SPECIALENGLISH's profilewww.SpecialEnglish.tkPhotosBlogListsMore Tools Help

Blog


    Hitler's bookmark

    Adolf Hitler's bookmark (© Immigration and Customs Enforcement/AP)

    Was an 18-carat gold engraved bookmark thought to have once belonged to Adolf Hitler really found at a Starbucks? Yep. It's true. And it was a long, strange trip from Germany to that suburban coffee shop.


    Here are the details of the case.

    Hitler reportedly owned an 18-carat gold bookmark, a gift from his mistress, Eva Braun. (Read more about her and their dual suicide.)

    The bookmark features a portrait engraving and a note of condolence on his
    Stalingrad defeat.

    The artifact was stolen from a Madrid auction house in 2002 but recently resurfaced at a Starbucks in this city.

    The alleged thief apparently thought he was meeting a potential buyer. Instead, he was greeted by an undercover customs agent, and was arrested and charged with trying to sell stolen goods.

    Guess how much he tried to sell the gold bookmark for. (
    Answer.)

    Marian Anderson, 1897-1993: Her Voice Became Famous Around the World

    Marian AndersonA tall black woman is singing in a concert hall. Her eyes are closed. She is not looking at the crowd of people sitting silently before her. But she feels their presence. She tries to make the music touch their minds and hearts. Her deep, powerful voice reaches out to all parts of the concert hall.

    She finishes, and there is a long silence. Then the people clap and cheer. They call out for another song. And they call out her name.

    Marian Anderson was an American. But she found success in Europe before finding it in her own country. She was born in eighteen ninety-seven in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. She grew up surrounded by poverty. Yet she remembered her family as a happy one.

    The Andersons were deeply religious and involved in their church. It was in church where Marian first began to sing in public. She was six years old. The songs she sang were spirituals -- the religious songs that African Americans sang as slaves. The songs are about suffering, and the hope of a better life after death.

    Marian's interest in music grew as she got older. When she was eight, her father brought home an old piano. She never thought she would be able to play it. One day, however, she heard piano music coming from an open window. She looked inside the house. There she saw a woman, playing ever so beautifully. Her skin was dark, like Marian's. She knew then that if another black woman could play the piano so could she.

    The Andersons were too poor to pay someone to teach Marian. So she was able to teach herself only a few simple songs. Her voice remained her most important musical instrument.

    Marian's father died when she was ten years old. She had to go to work to help support her family. She continued to sing at church on Sunday. Soon, other churches heard of the young girl with the beautiful, deep voice. They invited her to sing for them. Marian accepted. She began singing in African-American churches all over Philadelphia.

    At about this time, several people told Marian that she should have a voice teacher. They told her that a beautiful voice can be destroyed if it is not trained. Marian said she always sang naturally, without any thought of how she did it. She realized that she would need some training.

    The people in Marian's church were very proud of her. They wanted to help, even though many of them were as poor as the Anderson family. They collected enough money to pay for a few voice lessons. She went to a local music school in Philadelphia.

    A group of girls was waiting to enter the school. Before Marian could enter, however, a young white woman who worked in the school told her to go away. "We do not take black people here," she said. Marian was shocked. Never before had anyone insulted her because of her race. Years later, she remembered her feelings:

    "I just looked at the woman. I was shocked that such words could come from someone so young. I did not understand how a person surrounded by the joy of music could not have some of its sense and beauty inside her. It was as if a cold and horrible hand had touched me. I had never heard such brutal words. My skin was different, but not my feelings. "

    Marian Anderson was to hear those hateful words many times again during her life.

    Marian Anderson continued to sing at churches and special gatherings. Her singing became more widely known. But she still felt that her voice needed training. Finally, a friend promised to help her meet a well-known voice teacher. The teacher was Giuseppe Boghetti. Only the best singers in Philadelphia were his students.

    Marian went to see Mister Boghetti. She was nervous, because she wanted to please him. He told her that he already had too many students. He made it clear that he would listen only because he knew her friend.  Marian's nervousness disappeared when she began to sing. The song she chose was one she knew best. It was called "Deep River".

    Mister Boghetti sat quietly when Marian finished. There were tears in his eyes. Finally, he said: "You will start training at once. I will need just two years with you. After that, you will be able to go anywhere and sing for anybody. "

    Marian Anderson was very happy. Her friends agreed to help pay for her lessons. Mister Boghetti taught her how to control and direct her voice. He also taught her how to breathe correctly. Marian learned to sing classical music -- the songs of the great European composers.

    Marian_Anderson_fdrlibraryMarian Anderson grew to love opera, because it joined singing and acting. But Mister Boghetti advised her not to choose opera as a way to make a living. He knew that black singers in America were not permitted to sing with white opera groups. Instead, he told her she could be successful by singing in concert theaters. She followed his advice.

    In nineteen twenty-four, Anderson sang in New York City for the first time. In those days, a singer had to be recognized in New York to be successful everywhere else. She sang in one of the most important concert theaters in the city -- Town Hall.

    She sang some spirituals and some classical music. She wanted to make sure she would be judged as a singer who happened to be black -- not as a black singer.

