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12000203_ComCore_AfterTwentyYears_6-8;1;The policeman on the beat moved up the avenue impressively. The impressiveness was habitual and not for show, for spectators were few. The time was barely o'clock at night, but chilly gusts of wind with a taste of rain in them had well nigh de-peopled the streets. Trying doors as he went, twirling his club with many intricate and artful movements, turning now and then to cast his watchful eye adown the pacific thoroughfare, the officer, with his stalwart form and slight swagger, made a fine picture of a guardian of the peace. The vicinity was one that kept early hours. Now and then you might see the lights of a cigar store or of an all-night lunch counter but the majority of the doors belonged to business places that had long since been closed. When about midway of a certain block the policeman suddenly slowed his walk. In the doorway of a darkened hardware store a man leaned, with an unlighted cigar in his mouth. As the policeman walked up to him the man spoke up quickly. It's all right, officer, he said, reassuringly. I'm just waiting for a friend. It's an appointment made twenty years ago. Sounds a little funny to you, doesn't it? Well, I'll explain if you'd like to make certain it's all straight. About that long ago there used to be a restaurant where this store stands--'Big Joe' Brady's restaurant. Until five years ago, said the policeman. It was torn down then. The man in the doorway struck a match and lit his cigar. The light showed a pale, square-jawed face with keen eyes, and a little white scar near his right eyebrow. His scarfpin was a large diamond, oddly set. Twenty years ago to-night, said the man, I dined here at 'Big Joe' Brady's with Jimmy Wells, my best chum, and the finest chap in the world. He and I were raised here in New York, just like two brothers, together. I was eighteen and Jimmy was twenty. The next morning I was to start for the West to make my fortune. You couldn't have dragged Jimmy out of New York he thought it was the only place on earth. Well, we agreed that night that we would meet here again exactly twenty years from that date and time, no matter what our conditions might be or from what distance we might have to come. We figured that in twenty years each of us ought to have our destiny worked out and our fortunes made, whatever they were going to be. It sounds pretty interesting, said the policeman. Rather a long time between meets, though, it seems to me. Haven't you heard from your friend since you left? Well, yes, for a time we corresponded, said the other. But after a year or two we lost track of each other. You see, the West is a pretty big proposition, and I kept hustling around over it pretty lively. But I know Jimmy will meet me here if he's alive, for he always was the truest, stanchest old chap in the world. He'll never forget. I came a thousand miles to stand in this door to-night, and it's worth it if my old partner turns up. The waiting man pulled out a handsome watch, the lids of it set with small diamonds. Three minutes to ten, he announced. It was exactly ten o'clock when we parted here at the restaurant door. Did pretty well out West, didn't you? asked the policeman. You bet! I hope Jimmy has done half as well. He was a kind of plodder, though, good fellow as he was. I've had to compete with some of the sharpest wits going to get my pile. A man gets in a groove in New York. It takes the West to put a razor-edge on him. The policeman twirled his club and took a step or two. I'll be on my way. Hope your friend comes around all right. Going to call time on him sharp? I should say not! said the other. I'll give him half an hour at least. If Jimmy is alive on earth he'll be here by that time. So long, officer. Good-night, sir, said the policeman, passing on along his beat, trying doors as he went. There was now a fine, cold drizzle falling, and the wind had risen from its uncertain puffs into a steady blow. The few foot passengers astir in that quarter hurried dismally and silently along with coat collars turned high and pocketed hands. And in the door of the hardware store the man who had come a thousand miles to fill an appointment, uncertain almost to absurdity, with the friend of his youth, smoked his cigar and waited. About twenty minutes he waited, and then a tall man in a long overcoat, with collar turned up to his ears, hurried across from the opposite side of the street. He went directly to the waiting man. Is that you, Bob? he asked, doubtfully. Is that you, Jimmy Wells? cried the man in the door. Bless my heart! exclaimed the new arrival, grasping both the other's hands with his own. It's Bob, sure as fate. I was certain I'd find you here if you were still in existence. Well, well, well!--twenty years is a long time. The old restaurant's gone, Bob I wish it had lasted, so we could have had another dinner there. How has the West treated you, old man? Bully it has given me everything I asked it for. You've changed lots, Jimmy. I never thought you were so tall by two or three inches. Oh, I grew a bit after I was twenty. Doing well in New York, Jimmy? Moderately. I have a position in one of the city departments. Come on, Bob we'll go around to a place I know of, and have a good long talk about old times. The two men started up the street, arm in arm. The man from the West, his egotism enlarged by success, was beginning to outline the history of his career. The other, submerged in his overcoat, listened with interest. At the corner stood a drug store, brilliant with electric lights. When they came into this glare each of them turned simultaneously to gaze upon the other's face. The man from the West stopped suddenly and released his arm. You're not Jimmy Wells, he snapped. Twenty years is a long time, but not long enough to change a man's nose from a Roman to a pug. It sometimes changes a good man into a bad one, said the tall man. You've been under arrest for ten minutes, 'Silky' Bob. Chicago thinks you may have dropped over our way and wires us she wants to have a chat with you. Going quietly, are you? That's sensible. Now, before we go on to the station here's a note I was asked to hand you. You may read it here at the window. It's from Patrolman Wells. The man from the West unfolded the little piece of paper handed him. His hand was steady when he began to read, but it trembled a little by the time he had finished. The note was rather short. Bob: I was at the appointed place on time. When you struck the match to light your cigar I saw it was the face of the man wanted in Chicago. Somehow I couldn't do it myself, so I went around and got a plain clothes man to do the job. JIMMY. 
12000204_ComCore_AWrinkleinTime_6-8;1; If we knew ahead of time what was going to happen we'd be--we'd be like the people on Camazotz, with no lives of our own, with everything all planned and done for us. How can I explain it to you? Oh, I know. In your language you have a form of poetry called the sonnet. Yes, yes, Calvin said impatiently. What's that got to do with the Happy Medium? Kindly pay me the courtesy of listening to me. Mrs. Whatsit's voice was stern, and for a moment Calvin stopped pawing the ground like a nervous colt. It is a very strict form of poetry, is it not? Yes. There are fourteen lines, I believe, all in iambic pentameter. That's a very strict rhythm or meter, yes? Yes. Calvin nodded. No. But within this strict form the poet has complete freedom to say whatever he wants, doesn't he? Yes. Calvin nodded again. So, Mrs. Whatsit said. So what? Oh, do not be stupid, boy! Mrs. Whatsit scolded. You know perfectly well what I am driving at! You mean you're comparing our lives to a sonnet? A strict form, but freedom within it? Yes. Mrs. Whatsit said. You're given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you. 
12000220_ComCore_LifeofFrederickDouglass_6-8;1;The plan which I adopted, and the one by which I was most successful, was that of making friends of all the little white boys whom I met in the street. As many of these as I could, I converted into teachers. With their kindly aid, obtained at different times and in different places, I finally succeeded in learning to read. When I was sent of errands, I always took my book with me, and by going one part of my errand quickly, I found time to get a lesson before my return. I used also to carry bread with me, enough of which was always in the house, and to which I was always welcome for I was much better off in this regard than many of the poor white children in our neighborhood. This bread I used to bestow upon the hungry little urchins, who, in return, would give me that more valuable bread of knowledge. I am strongly tempted to give the names of two or three of those little boys, as a testimonial of the gratitude and affection I bear them but prudence forbids --not that it would injure me, but it might embarrass them for it is almost an unpardonable offence to teach slaves to read in this Christian country. It is enough to say of the dear little fellows, that they lived on Philpot Street, very near Durgin and Bailey's ship-yard. I used to talk this matter of slavery over with them. I would sometimes say to them, I wished I could be as free as they would be when they got to be men. You will be free as soon as you are twenty-one, but I am a slave for life! Have not I as good a right to be free as you have? These words used to trouble them they would express for me the liveliest sympathy, and console me with the hope that something would occur by which I might be free. I was now about twelve years old, and the thought of being a slave for life began to bear heavily upon my heart. Just about this time, I got hold of a book entitled The Columbian Orator. Every opportunity I got, I used to read this book. Among much of other interesting matter, I found in it a dialogue between a master and his slave. The slave was represented as having run away from his master three times. The dialogue represented the conversation which took place between them, when the slave was retaken the third time. In this dialogue, the whole argument in behalf of slavery was brought forward by the master, all of which was disposed of by the slave. The slave was made to say some very smart as well as impressive things in reply to his master--things which had the desired though unexpected effect for the conversation resulted in the voluntary emancipation of the slave on the part of the master. In the same book, I met with one of Sheridan's mighty speeches on and in behalf of Catholic emancipation. These were choice documents to me. I read them over and over again with unabated interest. They gave tongue to interesting thoughts of my own soul, which had frequently flashed through my mind, and died away for want of utterance. The moral which I gained from the dialogue was the power of truth over the conscience of even a slaveholder. What I got from Sheridan was a bold denunciation of slavery, and a powerful vindication of human rights. The reading of these documents enabled me to utter my thoughts, and to meet the arguments brought forward to sustain slavery but while they relieved me of one difficulty, they brought on another even more painful than the one of which I was relieved. The more I read, the more I was led to abhor and detest my enslavers. I could regard them in no other light than a band of successful robbers, who had left their homes, and gone to Africa, and stolen us from our homes, and in a strange land reduced us to slavery. I loathed them as being the meanest as well as the most wicked of men. As I read and contemplated the subject, behold! that very discontentment which Master Hugh had predicted would follow my learning to read had already come, to torment and sting my soul to unutterable anguish. As I writhed under it, I would at times feel that learning to read had been a curse rather than a blessing. It had given me a view of my wretched condition, without the remedy. It opened my eyes to the horrible pit, but to no ladder upon which to get out. In moments of agony, I envied my fellow-slaves for their stupidity. I have often wished myself a beast. I preferred the condition of the meanest reptile to my own. Any thing, no matter what, to get rid of thinking! It was this everlasting thinking of my condition that tormented me. There was no getting rid of it. It was pressed upon me by every object within sight or hearing, animate or inanimate. The silver trump of freedom had roused my soul to eternal wakefulness. Freedom now appeared, to disappear no more forever. It was heard in every sound, and seen in every thing. It was ever present to torment me with a sense of my wretched condition. I saw nothing without seeing it, I heard nothing without hearing it, and felt nothing without feeling it. It looked from every star, it smiled in every calm, breathed in every wind, and moved in every storm. 
12000222_ComCore_BloodToilTearsandSweat_6-8;1;I say to the House as I said to ministers who have joined this government, I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat. We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. We have before us many, many months of struggle and suffering. You ask, what is our policy? I say it is to wage war by land, sea, and air. War with all our might and with all the strength God has given us, and to wage war against a monstrous tyranny never surpassed in the dark and lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy. You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word. It is victory. Victory at all costs--Victory in spite of all terrors--Victory, however long and hard the road may be, for without victory there is no survival. I take up my task in buoyancy and hope. I feel sure that our cause will not be suffered to fail among men. I feel entitled at this juncture, at this time, to claim the aid of all and to say, Come then, let us go forward together with our united strength. 
12000225_ComCore_Travels_With_Charley_6-8;1;I soon discovered that if a wayfaring stranger wishes to eavesdrop on a local population the places for him to slip in and hold his peace are bars and churches. But some New England towns don't have bars, and church is only on Sunday. A good alternative is the roadside restaurant where men gather for breakfast before going to work or going hunting. To find these places inhabited one must get up very early. And there is a drawback even to this. Early-rising men not only do not talk much to strangers, they barely talk to one another. Breakfast conversation is limited to a series of laconic grunts. The natural New England taciturnity reaches its glorious perfection at breakfast. I am not normally a breakfast eater, but here I had to be or I wouldn't see anybody unless I stopped for gas. At the first lighted roadside restaurant I pulled in and took my seat at a counter. The customers were folded over their coffee cups like ferns. A normal conversation is as follows: WAITRESS: Same? CUSTOMER: Yep. WAITRESS: Cold enough for you? CUSTOMER: Yep. (Ten minutes.) WAITRESS: Refill? CUSTOMER: Yep. This is a really talkative customer. 
12000226_ComCore_IhaveADream_6-8;1;I say to you today, my friends, even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal. I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the State of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day down in Alabama with its vicious racists, with its Governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullificationone day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together. This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day. This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning: My country 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing: Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrims' pride, From every mountain-side Let Freedom ring. And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So, let freedom ring from the prodigious hill tops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania. Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California. But not only that, let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia. Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee. Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring. And when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village, from every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: Free at last! free at last! thank God almighty, we are free at last! 
12000228_ComCore_IKnowWhytheCagedBirdSings_6-8;1;She said she was going to give me some books and that I not only must read them, I must read them aloud. She suggested that I try to make a sentence sound in as many different ways as possible. I'll accept no excuse if you return a book to me that has been badly handled. My imagination boggled at the punishment I would deserve if in fact I did abuse a book of Mrs. Flowers'. Death would be too kind and brief. The odors in the house surprised me. Somehow I had never connected Mrs. Flowers with food or eating or any other common experience of common people. There must have been an outhouse, too, but my mind never recorded it. The sweet scent of vanilla had met us as she opened the door. I made tea cookies this morning. You see, I had planned to invite you for cookies and lemonade so we could have this little chat. The lemonade is in the icebox. It followed that Mrs. Flowers would have ice on an ordinary day, when most families in our town bought ice late on Saturdays only a few times during the summer to be used in the wooden ice-cream freezers. She took the bags from me and disappeared through the kitchen door. I looked around the room that I had never in my wildest fantasies imagined I would see. Browned photographs leered or threatened from the walls and the white, freshly done curtains pushed against themselves and against the wind. I wanted to gobble up the room entire and take it to Bailey, who would help me analyze and enjoy it. Have a seat, Marguerite. Over there by the table. She carried a platter covered with a tea towel. Although she warned that she hadn't tried her hand at baking sweets for some time, I was certain that like everything else about her the cookies would be perfect. They were flat round wafers, slightly browned on the edges and butter-yellow in the center. With the cold lemonade they were sufficient for childhood's lifelong diet. Remembering my manners, I took nice little lady-like bites off the edges. She said she had made them expressly for me and that she had a few in the kitchen that I could take home to my brother. So I jammed one whole cake in my mouth and the rough crumbs scratched the insides of my jaws, and if I hadn't had to swallow, it would have been a dream come true. As I ate she began the first of what we later called my lessons in living. She said that I must always be intolerant of ignorance but understanding of illiteracy. That some people, unable to go to school, were more educated and even more intelligent than college professors. She encouraged me to listen carefully to what country people called mother wit. That in those homely sayings was couched the collective wisdom of generations. 
12000229_ComCore_TheFoxandtheCrow_6-8;1;A Crow, having stolen a bit of flesh, perched in a tree, and held it in her beak. A Fox, seeing her, longed to possess himself of the flesh, and by a wily stratagem succeeded. How handsome is the Crow, he exclaimed, in the beauty of her shape and in the fairness of her complexion! Oh, if her voice were only equal to her beauty, she would deservedly be considered the Queen of Birds! This he said deceitfully, having greater admiration for the meat than for the crow. But the Crow, all her vanity aroused by the cunning flattery, and anxious to refute the reflection cast upon her voice, set up a loud caw, and dropped the flesh. The Fox quickly picked it up, and thus addressed the Crow: My good Crow, your voice is right enough, but your wit is wanting. He who listens to flattery is not wise, for it has no good purpose. 
