I’m not sure why I react as I do, but when I hear our national anthem and see our Stars and Stripes raised high, I tear up. I always have; I always will.
I think of moments in the past when our flag has particularly moved me. 9/11—the first responders raising a tattered flag over the smoking remains of the Twin Towers, a flag symbolizing “United We Stand.” Or the photo of a sweet little girl poised atop her daddy’s shoulders, looking to the heavens, clutching a tiny flag in her hand. I have seen too many flag-draped caskets cradling the remains of our brave soldiers and first responders who gave their precious lives for our country. And the entire landscape at Arlington National Cemetery is draped with the red, white, and blue of our heroes who fought to protect the sovereignty of our land.
But I add to these the happy times and happy tears.
As retirees in 2000, my husband and I were hired as staff members on a Semester at Sea study-abroad program. We joined 700 college students on a four-month voyage around the world on a beautiful ship, the MV Explorer. As we set sail out of Coal Harbor in Vancouver, families and friends waved our beautiful flag from the shore in Stanley Park, bidding us farewell. I thought four months would pass before we would see Old Glory again. But I was mistaken. American flags greeted us in our first port, Kobe, Japan, as Japanese beauties waved them in welcome. And, reminding us of our influence abroad, our flags graced the entrances of the U.S. embassies we passed by during our sojourn in 13 countries. Then, months later in Havana, Cuba, our final port, I was once again moved to patriotic tears.
Thinking that a sporting event might encourage camaraderie and serve as an icebreaker between our students and theirs, Semester at Sea staff and the athletic director at the University of Havana organized a basketball game pitting our students against the university’s varsity team. When we entered the gymnasium, we found our opponent’s team in full uniform, standing in solemn attention. Suddenly, a Cuban student marched in, proudly waving our Stars and Stripes, our national anthem resounding throughout the stadium. Everyone, Cubans and Americans together, stood in quiet respect. Here I am, in the heart of communist Cuba, moved to tears by our flag and the glorious music of our country.
Years pass, and we have built a beach house adjacent to a naval base in California. Every morning at 8 a.m., our national anthem resounds over their loudspeakers. Our little granddaughter Mia visits often, and we open the patio door and call her over. Since my husband, her “Papa,” is the quintessential flag waver, we tell her that “Papa’s song” is playing, and “when we hear it, we put our hands on our hearts, we stand still, and we listen.” She follows our lead, placing her hand on her chest, standing at attention. When the anthem ends, we all clap and cheer.
Years later, on a shopping trip to our local Costco Warehouse, Mia is seated in the cart, holding the bouquet of white roses we’ve selected. We pass a display of speakers emitting a patriotic tune. It’s not our national anthem, but for her, it’s close enough. She calls out to me. “Nai Nai! Stop!” Transferring the roses to her left hand, she places her right hand on her chest. “Nai Nai! Hand!” she exclaims. “Papa’s song!” So there we stand, in the middle of a crowded aisle, hands over our hearts, as our little girl attempts to sing along to a random song with the few words of her “Papa’s song” that she remembers.
No—it wasn’t quite the same as stealth bombers flying over the Super Bowl following the playing of our national anthem. It wasn’t quite the moment in the gymnasium in Havana, Cuba. It wasn’t quite the moment of seeing Old Glory hoisted up the flagpole and hearing our country’s anthem blasting on the MV Explorer as we pulled into the Port of New Orleans that December of 2000 after our four-month voyage around the world. But it was a precious moment—one not without a tear.
Now that she’s older, my sweet Mia is beginning to understand the real meaning of “Papa’s song.” As American author Henry James said, “I think patriotism is like charity. It begins at home.” I’m confident that throughout her life, whenever Mia sings “the land of the free and the home of the brave,” she will reflect on when, how, and why she learned to stand at attention to honor our flag and our country.
Victor Gillam's 1896 political cartoon, Uncle Sam stands with rifles between the Europeans and Latin Americans. (Public Domain)
Though James Monroe is hardly the most memorable president, his foreign policy doctrine known as the Monroe Doctrine is without question the most lasting. Sean Mirski, in his new book “We May Dominate the World: Ambition, Anxiety, and the Rise of the American Colossus,” discusses just how the Monroe Doctrine was formulated, implemented, altered, and manipulated to transform the Western Hemisphere into a quasi-American protectorate.
The Monroe Doctrine may have been the foundation for America’s diplomatic and, at times, less than diplomatic foreign policy decisions, but as Mr. Mirski makes abundantly clear in his book, there were other foundational principles at play. The law of unintended consequences seems to be the bane of many of America’s diplomatic good intentions. These consequences were the result of America’s limited options, most of which were less than favorable. The author demonstrates how policies throughout various administrations, especially during the post-Civil War and early 20th century era, came to fruition out of sheer necessity. Those necessities arose out of fear and anxiety during a time of growing and fading empires, like the British, French, German, Spanish, and Japanese. Along with those Eastern Hemispheric empires, America found herself establishing her own in the Western Hemisphere by either conquest, happenstance, or the aforementioned necessity.
President James Monroe. (Public Domain)
The Doctrine Tested
At the tail end of 1823, when Monroe addressed Congress in what would be coined the Monroe Doctrine, he advocated for remaining unentangled in European affairs (a reflection of George Washington’s 1796 farewell address), refraining from colonizing, and resisting the temptation to intervene in the affairs of other countries, unless of course the affair was an attempt by a European power to establish a foothold, by either governmental or corporate means, in the Western Hemisphere. These noble aspirations, as with all noble aspirations, are much easier to conceive than uphold.
As colonies throughout Latin America erupted with independence movements, revolving revolutions, and intrastate wars during the 19th and 20th centuries, this doctrine would be tested to the extremes, often resulting in unforeseen, or more appropriately, unintended consequences. In the book we are introduced to great and not-so-great diplomatic thinkers, like William Seward, James Blaine, Richard Olney, Elihu Root, Philander Knox, Robert Lansing, and Sumner Welles; varied foreign policies, like “masterly inactivity,” “reciprocity,” “Dollar Diplomacy,” “moral diplomacy,” and the “Good Neighbor Policy;” and geopolitical altering events like the annexation of Hawaii, the Spanish–American War, the Panama Canal, and World War I.
President Roosevelt and Winston Churchill seated on the quarterdeck of HMS Prubce of Wales during the Atlantic Conference, 10 August 1941. (Public Domain)
One of Mr. Mirski’s successes (among the many in his book) is his argument that America typically made its decisions based on national security interests, and not based on the notion of conquest and empire, or even economics. Indeed, it often came down to the aforementioned fear and anxiety that if America did not annex or intervene, one of the swarming imperial powers would.
A Problem at Every Turn
Readers of this review should not take this as Mr. Mirski writing an apologetic. “We May Dominate the World” is not revisionist history. Rather, it is a correction on much of the propagandistic history that has been issued over the decades by talking-heads rather than researching-brains. Mr. Mirski has, instead, taken the difficult route of demonstrating that foreign policy is a difficult science―far more difficult than we credit it.
While many historians and political scientists choose a singular politician and his or her foreign policy, say a Theodore Roosevelt or a Woodrow Wilson, or a particular motivation, like racism, colonialism, culture, or economics, Mr. Mirski shows that American foreign policy has always been a multi-faceted arrangement of motivating factors, decisions, actions, regrets, and the continued cycle of such an arrangement. The author’s work proves that no matter how powerful a nation is, it cannot control the world; it can only try and fail.
Those failures ironically stemmed from attempts to stabilize newly independent countries or nations laden with incessant and violent revolutions. Unfortunately, these attempts often “created perverse incentives” for further revolutions in order to initiate American military intervention (such as the Platt Amendment with Cuba).
The Logical Result
The failure of American diplomacy in the region seemed to hit a fever pitch deep into the Wilson administration. As Mr. Mirski notes, “By the end of the Wilson administration, the United States had boxed itself into the ultimate catch-22: any leader who cooperated with the United States, lost the domestic legitimacy needed to govern, but without the United States’ support, no leader could hold onto power. In the most extreme cases, the logical result was direct American rule.”
The Atlantic Charter. National Archives and Records Administration. (Public Domain)
The logic behind America’s growing power seemed evident to Roosevelt well before Wilson’s term in office, when he stated during his 1904 State of the Union address that the Monroe Doctrine, if strictly adhered to, would force America into an “international police power.” By the middle of the 20th century, America had taken all of its experience―successful and otherwise―and expanded the regional doctrine internationally.
“After the war the United States scaled up its regional policies and institutions to create the new international order,” Mr. Mirski writes. “It is no coincidence that the Atlantic Charter―FDR and Winston Churchill’s celebrated blueprint for the postwar world―was drafted in large part by Welles, the State Department’s preeminent Latin American expert. Welles also drafted the United Nations Charter, a document that reflects Welles’s Latin American experience through and through.”
Mind Your Own Business
This book proves the difficulty of minding your own business, especially when it appears that doing so will only make matters worse. But as the author points out, more often than not, America did try to mind its own business.
“Officials in Washington had no premeditated plan to reduce the whole region to vassal status,” Mr. Mirski states. “As impressive as the number of American interventions is, the more revealing figure is the far greater number of times that Washington declined its neighbors’ invitations to send troops, annex territory, or establish protectorates. For all its interventionism, Washington proved remarkably reluctant to take advantage of opportunities to extend its regional control.”
This statement will no doubt be the ire of some who believe that there was always a plan for domination and to keep the weaker Latin nations under America’s thumb. Cynicism has long been the order of the day, and any statement, much less a book, contrary to that belief cannot possibly be true. But if truth is actually the pursuit, then Mr. Mirski’s work should be at the very top of the reading list for foreign policy hawks, history buffs, and young people going to college. No doubt the latter will encounter the onslaught of academics who profess to have the market cornered on American foreign policy—but are typically mere subscribers to the aforementioned propagandistic history.
“We May Dominate the World: Ambition, Anxiety, and the Rise of the American Colossus” by Sean A. Mirski. (Public Affairs)
Don’t Oversimplify
Mr. Mirski speaks to this issue of oversimplifying the history of foreign policy. “Observers often see international politics as a clash between good and evil. Sometimes it is,” he writes. “But more often than not, international politics takes place in a gray world under gray skies, where every decision requires trade-offs and difficult choices, where legitimate ends pursued rationally still lead to unsavory destinations, and where tragedy is all but inescapable. Tales pitting good against evil appeal to the human desire for moral certainty, but they are often poor vehicles for understanding the choices nations face.”
“We May Dominate the World” thoroughly demonstrates just how gray that world is and just how inescapable the consequences of good intentions are. As the author notes, this is “the tragedy of great-power politics.”
Mr. Mirski has proven himself to be a researcher and a writer of exceptional talent. My expectations for his future works are now practically limitless. “We May Dominate the World” is an absorbing read and is quite possibly my favorite selection of 2023.
