Saturday, February 27, 2010

Just a little bit: The future of computing as foreseen in 1980

This paper was presented to the Club by Robert M. Henderson on Monday evening, March 24, 1980. The portable computing and communications gadget Bob called a "dator," which he predicted for the 1980s, remarkably resembles today's smartphones and netbooks.



Photo: IBM Model 4341 (produced from 1979 to 1986; source: KCG Computer Museum, Japan)



Back in 1946, well within the memory of each of the members of this illustrious group, three scientists from Princeton University published a paper that has had far-reaching effects. The paper was quite innocuously entitled “Preliminary discussions of the logical design of an electric computing instrument.” Their paper contained no new or startling technical information. However, it did very accurately sum up the technical knowledge already available, and presented a well-organized approach to the development of an electrical computing instrument. Many people immediately recognized a large potential for such an instrument, and the race was on to develop computing instruments of various types. And what a race it has been! IBM, Control Data Company, and large other computer manufacturing concerns, as immense as they may be, are only the tip of the iceberg as far as the total impact of computers in our world society.



For openers, let me talk about some order of magnitude concepts. Our most expert and technically competent scientists have concluded that if all of the world’s knowledge from the beginning of time to the year 1950 is considered as one unit, the second unit of knowledge was gained from 1950 to 1975. We are well on our way toward the third unit of knowledge from 1975 to date [1980]. The obvious progression of this tremendous increase in knowledge is well beyond our wildest imaginations. The rate of innovation in both computer design and in technology is so fast that it is impossible to keep up with it. There is no field of endeavor that is not affected and no individuals will escape the far-reaching effect of this technology.



Let’s look at the state of the art as it is today. The military was one of the first users of computers and remains a very large one. Missile guidance, missile launching, aircraft detecting communications, total army control, total logistics are all computer-controlled today. And, with the military, there are many more untold uses than there are published uses of computer control.



The scientific or research field is another large user of computers. Research people have the ability to collect data, evaluate data, and then perform calculations of very sophisticated nature that would be completely impractical if not impossible without computer usage.



The transportation industry has been a big user of computer equipment. We think immediately of airline scheduling, ticketing, and also in the navigational field and in the automatic piloting of aircraft. Bus, rail, truck fleets all are undergoing maximum scrutiny by computer-based techniques to improve scheduling, fuel consumption, and overall improved operation. We need look only as far as our own automobiles to see such things as computer-controlled ignition systems that are used on most of the 1980 model cars. Computerized fuel control for individual vehicles is not far behind.



Agricultural use of computers is gaining wide acceptance. Farm co-ops are advising their members what to plant, when to plant, when to fertilize, when to harvest, and when to market — almost complete control of the agricultural economy. This also includes the raising of beef, sheep, chickens, egg productions and all other types of farm production.



The banking business was an early user of computer equipment. Today their total systems of accounts control, cash control, cash funds transfer and credit card control, are under the management of highly technical computers.



Biological uses include early warning of diseases or disability within embryos. In selective breeding of animals and, I must also add, humans, highly sophisticated computer techniques are being used.



Business functions such as payroll, inventory control, accounts payable, accounts receivable, cash flow control, personnel, production scheduling, purchasing, distribution and word processing all are highly computer-oriented today.



In the communication field, the telephone with its total system, including the land-based and satellite systems, is computer-controlled. Probably the world telephone system per se is the world’s largest computer. Similar computers are used in radio, and television, and also in newspaper publishing where the total system of information gathering down to typesetting and control of the printing presses is becoming computer-controlled.



Computers are playing an increasingly important part in the education of both our children and the adult population. Recent studies showed that on an elementary level, a group of elementary pupils advanced one grade level in reading with approximately 15 hours of a computer program together with an additional seven hours of outside study. Similarly, a jump of one and a half grade levels was made in mathematics with some 20 hours of computer instruction, and 10 hours of outside study. This was accomplished without the use of a teacher — merely the student on a one-to-one basis with the computer plus outside study. The computer system evaluates each student individually, molds the course to the student’s ability, then interacts on a very personal basis with the student. It is only a matter of time before similar systems will be delivering quality education in the home, and in the office, and on the farm.



