Let's Not Waste All That Waste

I wrote this piece back in 1987. It’s a light-hearted commentary on the state of American education, linked to the beginning of construction on the English Channel tunnel. Despite the dated reference, its premise remains relevant, and I offer it here for whatever amusement (or satirical value) it might still have. I’ve attached a few bonus thoughts at the end.




HEY, LET’S NOT WASTE ALL THAT WASTE!


It’s not your everyday problem – how to get rid of 25 million cubic feet of chalk marl. But our friends, the French and English, are soon to confront it.

On December 1, they begin digging the long-awaited rail tunnel under the English Channel. By completion, a few years from now, they will have hauled up enough raw chalk to build the Great Pyramid of Egypt three times over.

Meanwhile, we in America have our own problem. We have high school seniors who can’t place World War I in the correct century. We have college freshmen who think Einstein invented the light bulb. For some reason, our kids aren’t learning the basic facts about their past.

Now, it’s clear what the French and English need. They need a process that consumes chalk – lots of it. It’s clear what we Americans need. We need a process that gets kids to remember basic facts. Question: Wasn’t there once a process that taught kids basic facts and consumed chalk?

Right, it was called Education.

As memory serves, it worked this way: Chalk would be shipped into classrooms in small boxes, the chalk shaped into solid, cigarette-like cylinders. These chalk cylinders differed from the felt-tip markers now in use. They didn’t dry out when you held them straight up. And the first one you grabbed worked. You didn’t have to try three or four others first.

Because they were easy to use, teachers would greatly encourage their use. When young Johnny would say, “Einstein? Like, um, didn’t he invent the light bulb?” – teacher would hand Johnny a cylinder of this chalk and send him to the chalkboard, where he would be encouraged to write a thousand times, “Edison invented the light bulb.”

In the process, five or six cylinders of chalk would be worked down to the nub. When the board was covered with scrawl, the teacher would say, “Now, Johnny, who invented the light bulb?” And Johnny would say, “Like, um, Edison?” And the teacher would say, “Good, Johnny, now erase the chalkboard and don’t forget to clap the erasers when you’re done.”

And young Johnny, after erasing the chalkboard, would lean out the classroom window and clap the erasers, sending clouds of chalk dust billowing into the ozone (We are only today finding out that the protective layer of ozone was always, chiefly, chalk dust.)

That’s how it worked. By converting five or six cylinders of chalk into chalk dust, a student would learn that Edison invented the light bulb. Chalk, in a word, was the solid fuel of education.

Now, the French and the English have well-chalked educational systems. They don’t need any more. Fact is, at great expense, they are planning to dispose of all this chalk marl by leveling old construction dumps, and filling in World War II bomb craters on the French coast, and reinforcing sea walls over by Dover.

What a waste of waste!

It’s likely that we Americans could have all that chalk for the asking, simply by providing transport. Think of it – 25 million cubic feet of chalk stoking those dormant furnaces of American education: our classrooms. It boggles the mind. It might even unboggle minds.

So France, England – send us the wretched refuse of your teeming shore (or offshore). We could use it.




Bonus Thoughts:


You wonder how many times the Creator has looked down on the human circus and said, , "You couldn't think this up."


"Know thyself, or at least keep renewing the acquaintance."


"I've concluded, after many years, that my mind works by process of elimination, although, as yet, it hasn't actually eliminated anything."


"What makes child-raising difficult is that each day you have to start with the child you have raised so far."


"You wonder if the nuclear holocaust that destroys one world is the Big Bang that starts the next."


"One thing you find when you consent to being a doormat -- they want you to say WELCOME."


"As a way to get to know new people, try giving a little more attention to the people you know."


"I have this theory: maybe, over millions of years, buried bones get larger by absorbing calcium from the earth's crust. Nah, dinosaurs make more sense."


~ Robert Brault

Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life, etc.

"A river does not beat its head against obstacles. It always goes around -- and it always gets to the sea."


"I decided long ago that if I miss something important in life, it won't be because I hurried past it."


"If I were Opportunity, I wouldn't just knock, you'd have to sign."


"When you have tried all your life to solve a mystery, and never solved it, you might consider the possibility that it is not a mystery."


"World-weary, I look out my window and watch my child find a dozen fascinating detours from the school bus to the front door."


"You have a choice: you can raise kids, or you can live in a home where nothing touches the floor but the furniture."


"My metaphor for loneliness? I'm standing alone on a station platform, having missed the last train to eternity."


"Might as well face it, they can skimp on material faster than you can lose weight."


Ever since seeing "GoodFellas" I have this nightmare where it's Judgment Day and the first words out of God's mouth are, "I amuse you? I make you laugh?"


"Is there a heaven? I don't know, but I know that life ends with something that takes your breath away."