Sean Mirsci, author of “We May Dominate the World: Ambition, Anxiety, and the Rise of the American Colossus.” (Public Affairs)
‘We May Dominate the World: Ambition, Anxiety, and the Rise of the American Colossus’
By Sean A. Mirski
PublicAffairs, June 27, 2023
Hardcover: 512 pages
Sean A. Mirski is a lawyer and U.S. foreign policy scholar who has written extensively on American history, international relations, law, and politics. He graduated from Harvard Law School and holds a master’s degree in international relations from the University of Chicago.
Mark Twain’s Gothic
Revival house—
from the exterior
painted bricks,
exuberant gables,
and tiled roof to the
elaborate interior
decorations—
made a definitive
statement about his
burgeoning literary
career at the time. (Mark Twain House)
The Mark Twain House & Museum resides befittingly in Hartford, Connecticut, in the charming, historic neighborhood of Nook Farm, once a thriving artistic community. The lovingly preserved home of America’s humorist was built in an American Gothic Revival style in 1874 and was lived in by Twain and his family until 1891. The mansion was intended to make a statement about its owner and his burgeoning literary career. Its whimsy, elegance, and extravagance—from exterior painted bricks, exuberant gables, and tiled roof, to the elaborate interior decorations—made a definitive statement in the 19th century. Indeed, the Gilded Age look of Twain’s home, with its layered, maximalist design of furnishings, textiles, and patterns, is once again in vogue.
Mark Twain, born Samuel Clemens (1835–1910), was a man of many talents and many jobs. In his life, he worked as a riverboat pilot, silver prospector, newspaper reporter, adventurer, satirist, lecturer, and author of iconic American books. His years spent in this Hartford home were the happiest and most productive of his life, and he called it “the loveliest home that ever was.” While living here, he wrote his classic novels “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer,” “The Prince and the Pauper,” and “A Connecticut in Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.”
Twain by the riverside, photographed by Benjamin J. Falk, circa late 19th century. (Public domain)
Twain and his wife Olivia commissioned the New York architect Edward Tuckerman Potter, a specialist in ecclesiastical design and High Victorian Gothic style, to build their dream home. Twain was then primarily known for his travel writings and a novel that lampooned high society, yet the 25-room house announced intentionally his entrée into that very society. Measuring 11,500 square feet distributed over three floors, it epitomized a modern home of the time, with central heating, gas lighting fixtures, and hot and cold running water. As the building costs were substantial, with the couple spending between $40,000 and $45,000 on the construction, the interiors were initially kept simple.
The house was used for delightful dinner parties, billiard games, charity events, and the raising of three daughters. In 1881, Twain’s growing international fame and success enabled the couple to renovate the home’s interiors in a grand and artistic manner. They engaged the fashionable design firm Louis C. Tiffany & Co.‚ Associated Artists, known for its globally inspired interiors. Like Twain, Louis C. Tiffany was a creative genius and extensive world traveler, and he explored nearly every artistic and decorative medium. He was highly skilled in designing and overseeing his studios’ production of leaded-glass windows and lighting fixtures—for which he is best known today—as well as mosaics, pottery, enamels, jewelry, metalwork, painting, drawing, and interiors. In the same year that the firm embarked on the Twain house project, it was also hired to redecorate the state rooms of the White House. Interestingly, today, it is the Mark Twain House that is considered the most important existing and publicly accessible example of the design firm’s work.
The billiard room served as Twain’s office and study, where he wrote some of his most famous works, including “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” and “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.” (Mark Twain House)
The couple signed a $5,000 agreement giving Tiffany and his associate designers carte blanche in implementing a decorating scheme. The design work included the walls and ceilings for the newly expanded front hall, the library, the dining room, the drawing room, and the first-floor guest room, along with the second- and third-floor walls and ceilings visible from the front hall.
Louis C. Tiffany & Co.‚ Associated Artists’ cohesive decoration of the first-floor rooms is inspired by evocative motifs from Morocco‚ India‚ Japan‚ China, and Turkey. The entrance hall, carved with ornamental detail when the house was first built, had its wainscoting stenciled in silver with a starburst pattern and its walls and ceiling painted red with black and silver patterns. In the house’s gaslight, the silver paint would have flickered and given the exotic illusion of mother-of-pearl. The drawing room was given a base color of salmon pink, and Indian-inspired bells and paisley swirls were stenciled in silver. Today, one can still view a large pier glass mirror, a wedding gift to the Twains, as well as the family’s tufted furniture.
Decorated by Louis C. Tiffany & Co., Associated Artists, the house has an entrance hall that is kept dim to mimic gas lighting. The iridescent stenciling, accented by wooden moldings, gives the room the feeling of a Persian palace. (Mark Twain House)
The dining room, used by the family for almost all of its meals whether informal or formal, was covered in a deep burgundy and gold-colored wallpaper in a pattern of Japanese style flowers. The paper’s pattern was embossed to give the impression of luxurious tooled leather. Its subject is typical of the work of Candace Wheeler, a partner in Associated Artists renowned for her textile and interior designs. Her honeycomb wallpaper enlivens the home’s best guest suite, known as the Mahogany Room.
The dining room wallpaper features heavily embossed paper, simulating the texture and color of tooled leather. (Mark Twain House)
Green and blue were frequent colors used in libraries at the time, and this house’s library is in a peacock blue. Its mantel, a large oak piece purchased from Scotland’s Ayton Castle, is the focal point of the room. Twain used the space to orate excerpts from his latest works, recite poetry, and tell stories to friends and family. In addition, Twain would entertain his daughters with fanciful tales using the decorative items on the mantelpiece as inspiration.
The family’s private rooms were beautifully decorated, too, and have been restored to their former glory by the museum. The nursery has delightful Walter Crane wallpaper that recounts the nursery rhyme “Ye Frog He Would A-Wooing Go” in words and pictures. Crane was an English artist considered to be one of the most influential children’s book illustrators of his generation; he created decorative arts in his distinctive detailed and colorful style. The bedroom of Twain and his wife was dominated by a large bed with elaborately carved angels that they had purchased in Venice. Twain’s only surviving daughter donated the piece to the museum, where it continues to be displayed. The third-floor billiard room is perhaps the most meaningful to fans of Twain’s writings, for it served as his writing office and study. When editing, he would lay out the pages of his manuscript on the billiard table.
The library, which opens up to a conservatory, was the main attraction for visitors. The statue of Eve was sculpted by Karl Gerhardt, a family friend and protégé of Twain. (Mark Twain House)This Fischer upright piano was given to Mark Twain’s daughters as a Christmas gift in 1880. Known as the school room, this room was the primary space where the three girls were homeschooled from 1880 to 1891. (Mark Twain House)
Financial difficulties resulted in Twain and his family moving to Europe in 1891, and they never again lived in the home or even Hartford. They sold the property in 1903. Tiffany stained glass windows made for the home were sold separately, and their current whereabouts are unknown. The house went through different ownership and was, for a time, a school for boys before being sold to a developer who planned to demolish the house and turn it into an apartment building. A campaign was mounted to save the home, and, eventually, it was purchased by a group devoted to preserving its legacy.
The Mark Twain House & Museum, a National Historic Landmark, is considered one of the best historic house museums. Twain wrote in a letter that “our house was not unsentient matter—it had a heart, and a soul, and eyes to see us with. … We were in its confidence, and lived in its grace and in the peace of its benediction.” Fortunately, the home’s meticulous restoration and vibrant educational programming provides a window into its unique history and an opportunity to admire its timeless beauty.
The drawing room was the place for formal hospitality, where Twain’s daughters performed for guests. (Mark Twain House)Although the Steinway piano and the “Holy Family” painting by Andrea del Sarto were not original to the house, the Clemenses were known to have purchased objects like these on their European trips. (Mark Twain House)
Fun Facts
Mark Twain incorporated autobiographical events in his novels “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” and “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.” The character of Finn, the beloved vagrant sidekick to Sawyer, was modeled off a boy he knew from childhood.
In his autobiography, Twain wrote, “In Huckleberry Finn I have drawn Tom Blankenship exactly as he was. He was ignorant, unwashed, insufficiently fed; but he had as good a heart as ever any boy had. His liberties were totally unrestricted. He was the only really independent person—boy or man—in the community, and by consequence he was tranquilly and continuously happy and envied by the rest of us.”
(From L to R) Adam, Lillian, and Katherine Parker are unexpected ambassadors for a millennia-old Chinese art form. (Samira Bouaou)
A “white Mulan?” That’s weird, they bluntly told her.
Katherine Parker, an award-winning dancer with Shen Yun Performing Arts, the world’s premier classical Chinese dance company, recalled the first time that she portrayed a historical figure in a dance. For a local competition, she wanted to tell the story of Hua Mulan, the courageous heroine of one of ancient China’s best-known legends. Despite her reservations, she decided to press on.
As the legend goes, Mulan disguises herself as a man to go to war in place of her elderly father—thereby saving his life. By imperial decree, one man from every family had to serve.
She fights for 12 years on the frontlines. The dance meant to capture her thrilling moments on the battlefield—but more than that, to tap into an internal struggle. The fast-paced battle music gives way to a slower melody, and the audience gets a glimpse of Mulan’s thoughts.
“Throughout the piece, Mulan is simultaneously waging an inner battle,” Katherine explained. “She longs to return home to her father, but she must remain where she is and fight in a bloody war. The irony of her predicament is that she wishes to take care of her father more than anything, but for his sake, she cannot return to him. I feel this dance highlights Mulan’s filial piety and selflessness.”
Katherine does the “kong hou tui” move, which requires holding the back leg high. (Samira Bouaou)
Katherine knew that capturing that emotional complexity was crucial to the success of her performance.
“I generally tend to hold back, and automatically close myself off a bit when standing in front of an audience. Often, I doubt myself,” she said. “And the moment I hesitate, the performance falls to pieces, because I am no longer in character—I am just being my old self.”
To prepare, she repeatedly listened to the music in her free time.
“I would sit there with my eyes closed and visualize Mulan’s story playing out in my mind, in sync with the music. I would imagine the battlefield, the war cries, and the hoof beats of galloping horses. When the softer, sadder music began, I would focus more on Mulan’s emotions and the heart-wrenching sorrow of being separated from her father.”
The dance was a success: She won gold.
The following year, her growth became apparent on a grander stage. At NTD’s 10th International Classical Chinese Dance Competition in 2023, she portrayed another great Chinese heroine, Lady Wang Zhaojun, who chose to marry the leader of a northern nomadic tribe to prevent war, leaving behind her beloved homeland and family in an act of selfless sacrifice. For her moving performance, Katherine took home a silver medal.
Katherine won a silver medal in the junior division at the International Classical Chinese Dance Competition in 2023 for her dance piece portraying Wang Zhaojun, a historical figure in ancient China who married the leader of a nomadic tribe in order to prevent war from breaking out. (Larry Dye)
On the same stage that year, her older sister, Lillian, and younger brother, Adam, won silver and gold in their respective divisions.
The secret to their triple win? The siblings point to years of honing not only their craft but also their moral character—the true key, they say, to artistic excellence of the highest level and a core tenet of this millennia-old art form.
Based in upstate New York, Shen Yun was established with a mission to revive 5,000 years of true, traditional Chinese culture, a glorious heritage that was nearly destroyed under communist rule. The company’s eight troupes tour internationally each year, and its elite performers hail from around the world—from America, Europe, Asia, and Australia.