Another recent innovation in the educational field is the complete programming of various languages so that people can converse with one another through the computer without the use of interpreters. Even difficult languages such as Chinese or Russian are easily accommodated under this new system.



Engineering and architectural design finds many uses for the computer to save time, increase accuracy and to increase the scope of design investigations.



Investment houses obviously have a great use of computers for accounts control, communications, forecasting, and a wide variety of functions.



Insurance businesses, similarly, in addition to the usual account controls, are using computers heavily in their actuarial investigations and rate-setting procedures.



Libraries are becoming more and more automated and computer-oriented.



Medical use of computers is gaining very rapid acceptance. Diagnostic techniques, therapeutic data, all types of medicinal controls and applications are performed through the use of computers.



Many governmental agencies are large users of computer techniques. Pittsfield is being programmed now for complete assessment of all properties, which will greatly assist in the tax evaluation, assessing, and compilation of the tax rate. The IRS has extensive computer capability and more to come. Police departments, fire departments, public health departments, public safety departments — all are using and planning many more uses of computers.



The utilities — gas, electric and water companies — in addition to the business functions they perform with the computer, are also finding ways to better utilize and control their systems.



Another interesting computer technique becoming popular today is in the composing of music. Much of the fundamental music can be programmed into a computer to permit the composer to experiment more widely and rapidly than he could possibly do without the use of the computer.



Industrial companies are becoming more involved with computer techniques. Computers control such things as steel mill, paper mill and textile mill processes, machine tool design, machine tool operation and production scheduling.



One of the very fastest-growing segments of the computer industry is for the home. Today, for somewhere in the neighborhood of $1,000, you can buy a rather sophisticated computer system that will permit a wide variety of programming for personal needs and for fun and games.



The little pocket calculator that I carry with me regularly, selling for around $15, would have sold for around $20,000 25 years ago. The digital watches that many of us wear have about the same price/time relationship, although it obviously would have been physically impossible to make them this small 25 years ago.



The development, within the last five years, of micro-technology has accelerated the total computer efforts. Specifically, the development of large-scale integrated circuits onto a “chip” has had major impact. Chips can be mass-produced for only a few cents each, and each chip is the equivalent of thousands of components. For example, IBM’s Model 4341 has approximately two million memory characteristic capability, or “bytes” as they are called, stored on a chip about 4 square inches in size — more than 16 times the total information contained in Encyclopaedia Britannica’s 30 volumes.



A reference point: the market for semiconductors, or chips, this year [1980] is forecast at $7.7 billion with production sold out for approximately six months. This is for chips only — none of the mainframes, the circuitry or the computers per se, but merely the chips themselves.



Micro-technology has increased the number of components that can be put on a chip by a factor of 100 within the past five years. This rate of progress, if continued for another 10 years, as seems likely, will result in a 10,000-fold increase in the performance for the same cost. At this rate, one will be able to purchase, for approximately $200, a pocket-sized personal computer that is faster and has more memory than the most powerful computer in the world today.



From a technical standpoint, there are three known directions in which progress remains to be made in micro-technology: First, gate density, or the number of switching elements that can be packed into a given volume of space; second, switching speed, or the number of times a switching operation can occur in a given period of time; and third, transmission speed, or the speed at which signals can travel over the lines between the switching elements.



During the past 20 years, gate density alone has increased by four orders of magnitude, or a factor of 10,000. A change of two orders of magnitude, or a factor of 100, has occurred within the last five years, and two more orders of magnitude can be expected during the next five years. Three more orders of magnitude will bring us to the gate density of the human brain. Four more orders of magnitude will then remain before the theoretical limits of quantum electrodynamics are reached.



About one order of magnitude remains for switching speed and another for transmission speed, which are limited by the speed of light. Therefore, there are about 11 orders of magnitude of potential improvement in throughput density before the natural limits are reached. The last two or three orders of magnitude will probably never be available to us, but improvement in throughput density by eight orders of magnitude, most of it during the next 20 years, will have further revolutionary impact.



By 1985, today’s micro-processor will be succeeded by the nano-processor with a throughput density 1,000 times greater. The pico-processor with a throughput density one million times as great will involve circuits on the molecular level, which probably will have to be grown rather than constructed under external control.



