Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts

Sunday, July 15, 2012

The Search for Ogden Nash’s Birthplace

While it’s true that Ogden Nash was born in Rye, NY, proof of exactly where in Rye has long been lost.  Enter mystery novelist Alan Beechey.  When Alan moved to Rye nearly a decade ago, he was pleased to learn that the poet was born there in 1902.  However, he was soon in equal measure dismayed when he learned that there was nothing whatsoever within the Manhattan suburb honoring Nash.  Not a tree to the man who so beautifully satirized Joyce Kilmer’s ’Trees’ in ‘Song of the Open Road.’  Not a dog run to the canophile who wrote dozens of adoring verses about man’s best friend.  Not a playground to the grandfather who penned ‘Reflections on Babies’ and whose animal verses have delighted children worldwide for generations.  Nary a street sign to the wry wit whose first home was in Rye, NY and his last in Rye Beach, NH.

So Alan set his sights on finding where in town the great versifier was born as a proper place for a Nash memoriam.  That’s where the road becomes full of twists and turns that Beechey’s craft had well trained him for.  The poor handwriting and casual errors of census takers and registrars of births and deeds have foiled many a family roots hunter.  Undeterred by such obstacles over a two year period, Beechey, with the support of the Rye Historical Society, has assembled a plausible case for the exact places of Nash’s birth and childhood that forged his humorous literary symmetry.  One of these places receives over a million passersby each week.

In its day Ramaqua, the estate of Ogden Nash’s father, was an Italianate showplace, designed in 1854 by the English architect Gervase Wheeler. In his book, "Homes for the People in Suburb and Country," Wheeler writes "The reader who may chance to have occasion to travel to or from New York by the New Haven railroad may at any time see this villa-mansion from such a point, as it stands upon an eminence that suddenly starts into view just after the train has passed the depot at Rye.”   Records indicate that the Nash’s lived at Ramaqua shortly after the turn of the century.




Patriarch Edmund Nash was a turpentine baron whose business thrived with the US Navy’s need for varnishing their wooden hulled war ships – a franchise which eventually soured with the ascent of ships being launched with hulls of steel.  In fact, had Ogden not been forced to leave Harvard because of the collapse of his father’s company, the delightfully roguish punster may have had the rhyme-ish adventurer formerly schooled out of him.  As it was he returned to teach at St. George’s on Aquidneck Island where he had spent his prep days.  From that springboard he learned how to live by his wit and his pencil, including supporting a family, for the rest of his life.

Ramaqua survived until the 1950’s until it succumbed to what is now America’s legendary Route 95.  Part of the promontory upon which Ramaqua rested is this rocky outcrop in the highway divider. 



Ogden was not born at Ramaqua.  The mystery of where Matilde Nash gave birth to her first son might have been lost to history forever had Alan not asked Linell, Ogden’s daughter, a couple of years ago.  Linell recalled her father’s cousin telling her that ‘Aunt Mattie’ went to the ‘Hicks place’ when her stork was due to arrive. With this anecdote in hand, Beechey found a corroborating entry in the August 1902 "Port Chester Journal" that "A baby boy was born to Mr. and Mrs. E. S. Nash, of the Hicks place.  Unfortunately neither the town’s birth records nor the Episcopal churches baptism record details an address.
Alan located a sizeable estate on a 1900 map owned by ‘Hicks’. This was the home of Colonel William Hix, Thomas Edison's electrical contractor - the spelling was corrected on a subsequent map.  One can imagine Nash and Hix, leading industrialists whose estates were both in Rye, being acquainted in social circles.  What was the Hix estate and most likely Ogden Nash’s place of first breath in this world, is now a gaggle of more modern homes along Hix Avenue.

If you want to see what’s left of Nash’s boyhood home, you’ll have to try to safely glance over where 287 meets 95 and give it a nod.  If you want to visit the likely birthplace of the 20th century’s most popular poet, you can amble along the Hix Road that displaced the Hix mansion.  Perhaps it was these two historical treasures being bulldozed that inspired Nash to quip in 1959: ”Progress might have been all right once, but it has gone on too long.”

In the course of his real life quest, Beechey has no doubt had to channel the hero of his first two novels, Oliver Swithin, a children's book author and amateur detective with a circle of peculiar friends. ( I suppose I’m one of the latter.) You can follow Beechey’s writing and his quest to correct Rye’s Nashional deficit at http://alanbeechey.blogspot.com/

I had the pleasure of meeting Alan at the wonderful Nashional Treasure event he organized at the Rye Arts Center last fall.   A standing room only crowd was delighted by speakers and special guests including Linell Nash, Ogden's daughter and Francis Smith, Nash's grandaughter. The event was written up in the Rye Record and the Sound Shore Review .

As the 110th anniversary of Nash’s birth approaches on August 19th, it would be both comforting and poetic justice to hear that a memorial will someday be established for Nash in Rye.



Sunday, September 19, 2010

Celebrating With a Few Good Words

Where does a poet go when they die? Do they write new verses in the clouds? Or do they just enjoy watching their old ones take flight?

For the last 39 years Ogden Nash has probably been doing both. On his birthday many took the time to remind Mr. Nash that they adore him. Introducing others to his poetic magic, some artistic souls celebrated the comedy, otherwise known as life, that was Nash's passion:

The Smithsonian Institute's National Portrait Gallery blog shared a portrait of the poet and a review of his work by Warren Perry. If your looking for a more expansive review check out Erin Overby in the New Yorker.

Greenwich Village's Cornelia Street Cafe staged a collaborative musical performance featuring several local artists. The Manhattan neighborhood was no doubt well known to Nash as the New Yorker's original offices were not far.