It’s a distinctly Chinese art form, but one that has resonated with people from all walks of life. Whether it be a daughter’s devotion to her father or a patriot’s sacrifice for country, the values portrayed are universal; its power to connect transcends boundaries.
“Dance is a language without words,” Lillian said.
Foundations of Family and Faith
A uniquely expressive art form, with roots tracing back to martial arts and Chinese opera and theater, classical Chinese dance has the power to depict an endless spectrum of stories and emotions. The Parker siblings were captivated by it from a young age.
Growing up in multicultural Toronto, Canada, their family made a tradition of seeing Shen Yun when it came to their city each year.
“We would all get dressed up, and we’d be bouncing in our seats, waiting for the show to start, so excited,” Katherine recalled. “When the curtain opens, it’s just magnificent. It blew our tiny little minds.”
Their parents, Andrew and Christine Parker, signed them up for classical Chinese dance classes when Lillian was 6, Katherine 4 1/2, and Adam 3.
“They had an interest in cultural dance, and they just loved it,” Andrew said.
Such early immersion in the arts was part of his and his wife’s vision to “have a traditional lifestyle for the children,” Andrew said.
“We wanted to fill them with as many wholesome and positive things that we could,” he said.
They sought out traditional values from different cultures, finding inspiration in the moral foundations of both Western and Chinese civilization, what “people in the past used to think of as virtuous, or good.”
“Honor, integrity, loyalty, honesty, good old-fashioned hard work, kindness—these were the things that we wanted to pass on to the children. These are what people traditionally refer to as the God-given values, or maybe in Chinese culture, they’d say the divinely bestowed values,” he said. “I believe [these values] are what actually make people feel whole and feel good on the inside, not necessarily the modern values that are promoted nowadays.”
An avid student of the classical art of storytelling, Andrew regaled them with tales, one of Adam’s most vivid childhood memories.
“Some parents might tell their kids stories to entertain them, but whenever [my dad] tells a story, there’s always a moral behind it,” Adam said.
The whole family enjoyed music, so Andrew would often set his story to a tune—such as one of the “Star Wars” soundtracks—describing the action of a scene as it unfolded to the score. (“He watched the movies so many times, he memorized all the scenes,” Lillian explained.)
Looking back, Lillian realized how that helped set an early foundation for her dancing career.
“We’re hearing the storytelling, and the moral of the story, but at the same time, connecting with the emotions in the music … how the music is bringing out the emotion. Now, whenever I listen to music, I’m automatically thinking of dance moves, or a story or a character starts forming,” Lillian said.
Like their parents, the Parker siblings practice the Chinese spiritual discipline of Falun Dafa. Based on the principles of truthfulness, compassion, and tolerance, with an emphasis on refining moral character, the practice fostered a harmonious family life—and set the foundation for a sort of rectitude and grit that would continue to drive the siblings beyond childhood.
“It’s like the root—it shaped us a lot,” Lillian said.
At home, the siblings nurtured rich, creative lives, too. Aside from the occasional family movie night, their parents kept a screen-free house—no TV, no video games. As a result, the kids were naturally drawn to books, the arts, and other creative activities to fill their time.
“I’m grateful to our parents for that,” Katherine reflected. “A lot of kids are in their own box with this technology, and it can really suck you in. Staying separate from that, we could learn.”
They devoured books, from “The Lord of the Rings” and “The Chronicles of Narnia” to Nancy Drew and ”The Hardy Boys.” Lillian, an aspiring novelist, wrote stories of her own. They created their own clubs and crafted mailboxes out of cereal boxes to leave at each other’s doors.
Most memorably, they put on an annual Christmas show for a captive audience of parents, grandparents, and stuffed animals, complete with original dance choreography, music, lighting, costumes, tickets, a security guard (5-year-old Adam), and a rotating emcee. It was influenced, no doubt, by the format of a Shen Yun performance.
So while the Parkers had no expectations for their children to pursue Chinese dance professionally, it hardly came as a surprise when they did. When Lillian was 12, after watching the annual Shen Yun performance, there came an opportunity to audition for Fei Tian Academy of the Arts, which teaches classical Chinese dance, the primary art form of Shen Yun. She decided to try out, especially moved by how Shen Yun uses the art form to tell an important story on stage: the modern-day plight of her fellow Falun Dafa adherents in China amidst the brutal persecution of the faith by the ruling communist regime since 1999. Exposing the persecution is something that “no other performing arts companies are doing,” she said, “and that’s very meaningful. That’s not an opportunity you can find elsewhere.”
The family relocated to New York to support Lilian’s studies, and one by one, Katherine and Adam followed in their sister’s footsteps.
“[Lillian] auditioned at the school and got in, and then [Katherine] did too,” Adam said, so the next step was only natural. “I mean, I had to try out,” he said, smiling. “Everything was preparing me for that moment.”
Dancing in Chinese
Still, they were unprepared for other aspects, such as the rigors of classical dance training—with challenges understanding what their Chinese-speaking dance teachers were saying.
Learning the language was just the beginning; trickier was parsing the hidden layers of meaning beneath the surface, due to cultural differences in communication styles and etiquette.
“Westerners are very direct—what I say, that’s what I mean,” Lillian said. Chinese people, on the other hand, place value on self-restraint and thus “always hold something back.”
The differences spill over into the language of dance. She’s been told by dance teachers that her movements often look “very frank, very ‘Ba-bam! I’m here!’” she said. Classical Chinese dance, however, calls for a sort of restraint, a tension behind each move, a unique feeling built into the principles that underlie and define the art form. A hero character striking a pose facing the audience, for instance, would never hold his shoulders and hips square and stiff, but instead perhaps twist an opposite shoulder and hip toward one another, in a more dynamic stance. Or take the movement of bringing an arm up and over one’s head: Rather than straight and rigid, the movement would be rounded and pulled back at the edges, as if painting a rainbow with a brush, following the art form’s emphasis on roundness.
“Every part of your body [has] that feeling, … to the point where it’s a look in your eyes,” Lillian said. “That’s what draws in an audience.”
They often lean on each other for support: At weekly “Parker Council” meetings, they swap videos of their practice sessions and advice for improvement. They found that they not only think and feel similarly, but also hit similar roadblocks in dance. One sibling could thus help another translate confusing feedback from a teacher, as Katherine put it with a smile, “into Parker language.”
Adam performs one of the many technically difficult flips found in classical Chinese dance. (Samira Bouaou)
Universal Values
A crucial component of their training takes place outside the dance studio, in the classroom: Students at Fei Tian study, among other subjects, Chinese history, its rich repertoire of stories and legends, to understand the values that form the foundation of the culture—and inform every movement of the art form. The Parkers found the same universal virtues they’d grown up with in Western culture—faith, loyalty, integrity, kindness—but embedded at a deeper level.
“China’s had 5,000 years for those values to sink into the Chinese people’s hearts,” Adam said.
To be able to experience and take part in reviving such a rich heritage is “just so precious,” Katherine said. What struck her most was how firmly so many figures in Chinese history held to their moral convictions.
“They’re going to do the thing that they believe is right, no matter what the consequences are. It’s part of who they are, so they will give up everything for it—even their life. And it wasn’t just one or two people, but the society as a whole,” she said.
On stage, they channel these ancient figures—whether a palace maiden, an imperial scholar, or Mulan on the battlefield.
“One of the biggest changes for me as an artist was acquiring the ability to really get into character and feel whatever the character would be feeling,” Adam said. “There’s a saying we use in dance: ‘To move the audience, you have to first move yourself.’”
Imbuing every movement with genuine emotion, “the audience will actually be able to feel it, even if they’re really far away,” he said.
Being able to convey these values to the audience is key to capturing the essence of classical Chinese dance. Beyond the demanding technical skill required, to truly be a great dancer, “you have to be a good person,” Lillian said. “And then, you have to want to express or share those values through dance.”
Training in Chinese dance, like all the classical arts, inherently shapes dancers into better people, she pointed out, building self-discipline and the ability to persevere through physical and mental hardship. Maintaining the right mindset over the long run, always striving to be better without being discouraged, is one of the hardest parts, Lillian said.
A teacher once gave her a piece of advice that stuck with her: “Don’t be afraid of not being good. Just be afraid of not improving.” She resolved to focus on her potential to improve, on how much better she could get every day, “instead of being afraid of making mistakes.” She reminds herself: “Everything that’s hard is the root of something that will be great later—this is something that is going to make me into a better person or a better dancer. You see it as what it actually is—a tool to help you grow, even though it’s hard to go through.”
The siblings have also internalized lessons from the historical characters they’ve studied and portrayed. After they started their dance training, their father noticed profound changes in their character—most notably, that they had all grown more selfless.
“They’ve truly benefited from these traditional values and ancient virtues from Chinese culture,” Andrew said, “and because they’ve benefited from it so much, they truly have a sincere wish to share it with others. I think this is one of the main reasons why they can work so hard. … It requires a very noble spirit and a very pure heart; otherwise, you just can’t endure that much rigorous work.”
Lillian sees their art as having a higher purpose.
“Aristotle believed that one of the reasons people should learn music is to upgrade their moral values. By listening to good music, you’re learning how to enjoy something that is noble and something that is upright, and therefore, you are making yourself a better person,” she said.
Dance, she says, is the same.
“You should be giving out upright energy; the message you’re sending to the audience should be a positive, upright message,” she said.
She hopes audience members leave feeling uplifted and inspired to strive for goodness.
For Katherine, it makes everything worth it in the end.
“You know you’re doing something that’s just very special,” she said. “Not everybody gets the opportunity to be a part of something so remarkable.”
This article was originally published in American Essence, Vol. 4 Issue 1, Jan.-Feb. Edition.
Brothers Lucas (L) and Jesse Browde at home in Upstate New York. (Samira Bouaou for American Essence)
The count was full, the bases loaded. Jesse Browde stepped out of the batter’s box, took a deep breath, and fixed his eyes on center field, like a hunter finding his mark. While his teammates were making a ruckus in the dugout, an eerie quiet fell over the parents on the bleachers. They were nervous—but curious.
Who was this kid?
Jesse had just moved to town the previous week, and since he was an unknown player in his first game with his new team, the Little League coach had slated him last in the lineup. No one knew what to expect.
He stepped into the batter’s box, tapped home plate, and settled his weight on his back foot. The opposing team’s pitcher was a big, strong kid. The late afternoon sun bore down on the side of his face, forcing him to squint in a way that made him look even more menacing. The next pitch came in fast, and a little high. Jesse stepped in, and with a quick pivot of his hips, he swung the bat.
Crack!
The moment the ball hit his bat, he knew it: It was a laser to dead center field and cleared the fence by more than 20 feet. His teammates went bonkers, and the hush that had settled over the parents erupted into cheers.
Jesse rounded third base heading for home plate, where the entire team had gathered for the age-old ritual of helmet tapping and bear-hugging reserved only for home runs and walk-offs.
After that day, it didn’t take long for Jesse to settle into his new team.