12000230_ComCore_TheEmperorsNewClothes_6-8;1;Many years ago, there was an Emperor, who was so excessively fond of new clothes, that he spent all his money in dress. He did not trouble himself in the least about his soldiers nor did he care to go either to the theatre or the chase, except for the opportunities then afforded him for displaying his new clothes. He had a different suit for each hour of the day and as of any other king or emperor, one is accustomed to say, he is sitting in council, it was always said of him, The Emperor is sitting in his wardrobe. Time passed merrily in the large town which was his capital strangers arrived every day at the court. One day, two rogues, calling themselves weavers, made their appearance. They gave out that they knew how to weave stuffs of the most beautiful colors and elaborate patterns, the clothes manufactured from which should have the wonderful property of remaining invisible to everyone who was unfit for the office he held, or who was extraordinarily simple in character. These must, indeed, be splendid clothes! thought the Emperor. Had I such a suit, I might at once find out what men in my realms are unfit for their office, and also be able to distinguish the wise from the foolish! This stuff must be woven for me immediately. And he caused large sums of money to be given to both the weavers in order that they might begin their work directly. So the two pretended weavers set up two looms, and affected to work very busily, though in reality they did nothing at all. They asked for the most delicate silk and the purest gold thread put both into their own knapsacks and then continued their pretended work at the empty looms until late at night. 
12000231_ComCore_TheMinotaur_6-8;1; Alas! my son, quoth King Aegeus, heaving a long sigh, here is a very lamentable matter in hand! This is the woefullest anniversary in the whole year. It is the day when we annually draw lots to see which of the youths and maids of Athens shall go to be devoured by the horrible Minotaur! The Minotaur! exclaimed Prince Theseus and like a brave young prince as he was, he put his hand to the hilt of his sword. What kind of a monster may that be? Is it not possible, at the risk of one's life, to slay him? But King Aegeus shook his venerable head, and to convince Theseus that it was quite a hopeless case, he gave him an explanation of the whole affair. It seems that in the island of Crete there lived a certain dreadful monster, called a Minotaur, which was shaped partly like a man and partly like a bull, and was altogether such a hideous sort of a creature that it is really disagreeable to think of him. If he were suffered to exist at all, it should have been on some desert island, or in the duskiness of some deep cavern, where nobody would ever be tormented by his abominable aspect. But King Minos, who reigned over Crete, laid out a vast deal of money in building a habitation for the Minotaur, and took great care of his health and comfort, merely for mischief's sake. A few years before this time, there had been a war between the city of Athens and the island of Crete, in which the Athenians were beaten, and compelled to beg for peace. No peace could they obtain, however, except on condition that they should send seven young men and seven maidens, every year, to be devoured by the pet monster of the cruel King Minos. For three years past, this grievous calamity had been borne. And the sobs, and groans, and shrieks, with which the city was now filled, were caused by the people's woe, because the fatal day had come again, when the fourteen victims were to be chosen by lot and the old people feared lest their sons or daughters might be taken, and the youths and damsels dreaded lest they themselves might be destined to glut the ravenous maw of that detestable man-brute. But when Theseus heard the story, he straightened himself up, so that he seemed taller than ever before and as for his face it was indignant, despiteful, bold, tender, and compassionate, all in one look. Let the people of Athens this year draw lots for only six young men, instead of seven, said he, I will myself be the seventh and let the Minotaur devour me if he can! O my dear son, cried King Aegeus, why should you expose yourself to this horrible fate? You are a royal prince, and have a right to hold yourself above the destinies of common men. It is because I am a prince, your son, and the rightful heir of your kingdom, that I freely take upon me the calamity of your subjects, answered Theseus, And you, my father, being king over these people, and answerable to Heaven for their welfare, are bound to sacrifice what is dearest to you, rather than that the son or daughter of the poorest citizen should come to any harm. 
12000238_ComCore_Genetics_6-8;1; Hatshepsut was a queen of Egypt in the th century B.C. When her husband, the pharaoh, died, Hatshepsut's stepson, Thutmose III, became king. Thutmose III was only a boy at the time, so his stepmother acted as regent--a sort of substitute king. The plan was that when Thutmose II grew up, he would take charge, but Hatshepsut had other ideas. Declaring herself pharaoh, she ruled Egypt with an iron hand for the next years. In order to make herself seem more powerful in a country dominated by men, Hatshepsut behaved like a man. She wore men's clothing, called herself by male titles, and even wore the false beard that male pharaohs wore. Inan English archaeologist named Howard Carter opened a tomb in Egypt that held two mummies one of them was large and posed like a member of the royal family. Because he was searching for a male pharaoh, Carter resealed the tomb with the mummies still inside. A few years later, the tomb was opened again and the smaller mummy was removed, but the larger mummy was left behind. Over time people wondered who she might be: Was it possible that the woman left in the tomb was the missing pharaoh, Hatshepsut? Inexperts reopened the tomb to study the mummy, who wore a wooden mask of the type that might attach to a false beard. A special box holding the organs was placed in the tomb with the mummy. High-tech scanning equipment showed the box containing Hatshepsut's organs also held a tooth. Experts announced that this mummy was the lost pharaoh Hatshepsut and they set out to prove it with DNA. 
17000100_ComCore_TellTaleHeart_6-8;1;When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o'clock--still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart,--for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night suspicion of foul play had been aroused information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises. I smiled,--for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search--search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim. The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct:--It continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definiteness--until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears. No doubt I now grew very pale --but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased--and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound--much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath--and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly--more vehemently but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men--but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed--I raved--I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder--louder--louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God!--no, no! They heard!--they suspected!--they knew!--they were making a mockery of my horror!-this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now--again!--hark! louder! louder! louder! louder! Villains! I shrieked, dissemble no more! I admit the deed!--tear up the planks! here, here!--It is the beating of his hideous heart! 
17000107_ComCore_Dragonwings_6-8;1;By the time the winter rains came to the city, we were not becoming rich, but we were doing well. Each day we put a little money away in our cold tin can. Father never said anything, but I knew he was thinking about the day when we might be able to afford to bring Mother over. You see, it was not simply a matter of paying her passage over on the boat. Father would probably have to go over after her and escort her across. There had to be money for bribes--tea money, Uncle called it--at both ends of the ocean. Now that we no longer belonged to the Company, we somehow had to acquire a thousand dollars worth of property, a faraway figure when you can only save nickels and dimes. And yet the hope that we could start our own little fix-it shop and qualify as merchants steadily grew with the collection of coins in the tin can. I was happy most of the time, even when it became the time for the New Year by the Tang people's reckoning. We took the old picture of the Stove King and smeared some honey on it before we burned it in the stove. Later that evening we would hang up a new picture of the Stove King that we had bought in the Tang people's town. That was a sign the Stove King had returned to his place above our stove. After we had finished burning the old picture, we say down to a lunch of meat pastries and dumplings. Robin ate quietly--for her, that is. Actually, she monopolized only half the conversation. Look, she said. My aunt would never go in for those pagan customs--not in her house. But I could sneak the old picture out and tell her you wanted to replace it with a new one. Then you could smear honey on it for her. But you no believe in the Stove King. Of course not, she snapped. She squirmed in her seat. But it might make you feel better. I could see that she really wanted to make herself feel better. No sense in taking chances with the supernatural, and so on. I could tell her train of thought because I sometimes carried the little cross she had given me in my pocket--just as insurance. 
17000108_ComCore_RollofThunder_6-8;1; You were born blessed, boy, with land of your own. If you hadn't been, you'd cry out for it while you try to survive--like Mr. Lanier and Mr. Avery. Maybe even do what they doing now. It's hard on a man to give up, but sometimes it seems there just ain't nothing else he can do. I I'm sorry, Papa, Stacey muttered. After a moment, Papa reached out and draped his arm over Stacey's shoulder. Papa, I said, standing to join them, we giving up too? Papa looked down at me and brought me closer, then waved his hand toward the drive. You see that fig tree over yonder, Cassie? Them other trees all around that oak and walnut, they're a lot bigger and they take up more room and give so much shade they almost overshadow that little ole fig. But that fig tree's got roots that run deep, and it belongs in that yard as much as that oak and walnut. It keeps blooming, bearing fruit year after year, knowing all the time it'll never get as big as them other trees. Just keeps on growing and doing what it gotta do. It don't give up. It give up, it'll die. There's a lesson to be learned from that little tree, Cassie girl, 'cause we're like it. We keep doing what we gotta do, and we don't give up. We can't. 
17000109_ComCore_Eleven_6-8;1;What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don't. You open your eyes and everything's just like yesterday, only it's today. And you don't feel eleven at all. You feel like you're still ten. And you are--underneath the year that makes you eleven. Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of you that's still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you're all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you're three, and that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry. Maybe she's feeling three. Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That's how being eleven years old is. You don't feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven when they ask you. And you don't feel smart eleven, not until you're almost twelve. That's the way it is. 
17000110_ComCore_AbsolutelyTrueStory_6-8;1;It's a weird thing. Reservations were meant to be prisons, you know? Indians were supposed to move onto reservations and die. We were supposed to disappear. But somehow or another, Indians have forgotten that reservations were meant to be death camps. I wept because I was the only one who was brave and crazy enough to leave the rez. I was the only one with enough arrogance. I wept and wept and wept because I knew that I was never going to drink and because I was never going to kill myself and because I was going to have a better life out in the white world. I realized that I might be a lonely Indian boy, but I was not alone in my loneliness. There were millions of other Americans who had left their birthplaces in search of a dream. I realized that, sure, I was a Spokane Indian. I belonged to that tribe. But I also belonged to the tribe of American immigrants. And to the tribe of basketball players. And to the tribe of bookworms. And the tribe of cartoonists. And the tribe of teenage boys. And the tribe of small-town kids. And the tribe of Pacific Northwesterners. And the tribe of tortilla chips-and-salsa lovers. And the tribe of poverty. And the tribe of funeral-goers. And the tribe of beloved sons. And the tribe of boys who really missed their best friends. It was a huge realization. And that's when I knew that I was going to be okay. 
17000113_ComCore_WhitneyvCalifornia_6-8;1;Whitney v. California U.S. (Brandeis Concurrence) by Louis D. Brandeis ( ). Fear of serious injury cannot alone justify suppression of free speech and assembly. Men feared witches and burnt women. It is the function of speech to free men from the bondage of irrational fears. To justify suppression of free speech, there must be reasonable ground to fear that serious evil will result if free speech is practiced. There must be reasonable ground to believe that the danger apprehended is imminent. There must be reasonable ground to believe that the evil to be prevented is a serious one. Every denunciation of existing law tends in some measure to increase the probability that there will be violation of it. Condonation of a breach enhances the probability. Expressions of approval add to the probability. Propagation of the criminal state of mind by teaching syndicalism increases it. Advocacy of law-breaking heightens it still further. But even advocacy of violation, however reprehensible morally, is not a justification for denying free speech where the advocacy falls short of incitement and there is nothing to indicate that the advocacy would be immediately acted on. The wide difference between advocacy and incitement, between preparation and attempt, between assembling and conspiracy, must be borne in mind. In order to support a finding of clear and present danger, it must be shown either that immediate serious violence was to be expected or was advocated, or that the past conduct furnished reason to believe that such advocacy was then contemplated. Those who won our independence by revolution were not cowards. They did not fear political change. They did not exalt order at the cost of liberty. To courageous, self-reliant men, with confidence in the power of free and fearless reasoning applied through the processes of popular government, no danger flowing from speech can be deemed clear and present unless the incidence of the evil apprehended is so imminent that it may befall before there is opportunity for full discussion. If there be time to expose through discussion the falsehood and fallacies, to avert the evil by the processes of education, the remedy to be applied is more speech, not enforced silence. Only an emergency can justify repression. Such must be the rule if authority is to be reconciled with freedom. Such, in my opinion, is the command of the Constitution. It is therefore always open to Americans to challenge a law abridging free speech and assembly by showing that there was no emergency justifying it. 
17000115_ComCore_GreatFire_6-8;1;Chicago in was a city ready to burn. The city boasted havingbuildings, many of them--such as the Courthouse and the Tribune Building--large and ornately decorated. The trouble was that about two-thirds of all these structures were made entirely of wood. Many of the remaining buildings (even the ones proclaimed to be fireproof ) looked solid, but were actually jerry-built affairs the stone or brick exteriors hid wooden frames and floors, all topped with highly flammable tar or shingle roofs. It was also a common practice to disguise wood as another kind of building material. The fancy exterior decorations on just about every building were carved from wood, then painted to look like stone or marble. Most churches had steeples that appeared to be solid from the street, but a closer inspection would reveal a wooden framework covered with cleverly painted copper or tin. The situation was worst in the middle-class and poorer districts. Lot sizes were small, and owners usually filled them up with cottages, barns, sheds, and outhouses--all made of fast-burning wood, naturally. Because both Patrick and Catherine O'Leary worked, they were able to put a large addition on their cottage despite a lot size of just by feet. Interspersed in these residential areas were a variety of businesses--paint factories, lumberyards, distilleries, gasworks, mills, furniture manufacturers, warehouses, and coal distributors. Wealthier districts were by no means free of fire hazards. Stately stone and brick homes had wood interiors, and stood side by side with smaller wood-frame houses. Wooden stables and other storage buildings were common, and trees lined the streets and filled the yards. The links between richer and poorer sections went beyond the materials used for construction or the way buildings were crammed together. Chicago had been built largely on soggy marshland that flooded every time it rained. As the years passed and the town developed, a quick solution to the water and mud problem was needed. The answer was to make the roads and sidewalks out of wood and elevate them above the waterline, in some places by several feet. On the day the fire started, over miles of pine-block streets and miles of wooden sidewalks bound theacres of the city in a highly combustible knot. 
17000117_ComCore_WordsWeLiveBy_6-8;1;We the People. The first three word of the Constitution are the most important. They clearly state that the people--not the king, not the legislature, not the courts--are the true rulers in American government. This principle is known as popular sovereignty. But who are We the People ? This question troubled the nation for centuries. As Lucy Stone, one of America's first advocates for women's rights, asked in'We the People'? Which 'We the People'? The women were not included. Neither were white males who did not own property, American Indians, or African Americans--slave or free. Justice Thurgood Marshall, the first African American on the Supreme Court, described the limitation: For a sense of the evolving nature of the Constitution, we need look no further than the first three words of the document's preamble: 'We the People.' When the Founding Fathers used this phrase inthey did not have in mind the majority of America's citizens. The men who gathered in Philadelphia is could not? have imagined, nor would they have accepted, that the document they were drafting would one day be construed by a Supreme court to which had been appointed a woman and the descendant of an African slave. Through the Amendment process, more and more Americans were eventually included in the Constitution's definition of We the People. After the Civil War, the Thirteenth Amendment ended slavery, the Fourteenth Amendment gave African Americans citizenship, and the Fifteenth Amendment gave black men the vote. Inthe Nineteenth Amendment gave women the right to vote nationwide, and inthe Twenty-sixth Amendment extended suffrage to eighteen-year-olds. 
