with complete disgust, “Mathis had his trunks pulled up to his titties!” (I wouldn't have blamed him if he tried to hold the hem of his trunks between his teeth!).  Early in the fight, Frazier landed a punishing blow to Mathis’s midsection and the referee penalized him a point for hitting below the belt.  Frazier was infuriated and disgusted that he lost the three-round decision and was ready to go back to Philadelphia.  Yancey Durham, however, encouraged him to make the trip to the Tokyo Olympics as an alternate because “you never can tell.”  Once Mathis and Frazier got to Tokyo, they established themselves as the pugilistic equivalent of the grasshopper and the ant.  Mathis developed a reputation for running a minute or two and then saying, “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”  Frazier, on the other hand, ran hard every morning and made himself available to any other fighter who wanted to spar.  Even wearing 16-ounce gloves, nobody ever took him up on the offer twice.

Then fate took a hand. Mathis broke his hands in a training session and Joe Frazier stepped up.

In his first bout, Frazier fought a Nigerian.  Less than midway through the first round, Frazier hit the Nigerian with the left hook and he went down for a 10 count.

In his second bout, he fought an Australian boxer who was several inches taller and about 30 pounds heavier.  In the first round, the Aussie hit Frazier with a very solid right and Frazier hit the deck.

 Unfortunately for the Aussie, he got back up again.  In the second round, he landed a left hook and the Aussie did not beat the count.

In the semi-final bout, his opponent was a Russian.  Again, he was facing a fighter far taller and far heavier than him.  Joe was getting the better of the fight in the third round and landed a great left hook and he felt a sharp pain in his left thumb.  Frazier won the decision and later visited a Japanese doctor (*not* the U.S. Olympic squads physician) and the doctor told him he’d broken his left thumb.  I don’t think anybody could have blamed Joe Frazier if had simply announced that he had a broken thumb and he could have gone home with a silver medal.  Joe Frazier however was made out of very tough stuff.  He wrapped his thumb up and climbed into the ring with a German fighter, again, far taller and far heavier than he.  By this time, that German had heard all about Joe’s awesome left hook.  I've seen clips of that bout.  The German spent a great deal of time moving to his left to avoid Frazier’s hook.  Frazier fought the gold-medal bout one-handed landing some punishing right hands and feinting with his left.  At the end of the bout, Frazier learned that he earned a very narrow 3 to 2 decision and he took his Olympic gold medal home to Philadelphia.  Things were still tough for Joe and his family.  Word got out that he couldn't even afford Christmas for his kids, so Philadelphia fight fans took up a collection for him.  Shortly thereafter, Joe Frazier turned pro and his fortunes and finances were going to take a dramatic turn for the better.

Joe William’s Early Years

Joe William was born in January, 1944, the 13th of 14 children of a black sharecropper living in Buford County, South Carolina.  At the time, Buford County had the highest infant mortality rate of any county in the United States.  Life was tough.  Joe’s younger sister died of rheumatic fever as an infant.  Joe’s family simply didn't have any money to pay a doctor.  The family “farm” was 40 acres of what was called “white dirt” – good only for raising cotton and watermelons.  Just when you think a family couldn't have it any tougher, when Joe was a very small child, his father objected to another man making a pass at his wife, Joe’s mother.  The other man got a shotgun and blew off Joe’s father’s left arm below the elbow.  So when Joe was still very young, he had to help his father plow their land.  The family did manage to keep one large bore hog in a pen near their house and Joe one day just had to tease that hog.  By a bad stroke of luck, somebody had left the pen unlocked, the hog got loose, and mauled Joe badly enough to break his left arm.  Again, Joe’s family was so poor they couldn't afford a doctor, so Joe’s left arm healed on its own.  

Before Joe was even in his teens, his family had to hire him out to other farmers in the area.  Many years later, Joe said he had a great many conversations with a plantation owner that usually went like this:

Joe: “Mornin’ boss”Boss: “Morning Joe, at noon.”Joe: “It’s noon, boss.”Boss: “In an hour, Joe.”And much later in the day Joe would say: “It’s dark, boss.”Boss: “In the morning, Joe”

When Joe was sixteen, he witnessed something he’d never forget.  A younger black kid made a mistake that damaged a white man’s tractor, and that white man took off his belt and gave the young boy a terrible whipping.  Joe commented then, and later in the day, that that was a horrible way to treat another human being.  The next day that white man confronted Joe and demanded to know where the hell he got off using that kind of language, even made a gesture that seemed to indicate he was about to take his belt off. Joe was only sixteen years old and, even as a grown man, he didn't quite reach 6’ tall. However, even at that young age he had a reputation of being someone you did *not* mess with. He stood his ground, looked his overseer in the eye and quietly said, “You best keep your belt on.”  That night when Joe’s mother heard about what had happened, she broke down and cried and then tearfully told Joe, “You’re going to have get on the Dog.” (That was the local term for riding a Greyhound bus to the north).  Joe got on the Dog up to Philadelphia where he managed to get a job in a slaughter house.  Shortly thereafter, he had a pregnant girlfriend who he married (how old fashioned!).  He also found he definitely needed to lose some weight.  If Joe had signed up for aerobics classes, American history would be quite different.  Instead, he went to Yancey Durham’s gym and started working out on punching bags and eventually did some sparring. He was short and chubby and one more experienced fighter enjoyed making Joe look foolish for a few minutes until Joe hit him flush with a left hook.  The apocryphal story is, that guy regained consciousness the same time the paramedics arrived at the gym.  (The apocryphal story relates that when Joe’s first tormentor regained consciousness, he was not getting in the ring with Joe ever again under any circumstances.  The paramedics replied, “We can go now.  This guy’s making sense.”)  Yancey Durham took Joe under his wing and told him he might have a real future as a boxer. Durham told Joe that when he put together a combination of punches, he was smokin’. With apologies to Paul Harvey, the world was going to hear from Joe William … Frazier.