Jesse and Lucas grew up with a deep love for baseball, they played for a local Little League team and a travel baseball team. (Courtesy of Levi Browde)
These were happy times for Jesse and his younger brother, Lucas, who also played baseball. Their new school was great. Their baseball coaches were knowledgeable and dedicated. And despite the frequent protests of their Taiwanese mother, who fervently believed in home-cooked meals, their dad would often take them to Shake Shack or Five Guys after games.
Many burgers and fries were eaten.
At the time, Jesse and his brother felt that they were living the American dream. Later, they would come to realize that was only half true.
“As I grew older and learned more about our country’s founding, I came to realize that the American dream is not only about making a great life for oneself and one’s family,” Jesse said. “It’s about helping to build and create things that can be a force for good in the world and shared with others. It’s about giving back.”
For Jesse and Lucas, it wasn’t until years later when they joined the world’s premier classical Chinese dance company—Shen Yun Performing Arts—that they found their calling.
An Unexpected Path
At the Browde home, conversations at the dinner table often delved into American history—a subject the entire family is passionate about. (Samira Bouaou for American Essence)
Their parents, Levi and Vivian Browde, describe their sons’ upbringing as quintessentially American—Little League baseball; Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Fourth of July with family; and discussions about American history around the dinner table. The family pored over biographies of America’s founders, spurred on by the family patriarch—Levi’s father is a professor who specializes in constitutional law.
Dance was never part of the conversation.
That all changed on a trip to New York City, when Jesse and his family saw a performance of Shen Yun Performing Arts at Lincoln Center. Its programs feature classical Chinese dance, a dynamic and expressive art form that’s thousands of years old. What captivated Jesse most, however, was the message of the performance. Drawing upon a wellspring of legends and stories from traditional Chinese culture, Shen Yun performances showcase timeless themes such as loyalty, compassion, resilience, and faith.
“While they take the form of Chinese stories,” Levi said, “these themes are quite universal and not so different from the stories we discuss around the dinner table. The resilience of Washington and his men at Valley Forge, the loyalty of Lafayette, the faith of the pilgrims—these are values that resonate universally.”
For Jesse, the impact was immediate and profound.
“It wasn’t just the choreography or the message that was being conveyed that struck me. It was the passion of the two lead dancers I saw on stage that day,” Jesse said. “I remember very clearly, it was like, ‘That’s what I can do.’”
The future is bright for these two young dancers. (Samira Bouaou for American Essence)
To the surprise of his parents, Jesse sought out an audition at Fei Tian Academy of the Arts, the preparatory school for Shen Yun’s dancers. He had trained in tumbling and some fundamentals in classical Chinese dance for a few years, but the audition was still a long shot.
“I was conflicted,” Levi said.“I appreciated the kid having a dream, but at the same time, it felt like a quarterback from some backwater Division III school trying out for the New England Patriots. … He had a long way to go.”
Jesse’s mother, Vivian, was more specifically skeptical. She believed her son was too bulky from years of baseball and didn’t seem to have the lithe, flexible physique required for classical Chinese dance, and didn’t mince words in telling him so. “I just said I thought he was too old to start professional dance training—and too chubby,” Vivian said, with a laugh.
His parents weren’t the only skeptics. One of Jesse’s dance instructors initially gave him similar feedback, saying he was likely too old and inflexible to ever become an elite dancer.
But Jesse was determined.
“He had that look in his eye,” Levi recalled, “the same one he used to have in the batter’s box when facing a dominant pitcher. Sometimes he wouldn’t even see the pitcher and just focused on the center field fence—where he wanted to go.”
Left: Jesse in the dance “The Immortal Poet” at the 10th NTD International Classical Chinese Dance Competition. Right: Lucas took on the role of the famous Chinese general in “Loyalty of Yue Fei” at the same competition. (Larry Dye)
For the next several months, Jesse painstakingly trained his flexibility, constantly pushing his own limits. Sometimes, he recruited his parents to help him stretch or work on strength conditioning.
“Up until that point, I had never really set my heart on anything in my life before. I never had that drive or passion to push my limits for anything before,” Jesse said.
A little more than a year later, Lucas had his own epiphany while watching Shen Yun. For him, however, it wasn’t due to any one particular dance or story, but rather to the effect the artists created.
“There’s an energy to it, and you feel it when watching the show,” Lucas said. “It doesn’t just entertain people or even just teach about culture; it inspires morality in people and connects them with the divine. If people walk out of the theater with a new sense of virtuousness and faith, I feel this is the greatest gift you can give to people, and I wanted to be a part of that.”
Practice, Practice, Practice
For the next several years, Jesse and Lucas were not only brothers; they were classmates, training partners, and confidants.
“Classical Chinese dance is not easy,” Lucas said. “With the rigorous training, you really have to develop camaraderie with your classmates to help each other through, and you also learn the importance of staying positive.”
“On a typical day, we do three hours [of training] in the morning, a full load of academics, and I’m usually with friends in the training room for another three hours at night,” Jesse said. “And that’s only if there are no extra rehearsals. So, a minimum of six hours a day.”
Left: Jesse (L) and Lucas at a playground in New York City, early 2006. Right: Young Lucas and his grandmother. (Courtesy of Levi Browde)
Despite the rigors of their training, or perhaps because of it, Lucas feels a great satisfaction with his life’s path.
“Sure, at the end of the day, I’m often physically and mentally weary, sometimes literally crawling into bed. But those times are the most fun and give me the best memories and sense of satisfaction,” he said.
And despite the initial skepticism, years of hard work and an affinity for the millennia-old Chinese art form have paid off for both brothers. After winning a gold medal in the junior division of his academy’s dance competition, in 2020, Jesse was invited to join Shen Yun’s annual tour as part of a student practicum. Lucas, who also won gold in the same dance competition, was able to join his brother a year later.
The brothers’ success in such a short time period, however, is not unusual for Shen Yun’s training program. “It normally takes 10 or more years and a grueling schedule for someone to reach a world-class standard, which is why I was initially skeptical about the boys starting when they did,” Vivian said. “But, I have to admit: Shen Yun proved me wrong. They turned my slow, slightly chubby little baseball players into elite dancers. It’s remarkable.”
According to Levi, the success of Shen Yun’s training program is attributable to factors beyond just hard work and dedicated staff. “There’s a special sauce to the Shen Yun recipe that no one else has,” Levi said. “Shen Yun’s artistic director has infused the entire program with a foundation and know-how that had been essentially lost to history.” As an example, Levi points to the twin techniques of “shen dai shou” (the body leads the hands) and “kua dai tui” (the hips lead the legs). Often cited by international dance competition winners as the key ingredient to their success, Levi said these twin techniques have elevated Shen Yun performance art to a whole new level. “No one was even talking about them, let alone able to do them until Shen Yun burst onto the scene,” he added.
“The boys were very fortunate to find an institution that could take their heartfelt aspirations and provide a way to make them reality,” he said. “They are living their dream, and Shen Yun made it possible.”
Today, Jesse and Lucas—now both adults—share the stage together, traveling the world to perform. Yet, as audiences across the globe marvel at the Chinese art form that they exhibit, few may realize that it’s an American enterprise.
An American Company Showcasing Authentic Chinese Culture
Shen Yun Performing Arts was established in New York in 2006 with a mission to revive China’s 5,000 years of traditional culture.
Within a few years, Shen Yun’s shows were routinely sold out wherever they went. Today, the group has eight companies that tour the world simultaneously, performing in more than 200 cities across five continents each season. With groundbreaking innovations in digital stagecraft, the world’s first orchestra to feature both classical Chinese and Western instruments as permanent members, and storylines that draw from the rich tapestry of China’s 5,000-year history, the company quickly raised the bar on what a group of artists could accomplish.
The response from audiences around the world was immediate, and heartwarming.
Lucas says one of the most inspiring things for him is watching the short interviews that people give after watching a Shen Yun performance.
“Although it’s just a performance, you can tell by watching audience reviews that something very different and special happens at a Shen Yun show. It touches people,” he said.
After seeing Shen Yun this past year, world-renowned author and life coach Tony Robbins said: “The stories are amazing, the execution and the dance is amazing. … I think this is beautiful because it’s keeping [Chinese culture] alive, and it’s sharing it with the world.”
(Samira Bouaou for American Essence)
Actor and comedian Tim Allen, who also saw Shen Yun recently, concurred, saying, “I loved it … quite wonderful.”
For U.S. Brig. Gen. Hector Lopez, a former wartime chief of staff, seeing Shen Yun was transformative: “It was a very emotional experience. … It was not just entertaining, but at the same time, it has a message. I believe we become better people just by watching and witnessing this.”
But none of this could be done in China today. For decades, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) has sought to eradicate traditions and impose communist ideology on the people. Because Shen Yun showcases authentic Chinese culture from before the rise of communism, and the CCP views that mission as a threat, the dance company cannot be based in China, nor travel there to perform. For more than a decade, the CCP has pressured theaters and local governments around the world to cancel Shen Yun’s shows.
With no safe haven to nurture authentic Chinese culture at home, elite classical Chinese dancers and musicians have turned their sights on America’s shores to establish Shen Yun.
“At first glance, it may seem strange to have a company here in America whose artistry and cultural foundations are more authentically Chinese than anything you can find in China today,” said Shujia Gong, an associate professor at Fei Tian College. “However, America has long been the place where great ideas grow into great enterprises.
“From the Magna Carta to Locke and Montesquieu, those great ideas unfolded in Europe long before the American Revolution, and yet it was in America where these ideas coalesced into a system of government that inspired freedom and democracy around the world. The Industrial Revolution started in England, and yet it was in America where the automobile, manned flight, as well as computers and the Internet really took off.
“America was the ‘Great Experiment’ in self-governance, but it has also become the great incubator for industry, culture, and progress in general. So it’s not at all surprising that the world’s premier classical Chinese dance company is an American company.”
That idea isn’t lost on Jesse and Lucas. In fact, it’s a point of pride.
“It’s people from all around the world, America, Korea, Japan, Europe—we are from all over the place,” Lucas said. “People come to America to expand what it is they want to do, to make dreams happen.”
“These artists at Shen Yun are people who want to showcase the truth [of real Chinese culture], and they are from all around the world,” Jesse added.
(Samira Bouaou for American Essence)
A Foundation of Freedom, a Global Reach
With Shen Yun, Jesse and Lucas have traveled around the world, as the company routinely takes to the stage on five continents. This past season, their group ventured into new markets, performing 63 shows in eight European countries, as Shen Yun has become a phenomenon across the Atlantic in recent years.
While the experience has exposed the brothers to a broader range of peoples and cultures, it has also given them a newfound appreciation for America.
Recently, on a rare day off, Jesse and Lucas sat in their living room and reflected on this idea.
“Being American is about contributing to our country in a way that allows many different opinions and perspectives to flourish,” Jesse said. “I draw strength and inspiration from knowing that I come from a country whose principles dictate that everyone should be treated as human beings blessed with the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, no matter who they are.”