17000118_ComCore_FreedomWalkers_6-8;1;Not so long ago in Montgomery, Alabama, the color of your skin determined where you could sit on a public bus. If you happened to be an African American, you had to sit in the back of the bus, even if there were empty seats up front. Back then, racial segregation was the rule throughout the American South. Strict laws--called Jim Crow laws--enforced a system of white supremacy that discriminated against blacks and kept them in their place as second-class citizens. People were separated by race from the moment they were born in segregated hospitals until the day they were buried in segregated cemeteries. Blacks and whites did not attend the same schools, worship in the same churches, eat in the same restaurants, sleep in the same hotels, drink from the same water fountains, or sit together in the same movie theaters. In Montgomery, it was against the law for a white person and a Negro to play checkers on public property or ride together in a taxi. Most southern blacks were denied their right to vote. The biggest obstacle was the poll tax, a special tax that was required of all voters but was too costly for many blacks and for poor whites as well. Voters also had to pass a literacy test to prove that they could read, write, and understand the U.S. Constitution. These tests were often rigged to disqualify even highly educated blacks. Those who overcame the obstacles and insisted on registering as voters faced threats, harassment. And even physical violence. As a result, African Americans in the South could not express their grievances in the voting booth, which for the most part, was closed to them. But there were other ways to protest, and one day a half century ago, the black citizens in Montgomery rose up in protest and united to demand their rights--by walking peacefully. It all started on a bus. 
17000119_ComCore_LetteronThomasJefferson_6-8;1;Mr. Jefferson came into Congress, in June,and brought with him a reputation for literature, science, science, and a happy talent of composition. Writings of his were handed about, remarkable for the peculiar felicity of expression. Though a silent member in Congress, he was so prompt, frank, explicit, and decisive upon committees and in conversation, not even Samuel Adams was more so, that he soon seized upon my heart and upon this occasion I gave him my vote, and did all in my power to procure the votes of others. I think he had one more vote than any other, and that placed him at the head of the committee. I had the next highest number, and that placed me second. The committee met, discussed the subject, and then appointed Mr. Jefferson and me to make the draught, I suppose because we were the two first on the list. The subcommittee met. Jefferson proposed to me to make the draft. I said, 'I will not,' 'You should do it.' 'Oh! no.' 'Why will you not? You ought to do it.' 'I will not.' 'Why?' 'Reasons enough.' 'What can be your reasons?' 'Reason first, you are a Virginian, and a Virginian ought to appear at the head of this business. Reason second, I am obnoxious, suspected, and unpopular. You are very much otherwise. Reason third, you can write ten times better than I can.' 'Well,' said Jefferson, 'if you are decided, I will do as well as I can.' 'Very well. When you have drawn it up, we will have a meeting.' 
17000200_ComCore_MyFathersDragon_2-3;0;Who are you? the lion yelled at my father. My name is Elmer Elevator. Where do you think you are going? I'm going home, said my father. That's what you think! said the lion. Ordinarily I'd save you for afternoon tea, but I happen to be upset enough and hungry enough to eat you right now. And he picked up my father in his front paws to feel how fat he was. My father said, Oh, please, Lion, before you eat me, tell me why you are so particularly upset today. It's my mane, said the lion, as he was figuring out how many bites a little boy would make. You see what a dreadful mess it is, and I don't seem to be able to do anything about it. My mother is coming over on the dragon this afternoon, and if she sees me this way I'm afraid she'll stop my allowance. She can't stand messy manes! But I'm going to eat you now, so it won't make any difference to you. Oh, wait a minute, said my father, and I'll give you just the things you need to make your mane a tidy and beautiful. I have them here in my pack. You do? said the lion, Well, give them to me, and perhaps I'll save you for afternoon tea after all, and he put my father down on the ground. My father opened the pack and took out the comb and the brush and the seven hair ribbons of different colors. Look, he said, I'll show you what to do on your forelock, where you can watch me. First you brush a while, and then you comb, and then you brush again until all the twigs and snarls are gone. Then you divide it up into three and braid it like this and tie a ribbon around the end. Ad my father was doing this, the lion watched very carefully and began to look much happier. When my father tied the ribbon he was all smiles. Oh, that's wonderful, really wonderful! said the lion. Let me have the comb and brush and see if I can do it. So my father gave him the comb and brush and the lion began busily grooming his mane. As a matter of fact, he was so busy that he didn't even know when my father left. 
17000201_ComCore_CrowBoy_2-3;0;On the first day of our village school in Japan, there was a boy missing. He was found hidden away in the dark space underneath the schoolhouse floor. None of use knew him. He was nicknamed Chibi because he was very small. Chibi means tiny boy. This strange boy was afraid of our teacher and could not learn a thing. He was afraid of the children and could not make friends with them at all. He was left alone in the study time. He was left alone in the play time. He was always at the end of the line, always at the foot of the class, a forlorn little tag-along. Soon Chibi began to make his eyes cross eyed so that he was not able to see whatever he did not want to see. And Chibi found many ways, one after another, to kill time and amuse himself. Just the ceiling was interesting enough for him to watch for hours. The wooden top of his desk was another interesting thing to watch. A patch of cloth on a boys shoulder was something to study. Of course the window showed him many things all year round. Even when it was raining the window had surprising things to show him. On the playground, if he closed his eyes and listened, Chibi could hear many different sounds, near and far. And Chibi could hold and watch insects and grubs that most of us wouldnt touch or even look it. So that not only the children in our class but the older ones and even the younger ones called him stupid and slowpoke. But, slowpokes or not, day after day Chibi came trudging to school. He always carried the same lunch, a rice ball wrapped in a radish leaf. Even when it rained or stormed he still came trudging along, wrapped in a raincoat made from dried zebra grass. And so, day by day, five years went by, and we were in the sixth grade, the last class in school. 
17000202_ComCore_AmosBoris_2-3;0;The Rodent, for that was the boat's name, proved to be very well made and very well suited to the sea. And Amos, after one miserable day of seasickness, proved to be a natural sailor, very well suited to the ship. He was enjoying his trip immensely. It was beautiful weather. Day and night he moved up and down, up and down, on waves as big as mountains, and he was full of wonder, full of enterprise, and full of love for life. One night, in a phosphorescent sea, he marveled at the sight of some whales spouting luminous water and later, lying on the deck of his boat gazing at the immense, starry sky, the tiny mouse Amos, a little speck of a living thing in the vast living universe, felt thoroughly akin to it all. Overwhelmed by the beauty and mystery of everything, he rolled over and over and right off the deck of his boat and into the sea. Help! he squeaked as he grabbed desperately at the Rodent. But it evaded his grasp and went bowling along under full sail, and he never saw it again. And there he was! Where? In the middle of the immense ocean, a thousand miles from the nearest shore, with no one else in sight as far as the eye could see and not even so much as a stick of driftwood to hold on to. Should I try to swim home? Amos wondered. Or should I just try to stay afloat? He might swim a mile, but never a thousand. He decided to just keep afloat, treading water and hoping that something--who knows what?--would turn up to save him. But what if a shark, or some big fish, a horse mackerel, turned up? What was he supposed to do to protect himself? He didn't know. Morning came, as it always does. He was getting terribly tired. He was a very small, very cold, very wet and worried mouse. There was still nothing in sight but the empty sea. Then, as if things weren't bad enough, it began to rain. At last the rain stopped and the noonday sun gave him a bit of cheer and warmth in the vast loneliness but his strength was giving out. He began to wonder what it would be like to drown. Would it take very long? Would it feel just awful? Would his soul go to heaven? Would there be other mice there? As he was asking himself these dreadful questions, a huge head burst through the surface of the water and loomed up over him. It was a whale. What sort of fish are you? the whale asked. You must be one of a kind! I'm not a fish, said Amos. I'm a mouse, which is a mammal, the highest form of life. I live on land. Holy clam and cuttlefish! said the whale. I'm a mammal myself, though I live in the sea. Call me Boris, he added. Amos introduced himself and told Boris how he came to be there in the middle of the ocean. The whale said he would be happy to take Amos to the Ivory Coast of Africa, where he happened to be headed anyway, to attend a meeting of whales from all the seven seas. But Amos said he'd had enough adventure to last him a while. He wanted only to get back home and hoped the whale wouldn't mind going out of his way to take him there. Not only would I not mind, said Boris, I would consider it a privilege. What other whale in the all the world ever had the chance to get to know such a strange creature as you! Please climb aboard. And Amos got on Boris's back. Are you sure you're a mammal? Amos asked. You smell more like a fish. Then Boris the whale went swimming along, with Amos the mouse on his back. 
17000203_ComCore_Treasure_2-3;0;There was once a man and his name was Isaac. He lived in such poverty that again and again he went to bed hungry. One night, he had a dream. In his dream, a voice told him to go to the capital city and look for a treasure under the bridge by the Royal Palace. It is only a dream, he thought when he woke up, and he paid no attention to it. The dream came back a second time. And Isaac still paid no attention to it. When the dream came back a third time, he said, Maybe it's true, and so he set out on his journey. Now and then, someone gave him a ride, but most of the way he walked. He walked through forests. He crossed over mountains. Finally he reached the capital city. But when he came to the bridge by the Royal Palace, he found that it was guarded day and night. He did not dare to search for the treasure. Yet he returned to the bridge every morning and wandered around it until dark. One day, the captain of the guards asked him, Why are you here? Isaac told him the dream. The captain laughed. You poor fellow, he said, what a pity you wore your shoes out for a dream! Listen, if I believed a dream I once had, I would go right now to the city you came from, and I'd look for a treasure under the stove in the house of a fellow named Isaac. And he laughed again. Isaac bowed to the captain and started on his long way home. He crossed over mountains. He walked through forests. Now and then, someone gave him a ride, but most of the way he walked. At last he reached his own town. When he got home, he dug under his stove, and there he found the treasure. In thanksgiving, he built a house of prayer, and in one of its corners he put an inscription: Sometimes one must travel far to discover what is near. Isaac sent the captain of the guards a priceless ruby. And for the rest of his days he lived in contentment and he was never poor again. 
17000204_ComCore_StoriesJulianTells_2-3;0;My little brother, Huey, my best friend, Gloria, and I were sitting on our front steps. It was one of those hot summer days when everything stands still. We didn't know what to do. We were watching the grass grow. It didn't grow fast. You know something? Gloria said. This is a slow day. It's so slow the dogs don't bark, Huey said. It's so slow the flies don't fly, Gloria said. It's so slow ice cream wouldn't melt, I said. If we had any ice cream, Huey said. But we don't, Gloria said. We watched the grass some more. We'd better do something, I said. Like what? Gloria asked. We could go visit Dad, Huey said. That's a terrible idea, I said. Why? Huey asked. I like visiting Dad. My father has a shop about a mile from our house where he fixes cars. Usually it is fun to visit him. If he has customers, he always introduces us as if we were important guests. If he doesn't have company, sometimes he lets us ride in the cars he puts up on the lift. Sometimes he buys us treats. Huey, I said, Usually, visiting Dad is a good idea. Today, it's a dangerous idea. Why? Gloria asked. Because we're bored, I said. My dad hates it when people are bored. He says the world is so interesting nobody should ever be bored. I see, Gloria said, as if she didn't. So we'll go see him, Huey said, and we just won't tell him we're bored. We're bored, but we won't tell him. Just so you remember that! I said. Oh, I'll remember, Huey said. Huey was wearing his angel look. When he has that look you know he'll never remember anything. 
17000205_ComCore_SarahPlainTall_2-3;0;I wiped my hands on my apron and went to the window. Outside, the prairie reached out and touched the places where the sky came down. Though the winter was nearly over, there were patches of snow everywhere. I looked at the long dirt road that crawled across the plains, remembering the morning that Mama had died, cruel and sunny. They had come for her in a wagon and taken her away to be buried. And then the cousins and aunts and uncles had come and tried to fill up the house. But they couldn't. Slowly, one by one, they left. And then the days seemed long and dark like winter days, even though it wasn't winter. And Papa didn't sing. 
17000206_ComCore_TopsandBottoms_2-3;0;Once upon a time there lived a very lazy bear who had lots of money and lots of land. His father had been a hard worker and a smart business bear, and he had given all of his wealth to his son. But all Bear wanted to do was sleep. Not far down the road lived a hare. Although Hare was clever, he sometimes got into trouble. He had once owned land, too, but now he had nothing. He had lost a risky bet with a tortoise and had sold off all of his land to Bear to pay off the debt. Hare and his family were in very bad shape. The children are so hungry father bear! We must think of something! Mrs. Hare cried one day. So Hare and Mrs. Hare put their heads together and cooked up a plan. Bear stared at his pile. But, Hare, all the best parts are in your half! You chose the tops, Bear, Hare said. Now, Hare, you've tricked me. You plant this field again--and this season I want the bottoms! Hare agreed. It's a done deal, Bear. 
17000207_ComCore_Raft_2-3;0;Somehow, on the river, it seemed like summer would never end. But of course it did. On my last day, I got up extra early and crept down to the dock. The air was cool and a low pearly fog hung over the river. I untied the raft and quietly drifted downstream. Ahead of me, through the fog, I saw two deer moving across the river, a doe and a fawn. When they reached the shore, the doe leaped easily up the steep bank, then turned to wait for her baby. But the fawn was in trouble. It kept slipping down the muddy bank, The doe returned to the water to help, but the more the fawn struggled, the deeper it got stuck in the mud. I pushed off the river bottom and drove the raft hard onto the muddy bank, startling the doe. Then I dropped into the water. I was ankle-deep in mud. You're okay, I whispered to the fawn, praying that the raft would calm it. I won't hurt you. Gradually the fawn stopped struggling, as if it understood that I was there to help. I put my arms around it and pulled. It barely moved. I pulled again, then again. Slowly the fawn eased out of the mud, and finally it was free. Carefully I carried the fawn up the bank to its mother. Then, quietly, I returned to the raft. From there I watched the doe nuzzle and clean her baby, and I knew what I had to do. I pulled the stub of a crayon from my pocket, and drew the fawn, in all its wildness, onto the old gray boards of the raft. When I had finished, I knew it was just right. 
17000208_ComCore_LighthouseFamilytheStorm_2-3;0;In a lonely lighthouse, far from city and town, far form the comfort of friends, lived a kindhearted cat named Pandora. She had been living in this lighthouse all alone for four long years, and it was beginning to wear. She found herself sighing long, deep, lonely sighs. She sat on the rocks overlooking the waves far too long. Sometimes her nose got a sunburn. And at night, when she tried to read by the lantern light, her mind wandered and she would think for hours on her childhood when she had friends and company. Why did Pandora accept this lonely lighthouse life? Because a lighthouse had once saved her. When Pandora was but a kitten, she and her father had gone sailing aboard a grand schooner, bound for a new country. Pandora's mother had stayed behind, with the baby, to join them later. And while they were at sea, Pandora and her father were shaken from their beds one night by an awful twisting of the ship's great bow. Stay here, Pandora! her father had commanded. Stay here and wait until I come for you! They were in a terrible storm. The wind was howling, and the waves crashed hard upon them. Worse, a deep fog had spread itself all over the water, and it is fog that will bring a ship to its end. Fog that will blind a sailor's eyes until his ship has hit the jagged shore and torn itself to pieces. Pandora's father knew this as he worked with the others to keep the ship's sails aloft and his daughter trembled in her bed. He knew what somber danger they were in. But Pandora's father was a brave cat and he would not give up hope. He would hold tight to the riggings with the others until help, in whatever form might come to them. In time, the winds began to settle and the waves grew smaller. But the dense fog refused to lift. The ship's captain was clearly worried. For he knew these waters they sailed in. He knew the long history of ships gone down. And he carried little hope that help might come to them, that someone might lead them away from the deadly shore. For only a lighthouse might show them the way, and there had been no working light on these waters for a hundred years. So it was with much bewilderment, and amazement, and overwhelming joy that he heard, first, the deep, clear sound of a foghorn, then saw before him a light. Yes, a light! And it was not the light of another ship or small boat. Only a very powerful lamp could make itself seen through a fog like this. Only the lamp of a lighthouse. Pull leeward! cried the captain. Away from the light! And everyone pulled hard on the riggings to make the ship turn, turn away from the dangerous shore. 
