Teacher Tom: Space Has a Way of Imposing Its Will on Us

Teacher Tom: Space Has a Way of Imposing Its Will on Us

Space Has a Way of Imposing Its Will on Us

We didn't stay in a lot of hotels when I was a boy, but when we did they were mostly motels because our family often opted for taking trips across the country by car. I remember those long motel hallways with doors all along both sides. They seemed to go on forever. As dad wrangled the suitcases, my brother and I would race ahead, vying to be the first to locate our room. Mom didn't try to stop us from running, even though it was probably against hotel policy and certainly against the etiquette of the era. I imagine she couldn't have stopped us from running even if she tried. I mean, that is what a long, straight hallway says to young children: "Run." 

Our first order of business once we'd claimed our sleeping spots, even before suiting up for the pool, was to grab the ice bucket and race back along that hallway, in search of the ice machine. This, of course, involved either careening down the empty stairways at the end of the halls or, when things were perfect, riding the elevators up and down. In those multi-floor establishments we didn't settle for the first ice machine we CONTINUE READING: Teacher Tom: Space Has a Way of Imposing Its Will on Us

CURMUDGUCATION: Music and the Death of Shared Spaces

CURMUDGUCATION: Music and the Death of Shared Spaces

Music and the Death of Shared Spaces

I play in a town band (or at least, I do in years without pandemics) that has been around since 1856. I've dug into the history (actually wrote a book about it) which has just extended my lifelong interest in popular music and culture, and if you trace all of that history, I think you can see how we ended up where we are, both politically and in the education world.

As the 19th century turned into the 20th, music was almost exclusively a rare, shared experience. You could only listen to music that was live. If you had a piano and someone who could play it, maybe you could listen at home (a hit song was one that sold lots of sheet music), but for anything more complex, you had to wait for a band or orchestra performance. As an audience member you had zero control of what you listened to, nor could you pick the where or when. 

Pre-1920, the majority of Americans lived in small towns, so entertainment resources were limited. The period of 1880-1920 was the peak for town bands--if you wanted live music, you got some folks together and sis it yourself. There were parallels. In our area, for instance, there was a single amusement park, a destination park owned and run by the trolley company. On major holidays, everyone was there--all the towns, all the members of the family. Opportunities were few, and technology didn't favor personally choosing, so everyone shared the few chances over which they had little control or choice.

In the 1920s, things change. Our local amusement park died, killed by the automobile, a piece of technology that let people decide when and where they wanted to go. Meanwhile, recorded music finally become commercially viable. Suddenly, you can buy a pressed recording of a song that you like and listen to it any time you want in the comfort of your own home. 

The next few decades gave us improved record technology and better automobiles, which expanded personal control and choice. They also saw the rise of radio, CONTINUE READING: CURMUDGUCATION: Music and the Death of Shared Spaces