If a pico-processor could be implanted in a person’s skull, interfaced with the brain, that person could have more computer power than exists in the world today and all the stored knowledge of humanity would be accessible as any brain cell. Such a thing would fundamentally change human nature, and it is much closer to realization than bionic limbs, organs or senses.



The computer of the 1980s, which is in reality both a computer and a terminal, will probably be called a “dator.” The dator will be a handheld device not too different in appearance from my present pocket calculator. However, through the dator, a person will have tremendous capability to send, receive, store and process data of all kinds in ways that can now only be dreamed about. This includes input and output of voice, video, music, book and newspaper readings. Further, when plugged into networks the dator will permit communication with any other such devices in any number or combination anywhere within the reach of any form of communication. A single such dator will be able to provide interpersonal communications, conduct financial transactions, report the heart condition of the bearer to the nearest medical facility, and offer a wide variety of audio-visual entertainment. Further, the possessor of the dator will have complete access to all types of engineering design data, records, and, as a matter of fact, would be able to completely locate, almost instantly, any subject in the Library of Congress.



So the great computer technology continues to roll forward. All of us, within the foreseeable future, will have access to unprecedented knowledge capability. Can we and will be put this knowledge capability to good use?



Will there be ultimately that great master computer of infinite capacity and speed? Or, more important, should there be?



Are we losing, or are we about to lose, “the physical and mental control of our society “ (as stated by MIT computer scientist Joseph Weizenbaum in a recent address to the World Council of Churches)?



Gentlemen, I leave it to you.
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Monday, February 22, 2010

The Club's 140th anniversary: A group photo and the invocation

The Club's members on the stairs of the Thaddeus Clapp House in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, during the celebration of the Club's 140th anniversary on Monday evening, November 9, 2009. Thaddeus Clapp, Jr. was a member of the Club from 1870 until his death in 1890. During that period the Club had a number of meetings in the house, which is currently operated as a bed-and-breakfast. [Click photo for large version.]



The following invocation was delivered by Rev. Dr. Richard L. Floyd at the 140th anniversary celebration:



O God and father of us all,

Whom the heavens adore;

Let the whole earth also worship you,

All nations obey you,

All tongues praise and bless you,

And men and women everywhere love you,

and serve you in peace.



Tonight we thank you for the Monday Evening Club;

For its rich and fascinating history,

and for the warm bonds of friendship it has fostered

From generation to generation

For the past 140 years.



We ask your blessing on our gathering and celebration tonight,

That here we may rekindle and enjoy our friendships,

Make new ones, and enjoy the pleasures of the table,

And the good things that you have provided for us,

Aware that we who have much still live in a world

Where many of our neighbors, near and far, have little.



We thank you for this meal we are about to partake,

And for those that have prepared it for our enjoyment.

Bless it to our use and us to your service, we pray.

Amen.
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120 years of Mondays: A reflection on the Club's place in today's world

This column by Richard Nunley (a Club member emeritus who now lives in Portland, Oregon) was published in The Berkshire Eagle (Pittsfield, Massachusetts) on November 29, 1989.



The Monday Evening Club commemorated the 120th anniversary of its organizing at the house of Mr. Thomas F. Plunkett in Pittsfield on November 11, 1989, with a dinner at the Lenox Club the evening before last.



What, you may ask, is the Monday Evening Club?



It is one tiny thread in the complex weave of associations that make up the fabric of the life of an area. Possibly an anachronism, it and other clubs like it are a survival from a time that was geared differently, that had a perhaps firmer faith in the possibility of harmless uplift and disinterested fellowship than obtains generally today.



"What I like about the Club," Robert G. Newman, retired director of the Berkshire Athenaeum and a Club member since 1946. was quoted as saying on the occasion of the club's centenary, "is that it doesn't do any good."



The Club gets together about six times a year now for dinner and conversation.  Members take it in turns to act as host, either at home or at some comfortable inn or club that serves good food and offers space for pre- and post-prandial talk.



They also take it in turns to prepare a paper, one per meeting, which, after being read aloud, is commented on by the other members. The evening's host calls on his guests in unannounced order.  The prevents after dinner dozing off, or at least ups the hazards of doing so.



It is, so far, a men-only club.  Since, as Newman observed, it doesn't do any good, and is as close to being invisible as makes no difference.