17000209_ComCore_OneEyedGiant_2-3;0;A hideous giant lumbered into the clearing. He carried nearly half a forest's worth of wood on his back. His monstrous head jutted from his body like a shaggy mountain peak. A single eye bulged in the center of his forehead. The monster was Polyphemus. He was the most savage of all the Cyclopes, a race of fierce one-eyed giants who lived without laws or leader. The Cyclopes were ruthless creatures who were known to capture and devour any sailors who happened near their shores. Polyphemus threw down his pile of wood. As it crashed to the ground, Odysseus and his men fled to the darkest corners of the cave. Unaware that the Greeks were hiding inside, Polyphemus drove his animals into the cave. Then he rolled a huge boulder over its mouth to block out the light of day and imprison his flock inside. Twenty-four wagons could not haul that rock away, Odysseus thought desperately. How will we escape this monster? Odysseus' men trembled with terror as the giant made a small fire and milked his goats in the shadowy light. His milking done, he threw more wood on his fire. The flame blazed brightly, lighting up the corners of the cave where Odysseus and his men were hiding. What's this? Who are you? From where do you come? the giant boomed. He glared at the Greeks with his single eye. Are you pirates who steal the treasure of others? Odysseus' men were frozen with terror. But Odysseus hid his own fear and stepped toward the monster. We are not pirates, he said, We are Greeks blown off course by storm winds. Will you offer us the gift of hospitality like a good host? If you do, mighty Zeus, king of the gods, will be pleased. Zeus is the guardian of all strangers. Fool! the giant growled. Who are you to tell me to please Zeus? I am a son of Poseidon, god of the seas! I am not afraid of Zeus! Odysseus' men cowered in fear. Polyphemus moved closer to Odysseus. He spoke in a soft, terrible voice. But tell me, stranger, where is your ship? Near or far from shore? Odysseus knew Polyphemus was trying to trap him. Our ship was destroyed in the storm, he lied. It was dashed against the rocks. With these good men I escaped, I ask you again, will you welcome us? 
17000210_ComCore_MedievalFeast_2-3;0;It was announced from the palace that the King would soon make a long journey. On the way to his destination, the King and his party would spend a few nights at Camdenton Manor. The lord of the manor knew what this meant. The king traveled with his Queen, his knights, squires, and other members of his court. There could be a hundred mouths to feed! Preparations for the visit began at once. The lord and lady of the manor had their serfs to help them. The serfs lived in huts provided for them on the lord's estate, each with its own plot of land. In return, they were bound to serve the lord. They farmed his land, managed his manor house, and if there was a war, they had to go to battle with the lord and the King. But now they prepared. The manor had its own church, which was attended by everyone on the estate. The manor house had to be cleaned, the rooms readied, tents set up for the horsemen, fields fenced for the horses. And above all, provisions had to be gathered for the great feast. The Royal Suite was redecorated. Silk was spun, new fabric was woven. The Royal Crest was embroidered on linen and painted on the KingOs chair. The lord and his party went hunting and hawking for fresh meat. Hunting was a sport for the rich only. The wild animals that lived on the lord's estate belonged to him. Anyone caught poaching--hunting illegally--was severely punished. Falcons and hawks were prized as pets. They were trained to attack birds for their masters to capture. They trapped rabbits and birds of all kinds, and fished for salmon and eels and trout. Serfs hid in bushes and caught birds in traps. They set ferrets in burrows to chase out rabbits. There were fruits and vegetables growing in the garden, herbs and flowers for sauces and salads, and bees made honey for sweetening. 
17000211_ComCore_MapsandGlobes_2-3;0;Thousands of years ago, our ancestors invented the map. Ancient maps were crude but very useful tools. They helped people find food, clean water, and the way back home--even when home was a cave. As civilizations grew, better maps were needed. The oldest existing maps are from the ancient kingdom of Babylonia. These maps were etched on tablets of damp clay that soon baked rock hard in the midday sun. Early Chinese mapmakers painted beautiful maps of their empire on pure silk cloth. People in every part of the world cleverly used local materials to make maps they wanted and needed. Charts are maps used to sail the wide oceans. The Polynesian Islanders sailed the vast Pacific Ocean using stick chart maps. These charts were woven with reeds and palm leaves that showed the oceans currents and wave directions. Seashells were attached to each chart to indicate the larger islands. 
17000212_ComCore_SunshineMakestheSeasons_2-3;0;Sunshine warms the earth. If the sun stopped shining, the earth would get colder and colder. We would freeze. The whole earth would freeze. The sun shines all through the year. But we are warmer in summer than in winter. The amount of sunshine makes the difference. The earth spins around, or rotates, once in twenty-four hours. That's why we have a day and night. When we are on the sun side of the earth, there is daylight. As the earth rotates, we turn away from the sun. There is sunset and then night. At the same time that the earth spins, it goes around the sun. The earth takes a year to make one trip around the sun. During a year the length of our day changes. In winter the days are short. It may be dark by the time you get home from school. It is cold because we don't get many hours of sunshine. As we move into spring, days become longer, by summer they are even longer. The days may be so long that it is still light when you go to bed. It is warm because we get many hours of sunshine. After the long days of summer, the days begin to get shorter and cooler. It is fall and time to go back to school. All through the year the earth had been rotating once in twenty-four hours, giving us day and night. And all through the year the lengths of darkness and daylight have been changing. The seasons have been changing too. 
17000213_ComCore_FromSeedtoPlant_2-3;0; A 'From Seed to Plant' Project. How to raise bean plants. . Find a clean glass jar. Take a piece of black construction paper and roll it up. . Slide the paper into the jar. Fill the jar with water. . Wedge the bean seeds between the black paper and the glass. Put the jar in a warm place. . In a few days the seeds will begin to sprout. Watch the roots grow down. The shoots will grow up. . Put dirt into a big clay pot. . Carefully remove the small plants from the glass jar. Place them in the soil, covering them up to the base of their shoots. . Water them... and watch them grow. 
17000214_ComCore_ThrowYourTeeth_2-3;0;Has this ever happened to you? You find a loose tooth in your mouth. Yikes! You can wiggle it with your finger. You can push it back and forth with your tongue. Then one day it falls out. There you are with your old baby tooth in your hand and a big hole in your mouth. It happens to everyone, everywhere, all over the world. Look! Look! My tooth fell out! My tooth fell out! But what happens next? What in the world do you do with your tooth? North America. United States. I put my tooth under my pillow. While I'm sound asleep, the Tooth Fairy will come into my room, take my tooth, and leave some money in its place. Mexico. When I go to sleep, I leave my tooth in a box on the bedside table. I hope El Raton, the magic mouse, will take my tooth and bring me some money. He leaves more money for a front tooth. Yupik. My mother wraps my tooth in a food, like meat or bread. Then I feed it to a female dog and say, Replace this tooth with a better one. Yellowknife Dene. My mother or grandmother takes my tooth and puts it in a tree and then my family dances around it. This makes certain that my new tooth will grow in as straight as a tree. Navajo. My mother saves my tooth until my mouth stops hurting. Then we take my tooth to the southeast, away from our house. We bury the tooth on the east side of a healthy young sagebrush, rabbit bush, or pinyon tree because we believe that east is the direction associated with childhood. 
17000215_ComCore_SoYouWanttobePresident_2-3;0;Every single President has taken this oath: I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. Only thirty-five words! But it's a big order if you're President of this country. Abraham Lincoln was tops at filling that order. I know very well that many others might in this matter or as in others, do better than I can, he said. But... I am here. I must do the best I can, and bear the responsibility of taking the course which I feel I ought to take. That's the bottom line. Tall, short, fat, thin, talkative, quiet, vain, humble, lawyer, teacher, or soldier--this is what most of our Presidents have tried to do, each in his own way. Some succeeded. Some failed. If you want to be President--a good President--pattern your self after the best. Our best have asked more of themselves than they thought they could give. They have had the courage, spirit, and will to do what they knew was right. Most of all, their first priority has always been the people and the country they served. 
17000216_ComCore_BatLovestheNight_2-3;0;Bats are the only mammals that can really fly, and flight has made them very successful. There are more than nine hundred species, living in almost every habitat from subarctic tundra to tropical forests and deserts. Birds may rule the air by day, but bats are the monarchs of the night. This book is about one of the pipistrelle bats. Pipistrelles are found around the world, from North America to Africa, Europe, Asia, and Australia. Bat is waking, upside down as usual, hanging by her toenails. Her beady eyes open. Her pixie ears twitch. She shakes her thistledown fur. She unfurls her wings, made of skin so fine the finger bones inside show through. The pipistrelle bat's body is no bigger than your thumb. A bat's wing is its arm and hand. Four extra-long fingers support the skin of the wing. Bats' toes are shaped like hooks, so it's no effort for a bat to hang upside down. Now she unhooks her toes and drops into black space. With a sound like a tiny umbrella opening, she flaps her wings. Bat is flying. 
17000216_ComCore_BoyWereWeWrong_2-3;0;Long, long ago, before people knew anything about dinosaurs, giant bones were found in China. Wise men who saw the bones tried to guess what sort of enormous animal they could have come from. After they studied the fossil bones, the ancient Chinese decided that they came from dragons. They thought these dragons must have been magic dragons to be so large. And they believed that dragons could still be alive. Boy, were they wrong! No one knows exactly what dinosaurs looked like. All that is left of them are fossil bones and a few other clues. Now that we think that many of our own past guesses about dinosaurs were just as wrong as those of ancient China. Some of our mistakes were little ones. When the first fossil bones of Iguanodon were found, one was shaped like a rhino's horn. Scientists guessed that the strange horn fit like a spike on Iguanodon's nose. Boy, were we wrong about Iguanodon! When a full set of fossil bones was found later, there were two pointed bones, they were part of Iguanodon's hands, not its nose! Other new clues show us that we may have been wrong about every kind of dinosaur. Some of our first drawings of dinosaurs showed them with their elbows and knees pointing out to the side, like a lizard's. With legs like that, big dinosaurs could only waddle clumsily on all fours or float underwater. Now we know that their legs were straight under them, like a horse's. Dinosaurs were not clumsy. The sizes and shapes of their leg bones see to show that some were as fast and graceful as deer. 
17000217_ComCore_Moonshot_2-3;0;High above there is the Moon, cold and quiet, no air, no life, but glowing in the sky. Here below there are three men who close themselves in special clothes, who--click--lock hands in heavy gloves, who--click--lock heads in large round helmets. It is summer here in Florida, hot, and near the sea. But now these men are dressed for colder, stranger places. They walk with stiff and awkward steps in suits not made for Earth. They have studied and practiced and trained, and said good-bye to family and friends. If all goes well, they will be gone for one week, gone where no one has been. Their two small spaceships are Columbia and Eagle. They sit atop the rocket that will raise them into space, a monster of a machine: It stands thirty stories, it weighs six million pounds, a tower full of fuel and fire and valves and pipes and engines, too big to believe, but built to fly--the mighty, massive Saturn V. The astronauts squeeze in to Columbia's sideways seats, lying on their backs, facing toward the sky--Neil Armstrong on the left, Michael Collins in the right, Buzz Aldrin in the middle. Click and they fasten straps. Click and the hatch is sealed. There they wait, while the Saturn hums beneath them. Near the rocket, in Launch Control, and far away in Houston, in Mission Control, there are numbers, screens, and charts, ways of watching and checking every piece of the rocket and ships, the fuel, the valves, the pipes, the engines, the beats of the astronauts' hearts. As the countdown closes, each man watching is asked the question: GO/NO GO? And each man answers back: GO. GO. GO. Apollo is GO for launch. 
17000218_ComCore_WheredoPolarBears_2-3;0;This island is covered with snow. No trees grow. Nothing has green leaves. The land is white as far as you can see. Then something small and round and black pokes up out of the snow. A black nose sniffs the air. Then a smooth white head appears. A mother polar bear heaves herself out of her den. A cub scrambles after her. When the cub was born four months ago, he was no bigger than a guinea pig. Blind and helpless, he snuggled in his mother's fur. He drank her milk and grew, safe from the long Arctic winter. Outside the den, on some days, it was fifty degrees below zero. From October to February, the sun never rose. Now it is spring--even though snow still covers the land. The cub is about the size of a cocker spaniel. He's ready to leave the den. For the first time, he sees bright sunlight and feels the wind ruffle his fur. The cub tumbles and slides down icy hills. His play makes him strong and teaches him to walk and run in snow. Like his mother, the cub is built to survive in the Arctic. His white fur will grow to be six inches thick--longer than your hand. The skin beneath the cub's fur is black. It soaks up the heat of the sun. Under the skin is a layer of fat. Like a snug blanket, this blubber keeps in the heat of the bear's body. Polar bears get too hot more easily than they get too cold. They stretch out on the ice to cool off. 
17000229_ComCore_AliceinWonderland_4-5;0;Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice 'without pictures or conversation?' So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her. There was nothing so VERY remarkable in that nor did Alice think it so VERY much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, 'Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!' (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural) but when the Rabbit actually TOOK A WATCH OUT OF ITS WAISTCOAT-POCKET, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge. In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again. 
17000230_ComCore_SecretGarden_4-5;0;When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the English Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse herself with gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made to understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep the child out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark faces of her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they always obeyed her and gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem Sahib would be angry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years old she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. The young English governess who came to teach her to read and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when other governesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorter time than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to know how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all. One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she awakened feeling very cross, and she became crosser still when she saw that the servant who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah. Why did you come? she said to the strange woman. I will not let you stay. Send my Ayah to me. The woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the Ayah could not come and when Mary threw herself into a passion and beat and kicked her, she looked only more frightened and repeated that it was not possible for the Ayah to come to Missie Sahib. There was something mysterious in the air that morning. Nothing was done in its regular order and several of the native servants seemed missing, while those whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and scared faces. But no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. She was actually left alone as the morning went on, and at last she wandered out into the garden and began to play by herself under a tree near the veranda. She pretended that she was making a flower-bed, and she stuck big scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth, all the time growing more and more angry and muttering to herself the things she would say and the names she would call Saidie when she returned. 
17000231_ComCore_BlackStallion_4-5;0;The tramp steamer Drake plowed away from the coast of India and pushed its blunt prow into the Arabian Sea, homeward bound. Slowly it made its way west toward the Gulf of Aden. Its hold was loaded with coffee, rice, tea, oil seeds and jute. Black smoke poured from its one stack, darkening the hot cloudless sky. Alexander Ramsay, Jr., known to his friends back home in New York City as Alec, leaned over the rail and watched the water slide away from the sides of the boat. His red hair blazed redder than ever in the hot sun, his tanned elbows rested heavily on the rail as he turned his freckled face back toward the fast-disappearing shore. 
17000232_ComCore_LittlePrince_4-5;0;It was then that the fox appeared. Good morning, said the fox. Good morning, the little prince responded politely, although when he turned around he saw nothing. I am right here, the voice said, under the apple tree. Who are you? asked the little prince, and added, You are very pretty to look at. I am a fox, said the fox. Come and play with me, proposed the little prince. I am so unhappy. I cannot play with you, the fox said. I am not tamed. Ah! Please excuse me, said the little prince. But, after some thought, he added: What does that mean--'tame'? You do not live here, said the fox. What is it that you are looking for? I am looking for men, said the little prince. What does that mean--'tame'? Men, said the fox. They have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens? No, said the little prince. I am looking for friends. What does that mean-- 'tame'? It is an act too often neglected, said the fox. It means to establish ties. 'To establish 'ties'? Just that, said the fox. To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world... I am beginning to understand, said the little prince. There is a flower... I think that she has tamed me... It is possible, said the fox. On the Earth one sees all sorts of things. 