“For me,” Lucas added, “it’s about embracing the liberty we have here that allows us to not only pursue our own happiness, but also have the freedom to share culture and ideas with others. In a way, it’s about having the strength to spread my wings beyond America’s borders. I feel confident and fulfilled traveling the world, partially because I know my home is in America—and that gives me a sense of a foundation to do so much.”
Ronald Reagan; his first wife, actress Jane Wyman; and their
children, Michael and Maureen, at their home in Beverly Hills, Calif.,
circa 1946.
Michael Reagan, eldest son of President Ronald Reagan, political commentator, author, radio host of 26 years, and holder of five powerboat racing world records, said he has been asked all his life, “What was it really like being raised by Ronald Reagan?” When he finally set pen to paper, he realized he had much more to reflect on, and he was all the more honest for it.
In 2016, Reagan published “Lessons My Father Taught Me,” a memoir of his relationship with his father and all he learned from him about love, leadership, family, and faith.
American Essence spoke with Reagan about his cherished memories with his father.
On a lesson he learned while growing up: “I really learned about America, and the military, when I would ride out to the ranch on any given Saturday morning with my father and he would regale me with songs of the Army, the Navy, the Marine Corps, the Coast Guard. And he would just tell me about America,” Reagan said.
On what his father imparted to him: “Forgiveness,” said Reagan. As a child, he was the victim of molestation, and the perpetrator’s threats followed him for years. He carried fear, shame, and resentment with him, even walking away from God and his family at one point. “Ultimately, it came to me that I had to live the Lord’s Prayer instead of just reciting the Lord’s Prayer: Forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
He recalled his father’s famously good attitude: “Dad was never bothered. Nothing upset him.”
A special bonding moment: Reagan recalled that in 1991 (when he was about 46), while sitting in church, he asked God to show him that his father loved him. In a moment of blame, he thought about how his father never said “I love you.”
“The voice came back and said, ‘So, when was the last time you told your dad you loved him?’” He realized he never had. “Another voice said, ‘Next time you see him, give him a hug and tell him you love him.’”
He did so, and shocked his father—and the secret service—quite a bit. But then his dad returned the hug and said, “I love you, too.”
From then on, that became their ritual every meeting. When Alzheimer’s had taken much of his father’s memory, and he couldn’t say Michael’s name, the president still held out his arms every time he saw his son, because he recognized him as the man who would always give him a hug.
Maria Cooper Janis holds a photo of herself with her mother, actress Veronica Cooper (née Balfe), and her father, Gary Cooper. (Samira Bouaou for American Essence)
Gary Cooper is synonymous with the Golden Age of Hollywood. He was one of its most successful box office draws. He was nominated five times for the Best Actor Oscar and won twice for “Sergeant York” and “High Noon.” Handsome, strong, and with an honest stare, Cooper became the country’s model of masculinity, integrity, and courage.
His roles were varied. They ranged from military heroes, like Alvin York, the most decorated U.S. soldier in World War I, and Billy Mitchell, considered the Father of the U.S. Air Force; to a Quaker father in “Friendly Persuasion”; the tragic baseball player Lou Gehrig in “The Pride of the Yankees”; and a tamer of the Old West, none better known than the fictional Marshal Will Kane in “High Noon.”
Maria Cooper Janis, the daughter and only child of Cooper and Veronica Balfe, recalled her father saying that he wanted to try to portray the best an American man could be. These dignified and masculine roles surely captured the ideal, but they also captured something else. Janis said the man that millions of moviegoers saw, and still see today, was, in so many ways, playing himself.
Gary Cooper waits on set. (Courtesy of Maria Cooper Janis）(L to R) Actors Clark Gable, Van Heflin, Gary Cooper, and James Stewart enjoy a laugh during a New Year’s party held at Romanoff’s restaurant in Beverly Hills, Calif. (SSLIM AARONS ESTATE/Getty Images)
Rugged and Sophisticated
From the rough-and-tumble Western stereotypes to the sophisticated man-about-town, he was “as comfortable in blue jeans as he was in white ties and tails,” she said.
There is a famous photo called “The Kings of Hollywood” of Cooper standing alongside Jimmy Stewart, Clark Gable, and Van Heflin in their white ties and tails, cocktails in hand, having a laugh. It is the elegant and sophisticated version of Cooper—the quintessential image of Hollywood’s leading man. Indeed, Cooper was one of the kings for several decades.
But he was also an everyman. Cooper grew up in early 1900s Montana. He was born in Helena just a few years after it was named the state’s capital. It was a rich town despite being part of the recently settled West. It was an environment―both rugged and luxurious―that Cooper would go on to personify.
The Cooper family enjoying a romp in the snow. (Courtesy of Maria Cooper Janis)
Janis said her father’s first friends were the local Native Americans. They taught him how to stalk and hunt animals and perform his own taxidermy. His friendships helped him understand the plight of the Indians. His father, Charles Cooper, a justice on the Montana Supreme Court, had long been concerned about the Native Americans.
“My grandfather was always working for the underdog,” she said. “My father must have heard a lot of those stories. [My father] always felt he should defend those who needed defending, especially those who didn’t have the clout or standing to win.”
Cooper and the cast on the set of “High Noon.” (Courtesy of Maria Cooper Janis)
The Defender
Cooper found himself defending others on film and in real life, and sometimes those two mixed. Although he stated before Congress that he was “not very sympathetic to communism,” he was sympathetic to those in Hollywood―actors, writers, and directors―who were targeted by the Hollywood blacklist movement. One of those with whom he was sympathetic was Carl Foreman, who had written the script for “High Noon” and had refused to cooperate with the House Un-American Activities Committee. After “High Noon,” Foreman left for England, where he would write “The Bridge on the River Kwai.”
“My father was actually very close to Carl Foreman,” Janis said. “My father told Stanley Kramer [the producer], ‘If Foreman’s off the picture, then Cooper is off the picture.’” Foreman remained, and Cooper performed one of his most definitive roles as a marshal who stands against a criminal gang in a town where everyone is too afraid to help. “High Noon” is believed to be a representation of the Hollywood blacklist era―a belief that Janis holds as well.
“My father passionately believed you were free to believe what you wanted to believe,” she said. “He was threatened that he would never work in Hollywood again. But he knew what he believed and he lived his life.”
Cooper in the ring with a bull in Pamplona, Spain. (Courtesy of Maria Cooper Janis)
Lessons From Cooper
Cooper kept working in Hollywood for nearly a decade more until his tragic death from cancer. But Janis wants people to know that there was so much more to her father than his time on the big screen. It is one of the reasons she wrote her book “Gary Cooper Off Camera: A Daughter Remembers,” which focuses on his family life.
“We had a very close family bond,” she said. “If you have loving parents who show you discipline, that’s a leg up in life. I think the importance of a loving, strong father figure for a girl is excruciatingly important.”
Her mother and father were both a source of encouragement. Despite growing up the daughter of Gary Cooper, she never felt pressured to go into acting.
“He basically left it up to me. He and my mother were very realistic. I came to my own conclusions about what I wanted in my life,” she said.
She studied art at the prestigious Chouinard Art Institute in Los Angeles and began a successful career as a painter. She said that being an artist was apparently in her DNA, as her father, her grandmother Veronica Gibbons, and her great-uncle Cedric Gibbons, who designed the Oscar statuette, were gifted artists.
Family time at Cooper’s Brentwood, Calif., residence. (Courtesy of Maria Cooper Janis)
Cooper―at home and on-screen―had given his daughter the proper perspective of what she should look for in a husband. He had thoroughly educated her on the fact that there were some men who “don’t act very gentlemanly.” So he taught her boxing and self-defense.
“He told me, ‘Don’t let any man intimidate you. You are going to be a beautiful woman. Stand up for yourself,’” she recalled. “It was enough to give me a sense of confidence.”
When her father died in 1961, she continued her career in art and retained that confidence. In 1966, she married another artist, Byron Janis, one of the world’s greatest classical pianists. She said marrying Janis was “the greatest fortune that could have ever happened to me.” The two celebrated their 57th wedding anniversary this April.
Cooper and little Maria at the Grand Canyon. (Courtesy of Maria Cooper Janis)
In Cooper’s Memory
Although Cooper has been dead for more than 60 years, his legacy remains. That legacy has been entrusted to his daughter’s care. She has worked to champion her father’s causes as well as his name.
Janis established a scholarship at the University of Southern California in Cooper’s name for Native American students who wish to pursue an education in film and television. She also advocates for continuing research into the terminal illness of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), famously known as Lou Gehrig’s disease.
Along with her book, she collaborated with Bruce Boyer on his book “Gary Cooper: Enduring Style” and contributed to the documentary “The True Gen,” about Cooper’s friendship with Ernest Hemingway. She also established the official Gary Cooper website dedicated to his memory.
Janis said she has understood her past and that of her father’s better over the years, quoting the Danish theologian Soren Kierkegaard: “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” In a broader sense, her efforts are to ensure Gary Cooper will be better understood by all as the years go by.
The family loved making music together. (Courtesy of Maria Cooper Janis)
Portrait of music composers Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein at a piano, during the development of their new musical 'Pipe Dream', 1955. (Photo by Pictorial Parade/Archive Photos/Getty Images)
On the evening of March 31, 1943, American musical theater entered its Golden Age. That was the night the curtain at Broadway’s St. James Theatre rose on an old woman churning butter and a cowboy praising the beauty of the morning. It was the night “Oklahoma!” proclaimed the arrival of composer Richard Rodgers and librettist/lyricist Oscar Hammerstein II as a writing team and theatrical force.
The show wasn’t expected to be a hit. “No gags, no girls, no chance,” was the infamous response of a critic who saw “Oklahoma!” in out-of-town previews. Musicals at the time were expected to exhibit a certain degree of glitz that this one lacked. Through the magic of Rodgers’s music and Hammerstein’s words, however, “Oklahoma!” made audiences—and critics—forget all that. It ran for an unprecedented five-plus years.
(Photo by Pictorial Parade/Archive Photos/Getty Images)
“Rodgers and Hammerstein,” as the team quickly became known, went on to define the span of the Golden Age they initiated, which for most commentators ends with Hammerstein’s death in 1960. These years, 1943–1960, were the era of the “book musical,” the blending of musical, lyrical, dramatic, and choreographic elements into a seamless whole, each contributing to the tone and meaning of the story. That may seem old-fashioned in a time of jukebox musicals and pop star tributes, but in the 1940s it was the leading edge of innovation.
Debuting at New York’s Niblo’s Garden in 1866, “Black Crook” was a hodgepodge of song, dance, and story that set the stage for the first American musical. (Public domain)
The Birth of the Musical
The American musical began as a hodgepodge of song, dance, and dialogue loosely strung together to tell a story—or sometimes not. The first example is said to be “The Black Crook,” an 1866 grab-bag of tunes and jokes linked to a thin plot. Over the ensuing decades, the American musical painstakingly crawled its way toward the integration of music, dance, and story line into a sophisticated whole. Two giant steps in that direction were “Showboat” (1927) and “Pal Joey” (1940). Hammerstein wrote the dialogue and lyrics for “Showboat” while Rodgers was the composer of “Pal Joey.”