"You don't want to get to the end of life's journey and discover you never left the interstate."


"The universe was born in mystery and will die, I suspect, when the mystery is solved."


"In the end it's all about what you get done while you're wondering if there's any use in doing it."


"Frugality would be an estimable virtue if it were ever voluntary."


It finally happened. I got the GPS lady so confused, she said, "In one-quarter mile, make a legal stop and ask directions."


~ Robert Brault

Twenty Thoughts in Twenty Words or Less

"We picture love as heart-shaped because we do not know the shape of the soul."


"When something seems to be missing in your life, it usually turns out to be someone."


"I am not certain of the hereafter. Frankly, I'm not all that certain of the here."


"We all know some lovable person who will certainly get to heaven -- unless it requires being somewhere on time."


"Usually, wanting the best for someone is as far as you should get involved."


"We don't always get to where we want to go, but we always get to where we're going.


"It is hard to reason with a man who sees his personal self-interest as a branch of logic."


New on the best-seller list, "How to Raise Kids", Seventh Revision.


I always turn to the newspaper "Life Styles" section first, looking for goings-on under "Sedentary."


"In comparing religious belief to science, I try to remember that science is belief also."


"TV consists mostly of good-looking people and cartoon characters, the first interviewing the second."


"Truth has its advocates, but, these days, nonsense seems to have all the martyrs."


"You will not get compromise from those who advocate pure nonsense, for they have a considerable stake in its purity."


"There are many human relationships that would be improved by one more degree of separation."


"It is not just the skeptic who is incapable of faith but they who profess certainty."


"It is not unreasonable to have faith in that which is necessary for your happiness."


"Genius is a plodding intellect, incapable of dreaming up the obstacles that stop the rest of us."


"Ask me to die for what my country might be, but, please, do not ask me to die for what my country once was."


"You can find your answer in God, but it helps to be willing to rephrase the question."


"Inevitably we get bogged down in family responsibilities, our search for life's purpose sidetracked by finding it."

~ Robert Brault

Define Heartache: A Reminiscence

I've just read of a new hotel opening in Manhattan, down on 29th and Broadway. It’s the latest in the fast-expanding Ace Hotel chain. The building itself is not new, having for 100 years been the home of The Breslin, a residential hotel once a favorite stop of boxer Joe Louis and his entourage. I expect the Ace people have done some serious modernization.

As you might expect, there’s a story or two attached to The Breslin’s long history. Here, for the record, is one I know about personally.

**

In the fall of 1963, I came out of the Army and went down to New York City to set the world on its heels.

I had irons in the fire. While in the Army, I had sold a Picturesque Speech item to Dewitt and Lila Wallace at Reader’s Digest and was looking to establish a relationship with the folks up at Pleasantville.

Also, I was writing Chinese philosophy for the men’s cartoon magazines. Those of you who were regular readers of Dolls & Gags will remember Al Fong Spong  (“He who heeds hoot owl heeds he who whoos.”)  I was the latest in a line of Spongs, raising Spong, I thought, to a new level.

And I had noticed an opportunity over at Random House, where they were starting work on a new dictionary. I happened to know the founder and chairman, Bennett Cerf, from his appearances every Sunday night on “What’s My Line,” the TV quiz show. Growing up in the 50’s, I never missed it. I had written Bennett, “You will be needing definitions.”

My idea was to submit a weekly packet of definitions to the dictionary editor, gradually moving through the alphabet. I would do so in the manner of the great Samuel Johnson, providing thoughtful definitions of common words. And I would do so, I wrote, on a speculative basis initially, since I was as yet an unknown writer.

I took a room at The Breslin for $37 a week, including maid service. I had $600 in savings. It was still, then, a clean, respectable hotel. The room was spacious, with a full kitchenette, a queen-sized bed, a visiting area with a sofa, and a large picture window fronting on Broadway. I set up my Olympia portable typewriter on the writing desk in front of the window and commenced my career as a writer in the Big Apple.

I was 24. The day clerk at The Breslin was an attractive thirtyish blonde named Cara, who, I fancied, couldn’t take her eyes off me. There was an old fellow I got to know, always smiling, who would sit all day in a big armchair in the lobby. He was a retired army major, a veteran of WWI. His wife had died a few months earlier, and he had sold his home and come to The Breslin, apparently to sit in the lobby.

“I should like to focus on intangible nouns, such as joy and sorrow,” I had written to Bennett. “I find that dictionaries do not do these well, defining joy as happiness and sorrow as sadness. In fact, joy and sadness are emotional states known only to children, adults knowing no happiness so pure as joy and no sorrow so uncomplicated as sadness.”