17000233_ComCore_TuckEverlasting_4-5;0;The sky was a ragged blaze of red and pink and orange, and its double trembled on the surface of the pond like color spilled from a paintbox. The sun was dropping fast now, a soft red sliding egg yolk, and already to the east there was a darkening to purple. Winnie, newly brave with her thoughts of being rescued, climbed boldly into the rowboat. The hard heels of her buttoned boots made a hollow banging sound against its wet boards, loud in the warm and breathless quiet. Across the pond a bullfrog spoke a deep note of warning. Tuck climbed in, too, pushing off, and, settling the oars into their locks, dipped them into the silty bottom in one strong pull. The rowboat slipped from the bank then, silently, and glided out, tall water grasses whispering away from its sides, releasing it. Here and there the still surface of the water dimpled, and bright rings spread noiselessly and vanished. Feeding time, said Tuck softly. And Winnie, looking down, saw hosts of tiny insects skittering and skating on the surface. Best time of all for fishing, he said, when they come up to feed. He dragged on the oars. The rowboat slowed and began to drift gently toward the farthest end of the pond. It was so quiet that Winnie almost jumped when the bullfrog spoke again. And then, from the tall pines and birches that ringed the pond, a wood thrush caroled. The silver notes were pure and clear and lovely. Know what that is, all around us, Winnie? said Tuck, his voice low. Life. Moving, growing, changing, never the same two minutes together. This water, you look out at it every morning, and it looks the same, but it ain't. All night long it's been moving, coming in through the stream back there to the west, slipping out through the stream down east here, always quiet, always new, moving on. You can't hardly see the current, can you? And sometimes the wind makes it look like it's going the other way. But it's always there, the water's always moving on, and someday, after a long while, it comes to the ocean. They drifted in silence for a time. The bullfrog spoke again, and from behind them, far back in some reedy, secret place, another bullfrog answered. In the fading light, the trees along the banks were slowly losing their dimensions, flattening into silhouettes clipped from black paper and pasted to the paling sky. The voice of a different frog, hoarser and not so deep, croaked from the nearest bank. Know what happens then? said Tuck. To the water? The sun sucks some of it up right out of the ocean and carries it back in clouds, and then it rains, and the rain falls into the stream, and the stream keeps moving on, taking it all back again. It's a wheel, Winnie. Everything's a wheel, turning and turning, never stopping. The frogs is part of it, and the bugs, and the fish, and the wood thrush, too. And people. But never the same ones. Always coming in new, always growing and changing, and always moving on. That's the way it's supposed to be. That's the way it is. The rowboat had drifted at last to the end of the pond, but now its bow bumped into the rotting branches of a fallen tree that thrust thick fingers into the water. And though the current pulled at it, dragging its stern sidewise, the boat was wedged and could not follow. The water slipped past it, out between clumps of reeds and brambles, and gurgled down a narrow bed, over stones and pebbles, foaming a little, moving swiftly now after its slow trip between the pond's wide banks. And, farther down, Winnie could see that it hurried into a curve, around a leaning willow, and disappeared. 
17000234_ComCore_ZlatehtheGoat_4-5;0;The snow fell for three days, though after the first day it was not as thick and the wind quieted down. Sometimes Aaron felt that there could never have been a summer, that the snow had always fallen, ever since he could remember. He, Aaron, never had a father or mother or sisters. He was a snow child, born of the snow, and so was Zlateh. It was so quiet in the hay that his ears rang in the stillness. Aaron and Zlateh slept all night and a good part of the day. As for Aarons dreams, they were all about warm weather. He dreamed of green fields, trees covered with blossoms, clear brooks, and singing birds. By the third night the snow had stopped, but Aaron did not dare to find his way home in the darkness. The sky became clear and the moon shone, casting silvery nets on the snow. Aaron dug his way out and looked at the world. It was all white, quiet, dreaming dreams of heavenly splendor. The stars were large and close. The moon swam in the sky as in a sea. 
17000235_ComCore_MCHigginstheGreat_4-5;0;Mayo Cornelius Higgins raised his arms high to the sky and spread them wide. He glanced furtively around. It was all right. There was no one to see him greeting the coming sunrise. But the motion of his arms caused a flutter of lettuce leaves he had bound to his wrists with rubber bands. Like bracelets of green feathers, the leaves commenced to wave. M.C., as he was called, felt warm, moist air surround him. Humidity trapped in the hills clung to the mountainside as the night passed on. In seconds, his skin grew clammy. But he paid no attention to the oppressive heat with its odors of summer growth and decay. For he was staring out over a grand sweep of hill, whose rolling outlines grew clearer by the minute. As he stood on the gallery of his home, the outcropping on which he lived on the mountainside seemed to fade out from under him. I'm standing in midair, he thought. He saw dim light touch clouds clustered behind the eastern hills. Bounce the sun beside me if I want. All others of his family were still asleep in the house. To be by himself in the perfect quiet was reason enough for him to wake up way early. Alone for half an hour, he could believe he had been chosen to remain forever suspended, facing the hills. He could pretend there was nothing terrible behind him, above his head. Arms outstretched, picture-framed by pine uprights supporting the gallery roof, he was M.C. Higgins, higher than everything. M.C. smiled. Going to be my best day, he told himself. He let his arms fall, and sniffed a bracelet of cold, fresh vegetable. He bit gently into a lettuce stem, pulling at it until he had an entire leaf to chew. Will it really be mine--this mountain? Daddy says it will one day. He loved the mountain, its long, lingering dawns. But he frowned, squinting off at the hills with night still huddled in their folds. Now it won't ever be mine. He shivered as with a sudden chill, and stepped off the gallery. Pay no mind to what Daddy says. We have to leave it, he said softly, and that's a shame. 
17000236_ComCore_BirchbarkHouse_4-5;0;She was named Omakayas, or Little Frog, because her first step was a hop. She grew into a nimble young girl of seven winters, a thoughtful girl with shining brown eyes and a wide grin, only missing her two top front teeth. She touched her upper lip. She wasn't used to those teeth gone, and was impatient for new, grown-up teeth to complete her smile. Just like her namesake, Omakayas now stared long at a silky patch of bog before she gathered herself and jumped. One hummock. Safety. Omaykayas sprang wide again. This time she landed on the very tip-top of a pointed old stump. She balanced there, looking all around. The lagoon water moved in sparkling crescents. Thick swales of swamp grass rippled. Mud turtles napped in the sun. The world was so calm that Omakayas could hear herself blink. Only the sweet call of a solitary white-throated sparrow pierced the cool of the woods beyond. All of a sudden Grandma yelled. I found it! Startled, Omakayas slipped and spun her arms in wheels. She teetered, but somehow kept her balance. Two big, skipping hops, another leap, and she was on dry land. She stepped over spongy leaves and moss, into the woods where the sparrows sang nesting songs in delicate relays. Where are you? Nokomis yelled again. I found the tree! I'm coming, Omakayas called back to her grandmother. It was spring, time to cut Birchbark. 
17000237_ComCore_BudNotBuddy_4-5;0;Here we go again. We were all standing in line waiting for breakfast when one of the caseworkers came in and tap-tap-taped down the line. Uh-oh, this meant bad news, either they'd found a foster home for somebody or somebody was about to get paddled. All the kids watched the woman as she moved along the line, her high-heeled shoes sounding like little fire-crackers going off on the wooden floor. Shoot! She stopped at me and said, Are you Buddy Caldwell? I said, It's Bud, not Buddy, ma'am. She put her hand on my shoulder and took me out of the line. Then she pulled Jerry, one of the littler boys, over. Aren't you Jerry Clark? He nodded. Boys, good news! Now that the school year has ended, you both have been accepted in new temporary-care homes starting this afternoon! Jerry asked the same thing I was thinking, Together? She said, Why no, Jerry, you'll by in a family with three little girls... Jerry looked like he'd just found out they were going to dip him in a pot of boiling milk. ...and Bud... She looked at some papers she was holding. Oh, yes, the Amoses, you'll be with Mr. and Mrs. Amos and their son, who's twelve years old, that makes him just two years older than, doesn't it, Bud? Yes, ma'am. She said, I'm sure you'll both be very happy. Me and Jerry looked at each other. The woman said, Now, now, boys, no need to look so glum, I know you don't understand what it means, but there's a depression going on all over this country. People can't find jobs and these are very, very difficult times for everybody. We've been lucky enough to find two wonderful families who've opened their doors for you. I think it's best that we show our new foster families that we're very... She dragged out the word very, waiting for us to finish her sentence for her. Jerry said, Cheerful, helpful and grateful. I moved my lips and mumbled. She smiled and said, Unfortunately, you won't have time for breakfast. I'll have a couple of pieces of fruit put in a bag. In the meantime go to the sleep room and strip your beds and gather all of your things. Here we go again. I felt like I was walking in my sleep as I followed Jerry back to the room where all the boys' beds were jim-jammed together. This was the third foster home I was going to and I'm used to packing up and leaving, but it still surprises me that there are always a few seconds, right after they tell you you've got to go, when my nose gets all runny and my throat gets all choky and my eyes get all sting-y. But the tears coming out doesn't happen to me anymore, I don't know when it first happened, but is seems like my eyes don't cry anymore. 
17000238_ComCore_WheretheMountainMeetstheMoon_4-5;0;Far away from here, following the Jade River, there was once a black mountain that cut into the sky like a jagged piece of rough metal. The villagers called it Fruitless Mountain because nothing grew on it and birds and animals did not rest there. Crowded in the corner of where Fruitless Mountain and the Jade River met was a village that was a shade of faded brown. This was because the land around the village was hard and poor. To coax rice out of the stubborn land, the field had to be flooded with water. The villagers had to tramp in the mud, bending and stooping and planting day after day. Working in the mud so much made it spread everywhere and the hot sun dried it onto their clothes and hair and homes. Over time, everything in the village had become the dull color of dried mud. One of the houses in this village was so small that its wood boards, held together by the roof, made one think of a bunch of matches tied with a piece of twine. Inside, there was barely enough room for three people to sit around the table--which was lucky because only three people lived there. One of them was a young girl called Minli. Minli was not brown and dull like the rest of the village. She had glossy black hair with pink cheeks, shining eyes always eager for adventure, and a fast smile that flashed from her face. When people saw her lively and impulsive spirit, they thought her name, which meant quick thinking, suited her well. Too well, her mother sighed, as Minli had a habit of quick acting as well. 
17000239_ComCore_DiscoverMars_4-5;0;Mars is very cold and very dry. Scattered across the surface are many giant volcanoes. Lava covers much of the land. In Mars' northern half, or hemisphere, is a huge raised area. It is aboutmiles wide. Astronomers call this the Great Tharsis Bulge. There are four mammoth volcanoes on the Great Tharsis Bulge. The largest one is Mount Olympus, or Olympus Mons. It is the biggest mountain on Mars. Some think it may be the largest mountain in the entire solar system. Mount Olympus is miles high. At its peak is a mile wide basin. Its base is miles across. That's nearly as big as the state of Texas! Mauna Loa, in Hawaii, is the largest volcano on earth. Yet, compared to Mount Olympus, Mauna Loa looks like a little hill. The Hawaiian volcano is only - / miles high. Its base, on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, is just miles wide. Each of the three other volcanoes in the Great Tharsis Bulge are over miles high. They are named Arsia Mons, Pavonis Mons, and Ascraeus Mons. 
17000240_ComCore_LetsInvestigate_4-5;0;One of the most important things the legend on a map tells is what scale was used in drawing the map. By scale we mean how much space on the map stands for how much space on the ground or in your house or your room. If you want your map to be accurate, you will have to choose what scale you will use. We say maps are drawn 'to scale,' or, if they are just roughly sketched, 'not to scale.' If you are drawing a map of your room you will chose a different scale from the one you would use if you were going to make a map of the United States or one showing how you would walk to school. For the map of your room you might decide that one inch on your map will stand for one foot in your room. If your room measures feet by feet, your map will be inches by inches. But the United States ismiles wide. To draw a map of the United States to the scale of one inch equals one mile, you would have to have a piece of paperinches long! If you want your map of the United States to fit on a sheet of paper ten inches wide, one inch on your paper will have to stand for miles. 
17000241_ComCore_HurricanesEarthsMightiestStorms_4-5;0;Great whirling storms roar out of the oceans in many parts of the world. They are called by several names--hurricane, typhoon, and cyclone are the three most familiar ones. But no matter what they are called, they are all the same sort of storm. They are born in the same way, in tropical waters. They develop the same way, feeding on warm, moist air. And they do the same kind of damage, both ashore and at sea. Other storms may cover a bigger area or have higher winds, but none can match both the size and the fury of hurricanes. They are earth's mightiest storms. Like all storms, they take place in the atmosphere, the envelope of air that surrounds the earth and presses on its surface. The pressure at any one place is always changing. There are days when air is sinking and the atmosphere presses harder on the surface. These are the times of high pressure. There are days when a lot of air is rising and the atmosphere does not press down as hard. These are times of low pressure. Low-pressure areas over warm oceans give birth to hurricanes. No one knows exactly what happens to start these storms. But when conditions are right, warm, moist air is set in motion. It begins to rise rapidly from the surface of the ocean in a low pressure area. Like water in a hose, air flows from where there is more pressure to where there is less pressure. And so air over the surface of the ocean flows into the low pressure area, picking up moisture as it travels. This warm, moist air soars upward. As the air rises above the earth, it cools. The cooling causes moisture to condense into tiny droplets of water that form clouds. As the moisture condenses, it gives off heat. Heat is one kind of energy. It is the energy that powers the storm. The clouds are the source of the storm's rain. The low-pressure area acts like a chimney--warm air is drawn in at the bottom, rises in a column, cools, and spreads out. As the air inside rises and more air is drawn in, the storm grows. The air being drawn in, however, does not travel in a straight line. The earth's surface is rotating, and the rotation causes the path to curve. The air travels in a spiral within the storm. In the Northern Hemisphere, the spiraling winds travel counterclockwise--the opposite of the way the hands of a clock move. In the Southern Hemisphere, they travel clockwise. 
17000242_ComCore_KidsGuidetoMoney_4-5;0;Budgeting Your Spending. Spending your money on the things you want may be a lot of fun. But spending has its own set of responsibilities. You have to make sure you donOt buy so many things you want that you donOt have money for the things you need. One way to be sure you have enough money to pay for everything you need is to make a budget. A budget is a plan for managing your money on a regular basis. When you follow a budget, you have enough money to meet all your expenses. Five Steps to Making a Budget. Step : Figure out your weekly income, the money you receive from all sources. Count only the money you get regularly, for example, a weekly allowance or money earned from a steady job such as delivering newspapers. Step : Every week, make a list of the things you need to spend money on, such as bus fare, school supplies, and lunches. Step : Every week, make a list of the things you want but could get along without if you had to. These could include going to a movie or buying snacks [...] Step : Now list any things that you need to save for. Step : Subtract your needs (the total amount from step ) from your income. You can spend or save whateverOs left. This is your weekly budget. 