The venerable North Hampton NH library created an exhibit for their long time summer resident. Several residents stopped in to see Nash family photos and recalled the wonderful parties at the Nash house.

The Baltimore edition of Reading Local gave tribute to their home town poet with a snippet of his summer verse:

From “Pretty Halcyon Days”:

How pleasant to sit on the beach,
On the beach, on the sand, in the sun,
With ocean galore within reach,
And nothing at all to be done!

Ira Tucker remembered Nash's birthday by taking a picture of a North Carolina water lily and captioning it " He without benefit of scruples....His fun and money soon quadruples."

Chicago mystery writer Julia Buckley is especially fond of the 1940 poem "Don't Guess, Let Me Tell You" where Nash satirizes the crime novelists of the "Had I but Known School." She also notes "Nash was always playful, but sometimes in a pessimistic way; he started his poem "A Bas Ben Adhem" with

"My fellow man I do not care for.
I often ask me, What's he there for?"

Robert Merkin traveled from MA to Ontario to see "A Touch of Venus" at the Shaw Festival. The show runs through October 10th. He shared these thoughts which seem to illustrate that Nash knew much about romance in the human race he continually lampooned:

"It's a dirty, off-color, naughty little show -- Perelman wrote Marx Brothers' movies, and Broadway had no Hayes Office to censor or restrain him -- just one jalapeƱo after another, a string of cheap Macau firecrackers. The mechanics and equipment of actual human reproduction are often clearly referred to in Nash's lyrics and the dialogue. (The barber Venus falls in love with has a Murphy bed, and as it magically descends to the floor, she enthusiastically approves.)

I can't describe the thrill of hearing "Speak Low" sung and harmonized, Venus and Brooklyn barber, in its intended setting and Weill's original orchestration. The orchestra gave it a driving bass vamp -- a bit of a tango beat -- which subsequent jazz covers ignore, but it works on the
Broadway stage circa 1943.

The whole thing is a French farce, with the wrong people ducking in and out of windows and closet doors and hiding under the Murphy bed -- well, it has the manic panic of a Marx Brothers movie, a pretty funny one at that. Much of its look and flavor and feel is from the same factory that cranked out "Guys and Dolls." The dances were by Agnes DeMille, straight from "Oklahoma!" -- so it's punctuated with Dream Dances to advance and illuminate the real-life narrative.

As you'd expect from re-animating a statue of Venus, the whole show is about Romantic Love, and it's wholeheartedly in favor of it, mess, pain, torment, grief and all.

Poor foolish heart
Crying for one who ignores you
Poor foolish heart
Flying from one who adores you

After the barber impulsively puts his fiancee's engagement ring on the statue's finger, and then rejects the goddess' advances, she laments to the audience

You see here before you
a woman with a mission
I must discover
the key to his ignition
and if he should make
a diplomatic proposition
how could I possibly refuse?
when I'm a stranger here myself

Well, look -- I just had the damnedest time. I've loved these songs for maybe a half-century, and I finally got to see them in their Delivery Room.

Of Nash -- well, you win, it's Genius by a Knockout, his poems are a perfect marriage of fun, jokes, puns, wit, syncopation -- and True Romance. You got to hum Weill's tunes as you leave the theater, and Nash's lyrics just make these exquisite, sometimes ethereal melodies burst into gorgeous, funny, beautiful flowers."

On Nash's birthday lyrics burst into flowers and water lily's became verse.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Ogden Nash on Parent - Kid Relations












In honor of Ogden Nash's 108th birthaversary, here is the non-rhyming, yet very funny introduction to Parents Keep Out. Subtitled 'Elderly Poems for Youngerly Readers. A 49 year old Nash writes how delighted he is to discover that kids can relate to his poems - the ones written about the foibles of the adult world. Nash muses that perhaps the way to bridge the great inter-generational communication divide is for parents to laugh at themselves in front of their children.


FOREWORD


Since parents can't keep out of anything, I resignedly

address these words to them. Many parents will find that

they have read some of the verses in previous books of

mine. I shall not apologize. Anybody who has read previous

books of mine is a trespasser in this one, which has been

compiled for a younger generation. I do not regard it as a

children's book, however; I simply hope it is a book that

anyone born less than fourteen or fifteen years ago may

enjoy. I have written a lot of verses about children, but

they are of no interest to children, as they were written for

parents; on the other hand I have been pleased to discover

that some of the pieces dealing with the aberrations

and anomalies of the adult world have found favor here

and there among the kids. This makes me very proud;

indeed at such times I feel like the cryptographer who has

cracked the code, or the first man to reach the moon,

because, in my experience, full communication between the

generations simply doesn't exist. There is a curtain between

the mind of the child and the mind of the parent

as opaque as any between the mind of the Occidental and

the mind of the Russian or the Chinese. Words may be

interchanged, but they do not mean the same thing to one

as to the other; the language is purely diplomatic - or

undiplomatic - and the final understanding

is about equal to that achieved by diplomats.

Of course it may be that if the kids do

like any of these verses it is for the very reason that

the Kremlin is gratified by any sign of the collapse of

capitalism; watchful young eyes may here perceive indications

of the breakup of the old people's world. Nevertheless,

flushed by a few minor successes among my juniors, I have

risked hastening the revolution by gathering for them from

my past this potpourri of foolish jokes, anecdotes, fables,

and other trivia, embellished with rhymes and conclusions

both true and false. Perhaps for the very reason that this

particular collection is not calculated, dear parents who

have not kept out, to present us as the omniscient and

infallible paragons they think we think we are, it may

persuade our young to treat us more gently when they

take over. God willing, it may even persuade a

disreputable handful that they are as silly as we.

O. N.



Copyright © by Linell Nash Smith and Isabel Nash Eberstadt.

 
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