I never heard back from Bennett Cerf. But I received a letter from an assistant editor, whom I’ll call Miss X (not her real initial). She told me that Random House was not soliciting definitions. It was a personal letter, not a form rejection, and she said that I had some good ideas and might consider using them in some other context.

I wrote back to Miss X, saying, “Very well, but one last thought. Whatever you do, don’t define heartache as sadness or sorrow, which it is not. And don’t refer to heart and ache separately, which another dictionary does, and which is ridiculous. Please consider what type of person, and in what state of mind, looks up heartache in a dictionary anyway.”

A week or so went by, and it got to be a Friday in late November. I remember the day in every particular. I spent the morning in the reference room of the New York Public Library on 5th Avenue. In early afternoon, I started back to The Breslin, headed down toward Herald Square. As I walked , I noticed that people were crowded around newsstands. I could hear the muffled sound of newsstand radios as I passed. I stopped a man and asked, “What’s going on?” He said, “The President’s been shot.”

Back at The Breslin, a small crowd was gathered around the lobby TV. The major turned as I entered. “He’s dead. They shot him,” he said. His face was drained of color and there was a hurt in his eyes I remember to this day. At the desk, Cara was in tears. She took something from my mail slot and slid it toward me. “There was a woman here this morning. She left you this.”

The note was folded once over and sealed with scotch tape. “Just passing by. Thought we might chat. I will be at Kelly’s Bar on Lexington across from Grand Central at 4. Look for a motherly type in navy-blue. We can talk about heartache.” I pocketed the note and went upstairs to my room. For an hour, I lay on the bed, watching the events unfold on TV. I thought of my life, and my attempts at writing, and suddenly it all seemed so juvenile. Occasionally I’d glance at the note and feel a flush of embarrassment.

Kelly’s Bar at 4 was dark, and there was a makeshift sign “Closed in Respect” taped to the front door. I felt relief as I walked away. That evening, not wanting to be alone, I packed a few things and caught a Greyhound for my parents’ home in Connecticut. I remember the hush that had fallen over the city as I walked the thirteen blocks from The Breslin to the Port Authority Bus Terminal. Even the traffic horns were respectfully silent. On every newsstand, the evening editions blared, “PRESIDENT SHOT DEAD.” On the bus, a guy and a girl laughed out loud about something and were roundly shushed. The rest of the two-hour trip unfolded in silence.

I watched, with the rest of the world, the events of that weekend. By Monday I had decided to give up the New York pipedream and make a serious go at a career. Next day I returned to The Breslin, packed up my typewriter and moved back to Connecticut. Soon afterwards I went to work for Aetna Life & Casualty in Hartford and began a long career as an insurance company systems developer. My writing became an avocation.

I never met Miss X. I have several times popped into Kelly’s Bar, and once I had a long conversation with the barkeep there. I don't believe the word heartache came up. I’ve had heartaches of my own over the years – none, perhaps, beyond the usual in life, but among them, and far from the least of them, I can tell you, is the memory of those few months at The Breslin in the fall of ’63.


~ Robert Brault

Thoughts to Last a Short Month

"Eventually you find a partner in your search for happiness, and after that, there's happiness about everywhere you look."


"It is known that rats will desert a sinking ship, so every once in a while, it's good to pretend you're a sinking ship."


"When you stop to think about it, what would be the purpose of a world consisting of just you and a bunch of people created to get in your way?"


"Sometimes, as practice for trying to convince myself that God exists, I try to convince my shadow that the sun exists."


"Fact is, you can prove by DNA that you're innocent of the crimes you actually commited. It's called blaming your parents."


"There are exactly as many special occasions in life as we choose to celebrate."


"To the optimist, every tomorrow is a new day, which makes every tonight New Day's Eve."


"When someone enters your life, you're the host. When you enter someone else's life, you're the guest. You'd almost think there should be an etiquette to observe."


Sometimes I think my life would make a great TV movie. It even has the part where they say, "Stand by. We are experiencing temporary difficulties."


"Of the two antidotes to loneliness, a capacity for solitude is more reliable than a friend."


"There are times when two people need to step apart from one another, but there is no rule that says they have to turn and fire."


"Seeking happiness, I passed many travelers headed in the opposite direction, seeking happiness."


"Thank God everyone is not an optimist. There wouldn't be enough champagne."



February Observations:

Did you know that the Washington Monument was named after Abraham Lincoln? Yup, Lincoln was named in 1809, the Washington Monument wasn't named until 1885.

The Commitee to Lengthen February has suggested borrowing one day from January and one day from March and making them all 30 days, which is silly. You can end January on the 30th, but how can you start March on the 2nd?

February is the birth month of both the tallest and shortest U.S. Presidents, Lincoln who stood 6 feet, 4 inches and William Henry Harrison, who served only one month.



~ Robert Brault