Original Playbill cover for the 1949 production of “South Pacific,” starring Mary Martin and Ezio Pinza. (Public domain)
Prior to 1942, Rodgers had been working with lyricist Lorenz “Larry” Hart on musicals that slowly advanced the notion of an integrated whole, culminating in “Pal Joey.” But Hart was plagued with personal problems, drank heavily, and was increasingly difficult to work with. Rodgers, intent on turning a little comedy called “Green Grow the Lilacs” into a musical, knew Hart wasn’t up to it. He asked Hammerstein, whose work on “Showboat” he admired, and Hammerstein said yes.
It was a match made in theatrical heaven. Rodgers, tired of the urban style he used with Hart, turned to a more broadly lyrical, operetta-like musical language flecked with American folk elements. Hammerstein’s poetic lyrics matched this and evoked atmosphere, character, and sensibility in a way no popular lyrics of the time did. He could dream into the hearts of a young couple and find them fantasizing about a “Surrey with the Fringe on Top,” or imagine the plaint of an outcast (Judd) in his “Lonely Room.”
BLACK CROOK’s plot involved a fairy queen, and evil count, treasure and a lovely village girl. More importantly, the play integrated music, dance, and spoken lines in a new format similar to that of the modern musical comedy. Poster for an 1882 production. (Public domain)
American Stories Told Through American Music
“Oklahoma!” and the three remaining Rodgers and Hammerstein shows of the 1940s concern American characters. “Carousel” (1945) finds us in New England, witnessing the tragic yet transcendental romance of Billy Bigelow and Julie Jordan. “Allegro” (1947), the only box-office failure of the four, traces the life of an American doctor. “South Pacific” (1949) considers the lives of American servicemen and women in World War II.
Mary Martin with children in mountain landscape. Martin played the leading role, Maria, in the Broadway musical The Sound of Music. (Toni Frissell)
In the 1950s, however, the musicals moved beyond American shores. The two biggest Rodgers and Hammerstein hits of that decade focus on an English lady tutor in 19th-century Siam (“The King and I,” 1951) and a singing Austrian family fleeing the Nazis (“The Sound of Music,” 1959). Their only ’50s box office success set in America was “Flower Drum Song” (1958), considered “minor” Rodgers and Hammerstein. Their TV musical “Cinderella” (1957) used European fairy tale material.
The fading of the book musical is not surprising, given the nature of contemporary song. Traditional popular song, the framework for Rodgers’s music, was harmony-based, whereas current pop is largely beat-based and harmonically much narrower than the earlier type. Harmony was central to creating the appropriate musical language for a book show.
Original poster for Flower Drum Song.
Creating a Musical Universe
All the songs in “Carousel” have a certain melodic gesture in them. This gesture, based on a specific interval between notes (the augmented fourth) generates shared harmonies among the various songs. That’s why numbers as rhythmically distinct as “If I Loved You” and “June Is Busting Out All Over” belong to the same universe: Their harmonic structures are related. But one song is an exception: “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” That’s the hymn Carrie sings to comfort Julie when Billy dies, and the reason it feels transcendent, separate from the others, is that it is harmonically unique. Rodgers and the other composers of the Golden Age didn’t just make up tunes willy-nilly. A deep craftsmanship informed their art.
Rodgers and Hammerstein’s catalogue is today a frequent target of critics who bandy about words like “conventional” and “bourgeois” as if the values represented by them are automatically to be dismissed as out of date. But the clock, as G.K. Chesterton once observed, is a human invention, and humans may set it back any time they wish. Perhaps it’s time to dial our musical theater clocks back to the era of Rodgers and Hammerstein.
Studio portrait of American actor John Wayne wearing his signature cowboy hat and neckerchief, circa 1955. (Hulton Archive/Stringer/Archive Photos/Getty Images)
Rarely is a man remembered for who he was when he was so overshadowed by what he did. In the case of John Wayne, however, who he was and what he did were one and the same.
John Wayne, born Marion Robert Morrison on May 26, 1907, in the very small Iowa town of Winterset, became one of the, if not the, most iconic actors of the 20th century. At 13 pounds, he was born to become a large man, destined for grand entrances and memorable exits. He was the eldest child of the Morrisons, a marriage that was etched with struggles, insults, and uncertainties. The family was poor and moved a lot, eventually landing in California in 1914.
Out in the farmlands and small towns of his upbringing, he learned how to handle guns, having to protect his father from rattlesnakes while working untamed land. He learned to ride horses. He perfected his reading as he went through the Sears catalogs cover to cover, noting each item he wished he could afford. He learned the idea of hard work, even when it wasn’t profitable, something his father consistently experienced and was reminded of just as often by his mother. He honored both his parents, but he loved his father.
Studio portrait of American actor John Wayne wearing his signature cowboy hat and neckerchief, circa 1955. (Hulton Archive/Stringer/Archive Photos/Getty Images)
Wayne grew up strong and tall, suitable for an athletic career. His athleticism landed him a football scholarship to the University of Southern California in the fall of 1925. While attending school, he worked on movie sets as a prop man and was at times a film extra, typically a football player. During this time, he met the already famous and successful film director John Ford. While bodysurfing on the California coast, Wayne injured his shoulder and lost his scholarship. His football playing days were over, but he was still tall, dark, and handsome, and he decided to join the “swing gang” at Fox Film Corporation moving props.
His relationship with Ford blossomed. The two were opposite in nearly every way, but they attracted, as opposites sometimes do. Ford and Wayne developed a kind of father-son relationship, as Wayne would often call Ford “Coach” and “Pappy.” Ford would be credited with giving Wayne his big break—twice.
A Break and a Name
Ford introduced the young actor to director Raoul Walsh, who decided to have him star in his 1930 epic Western “The Big Trail.” The film was a flop at the box office, though in defense of the film, the Great Depression had just begun. During the filming, however, the studio executives decided that “Marion” was not much of a name for a leading man. Anthony Wayne, after the Revolutionary War general, was considered. Anthony didn’t work either. One of the executives suggested John. When the film was released, his new name was on the posters. Much like his nickname “Duke” was given him by local firemen, his new name, bestowed upon him by others, stuck throughout his life.
A new name and a starring role, however, would hardly change his film career. Throughout the 1930s, Wayne was relegated to B Westerns. As he ascended from his 20s into his 30s, he used his time wisely to perfect his on-screen persona―a persona that he assimilated off-screen as well. His choice of wardrobe, his walk, his fighting style were all tailored for himself by himself. The Duke was an icon in the making, and the making was all his creation. He just needed a true opportunity to showcase it.
American actor John Wayne as a young boy, sitting against a fence on the prairies with his younger brother Robert. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)
A Memorable Entrance
That opportunity arrived in 1939 when Ford chose Wayne to star in his Western film “Stagecoach.” The director had always been a believer in Wayne. The young actor had proven to be a hard worker, receptive to directorial guidance, and willing to do many of his own stunts. Along with that, he was 6 feet, 3 inches tall, with a broad-shouldered frame, blue eyes that showed gray on the silver screen, and a strong nose and jawline. His acting also came across honest, as if he was speaking directly to the person in the audience. There was a magnetic pull with Wayne, and Ford decided to do all he could in his film to draw viewers to him.
Wayne was a familiar name and face for moviegoers, having already appeared in 80 films by this time. Familiar, yes. A star, no.
The 1939 film revolves around seven passengers trying to get from one town to the next while trying to avoid the inevitable Indian attack. Nearly 85 years removed, “Stagecoach” remains one of the great Westerns. The movie did more than tell a great story. It did something more important. It introduced the world to John Wayne. Eighteen minutes go by before Wayne makes his entrance in the film, and it is an entrance that was created specifically for the induction of a soon-to-be American icon.
In a wide shot, the stagecoach rides up a slight incline when suddenly there is a gunshot. The stagecoach comes to an abrupt halt. Starting with what is known as a cowboy shot (pioneered by Ford and also known as the American shot), the camera moves in for a close-up of Wayne, who twirls his Winchester rifle. The shot starts in focus, slightly goes out of focus as it moves toward the actor, and then finishes in focus. The actor stands majestically wearing a cowboy hat and neckerchief, which would soon become synonymous with Wayne. The shot was out of place not just for the film, but also for Ford. But it was intentional for reasons explained by Scott Eyman in his biography “John Wayne: The Life and Legend.”
“This is less an expertly choreographed entrance for an actor than it is the annunciation of a star.”
“Stagecoach” was Wayne’s big break into the Hollywood movies, making him one of America’s leading actors and soon to become a star. Theatrical poster for the 1939 American release of “Stagecoach.” ( Public domain)
America’s Leading Man
From this point on, Wayne would embrace his role as America’s leading man. There were other actors, of course, during his rise. Some on the decline, like Clark Gable and Gary Cooper. Some on the rise, like Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart. Their greatness in their own ways cannot be diminished. Gable with his force of nature persona. Cooper as an embodiment of honesty and kindness. Grant as the romantic symbol of the 20th century. And Stewart, a personified symbol of truth. But Wayne embodied something else, and yet he was all of these things. He became the face of the country.
Authors Randy Roberts and James Olson both noted that Wayne became America’s “alter-ego.” Wayne hoisted that alter-ego upon his cinematic shoulders, which proved more than capable of bearing the load. The Duke chose films that promoted and often propagandized America’s greatness. His primary film genres were war films and Westerns.
When America entered World War II after the Pearl Harbor attack, Wayne was closing in on 35 years of age and already had four children. Film stars, like Stewart and Gable, along with directors, like Ford, joined the war effort overseas. In 1943, Wayne applied to join the Office of Strategic Services, the precursor to the Central Intelligence Agency, but the spots were filled. In 1944, when there was a fear of a shortage of men, Wayne’s status was changed to 1A (draft eligible), but Republic Pictures filed for a 3A deferment for Wayne, which kept him in front of the camera. Ultimately, Wayne believed, arguably correctly, that his impact as an actor (or more cynically a propagandist) would be far greater than as a soldier.
“I felt it would be a waste of time to spend two years picking up cigarette butts. I thought I could do more for the war effort by staying in Hollywood,” he told John Ford’s son, Dan.
Cinematographer Bert Glennon (L) and director John Ford on the set of “Stagecoach” in 1939. (Public domain)
For all intents and purposes, Wayne, who would have been classified as a private, would have most likely remained behind the scenes doing busy work or promotional bits for the military. Though he would never be a military hero, Wayne proved more than patriotic. As Eyman wrote regarding the type of roles Wayne chose to perform, “His characters’ taste for the fulfillment of an American imperative was usually based on patriotic conviction, rarely for economic opportunity.”
Between the span of America’s entry into the war and the end of its occupation in Japan (1952), Wayne starred in eight World War II films. He would also join the United Service Organizations (USO) overseas, where he entertained the troops and helped boost morale.
A Conservative Stalwart
Throughout his career as America’s leading man, he never shied away from making his conservative views known, and he never wavered from opposing liberal viewpoints. He and Paul Newman, a known Hollywood liberal, regularly talked politics and shared books with each other that discussed their differing political perspectives. Wayne’s 1974 visit to Harvard University, to possibly be disparaged by the student body, resulted in both sides walking away with mutual respect.