Members from time to time discuss whether remaining a men-only club isn't a little silly in this day and age, but, like most other discussions of the club, nothing has come of it.



And it must be admitted, albeit sotto voce, that males do say more when women aren't around. Whether it is due to residual chivalry that yields the floor to a lady, or to the male's slowness in getting off the conversational mark, the fact is that when men and women meet for conversation, generally speaking, 90 percent of the conversation is conducted by the women, or else the party splits in two, the women saying interesting things to each other in the kitchen, the men hunched over the TV in the den.



Nor are most men these days afforded many opportunities to study up on some subject unrelated to their daily work and compose their conclusions in an essay.  This the club does, and members find this intellectual adventuring fun; it enlarges life.



Topics tend to be historical (in a wide sense), literary or geographical.  Last year members heard talks on Oxford, the distribution of wealth, "news management" by earlier presidencies and the history of the concept of zoning.



On Nov. 18, 1929, in the gloom of the crash, the prepared talk was suspended. "The Club spent the evening discussing its future.  It was voted to elect new members and continue the Club."



In 1932, the club heard talks on "Economic Depression," "Social Security," "Some Current Misconceptions of the Utilities," and "Are We Really To Blame?"



By the end of the decade, members were discussing "Our Most Vital Problem — World Peace," " The Labor Movement," "Dilemma of a Conservative," "Is Pacifism the Answer?"



The Club's minute books reflect history in other ways, too, especially in the directions to special summer meetings.



In 1895 the club boarded the 8:10 from Pittsfield to attend the presentation of a drinking fountain to the town of Great Barrington. ("Colonel Brown will arrange to have carriages meet the train.") In 1915 they journeyed to Perry's Peak and Morning Face in Richmond. ("Members having automobiles please invite those without to ride with them.") In 1900 they allowed two hours to travel from the post office in Pittsfield to Columbia Hall in Lebanon Springs "via the new state road." In 1894 those attending the Bryant centennial in Cummington were advised to carry a pail to water the horses, and to take oats, "as the farmers have only new hay."



In March 1924, "Mr. [William L.] Adam reported that the maid at his house had fallen downstairs and broken her arm and therefore he asked the Club to vote not to hold another meeting this season. So voted."



In the club's six-score year history, 178 men have been members.  At present about 15 are active members; none of them has a maid at his house.



But in the tradition of Franklin's Junto and 19th-century Boston's Saturday Club, they still find something worthwhile in hearing together considered thoughts on well-informed topics, in the good cheer of lively conversation, and, of course, in dining well.



In their 121st year, as they have done so many times before, they will no doubt "vote to elect new members and continue the club."
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Friday, February 5, 2010

Old Stuff: Bob Newman's 1992 recollections of 46 years of Club membership



Presented to the Club by Robert G. Newman, Monday evening, April 13, 1992





It is a habit of the elder, when they have an opportunity, to summon up remembrance of things past in pretty heavy doses. Over-burdened with ballast after long voyages, an ancient mariner finds it comfortable to transfer some of his excess cargo to such bearers as chance to pass by.  His suffering associates learn there is no effective way, except perhaps by shouting "fire" in a crowded hall, to stay the flow of antique memories. Such a predicament is that in which you find yourselves as I reminisce on 46 years in this unique organization that we call the Monday Evening Club. I recognize that some present are very familiar with events I recall that are also part of their recollections. For this I beg indulgence.  Maybe they can correct my errors.



First, how I got there, by a flexible interpretation of the hallowed Rules of the Monday Evening Club. In disregard of the apparent intent of Rule 10, I was never among the gentlemen invited to attend a session by the member who is host for the evening. (Perhaps I shouldn't even be here.) At any rate, without prior warning or looking over, I was visited one day in 1946 by two dignified citizens functioning as a committee. James Rosenthal, attorney and [Berkshire] Athenaeum trustee, and Elmer Brigham, principal of Pomeroy School, had known me ever since I was a small boy.  They recited the history and procedures of the Club, concluding by inviting me to join. Although not sure I wanted to sign on for what looked like a long course of solemn-sounding evenings, I decided the correct response for a new librarian was "I do." Thus began my Monday Evening Club experiences.