    Marian Anderson's town hall concert was not successful. Few people came to listen. The next day, newspapers sharply criticized her. They said she sang the European music without feeling or understanding. Anderson was crushed. She decided to return to Philadelphia. She thought about never singing again.

    Report: New York to lead US cities in job losses

    NEW YORK – Only five metropolitan areas in the U.S. will escape job losses this year, according to a forecast released Saturday by the U.S. Conference of Mayors.

    New York is expected to take the biggest hit as thousands of jobs are lost on Wall Street. Big financial firms are slashing workers as they cope with bad debt. Other companies have gone under, like Lehman Brothers Holdings Inc., which filed for bankruptcy in September.

    The New York area is expected to lose 181,000 jobs in 2009, the report said. Consulting company IHS Global Insight produced the report for the group.

    The Los Angeles area is expected to see 164,000 lost jobs, in part because of the huge drop in home prices that has punctured the California economy.

    After New York and Los Angeles, the Miami area is expected to see the greatest loss, with a decline of 85,000 jobs. Chicago and the surrounding area are next, with losses projected at 80,000.

    Unemployment is expected to top 10 percent in 70 areas, from already hard-hit cities like Detroit and Cleveland to places that had until recently been prosperous like the Riverside-San Bernardino area in California. Other big cities like Denver and St. Louis are expected to see unemployment rise above 9 percent.

    Ithaca, N.Y.; Fairbanks, Alaska; and St. George, Utah, are among the handful of the nation's 363 metropolitan areas expected to see employment remain flat or increase slightly.

    The Act of Love

    By Kathy Kemmer Pyron

    "I hate pulling weeds!" I thought. "It's hot. It's sticky. And it's Saturday!"

    Still, I made sure to pull every stinking weed out of that flower garden. My dad was Mr. Perfecto Lawnman. He could detect a single weed a mile away. And if he spotted so much as one little clover, I'd be back pulling weeds for the rest of the day.

    "Dad, I'm done," I shouted from the garden, feeling sure that I had done a good job.

    Dad stormed out of the house. "Don't be yelling outside, Kathy," he grumbled. "Use those two feet of yours and come get me."

    Suddenly, a sick feeling came over me. It was the kind of feeling I had when my dad was going to find that one stinking little clover.

    "Geez," Dad said, waving an irritated finger, "you missed a spot."

    I sighed, went to the spot and pulled the weeds. Afterward, I looked back at Dad, still standing there with a scowl on his face.

    "Okay," he said, turning away, "I guess you're done."

    As Dad walked back to the house, I wondered if I'd ever done anything good enough or right enough for him. Sometimes, I wondered if he even liked me.

    Like the night I had taken out the trash without being told. That was a big deal for me. But Dad didn't see it that way. He was mad because I didn't put the trash can lid on tightly enough to keep our dog out.

    "Well, I'm sorry," I thought, "but I can't help it if Sugar's a trash picker."

    The other day, when I was in a rush to get to school, Dad stopped me at the door. In his hand was a topless tube of toothpaste, the same one that I'd used just moments before.

    "Where's the cap to the toothpaste?" he asked, his eyebrows bunching in the middle. "And how many times do I have to tell you? Squeeze from the bottom!"

    "At least I brushed my teeth," I thought.

    Just then, a sloppy, wet tongue washed over my face, breaking me from my thoughts.
    "Sugar!" I said, hugging her tightly. "Where did you come from?"

    Sugar looked at me, her big sloppy tongue hanging to the side. I smiled.
    "At least you like me." Then standing up, I brushed the dirt from my knees and headed for the house.

    Two weeks later, on the morning of another weed picking weekend, I was sick. I was sweaty and feverish and I ached all over.

    "Let's go," Dad said, lifting me from the bed. "You need to see a doctor."

    "Please, no," I said, in a shallow, sickly voice, "I'd rather pull weeds."

    He took me anyway, and the doctor said I had pneumonia. The only nice thing about it was that I didn't have to pull weeds. I didn't have to take out the trash. And since I had to stay in bed, I didn't have to brush my teeth. If having pneumonia was ever good, it was good then. And as I rested, Sugar stayed with me, lying down beside my bed. She liked me.

    That night a noise woke me from my sleep. I opened my eyes just a sliver, and I saw a tall, slender form. Enough moonlight shined through my window so that I could see it was my dad. But why was he there? I didn't say, "Hi, Dad," or anything like that, I don't know why. He came up to me and put his hand against my forehead. When he took his hand away, I saw him lay something on my nightstand. He looked at me again, then left.

    When he was gone, I reached over to the nightstand and picked up a necklace. It wasn't like any I'd ever seen before. Dangling from a golden chain was a puppy in a basket, and the puppy looked just like Sugar. With shaking hands, I held that necklace to my heart and cried. My dad, who never gave hugs and never said, "I love you..." had just said it all.

    Gnarled illness

    Dede, a man who has gnarled growths sprouting from his hands ...
    Dede, a man who has gnarled growths sprouting from his hands and feet, sits in front of his house in Tanjung Jaya village, on the outskirts of Bandung, the capital of Indonesia's West Java province December 19, 2008.(Crack Palinggi/Reuters)