17000243_ComCore_ToysAmazingStoriesKites_4-5;0;Invented in China, kites have been around for at least three thousand years. Since their beginning, they've been used primarily as toys. But kites have had other uses too, and that's the best part of their story. Like fishing with kites. It sounds hard to believe, but that's one use to which they've long been put in China and other Asian countries. The fisherman stands on the shore maneuvering a kite far out over the water. From the tail dangles a hook, line and sinker. When a fish bites, the kite is jerked upward, then it--and the airborne fish--is reeled in. Flying kites over houses is a Chinese custom that dates as far back at B.C.--and is still practiced today, especially at night. [...] In China, dating to B.C., kites were used by the military as signaling devices, most often to warn of an enemy attack. Different colored kites indicated the number of troops and the direction from which they were coming. At night, for the same purpose, tiny lanterns of different colors were raised on the kites. Around B. C., the Chinese took this concept to a whole new level. Huge kites were built--kites big and strong enough to support a person! First, the soldier would lie with his legs extended across the kite and grab hold of special handgrips. Then, using a stout cord, several soldiers would tow the kite until it rose high in to the air. Once aloft, the man would have a clear view of the enemy on the ground, and, using flag and hand signals, relay information back to his officers. 
17000244_ComCore_GoodPetBadPet_4-5;0;Are you thinking about getting a pet? Then read on to see which one might be best for you. Where to Start. Pets can be great! Who else licks your face, chirps happily, or purrs in your lap? A pet can make you feel good and can calm you down when you're upset. And caring for a pet can help you learn about kindness and responsibility. There are all sorts of pets. Some take a lot of time and attention and need a lot of space. Others can fit in a corner and don't need much care at all. Some live just a year or two. Others may still be alive when you leave home for good! Some may be happy to stay in a cage-others may mess on your carpets and scratch your couch. So, before your family rushes out to get a pet, why not sit down and talk? Ask your parents how they feel about it. The pet you want has to be one that they want too. After all, a parent needs to be the one in charge of pet care and willing to take up the slack if necessary. Here are some things to do before making a decision: Talk to people who have a pet like the one you want. Ask them what they like and don't like about it. Find out what's fun and what's tough about having this pet. Check out how much time, money, space, and hard work the pet takes. Read some pet books or go online to learn more. Talk to a vet who treats the kind of pet you're thinking about getting. Check to make sure nobody in the family is allergic to pets or to pet bedding. Study the charts [...]. (These are, of course, just the opinions or recommendations of Ranger Rick.) If you decide to get a pet, figure out how to divide the chores among family members. Even if you don't end up with a pet, you can have fun reading about the possibilities! 
17000245_ComCore_AncientMound_4-5;0;The ancestors of today's southeastern Indian peoples constructed many mounds out of the earth. These were used as tombs, temples, and chiefs' houses. Some of the mounds were very large, requiring the coordinated labor of many tribe members. Remember that this was a time well before the invention of any kind of vehicle, let alone construction vehicles: The mounds were built with literally--basketloads of soil! Mounds were constructed by the peoples of several distinctive cultures whose existence spanned many centuries. For example, Louisiana's Poverty Point culture of - B.C. erected some of the oldest known mounds in the Southeast. Another period of major mound building, from B.C. to A.D.witnessed the construction of conical burial mounds throughout the Southeast. The last important mound-building culture (about - ), known as Mississippian, lived in large towns along river floodplains and formed huge, flat-topped mounds. Aboutyears ago, at a place in northeastern Louisiana called Poverty Point, a group of Indians developed a complex society and trade center on the floodplain of the Mississippi River. These Indians established long distance trading networks. They sought steatite from Georgia and Alabama, galena from Missouri, copper from the Great Lakes, and diverse stones from Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, Ohio, Indiana, Arkansas, and Mississippi. These raw materials were made into cups, bowls, smoking pipes, and beads and other ornaments to wear. The Poverty Point Indians were great craftsmen and engineers. They created a collection of mounds whose outlines formed the shape of a giant bird. It is a striking effigy, parts of which still can be seen today. The bird measures by feet and has outspread wings whose central mound stands feet tall. It is connected to three smaller mounds and six concentric low ridges that were arranged in a crescent shape surrounding a curve of the Mississippi River. Millions of cubic feet of earth more than two-thirds of a mile long--were moved to build the latter. What purpose this construction served still is not clear today. Later mounds were used as tombs for the dead. After the death of a very important member of the group, such as a warrior, elder, or religious leader, the person was placed in a pit or tomb made of logs. Sometimes, the burial structure was burned and covered over with earth. As additional significant people died, they were put on top of the original mound. Slowly, these mounds turned into hills of earth that sometimes joined other, similar mounds. At the height of the Mississippian culture, around the years -hundreds of towns and smaller settlements covered the Southeast. But bymany of the great ceremonial centers, including Moundville, were in a decline. Perhaps the large populations of these Indian cultures depleted the soils and forests, thus reducing their food and building supplies. But there is quite a legacy from these diverse ancient people who engineered the enormous mounds we can still see today to honor their leaders and loved ones. 
17000246_ComCore_AboutTime_4-5;0;Sometime aroundthe spring-powered clock was invented. Instead of depending on the pull of weights for power, this type of clock used a flat metal spring wound tightly into a coil. The escapement allowed the spring to unwind by turning one gear tooth at a time. With the use of a spring, smaller, truly portable clocks could be made. The first well-known watches, made in Germany around by Peter Henlein, were so named because guards or 'watchmen' carried small clocks to keep track of how long to stay at a particular duty post. Many different skills went into making a clock, and new tools and methods were constantly being invented to make ever smaller, more complicated mechanisms that worked with greater precision. Founders melted and poured metal into a mold to make clock parts. Spring makers hand-forged (heated and pounded into shape) and polished steel clock springs. Screw makers cut screws used to fasten clocks together by using a small lathe devised by a German clockmaker in . Earlier, only wedges or pegs were used. Gear-tooth cutting had been done by hand until the mid- s, when Giannelo Torriano of Cremona, Italy, invented a machine that could cut perfect gear teeth. Brass replaced iron for clock making. Engravers, gilders, and enamellers decorated clock cases and dials. Glass-making shops made and cut glass. Woodworkers made clock cases. 
17000247_ComCore_EnglandtheLand_4-5;0;'Living Fences.' Low fences, some of which are thousands of years old, divide much of England's countryside. These fences, called hedgerows, were fist build by the Anglo-Saxons, a group of warriors from Germany and Scandinavia who arrived in England around A.D. As they gained control of sections of land, they protected their property with walls made from wooden stakes and spiny plants. Dead hedgerows, as these fences were called, were eventually replaced by fences made from live bushes and trees. Recently, people building large farms and homes in the countryside have destroyed many live hedgerows. Other people are working to save the hedgerows, which are home to a variety of wildlife, including birds, butterflies, hedgehogs, and hares. 
17000248_ComCore_HistoryofUS_4-5;0;In case you forgot, you're still in that time-and-space capsule, but you're not a baby anymore. You're years old and able to work the controls yourself. So get going we want to head northwest, to the very edge of the land, to the region that will be the states of Washington and Oregon. The time? We were in the th century let's try the th century for this visit. Life is easy for the Indians here in the Northwest near the great ocean. They are affluent Americans. For them the world is bountiful: the rivers hold salmon and sturgeon the ocean is full of seals, whales, fish, and shellfish the woods are swarming with game animals. And there are berries and nuts and wild roots to be gathered. They are not farmers. They don't need to farm. Those Americans go to sea in giant canoes some are feet long. (How long is your bedroom? Your schoolroom?) Using stone tools and fire, Indians of the Northwest cut down gigantic fir trees and hollow out the logs to make their boats. The trees tower feet and are feet across at the base. There are so many of them, so close together, with a tangle of undergrowth, that it is sometimes hard for hunters to get through the forest. Tall as these trees are, there are not as big as the redwoods that grow in a vast forest to the south (in the land that will become California). These Native Americans carve animal and human figures on tall fir poles, called 'totem poles.' The poles are painted and are symbols of a family's power and rank. The Indians' totem poles are colorful, but rough finer poles will be carved after the Europeans come and bring metal knives. Because food and wood are so easy to gather, the Northwest Indians have much leisure time. Their lives are full of playacting, dancing, and singing. In times of celebration, relatives and friends come from far villages. They beat drums made of animal skins that have been heated near a fire then stretched taut across a frame of birch. These people of the coastal forests gather in circles and dance and sing of the fish and animals they will hunt. They also sing of their ancestors, and of their fears and hopes, and they pray to the animals for forgiveness and for good luck in the hunt. Sometimes they have wrestling contests. Often they wrestle just for fun. Sometimes the best wrestler gets to marry a special girl. Many Americans elsewhere in North America live in communities where almost everything is shared--sometimes even leadership. That is not true here. These Indians care about wealth, property, and prestige (press-TEEJ--it means 'importance and reputation'). They value private property, and they pass their property on to their children and grandchildren. They own slaves and sometimes go to war with other Indians just to capture slaves. People are not treated as equals in this society. They are divided into ranks, or classes. There are slaves, commoners, and nobles. In times of strife, many of the men become warriors and wear wooden helmets and wood slat armor. 
17000249_ComCore_MyLibrarianisaCamel_4-5;0;Children in Peru can receive their book in several different, innovative ways. CEDILI-IBBY Peru is an institution that delivers books in bags to families in Lima. Each bag contains twenty books, which families can keep for a month. The books come in four different reading levels so that children really learn how to read. This project in Spanish is called El Libro Compartido en Familia and enables parents to share the joy of books with their children. In small, rural communities, books are delivered in wooden suitcases and plastic bags. These suitcases and bags contain books that the community can keep and share for the next three months. The number of book in each suitcase depends on the size of the community. There are no library buildings in these small towns, and people gather outside, in the plaza, to see books they can check out. In the coastal regions, books are sometimes delivered by donkey cart. The books are stored in the reading promoter's home. In the ancient city of Cajamarca, reading promoters from various rural areas select and receive a large collection of books for their area. The program is called Aspaderuc. The reading promoter lends these books to his or her neighbors, and after three months, a new selection of books goes out to each area. Books in this system are for children and adults. And last but not least, Fe Y Alegria brings a collection of children's books to rural schools. The books are brought from school to school by wagon. The children, who are excited about browsing through the books when they arrive, are turning into avid readers. 
17000250_ComCore_Horses_4-5;0;Horses move in four natural ways, called gaits or paces. They walk, trot, canter, and gallop. The walk is the slowest gait and the gallop is the fastest. When a horse walks, each hoof leaves the ground at a different time. It moves one hind leg first, and then the front leg on the same side then the other hind leg and the other front leg. When a horse walks, its body swings gently with each stride. When a horse trots, its legs move in pairs, left front leg with right hind leg, and right front leg. When a horse canters, the hind legs and one front leg move together, and then the hind legs and the other foreleg move together. The gallop is like a much faster walk, where each hoof hits the ground one after another. When a horse gallops, all four of its hooves may be flying off the ground at the same time. Horses are usually described by their coat colors and by the white markings on their faces, bodies, legs, and hooves. Brown horses range in color from dark brown bays and chestnuts to golden browns, such as palominos, and lighter browns such as roans and duns. Partly colored horses are called pintos or paints. Colorless, pure-white horses--albinos--are rare. Most horses that look white are actually gray. Skewbalds have brown-and-white patches. Piebalds have black and white patches. Spotteds have dark spots on a white coat or white spots on a dark coat. 
17000251_ComCore_QuestfortheTreeKangaroo_4-5;0;Stuart Little, the small mouse with big parents, had nothing on baby marsupials. Marsupials are special kinds of mammals. Even the biggest ones give birth to babies that are incredibly small. A two-hundred-pound six-foot mother kangaroo, for instance, gives birth to a baby as small as a lima bean. That's what makes marsupials marsupials. Their babies are born so tiny that in order to survive they must live in a pouch on the mother's tummy. The pouch is called a marsupium. (Don't you wish you had one?) A baby marsupial lives hidden in the mother's warm moist pouch for months. There is sucks milk from a nipple like other baby mammals. One day it's big enough to poke its head out to see the world. The European explorers who saw kangaroos for the first time in Australia reported they had discovered a two-headed animal--with one head on the neck and another in the belly. North America has only one marsupial. You may have seen it: The Virginia opossum actually lives in most of the United States, not just Virginia. South America also has marsupials. But most marsupials live in or near Australia. They include the koala (which is not a bear), two species of wombat, the toothy black Tasmania devil, four species of black and white spotted native cats (though they're not cats at all), and many others. The most famous marsupials, however, are the kangaroos. All kangaroos hop--some of them six feet high and faster than forty miles an hour. More than fifty different species of kangaroo hop around on the ground--from the big red kangaroo to the musky rat kangaroo. 
17000252_ComCore_Volcanoes_4-5;0;In early times, no one knew how volcanoes formed or why they spouted red-hot molten rock. In modern times, scientists began to study volcanoes. They still don't know all the answers, but they know much about how a volcano works. Our planet made up of many layers of rock. The top layers of solid rock are called the crust. Deep beneath the crust is the mantle, where it is so hot that some rock melts. The melted, or molten, rock is called magma. Volcanoes are formed when magma pushes its way up through the crack in Earth's crust. This is called a volcanic eruption. When magma pours forth on the surface, it is called lava. 
17000253_ComCore_WearetheShip_4-5;0;Most of the owners didn't make much money from their teams. Baseball was just a hobby for them, a way to make their illegal money look good. To save money, each team would only carry fifteen or sixteen players. The major league teams each carried about twenty-five. Average salary for each player started at roughly $ per month back in 'and went up to $ -$ during the forties, though there were some who made much more than that, like Satchel Paige and Josh Gibson. The average major league player's salary back then was $per month. We also got around fifty cents to a dollar per day for food allowance. Back then you could get a decent meal for about twenty-five cents to seventy-five cents. Some of the owners didn't treat their players very well. Didn't pay them enough or on time. That's why we would jump from team to team. Other owners would offer us more money, and we would leave our teams and go play for them. We were some of the first unrestricted free agents. There were, however, a few owners who did know how to treat their ballplayers. Cum Posey was one of them. He always took care of his ballplayers, put them in the best hotels, and paid them well and on time. Buck Leonard said Posey never missed a payday in the seventeen years he played for the Grays. 
17000254_ComCore_KenyasLongDrySeason_4-5;0;The East African nation of Kenya is experiencing a severe drought. Crops are failing. People are struggling to feed their families. For the past three seasons, the rains have failed to come to Kenya. The East African nation's grasslands are dried out. Bare, leafless trees dot the landscape. Watering holes are almost dry. The drought has caused cattle to die and crops to shrivel. This year's grain harvest is expected to be % less than last year's. Food prices have risen by as much as %. Kenya is facing a severe food crisis. The United Nations World Food Program (WFP) says it will need to provide emergency food aid to . million Kenyans over the next six months. Keeping Kids in School Eunice Wairimu lives on a small farm north of Nairobi, Kenya's capital. Her maize, potato and bean crops have failed. I can't remember the last time I ate meat, she says. She relies on aid from the WFP. Gabrielle Menezes, of the WFP, says the drought is taking a heavy toll. The WFP is working to keep kids in school, where it provides them with nutritious meals. In times of crisis, children are pulled out of school to go to work, she told TFK. But in areas where the WFP has school meals, the dropout rates are very low. The WFP says it needs $ million in donations. WFP is aiming to help almost one in every Kenyans, says WFP's Burkard Oberle, but we can't do it without money. 