I suppose that some time before the visitation by James and Elmer, who were probably executive committeemen, I had survived the esoteric ceremony of (here I quote) "balls and cubes" as set forth in Rule 2. This matter of the secret ballot as observed in successive forms has always fascinated me. Its phases have been as follows:



Phase 1. The Chairman of the evening announced: "Voting on Mr. So-and-So. Balls elect, cubes reject." Elmer, the perennial secretary, then produced a neatly fashioned mahogany-stained box made by him, about a foot in length, with a small lidded chamber at one end and a longer lidded chamber at the opposite end. This receptacle he gravely bore around the circle of attentive members, pausing box in hand before each man. The voters extracted a die (singular of dice) or a marble from a supply in the large chamber and slipped it into a hole in the small chamber. When all had exercised their franchise, the first man to vote opened the tally end and proclaimed either "all clear" of, in the case of one or more negatives, the number thereof. If all was clear or there was only a single cube, the candidate was in. If there were two or more cubes, he wasn't. After six months, another try could be made by his sponsor.



Phase 2. The marbles/cubes having disappeared, white and black poker chips replaced them.



Phase 3.  Having mislaid the poker  chips, we began using slips of paper for ballots, awarding membership, in the case of multiple candidates, to those amassing the higher or lowest number of points, depending on the scoring method.



Phase 4.  What next?  Our resourcefulness over the years gives confidence that we shall contend successfully with any new electoral problems that may arise.



One of the most intriguing provisions in the regulations is set forth by Rule 10, reading as follows:  "Five gentlemen, not members, may be invited to attend any session, by the member who is host for the evening." While a guest appears at our revels from time to time, never I think have a I seen five at once, nor do I expect ever to see them. The more one ponders about it, the more bizarre does this appear.  In olden days, when houses were larger and servants plentiful, even with a membership up to thirty, it was probably possible to squeeze in another five. But the chairs, the table settings, the food preparation! All must have presented complications that hosts and spouses would prefer not to encounter. And I doubt that many meetings were held in place of public accommodations, which might have offered the requisite facilities.



Musing on the implications of Rule 10, a ghostly vision, as in a recurrent dream, sometimes haunts my mind. It is a snowy, blowing, freezing Pittsfield twilight.  Shadowy figures converge on a stately home not far from Park Square. A couple of fellows, well-bundled again the cold, have walked up together from South Street and East Housatonic. Driving a spanking new pung (a sleigh with a boxlike body on runners) over snow-packed roads, a youngish chap arrives from the new lots around Jubilee Hill. Soon comes a stout man in a buggy, and finally another from his Pomeroy Avenue residence. Stomping their feet and blowing on near-frozen fingers, they approach a door. One nervously raises the brass knocker which falls with a startling report in the chill air. A starchy maid answers. A voice calls from the huddled group: "We are five gentlemen, not members." "Please wait here," stammers the flustered door-woman, evidently not briefed on how many to expect. Then in a moment appears the genial host, with a hearty "Come in, gentlemen. You're very welcome. The boy will take the horses. Come in, come in. We're waiting supper."



Here my dream fades. I'll never know whether a good time was had, whether the five were eventually elected and lived happily ever after or (horrors!) only a few of the called were chosen, a dangerous consequence of inviting five gentlemen at the same time.



Oh well. Best not to dwell on it. Better to remember them as figments of my imagination, insubstantial as the Two Gentlemen of Verona, the Three Musketeers, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse or Ten Lords a-Leaping. Such stuff as dreams are made on.



Forty-six years. That's a long time being a member. Having attended 460 meetings (at an average of ten a year), I must have consumed 460 good dinners, polished off a few cases of spirits, and heard some 460 papers, an estimated total of 230 hours, or over nine days of listening. The papers (I wrote 23 of them), by and large, covered much the same variety of subjects, but in the matter of titles there is definitely a change.



At first, if a man authored a paper on the geology of Berkshire County, he would probably entitle it "The Geology of Berkshire County" and let it go at that. Such a forthright practice must have sent the members scurrying to whatever works of reference they could find containing information on the subject, in order to prepare themselves for discussion. So gradually the expedient developed of using opaque instead of transparent titles, today's normal method. Thus "The Geology of Berkshire County" transmuted into "Rocks in My Head" or some such cryptic label to discourage last-minute cramming.