Wayne knew what was to be expected, especially with the anti-war movement on campuses. He took verbal barbs and responded in his typical fun-loving yet pointed manner. At one point, he told the young audience: “Good thing you weren’t here 200 years ago or the tea would’ve never made the harbor.” The comment was greeted with cheers rather than boos.
As the New York Post columnist Phil Mushnick wrote, concerning the outcome of the Harvard visit, “There were many who found themselves actually—and incredibly—liking John Wayne. They still disliked his politics, of course, but was he any different from many of their parents?”
Wayne reads a “Prince Valiant” comic with his four children, 1942. (Hulton Archive/Stringer/ Archive Photos/Getty Images)
Eyman pointed out the actor’s quasi-familial influence on the American homeland. Wayne’s growth on-screen and off-screen proved to be near equal in its cultural weight. He reminded “people of their brother or son, he gradually assumed a role as everyone’s father, then, inevitably, as age and weight congealed, everyone’s grandfather.”
On June 11, 1979, America’s grandfather passed away from stomach cancer. He had beaten cancer once before, and it had cost him a lung and some ribs. His final film, “The Shootist,” is about an old gunfighter dying of cancer. Though he had another film lined up, his death after his final film is, still tragically, more fitting than ironic.
Wayne was America’s cowboy. He was the war effort on film. He worked to root out communists in Hollywood. He was a man who believed in patriotism when many Americans tried to give that a bad name. John Wayne was, and, according to polls, still is, part of the American family. When Wayne was being considered for the Congressional Gold Medal in May 1979, the stars came out in support. Elizabeth Taylor told Congress, “He has given much to America. And he has given to the whole world what an American is supposed to be like.”
He was awarded the medal a month after his passing. In 1980, President Jimmy Carter posthumously awarded him the Presidential Medal of Freedom. Of all the attributes one could give John Wayne, the one recommended to Congress by his five-time co-star Maureen O’Hara seems to be the most appropriate.
“I feel the medal should say just one thing,” O’Hara tearfully said. “John Wayne: American.”
Wayne stars as Robert Marmaduke Hightower in the 1948 western “3 Godfathers.” (Hulton Archive/Stringer/ Archive Photos/Getty Images)
(Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
Quietly nestled along the Narraganset Bay, the Marble House was the first of the stone palaces to be built in Newport—transforming the quiet colony of wooden houses into a bastion of opulence. It would be called a “cottage,” in deference to the earlier shingle style summer residences. But in truth, this was a grand home “fit for a Queen.”
A French Affinity
Alva Erskine Smith was born in Mobile, Alabama, on January 17, 1853. She and her parents would spend summers in Newport, Rhode Island. During the Civil War, her family moved to Europe, and she attended a private boarding school in Neuilly-sur-Seine. Spending some of her formative years in the vicinity of Paris, young Alva became a Francophile (lover of all things French). She and her family eventually returned to America, living in New York. She married William Kissam Vanderbilt, a grandson of the patriarch Cornelius Vanderbilt Sr.
(Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
Alva had built her “Petit Château” in New York with the help of architect Richard Morris Hunt. Now she engaged his services once more to create a “summer cottage” that would emulate the fine Beaux-Arts classicism she had admired in France. It would be the first truly grand classical mansion of Newport, Rhode Island. Hunt created for Alva a grand “temple for the arts,” as she called it. The design of Marble House was inspired by the Petit Trianon in Paris, a neoclassical style château located on the grounds of the Palace of Versailles. Construction began on the house in 1888. It would be a present from her husband for her 39th birthday.
In the late 19th century, the estate reportedly cost $10–11 million to build. Seven million of that was for the marble—500,000 cubic feet of it.
The Gothic Room was designed to display Alva Vanderbilt’s collection of medieval and Renaissance decorative objects. The stone fireplace in the room was copied by Allard and Sons from a fireplace in the Jacques Coeur House in Bourges, France. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)(Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
Of Marble and Gild
Alva was known as a great entertainer, and she sought to build her own social status. For that reason, Alva collaborated with Hunt to create what became recognized as “one of the grandest ballrooms ever to be built in Newport.” If ever there was a ballroom that epitomized the Gilded Age, it would have to be the ballroom at Marble House.
The Ballroom was literally gilded: The elaborate architectural details of the room, first drawn by Hunt, are all covered with gold. Elaborate cornices, pilasters, archways, and panels of bas relief illustrating classical mythology are all covered with 22 karat gold. Above the relief is a 19th-century painting, in the style of the Italian Baroque painter Pietro da Cortona, of the Greek goddess Minerva.
Jules Allard and Sons, the noted Paris design firm, created the interiors for the house. The Stair Hall and its grand staircase, constructed of yellow Sienna marble, features an intricate wrought iron and bronze railing covered with gold. Copied from a railing in the Palace of Versailles, the railing is signed by Allard.
Inspired by the Palace of Versailles, the grand staircase in the Foyer was constructed of yellow Sienna marble and features an intricate wrought iron and bronze railing covered with gold. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)The Dining Room features pink Numidian marble, architectural details of gilded bronze on the walls and ceiling, and furniture of velvet fabric laced with metallic threads. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
The opulent Dining Room is walled in pink Numidian marble with architectural details of gilded bronze. Its fireplace is a replica of the Salon d’Hercule (Hercules Drawing Room) in Versailles. The library is in the Rococo style and features carved walnut bookcases by furniture maker Gilbert Cuel, who worked with Allard to create the room.
Alva had a collection of Medieval and Renaissance objects and artwork, for which the Gothic Room was built. In contrast to the rest of the house’s Louis XIV and Louis XV décor, this Gothic-revival sitting room is modeled after the interior of a house in Bourges, France (built between 1443 and 1451 for Jacques Coer, a prosperous merchant). The room’s chimney piece, of Caen limestone, is modeled after the one in the Bourges house. The foliate (leafy) cornice was also inspired by the gothic French interior, but in deference to Rhode Island’s seaside location, crabs and lobsters are worked into the foliage.
The private quarters upstairs, where the family lived, are finished in the style of Louis XIV. William and Alva had three children. William K. Jr. is known for promoting the young sport of automobile racing. His brother Harold was a skilled yachtsman, successfully defending the America’s Cup on three occasions. Consuelo, the daughter, became the 9th Duchess of Marlborough, marrying Charles Spencer Churchill in 1895.
The Grand Salon (also called the Gold Room) served as a ballroom and was recognized as “one of the grandest ballrooms ever to be built in Newport.” The Gold Room features gold gilt paneling over wooden walls carved to represent scenes from classical mythology, inspired by the Apollo Gallery at the Louvre. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)(Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
A Stage for Suffrage
Alva divorced William in March of 1895. She already owned Marble House since William had presented it to her as a birthday present and the deed was in her name. The next year she married Oliver Hazard Perry Belmont, and she lived with him at Belcourt (another mansion designed by Richard Morris Hunt in Newport) until his death in 1908. She then returned to Marble House and added an ornate teahouse, modeled after a 12th-century Song Dynasty temple in China. It sits at the foot of the Marble House lawn, above the Cliff Walk overlooking the ocean. The design was created by the sons of Richard Morris Hunt, who by that time had taken over their father’s firm.
It was here, and on Marble House’s rear terrace, that Alva began to hold rallies for a new passion. The woman who so ardently strove to bring her family into the realm of nobility now became a champion of women’s suffrage. The Congressional Union for Woman Suffrage used Marble House as its headquarters. Alva lived to see the ratification of the Nineteenth Amendment in 1920, which gave women the right to vote. Her daughter Consuelo had dissolved her marriage with the British Duke and was now living in Paris. Alva moved to France to be close to her and later died in Paris at the age of 80.
The Congressional Union for Woman Suffrage used Marble House as its headquarters. Picture of the National Woman’s Party at Mrs. Belmont’s house in Newport, R.I., 1914. Library of Congress. (Public domain)
The rugged coastline of Rocky Point at Big Sur. (Maria Coulson)
Big Sur is not so much a destination as a state of mind. The landscape and wildlife speak to the naturalist in every soul who visits there.
For decades, people have journeyed to Big Sur seeking inspiration and communion in this magnificent natural cathedral. Time spent exploring along the coast or trekking through the mountains or roaming among the redwoods or simply laying back in harmony with the surroundings is a sojourn for body, mind, and spirit.
Central California’s Big Sur region of wild and rugged coast and rough and tumble mountains stretches for 90 miles from Carmel to San Simeon, intersected only by iconic Highway 1. Big Sur is about the mountains and the ocean and the interface between the two. Early-20th-century resident poet Robinson Jeffers called it the “greatest meeting of land and sea in the world.”
An artist paints amid wildflowers at Garrapata State Park. (Maria Coulson)
Grandeur and Remoteness
Big Sur’s grandeur and remoteness have long made it a haven for literary luminaries. Author Henry Miller developed a strong relationship with the area, embracing it as his spiritual home for 18 years.
“Big Sur has a climate all its own and a character all its own,” he wrote in his mid-century memoir “Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch.” “Skies of pure azure and walls of fog moving in and out of the canyons with invisible feet, hills in winter of emerald green and in summer mountain upon mountain of pure gold. There was ever the unfathomable silence of the forest, the blazing immensity of the Pacific, days drenched with sun and nights spangled with stars.”
From his house set on a slope above Partington Canyon, Miller had imposing views of the ocean. But he chose to work in a small, wooden shed facing a wall, not to be distracted. “Big Sur is the California that men dreamed of years ago,” he wrote. “This is the Pacific that Balboa looked at from the Peak of Darien, this is the face of the earth as the Creator intended it to look.”
A clear pool ensconced between the massive boulders of Big Sur River Gorge. (Maria Coulson)
Miller fretted that the unspoiled complexion of Big Sur would be lost to the “air-conditioned nightmare” of modern life. He needn’t have worried. It is much the same now as then. Admittedly, a procession of RVs does form in the summer. But only about 1,750 residents live there.
Other than the Native American Esselen tribe, followed by a few loggers, mountain men, and pioneer families in the late 19th century, Big Sur remained a fortress for solitude. Then, in 1937, came the completion of Highway 1, with the blasting of cliff faces and the erecting of bridges spanning cavernous canyons to create a tenuous, narrow strip along the coastline.
Drama and Adventure
“This was home, this rugged, lonely coast,” novelist Nora Roberts wrote in “Daring to Dream.” “He had tooled along the spectacular Amalfi Drive in Italy, sped through the fjords of Norway, but not even their heart-stopping beauty could match the sheer drama of Big Sur.”
Its breathtaking stretch of cliff-hugging, hairpin-turned highway is considered the quintessential scenic coastal route in North America. Even if you cruise the tight track in a humdrum Hyundai instead of a snazzy Mustang convertible with the wind in your hair and the sounds of the Beach Boys’ “California Saga” celebrating Big Sur in your ears, this drive uncorks clutch-the-edge-of-your-seat excitement.