17000255_ComCore_SeeingEyetoEye_4-5;0;A hungry falcon soars high above Earth. Its sharp eyes scan the ground. Suddenly, it spies something moving in the grass. The falcon dives toward it. Far below, a gray field mouse scurries through the grass. Its dark, beady eyes search constantly for danger. With eyes on either side of its head, the mouse can see almost everything around it. Will the mouse see the falcon in time to escape? Or, will the speedy falcon catch the prey it spied from far above? Whatever happens, one thing is clear: Without eyes, neither animal has a good chance. Why? Eyes help many animals make sense of the world around them - and survive. Eyes can guide the falcon to dinner or help the mouse see a perfect place to hide. Animal eyes come in many different shapes, sizes, colors, and even numbers. Yet they do the same job. They all catch light. With help from the brain, eyes turn light into sight. Eyes work in the same way for people. Look at this page. You may think you see words and pictures. Believe it or not, you don't. All you see is light bouncing off the page. How is this possible? The secret is in the rules of light. Light Rules Light is a form of energy, like heat or sound. It can come from a natural source, like the sun, or artificial sources, like a lamp or a flashlight. Light is the fastest known thing. It travels in waves and in nearly straight lines. In air, it can speedkilometers (miles) per second. It can race from the sun to Earth in just over eight minutes! Light doesn't always travel so fast. For example, water or glass can slow light down, but just a bit. Light may seem to break all driving speed laws. Yet there are certain rules it always follows. Light reflects, or bounces off objects. It also refracts, or bends. And it can be absorbed, or soaked up, by objects. These rules of light affect what, and how, we see. Light! Eyes! Imagine this scene: You're at your desk happily reading Explorer magazine. Light from your desk lamp scatters in all directions. Light hits the page. Some bounces off the page, or reflects. It changes direction. It's a little like how sound bounces off a wall. Now some of this reflected light is traveling right toward your face. Don't duck! For you to see Explorer, some of this light has to enter your eyes. Objects become visible when light bounces off them. Your eyes are light catchers. Yet it takes more than catching light to see an image. Your eyes also have to bend light. Here's how. First, light hits your cornea. That's the clear covering on the front of your eyeball. The cornea refracts, or bends, light. And Action! Is your cornea super strong? No! Think about how light travels more slowly through water. The same thing happens in your cornea. As light passes through the cornea, it slows down. That makes the light change direction, or bend. Next, light enters your pupil, the dark center part of your eye. It passes through your lens. The lens bends light, too. What's the big deal about bending light? That's how your eyes focus, or aim the light to make a clear image. The image appears on your retina at the back of your eyeball. It's like a movie. Playing Today at a Theater in Your Eye: Explorer magazine! There's only one problem. The image is upside down. Luckily, your brain flips the image right side up. That's pretty smart! 
17000256_ComCore_Computer_4-5;0;The word computer once meant a person who did computations, but now it almost always refers to automated electronic devices. Computers can do much more than calculate, however. They are now used in all sorts of ways to better control or automate products and processes. For example, computers are used in airplanes and automobiles to control the way that fuel is injected into the engine, and they are used to monitor every part of the production process in most modern factories. Computers help people write reports, draw pictures, and keep track of information. Since the invention of the Internet, computers are also used to gather information from digital libraries located all over the world, to send and receive electronic messages (e-mail), and to work, shop, and bank from home. Computers come in many sizes and shapes. They range from small devices that perform one specific function, such as those in cameras that control the shutter speed, to supercomputers. Supercomputers are specially engineered to be able to perform trillions of operations per second. Because they are so powerful and therefore so expensive they are generally used only by government agencies and large research centers. Parts of a Computer System. A computer system requires both hardware and software. Hardware includes all of the mechanical parts of a computer. Software consists of the instructions and data that the hardware uses to perform its tasks. Hardware. All computers, no matter how large or small, have basically the same types of hardware. These include a central processing unit (CPU), memory, storage (secondary memory), input/output (I/O) devices, and some type of telecommunication device. The CPU is the computer's 'brain,' where all computations are performed. The computer carries out its computations one step at a time, with each step occurring on each 'beat' of its built-in clock. The fastest computer clocks now beat more than GHz (gigahertz), or billions of times per second. Memory is where instructions and data are held while being worked on. Read-only memory (ROM) is built into the computer and cannot be changed. ROM contains instructions that the computer needs to start up. Random-access memory (RAM), or one of its variants, is typically used for the main computer memory because of its speed. Information is stored temporarily in RAM as a computer processes data and instructions. Secondary memory is where instructions and data are saved for long-term storage. Most computers use a magnetic device called a hard drive for storage. A hard drive accesses data very quickly. Slower devices are often used to store files on magnetic tape or optical discs such as compact discs (CDs) and digital video discs (DVDs). I/O devices enable communication between a computer and the person using it. Input devices allow the user to enter data or commands for processing by the CPU. They include the keyboard, mouse, joystick, scanner, and digital tablet. Output devices let the user see or hear the results of the computer's data processing. They include the monitor, printer, and speakers. Telecommunication devices enable computers to send data through telephone lines or other channels. In this way computer users can exchange information with one another. These devices include regular telephone modems, digital subscriber line (DSL) telephone modems, cable modems, and various wireless modems. 
17000257_ComCore_Telescopes_4-5;0;You can see planets, stars, and other objects in space just by looking up on a clear night. But to really see them--to observe the craters on the moon, the rings around Saturn, and the countless other wonders in our sky--you must use a telescope. A telescope is an instrument used to produce magnified (enlarged) images of distant objects. It does this by gathering and focusing the light or other forms of electromagnetic radiation emitted or reflected by those objects. The word telescope comes from two Greek words meaning far and see. Kinds of Telescopes. There are many different types of telescopes, both optical and non-optical. Optical telescopes are designed to focus visible light. Non-optical telescopes are designed to detect kinds of electromagnetic radiation that are invisible to the human eye. These include radio waves, infrared radiation, X rays, ultraviolet radiation, and gamma rays. The word optical means making use of light. Some telescopes are launched into space. These telescopes gain clearer views. And they can collect forms of electromagnetic radiation that are absorbed by the Earth's atmosphere and do not reach the ground. Optical Telescopes. Different types of optical telescopes gather and focus light in different ways. Refracting telescopes, or refractors, use lenses. Reflecting telescopes, or reflectors, use mirrors. And catadioptric telescopes, or catadioptrics, use a combination of lenses and mirrors. The main lens or mirror in an optical telescope is called the objective. Refracting Telescopes. A refracting telescope is typically a long, tube-shaped instrument. The objective is a system of lenses at the front end of the tube (the end facing the sky). When light strikes the lenses, it is bent and brought to a focus within the tube. This forms an image of a distant object. This image can be magnified by the eyepiece. This consists of a group of small lenses at the back of the tube. A camera can replace or be added to the eyepiece. Then photographs can be taken of celestial objects. For many years, these cameras used film. Today most are equipped with charge-coupled devices (CCD's). These devices use semiconductor chips to electronically capture images. CCD's are similar to the devices in home digital cameras and video camcorders. However, the CCD's used by astronomers are usually extremely sensitive to light. 
17000258_ComCore_UndergroundRailroad_4-5;0;The Underground Railroad was not a railroad. And it did not run underground. It was a secret network of refuge stations in the United States operated by Northern abolitionists--both black and white--. It was created to help runaway slaves escape from the South, where they were held in bondage in the days before the Civil War. Over a period of about years, from the 's until the war began inmany brave rescuers helped an estimatedslaves North to freedom. Many fugitives escaped to Pennsylvania, New York, and Massachusetts, but most ended up in Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio. They used the Mississippi and Ohio rivers as escape routes. Thousands more fled to Canada. There officials refused to turn them over to authorities in the United States. Others escaped to Mexico, where slavery had been abolished in . And they escaped to colonies in the Caribbean, where slavery had been abolished by the British in . 
17000259_ComCore_LittleWomen_6-8;1; Merry Christmas, little daughters! I'm glad you began at once, and hope you will keep on. But I want to say one word before we sit down. Not far away from here lies a poor woman with a little newborn baby. Six children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they have no fire. There is nothing to eat over there, and the oldest boy came to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold. My girls, will you give them your breakfast as a Christmas present? They were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for a minute no one spoke, only a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously, I'm so glad you came before we began! May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children? asked Beth eagerly. I shall take the cream and the muffins, added Amy, heroically giving up the article she most liked. Meg was already covering the buckwheats, and piling the bread into one big plate. I thought you'd do it, said Mrs. March, smiling as if satisfied. You shall all go and help me, and when we come back we will have bread and milk for breakfast, and make it up at dinnertime. They were soon ready, and the procession set out. Fortunately it was early, and they went through back streets, so few people saw them, and no one laughed at the queer party. A poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken windows, no fire, ragged bedclothes, a sick mother, wailing baby, and a group of pale, hungry children cuddled under one old quilt, trying to keep warm. How the big eyes stared and the blue lips smiled as the girls went in. Ach, mein Gott! It is good angels come to us! said the poor woman, crying for joy. Funny angels in hoods and mittens, said Jo, and set them to laughing. In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been at work there. Hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire, and stopped up the broken panes with old hats and her own cloak. Mrs. March gave the mother tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises of help, while she dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had been her own. The girls meantime spread the table, set the children round the fire, and fed them like so many hungry birds, laughing, talking, and trying to understand the funny broken English. Das ist gut! Die Engel-kinder! cried the poor things as they ate and warmed their purple hands at the comfortable blaze. The girls had never been called angel children before, and thought it very agreeable, especially Jo, who had been considered a 'Sancho' ever since she was born. That was a very happy breakfast, though they didn't get any of it. And when they went away, leaving comfort behind, I think there were not in all the city four merrier people than the hungry little girls who gave away their breakfasts and contented themselves with bread and milk on Christmas morning. That's loving our neighbor better than ourselves, and I like it, said Meg, as they set out their presents while their mother was upstairs collecting clothes for the poor Hummels. 
17000260_ComCore_AdventuresofTomSawyer_6-8;1;But Tom's energy did not last. He began to think of the fun he had planned for this day, and his sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys would come tripping along on all sorts of delicious expeditions, and they would make a world of fun of him for having to work--the very thought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and examined it--bits of toys, marbles, and trash enough to buy an exchange of WORK, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half an hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a great, magnificent inspiration. He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in sight presently--the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had been dreading. Ben's gait was the hop-skip-and-jump--proof enough that his heart was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and giving a long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-toned ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a steamboat. As he drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned far over to starboard and rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp and circumstance--for he was personating the Big Missouri, and considered himself to be drawing nine feet of water. He was boat and captain and engine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself standing on his own hurricane-deck giving the orders and executing them: Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! The headway ran almost out, and he drew up slowly toward the sidewalk. Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling! His arms straightened and stiffened down his sides. Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-chow-wow! Chow! His right hand, meantime, describing stately circles--for it was representing a forty-foot wheel. Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-lingling! Chow-ch-chow-chow! The left hand began to describe circles. Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Come ahead on the stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside turn over slow! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line! LIVELY now! Come--out with your spring-line--what're you about there! Take a turn round that stump with the bight of it! Stand by that stage, now--let her go! Done with the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! SH'T! S'H'T! SH'T! (trying the gauge-cocks). Tom went on whitewashing--paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared a moment and then said: Hi-YI! YOU'RE up a stump, ain't you! No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as before. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said: Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey? Tom wheeled suddenly and said: Why, it's you, Ben! I warn't noticing. Say--I'm going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could? But of course you'd druther WORK--wouldn't you? Course you would! Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said: What do you call work? Why, ain't THAT work? Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly: Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits Tom Sawyer. Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you LIKE it? The brush continued to move. Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day? That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom swept his brush daintily back and forth--stepped back to note the effect--added a touch here and there--criticised the effect again--Ben watching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more absorbed. Presently he said: Say, Tom, let ME whitewash a little. Tom considered, was about to consent but he altered his mind: No--no--I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awful particular about this fence--right here on the street, you know--but if it was the back fence I wouldn't mind and SHE wouldn't. Yes, she's awful particular about this fence it's got to be done very careful I reckon there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the way it's got to be done. No--is that so? Oh come, now--lemme just try. Only just a little--I'd let YOU, if you was me, Tom. Ben, I'd like to, honest injun but Aunt Polly--well, Jim wanted to do it, but she wouldn't let him Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn't let Sid. Now don't you see how I'm fixed? If you was to tackle this fence and anything was to happen to it-- Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say--I'll give you the core of my apple. Well, here--No, Ben, now don't. I'm afeard-- I'll give you ALL of it! Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his heart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated in the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents. There was no lack of material boys happened along every little while they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. By the time Ben was fagged out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for a kite, in good repair and when he played out, Johnny Miller bought in for a dead rat and a string to swing it with--and so on, and so on, hour after hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally rolling in wealth. He had besides the things before mentioned, twelve marbles, part of a jews-harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a spool cannon, a key that wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass doorknob, a dog-collar--but no dog--the handle of a knife, four pieces of orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window sash. He had had a nice, good, idle time all the while--plenty of company--and the fence had three coats of whitewash on it! If he hadn't run out of whitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the village. Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it--namely, that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to attain. If he had been a great and wise philosopher, like the writer of this book, he would now have comprehended that Work consists of whatever a body is OBLIGED to do, and that Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do. And this would help him to understand why constructing artificial flowers or performing on a tread-mill is work, while rolling ten-pins or climbing Mont Blanc is only amusement. There are wealthy gentlemen in England who drive four-horse passenger-coaches twenty or thirty miles on a daily line, in the summer, because the privilege costs them considerable money but if they were offered wages for the service, that would turn it into work and then they would resign. The boy mused awhile over the substantial change which had taken place in his worldly circumstances, and then wended toward headquarters to report. 
17000262_ComCore_DarkisRising_6-8;1;From Midwinter Day. He was woken by music. It beckoned him, lilting and insistent delicate music, played by delicate instruments that he could not identify, with one rippling, bell-like phrase running through it in a gold thread of delight. There was in this music so much of the deepest enchantment of all his dreams and imaginings that he woke smiling in pure happiness at the sound. In the moment of his waking, it began to fade, beckoning as it went, and then as he opened his eyes it was gone. He had only the memory of that one rippling phrase still echoing in his head, and itself fading so fast that he sat up abruptly in bed and reached his arm out to the air, as if he could bring it back. The room was very still, and there was no music, and yet Will knew that it had not been a dream. He was in the twins' room still he could hear Robin's breathing, slow and deep, from the other bed. Cold light glimmered round the edge of the curtains, but no one was stirring anywhere it was very early. Will pulled on his rumpled clothes from the day before, and slipped out of the room. He crossed the landing to the central window, and looked down. In the first shining moment he saw the whole strange-familial world, glistening white the roofs of the outbuildings mounded into square towers of snow, and beyond them all the fields and hedge: buried, merged into one great flat expanse, unbroken white to the horizon's brim. Will drew in a long, happy breath, silently rejoicing. Then, very faintly, he heard the music again, the same phrase. He swung round vainly searching for it in the air, as if he might see it somewhere like a flickering light. Where are you? It had gone again. And when he looked back through the window, he saw that his own world had gone with it. In that flash, everything had changed. The snow was there as it had been a moment before, but not piled now on roofs or stretching flat over lawns and fields. There were no roofs, there were no fields. There were only trees. Will was looking over a great white forest: a forest of massive trees, sturdy as towers and ancient as rock. They were bare of leaves, clad only in the deep snow that lay untouched along every branch, each smallest twig. They were everywhere. They began so close to the house that he was looking out through the topmost branches of the nearest tree, could have reached out and shaken them if he had dared to open the window. All around him the trees stretched to the flat horizon of the valley. The only break in that white world of branches was away over to the south, where the Thames ran he could see the bend in the river marked like a single stilled wave in this white ocean of forest, and the shape of it looked as though the river were wider than it should have been. Will gazed and gazed, and when at last he stirred he found that he was clutching the smooth iron circle threaded onto his belt. The iron was warm to his touch. He went back into the bedroom. Robin! he said loudly. Wake up! But Robin breathed slowly and rhythmically as before, and did not stir. He ran into the bedroom next door, the familiar small room that he had once shared with James, and shook James roughly by the shoulder. But when the shaking was done, James lay motionless, deeply asleep. Will went out onto the landing again and took a long breath, and he shouted with all his might: Wake up! Wake up, everyone! He did not now expect any response, and none came. There was a total silence, as deep and timeless as the blanketing snow the house and everyone in it lay in a sleep that would not be broken. Will went downstairs to pull on his boots, and the old sheepskin jacket that had belonged, before him, to two or three of his brothers in turn. Then he went out of the back door, closing it quietly behind him, and stood looking out through the quick white vapour of his breath. The strange white world lay stroked by silence... No birds sang. The garden was no longer there, in this forested land. Nor were the outbuildings nor the old crumbling walls. There lay only a narrow clearing round the house now, hummocked with unbroken snowdrifts, before the trees began, with a narrow path leading away. Will set out down the white tunnel of the path, slowly, stepping high to keep the snow out of his boots. As soon as he moved away from the house, he felt very much alone, and he made himself go on without looking back over his shoulder, because he knew that when he looked, he would find that the house was gone. He accepted everything that came into his mind, without thought or question, as if he were moving through a dream. But a deeper part of him knew that he was not dreaming. He was crystal-clear awake, in a Midwinter Day that had been waiting for him to wake into it since the day he had been born, and, he somehow knew, for centuries before that. Tomorrow will be beyond imagining.... Will came out of the white-arched path into the road, paved smooth with snow and edged everywhere by the great trees, and he looked up between the branches and saw a single black rook flap slowly past, high in the early sky. 