But like so many best-laid plans, it led to a new difficulty. This was the technique of ramblification or shooting beside the mark, whereby a member innocent of knowledge on the topic grasps at some straw suggested by the paper and speaks at length on a subject extraneous to the business at hand. Some there have been who became so adept that they could be nudged awake, when their names were called, to deliver a neatly expressed commentary based only on a covert glance at the meeting notices announcing the reader's title. One long-time colleague, by all odds the most expert at this stratagem, would even discourse at length on the literary style of the reader, with no intention of the topic or title whatsoever. This practice was not attempted by any but (the most) gifted orators.



Footnote: Let's not be too hard on ramblification. There's at least a little of the rambler in all of us, and tangential commentary can be live-saving in emergency.



As we all know, conceiving, composing and reading papers is only part of our obligation. Like the hounds of spring on winter's traces comes the following year and the ritual of hosting one's fellows. Here conferences with spouses or restaurateurs on the myriad details of accommodation, food and drink engage energies for days in advance. There is one decision, however, formerly not to be omitted, that is required no longer. The selection of a suitable brand of cigars needed careful consideration in the era of the smoke-filled room. At least we had a wise counselor in the person of Harry Rich, the ever-obliging proprietor of the Berkshire News at 15 North Street. In addition to suggesting the right label, Harry lightened the investment by allowing a host to carry an entire cigar box to the meeting, in the capacity of custodian, being charged only for cheroots actually burned and returning those unconsumed. In addition, several packs of cigarettes were purchased to be strewn about the dinner table. Also a few of the brethren were pipe smokers. The haze through which we glimpsed each other grew blue indeed toward the close of the evening.



Although the weed is absent in our current health-conscious gatherings, the beneficent stimulation of alcohol flourishes. Probably this was a welcome part of Monday sessions from early times, though perhaps represented by wines at dinner more generally than stronger waters at a happy hour. Be that as it may, there was a long dry spell, at least during the first days of my membership.  The presence of several estimable persons, who happened to be teetotalers, put a crimp in what is normally an accompaniment of gentlemanly social assembly.



Perhaps there is a connection between this drought and the solemn rite of glasses which came into vogue during the time of austerity I witnessed from 1946 to the mid-50s, when it vanished without formal notice. The ceremony to which I refer happened thus between the reading of the paper and discussion thereof, the host or waitress would appear from the pantry bearing either a very large tray, or two of average size, on which were arranged a number of glasses corresponding to the number of diners, and one or more pitchers. The pitchers, it hurts me to say, contained tap water, sometimes iced. Gravely, without pipes and timbrels and surely with no wide ecstasy, the bearers of Pittsfield aqua pura set their burden down.  Those members who desired to partake, wet their whistles, I suppose, to lubricate vocal cords for the ensuing discussion. The water was generally drunk in reflective silence. The scene would have delighted Carrie Nation.



But things are not always what they seem. One evening at the venerable Crane Inn in Dalton, I arrived a bit early and decided to make a quick visit to the bar, located in the basement. What was my consternation to find snugly ensconced at the place of refreshment a half dozen Monday Evening Club cronies enjoying a preprandial snifter. "Sit down and have a drink," said they. "I will," said I. Thus, one by one, a young man's illusions perish as he descends the primrose path.



Nostalgia Department:  The Crane Inn, built in 1889 and known originally as the Irving House, occupied the present Main Street location of the Aggie Bank's Dalton Branch. [The First Agricultural National Bank was based in Pittsfield.] It was a convenient spot for meetings not held at home, with a comfortable lounge suitable for reading and dissecting papers following dinner. Dubbed the Eagle Room, when opened in 1953, this salon was named to match its decor. Eagles to the right of you, eagles to the left of you, the birds of prey were everywhere, welded to andirons, woven into carpets, printed on draperies, portrayed in pictures, carved on chair backs — a veritable ............. [sic] of the magnificent wild fowl that are now an endangered species. Habitues of the Eagle Room mourned its loss when the old hostelry was razed in 1966, following a major fire.