California brown pelicans are often found on rocky or vegetated offshore islands. (Maria Coulson)
You never know what’s over the next rise or around the next bend. It might be mountains that plunge into the ocean, surf and wind that pound the rocky shore and contort the cypress trees into otherworldly shapes, or a sheltered cove that harbors a tranquil sea painted in shades of turquoise and sapphire.
A Haven
Big Sur is a hiker and naturalist’s delight with five state parks. The Ventana Wilderness of Los Padres National Forest encompasses a wide range of terrain and trails from casual to challenging and sea level to thousands of feet in elevation. Some of the shortest and easiest jaunts are among the most picturesque. Meadows and hillsides are awash with brilliant wildflowers such as lupines, goldfields, and paintbrush and Calla lilies. Old pirates’ haunt Partington Cove is where otters and seals frolic in the sea swells. McWay Falls plummets 80 feet onto a secluded beach.
In an enchanting forest canyon stroll among a mantle of lush mosses, five-fingered ferns, and delicately flowering sorrel, the only sound is a rippling creek. You will be walking in the footsteps of John Steinbeck; let him be your guide. “Soon the canyon sides became steep and the first giant sentinel redwoods guarded the trail, great round trunks bearing foliage as green and lacy as ferns. A perfumed and purple light lay in the pale green of the underbrush … and overhead the branches of the redwoods met and cut off the sky.”
At higher altitude, the redwoods give way to choked scrub and pungent sagebrush characteristic of an ascent to 3,709-foot Pico Blanco, “a steep sea wave of marble” in Jeffers’s words. Once atop, taking in the panorama, look for California condors with a wingspan of more than nine feet, soaring in bright, cloudless sky or amid fingers of fog.
Storm clouds gather over the 80-foot-tall McWay Falls. (Maria Coulson)
Many Big Sur beaches can only be admired from afar because of high cliffs. But there are accessible strands where you can wiggle your toes in white sand. Garrapata Beach’s long shore and thunderous waves are attractive to beachcombers and lollygaggers alike. The small cove at Garrapata Creek on one end and Dowd Creek spilling over the bluff onto the beach at the other serve as bookends.
Pfeiffer Beach is renowned for its lavender-tinted sand, and offshore Keyhole Arch is popular at sunset. It’s a prime location to sight migrating gray, humpback, and blue whales. Local winged residents living along the sweeping seascape include gulls, cormorants, pelicans, and snowy plovers.
Beyond Big Sur’s scenic splendor is its ecological diversity and importance as habitat for terrestrial and marine wildlife. Nowhere else will you find fog-nurtured redwoods thriving on one slope of a canyon and sun-worshiping yuccas on the other. Similarly, sea otters and cormorants live near dry-climate canyon wrens and whiptail lizards.
Richard Brautigan wrote in his novel “A Confederate General from Big Sur”: “This morning I saw a coyote walking through the sagebrush right at the very edge of the ocean―next stop China. The coyote was acting like he was in New Mexico or Wyoming, except that there were whales passing below. That’s what this country does for you. Come down to Big Sur and let your soul have some room to get outside its marrow.”
A 1960 Austin- Healey parked along California’s Highway 1, overlooking Bixby Bridge in the distance. (Maria Coulson)
The mountainous reaches of the Ventana Wilderness that extend inland for 30 miles are a tight jigsaw of ragged ridges impenetrable other than by mule or foot. Only the most intrepid venture to the headwaters of the Big Sur and Little Sur rivers tucked away high in the Santa Lucia range. The rushing, tumbling torrents cascade down through narrow, rock-walled canyons, spilling into crystalline pools canopied by stands of old-growth redwoods.
The cool marine layer does not extend past the coastal crest, leaving much of the Ventana Wilderness hot and dry during the summer and early fall. The rare, spire-like Santa Lucia fir is found only here on the windswept slopes and rocky outcrops.
Jeffers captured this desolate and hard-bitten terrain in early stanzas of “The Beaks of Eagles”:
“An eagle’s nest on the head of an old redwood on one of the precipice-footed ridges
Above Ventana Creek, that jagged country which nothing but a falling meteor will ever plow; no horseman
Will ever ride there, no hunter cross this ridge but the winged ones, no one will steal the eggs from this fortress.
The she-eagle is old, her mate was shot long ago, she is now mated
with a son of hers.
When lightning blasted her nest she built it again on the same tree, in the splinters of the thunderbolt.”
The poem embodies the timeless spirit of Big Sur. A pilgrimage there catches time in a bottle that lasts a lifetime.
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
Located at 44 Ochre Point Avenue in Newport, R.I., this 70-room mansion sits beside oceanside cliffs, overlooking Easton Bay. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
In the autumn of 1885, Cornelius Vanderbilt II paid a little over $400,000 for a summer cottage in Newport, Rhode Island. The Queen Anne style house, built in 1878, was considered the “crown jewel” of Newport. It had been designed by the architectural firm of Peabody and Stearns for Pierre Lorillard IV, whose fortune came from the Lorillard Tobacco Company. He bred thoroughbred race horses and financed archaeological expeditions to South and Central America. He helped to make Rhode Island a yachting center as well. The house was situated along Cliff Walk in Newport, with an amazing view of the ocean.
When Cornelius Vanderbilt II acquired the “cottage,” he hired Peabody and Stearns to oversee $500,000 in renovations to it, but in 1892 a fire that started in the kitchen largely destroyed the house. Vanderbilt decided to demolish the ruined house, right down to its foundations, and build anew. He brought in architect Richard Morris Hunt, who had worked for the Vanderbilt family in New York, and expressed to him his great concern about the new house being fireproof. Hunt responded by creating a design that would cost $7 million to build—even in 1893.
The entrance gates, manufactured by the William H. Jackson Company of New York, rise 30 feet above the driveway and feature a monogram of Cornelius Vanderbilt’s initials as well as acorns and oak leaves— symbolic of the Vanderbilt family. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)Designed by Richard Morris in the style of ancient Rome, the walls of the Billiard Room are constructed from slabs of Italian cippolino marble with rose alabaster arches. Semi-precious stones create mosaics. The Billiard Room was featured in the second episode of “The Gilded Age” series on HBO. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
The bones of the estate would be steel, brick, and Indiana limestone. Rather than using wood framing, the architect created masonry arches on steel beams. The boiler room was in a detached building and connected to the main house by an underground steam tunnel. What rose from the original foundations was not simply a reconstruction of the old house, but a grand edifice in the style of the Italian Renaissance. It would be the grandest Gilded Age mansion of Newport. In fact, the new Breakers is much larger than the original house, of which the remaining foundations made up only part of the base of Hunt’s grand masterpiece. Hunt took his inspiration for The Breakers from Peter Paul Rubens’s book “Palazzi di Genova,” written in 1622. He acquired the book on a trip to Genoa and referred to its detailed illustrations as he created a Renaissance villa for the Vanderbilts.
Approaching the mansion from the street, it appears to be three stories high (it is actually five). As you enter the foyer, there is a gentleman’s reception room to the right and a ladies’ reception room to the left. Continuing straight, you step into the immense Great Hall. Rising 50 feet above with its great balconies, the Great Hall creates the illusion of an Italian open courtyard, or cortile. Hunt organized the rooms of the mansion around this central space, in the manner of the villas depicted in “Palazzi di Genova.” The firm of Allard and Sons of Paris created the interiors, importing the finest materials for its work. Austrian sculptor Karl Bitter created the relief sculpture in the estate. Ogden Codman, a Boston architect, oversaw the design of the family quarters.
Portrait hanging inside the Morning Room at The Breakers of Countess Laszlo Szechenyi (Gladys Moore Vanderbilt), the youngest child and daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt II, by Philip de Laszlo, 1921. (Public Domain)The Music Room showcases a gilt-coffered ceiling lined with silver and gold. This room was featured in the season finale of the HBO series “The Gilded Age.” (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
For the grand view of the ocean, Hunt created the double loggia (covered exterior galleries, one above the other, created primarily as a place for sitting). The lower loggia has a vaulted ceiling covered in mosaic, and the upper loggia is painted to resemble canopies against the sky. The spandrels (panels) of the loggia arches feature figures representing the four seasons of the year. The materials and the artisans were imported from overseas. Inspired by the palaces and villas of 16th-century Genoa, Hunt drew from classical Greek and Roman motifs to create the splendor of The Breakers. While the exterior is constructed of Indiana limestone, the walls of the Great Hall are made of carved Caen limestone imported from the coast of France. The walls are inset with plaques of rare marbles such as pink marble from Africa and green marble from Italy.
The Great Hall’s pilasters (embedded columns) and medallions (circular decorations) are decorated with acorns and oak leaves, representing strength and longevity, symbols of the Vanderbilt family. On top sits a massive cornice that frames a ceiling mural of a windswept sky. Hunt enclosed the space in consideration of Rhode Island’s New England climate, but he quite successfully retained the illusion of an open courtyard. The contrast of the elaborately detailed cornice against the painted sky reinforces that feeling, as does the large glass wall between the hall and the loggias.
Portrait of Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt II by Raimundo de Madrazo y Garreta, 1880. (Public Domain)The Dining Room is the most lavish room inside The Breakers, featuring 12 rose alabaster Corinthian columns, a ceiling mural of the goddess Aurora bringing in the dawn on a four-horse chariot, and two Baccarat crystal chandeliers. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
Projecting from the estate’s south wing is the oval Music Room. Richard Van der Boyen designed the intricate woodwork and furnishings. Jules Allard and Sons built all the woodwork in their shops in Paris and shipped it to America for installation. Used originally for recitals and dances, the Music Room was featured in an episode of Julian Fellowes’s HBO series “The Gilded Age.”
The gardens of the 70-room estate were designed by Boston engineer Ernest W. Bowdtich, who was a student of Frederick Law Olmsted. Trees were carefully placed to increase the sense of distance between The Breakers and the neighboring houses. The enormous gate of the property and the wrought iron fence are flanked with rhododendron, mountain laurel, and other flowering shrubs to create a secluded place. Footpaths wind around the tree-shaded grounds, all of which provide a very natural backdrop for the more formal terrace gardens.
Facing east to welcome the rising sun, the Morning Room is a communal sitting room designed by Allard & Sons in France, featuring platinum-leaf wall panels adorned with muses from Greek mythology. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
Paying homage to the original Breakers, Robert Swain Peabody and John Goddard Stearns, who designed the original house, were commissioned to create The Playhouse in the garden. It was a small, Queen Anne Revival style cottage, reminiscent of their original design, which was used as a children’s playhouse.
Cornelius Vanderbilt II died in 1899. He was 56. Alice, his wife, outlived him by 35 years. Not unlike the fictional Crawley family of “Downton Abbey,” the Vanderbilts faced the reality that such an estate, with its army of servants, was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. Alice gave the mansion to her youngest daughter Gladys (Countess Széchenyi), who was an active supporter of the Preservation Society of Newport County. She opened the house for visitors in 1948, leasing it to the society for a dollar a year. The society eventually purchased The Breakers in 1972 for $365,000—slightly less than what Mr. Vanderbilt paid for the property almost a century before.
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