When not entertained in the family warmth of members' homes, I recall that we dined, imbibed, read papers and talked in at least a dozen other establishments. Those, in addition to the Crane Inn, have been the former Wendell Hotel and its successors, the Berkshire Restaurant, the Stanley Club, the White Tree Inn, the Yellow Aster, the Red Lion Inn across from Norman Rockwell's studio, the Lenox House, the Lenox Club, the Springs, Blantyre, the Federal House and The Berkshire Hilton. I've probably forgotten others. Had there been one named The World Turned Upside Down, I'm sure we would have tried it.



Meeting and dining together tends to develop a nearly family intimacy that is diminished when a member dies. It used to be that as many of the Club as possible attended the funeral in a group rather than as individuals. This good old custom, no longer always observed, spontaneously reappeared at the service for Norman Rockwell on November 11, 1978. Through the kind offices of Harold Salzmann, himself unable to be present because of an accident, Molly Rockwell's desire for old friends as pall-bearers was fulfilled by the Club. The Berkshire Eagle reported that the "active bearers, besides Jarvis Rockwell (one of Norman's sons) were all member so the old and enduring Monday Evening Club of Berkshire County, of which Rockwell had been a member." For the record, Harold rounded up [Robert D.] Bardwell, [George W.] Low, [Thomas F.] Plunkett [Jr.], [Robert M.] Henderson and [Robert G.] Newman for active duty.  Honorary bearers were [William A.] Selke (who, as I recall, gave up his post so that Jarvis might serve), [Rev. Arthur L.] Teikmanis and [Stuart C.] Henry. That evening we could see ourselves on nationwide television, all but Norman.



The tribute was appropriate because he (Norman R.) had truly delighted in the Club's fellowship.  From his induction in 1957 he rarely missed a session. With advancing years, his friends and fellow members, Doug MacGregor and Bill Selke of Stockbridge, made it possible for Norman to continue by driving him to meetings, maintaining his admirable attendance record.



The funeral, beginning at St. Paul's Church in Stockbridge, was vintage Rockwell Americana, complete with an honor guard of Cub and Boy Scouts (uneasily quiet), Berkshire County Deputy Sheriffs, State Troopers and Stockbridge Police. At the cemetery there were ticklish moments while hoisting the casket above a hedge planted years earlier and grown to an unexpected height. And for the perfect final touch, a well-mannered horse from a neighboring pasture ambled up and respectfully gazed over the fence to watch.



The funeral was memorable, but I think all of us who knew Norman remember best our gatherings at his home. He was a fine host. None who enjoyed his hospitality will forget him, genially presiding at a dinner table laden with hearty fare transported in steamers from the Red Lion across the road, then welcoming us to his memento-packed studio to hear the paper of the evening.



When one looks back on a segment of the history of an organization, questions usually asked are how did it differ from today? And what do you imagine will be its future?



My feeling about the Club in its 122nd year is that it has basically changed little since its creation in 1869. Certainly it remains essentially the same as in 1946, the starting point of the 46 year span about which this paper speaks. Officially established as "a club for the discussion of literary, scientific and other subjects of general interest," humanized as we know by good fellowship, the description is still broadly accurate. There have been minor changes of emphasis as the world turns, but as Dick Nunley comments in a column for November 29, 1989 "...in the tradition of Franklin's Junto and 19th Century Boston's Saturday Club, they still find something worthwhile in hearing together considered thought on well-informed topics, in good cheer of lively conversation and, of course, dining well."



It is rather remarkable that for all these years successive groups of a dozen to thirty men could be found able and willing to entertain each other by writing papers that in most cases would be heard only once (of course an exception is legitimate recycling by people who are professionally obliged to give a talk, lecture or sermon or write an article or thesis that could sprout from a carefully preserved Monday Evening paper). But for most of us, our discourse is "a flower (with apologies to Thomas Gray wandering in his country churchyard) "born to blush unseen, and waste its sweetness on the desert air." Our occasional pieces are no royal fireworks to sparkle long after the occasion is over. Yet that detracts not at all from the enjoyment. I believe we have remained true to our origin and have a solid understanding on which to continue. That patron of clubs in our tradition, the one and only Dr. Samuel Johnson, gave the definition that fits us well:  "Club — An assembly of good fellows, meeting under certain conditions." We cherish the conditions. So may it be.



Photo of Norman Rockwell's studio by yourFAVORITEmartian, used under Creative Commons License
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