17000265_ComCore_PeopleCouldFly_6-8;1;They say the people could fly. Say that long ago in Africa, some of the people knew magic. And they would walk up on the air like climbin up on a gate. And they flew like blackbirds over the fields. Black, shiny wings flappin against the blue up there. Then, many of the people were captured for Slavery. The ones that could fly shed their wings. They couldn't take their wings across the water on slave ships. Too crowded, don't you know. The folks were full of misery, then. Got sick with the up and down of the sea. So they forgot about flyin when they could no longer breathe the sweet scent of Africa. Say the people who could fly kept their power, although they shed their wings. They looked the same as the other people from Africa who had been coming over, who had dark skin. Say you couldn't tell anymore one who could fly from one who couldn't. One such who could was an old man, call him Toby. And standin tall, yet afraid, was a young woman who once had wings. Call her Sarah. Now Sarah carried a babe tied to her back. She trembled to be so hard worked and scorned. The slaves labored in the fields from sunup to sundown. The owner of the slaves callin himself their Master. Say he was a hard lump of clay. A hard, glinty coal. A hard rock pile, wouldn't be moved. His Overseer on horseback pointed out the slaves who were slowin down. So the one called Driver cracked his whip over the slow ones to make them move faster. That whip was a slice-open cut of pain. So they did move faster. Had to. 
17000266_ComCore_TaleofMandarinDucks_6-8;1;Long ago and far away in the Land of the Rising Sun, there lived together a pair of mandarin ducks. Now, the drake was a magnificent bird with plumage of colors so rich that the emperor himself would have envied it. But his mate, the duck, wore the quiet tones of the wood, blending exactly with the hole in the tree where the two had made their nest. One day while the duck was sitting on her eggs, the drake flew down to a nearby pond to search for food. While he was there, a hunting party entered the woods. The hunters were led by the lord of the district, a proud and cruel man who believed that everything in the district belonged to him to do with as he chose. The lord was always looking for beautiful things to adorn his manor house and garden. And when he saw the drake swimming gracefully on the surface of the pond, he determined to capture him. The lord's chief steward, a man named Shozo, tried to discourage his master. The drake is a wild spirit, my lord, he said. Surely he will die in captivity. But the lord pretended not to hear Shozo. Secretly he despised Shozo, because although Shozo had once been his mightiest samurai, the warrior had lost an eye in battle and was no longer handsome to look upon. The lord ordered his servants to clear a narrow way through the undergrowth and place acorns along the path. When the drake came out of the water he saw the acorns. How pleased he was! He forgot to be cautious, thinking only of what a feast they would be to take home to his mate. Just as he was bending to pick up an acorn in his scarlet beak, a net fell over him, and the frightened bird was carried back to the lord's manor and placed in a small bamboo cage. 
17000268_ComCore_BlackShipsBeforeTroy_6-8;1;In the high and far-off days when men were heroes and walked with the gods, Peleus, king of the Myrmidons, took for his wife a sea nymph called Thetis, Thetis of the Silver Feet. Many guests came to their wedding feast, and among the mortal guests came all the gods of high Olympus. But as they sat feasting, one who had not been invited was suddenly in their midst: Eris, the goddess of discord, had been left out because wherever she went she took trouble with her yet here she was, all the same, and in her blackest mood, to avenge the insult. All she did--it seemed a small thing--was to toss down on the table a golden apple. Then she breathed upon the guests once, and vanished. The apple lay gleaming among the piled fruits and the brimming wine cups and bending close to look at it, everyone could see the words To the fairest traced on its side. Then the three greatest of the goddesses each claimed that it was hers. Hera claimed it as wife to Zeus, the All-father, and queen of all the gods. Athene claimed that she had the better right, for the beauty of wisdom such as hers surpassed all else. Aphrodite only smiled, and asked who had a better claim to beauty's prize than the goddess of beauty herself. They fell to arguing among themselves the argument became a quarrel, and the quarrel grew more and more bitter, and each called upon the assembled guests to judge between them. But the other guests refused, for they knew well enough that, whichever goddess they chose to receive the golden apple, they would make enemies of the other two. 
17000271_ComCore_AllegoryCave_6-8;1;Next, I said, compare the effect of education and of the lack of it on our nature to an experience like this: Imagine human beings living in an underground, cavelike dwelling, with an entrance a long way up, which is both open to the light and as wide as the cave itself. They've been there since childhood, fixed in the same place, with their necks and legs fettered, able to see only in front of them, because their bonds prevent them from turning their heads around. Light is provided by a fire burning far above and behind them. Also behind them, but on higher ground, there is a path stretching between them and the fire. Imagine that along this path a low wall has been built, like the screen in front of puppeteers above which they show their puppets. I'm imagining it. Then also imagine that there are people along the wall, carrying all kinds of artifacts that project above it--statues of people and other animals, made out of stone, wood, and every material. And, as you'd expect, some of the carriers are talking, and some are silent. It's a strange image you're describing, and strange prisoners. They're like us. Do you suppose, first of all, that these prisoners see anything of themselves and one another besides the shadows that the fire casts on the wall in front of them? How could they, if they have to keep their heads motionless throughout life? What about the things being carried along the wall? Isn't the same true of them? Of course. And if they could talk to one another, don't you think they'd suppose that the names they used applied to the things they see passing before them? They'd have to. And what if their prison also had an echo from the wall facing them? Don't you think they'd believe that the shadows passing in front of them were talking whenever one of the carriers passing along the wall was doing so? I certainly do. Then the prisoners would in every way believe that the truth is nothing other than the shadows of those artifacts. They must surely believe that. Consider, then, what being released from their bonds and cured of their ignorance would naturally be like if something like this came to pass. When one of them was freed and suddenly compelled to stand up, turn his head, walk, and look up toward the light, he'd be pained and dazzled and unable to see the things whose shadows he'd seen before. What do you think he'd say, if we told him that what he'd seen before was inconsequential, but that now--because he is a bit closer to the things that are and is turned towards things that are more--he sees correctly? Or, to put it another way, if we pointed to each of the things passing by, asked him what each of them is, and compelled him to answer, don't you think he'd be at a loss and that he'd believe the things he saw earlier were truer than the ones he was now being shown? Much truer. And if someone compelled him to look at the light itself, wouldn't his eyes hurt, and wouldn't he turn around and flee towards the things he's able to see, believing that they're really clearer than the ones he's being shown? He would. And if someone dragged him away from there by force, up the rough, steep path, and didn't let him go until he had dragged him into the sunlight, wouldn't he be pained and irritated at being treated that way? And when he came into the light, with the sun filling his eyes, wouldn't he be unable to see a single one of the things now said to be true? He would be unable to see them, at least at first. I suppose, then, that he'd need time to get adjusted before he could see things in the world above. At first, he'd see shadows most easily, then images of men and other things in water, then the things themselves. Of these, he'd be able to study the things in the sky and the sky itself more easily at night, looking at the light of the stars and the moon, than during the day, looking at the sun and the light of the moon. Of course. Finally, I suppose, he'd be able to see the sun, not images of it in water or some alien place, but the sun itself, in its own place, and be able to study it. Necessarily so. And at this point he would infer and conclude that the sun provides the seasons and the years, governs everything in the visible world, and is in some way the cause of all the things that he used to see. It's clear that would be his next step. What about when he reminds himself of his first dwelling place, his fellow prisoners, and what passed for wisdom there? Don't you think that he'd count himself happy for the change and pity the others? Certainly. And if there had been any honors, praises, or prizes among them for the one who was sharpest at identifying the shadows as they passed by and who best remembered which usually came earlier, which later, and which simultaneously, and who could thus best divine the future, do you think that our man would desire these rewards or envy those among the prisoners who were honored and held power? Instead, wouldn't he feel, with Homer, that he'd much prefer to work the earth as a serf to another, one without possessions, and go through any sufferings, rather than share their opinions and live as they do? I suppose he would rather suffer anything than live like that. Consider this too. If this man went down into the cave again and sat down in his same seat, wouldn't his eyes--coming suddenly out of the sun like that--be filled with darkness? They certainly would. 
17000274_ComCore_GettysburgAddress_6-8;1;Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We are met to dedicate a portion of it as the final resting-place of those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But in a large sense we cannot dedicate,--we cannot consecrate,--we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work that they have thus far so nobly carried on. It is, rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they here gave the last full measure of devotion that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that Government of the people, by the people and for the people, shall not perish from the earth. 
17000275_ComCore_LeeSurrenderstoGrant_6-8;1;When Lee came to the sentence about the officers' side-arms, private horses & baggage, he showed for the first time during the reading of the letter a slight change of countenance & was evidently touched by this act of generosity. It was doubtless the condition mentioned to which he particularly alluded when he looked toward General Grant, as he finished reading & said with some degree of warmth in his manner, This will have a very happy effect upon my army. General Grant then said: Unless you have some suggestions to make in regard to the form in which I have stated the terms, I will have a copy of the letter made in ink, and sign it. There is one thing I should like to mention, Lee replied, after a short pause. The cavalrymen and artillerists own their own horses in our army. Its organization in this respect differs from that of the United States. This expression attracted the notice of our officers present, as showing how firmly the conviction was grounded in his mind that we were two distinct countries. He continued: I should like to understand whether these men will be permitted to retain their horses. You will find that the terms as written do not allow this, General Grant replied only the officers are permitted to take their private property. Lee read over the second page of the letter again, and then said: No, I see the terms do not allow it that is clear. His face showed plainly that he was quite anxious to have this concession made and Grant said very promptly, and without giving Lee time to make a direct request: Well, the subject is quite new to me. Of course I did not know that any private soldiers owned their animals but I think we have fought the last battle of the war,--I sincerely hope so,--and that the surrender of this army will be followed soon by that of all the others and I take it that most of the men in the ranks are small farmers, and as the country has been so raided by the two armies, it is doubtful whether they will be able to put in a crop to carry themselves and their families through the next winter without the aid of the horses they are now riding, and I will arrange it in this way: I will not change the terms as now written, but I will instruct the officers I shall appoint to receive the paroles to let all the men who claim to own a horse or mule take the animals home with them to work their little farms. 
17000278_ComCore_AddresstotheNation_6-8;1;Good evening, my fellow citizens: This afternoon, following a series of threats and defiant statements, the presence of Alabama National Guardsmen was required on the University of Alabama to carry out the final and unequivocal order of the United States District Court of the Northern District of Alabama. That order called for the admission of two clearly qualified young Alabama residents who happened to have been born Negro. That they were admitted peacefully on the campus is due in good measure to the conduct of the students of the University of Alabama, who met their responsibilities in a constructive way. I hope that every American, regardless of where he lives, will stop and examine his conscience about this and other related incidents. This Nation was founded by men of many nations and backgrounds. It was founded on the principle that all men are created equal, and that the rights of every man are diminished when the rights of one man are threatened. Today, we are committed to a worldwide struggle to promote and protect the rights of all who wish to be free. And when Americans are sent to Vietnam or West Berlin, we do not ask for whites only. It ought to be possible, therefore, for American students of any color to attend any public institution they select without having to be backed up by troops. It ought to be possible for American consumers of any color to receive equal service in places of public accommodation, such as hotels and restaurants and theaters and retail stores, without being forced to resort to demonstrations in the street, and it ought to be possible for American citizens of any color to register and to vote in a free election without interference or fear of reprisal. It ought to be possible, in short, for every American to enjoy the privileges of being American without regard to his race or his color. In short, every American ought to have the right to be treated as he would wish to be treated, as one would wish his children to be treated. But this is not the case. The Negro baby born in America today, regardless of the section of the State in which he is born, has about one-half as much chance of completing a high school as a white baby born in the same place on the same day, one-third as much chance of completing college, one-third as much chance of becoming a professional man, twice as much chance of becoming unemployed, about one-seventh as much chance of earning $a year, a life expectancy which is years shorter, and the prospects of earning only half as much. This is not a sectional issue. Difficulties over segregation and discrimination exist in every city, in every State of the Union, producing in many cities a rising tide of discontent that threatens the public safety. Nor is this a partisan issue. In a time of domestic crisis men of good will and generosity should be able to unite regardless of party or politics. This is not even a legal or legislative issue alone. It is better to settle these matters in the courts than on the streets, and new laws are needed at every level, but law alone cannot make men see right. We are confronted primarily with a moral issue. It is as old as the Scriptures and is as clear as the American Constitution. The heart of the question is whether all Americans are to be afforded equal rights and equal opportunities, whether we are going to treat our fellow Americans as we want to be treated. If an American, because his skin is dark, cannot eat lunch in a restaurant open to the public, if he cannot send his children to the best public school available, if he cannot vote for the public officials who will represent him, if, in short, he cannot enjoy the full and free life which all of us want, then who among us would be content to have the color of his skin changed and stand in his place? Who among us would then be content with the counsels of patience and delay? One hundred years of delay have passed since President Lincoln freed the slaves, yet their heirs, their grandsons, are not fully free. They are not yet freed from the bonds of injustice. They are not yet freed from social and economic oppression. And this Nation, for all its hopes and all its boasts, will not be fully free until all its citizens are free. We preach freedom around the world, and we mean it, and we cherish our freedom here at home, but are we to say to the world, and much more importantly, to each other that this is the land of the free except for the Negroes that we have no second-class citizens except Negroes that we have no class or caste system, no ghettoes, no master race except with respect to Negroes? Now the time has come for this Nation to fulfill its promise. The events in Birmingham and elsewhere have so increased the cries for equality that no city or State or legislative body can prudently choose to ignore them. The fires of frustration and discord are burning in every city, North and South, where legal remedies are not at hand. Redress is sought in the streets, in demonstrations, parades, and protests which create tensions and threaten violence and threaten lives. We face, therefore, a moral crisis as a country and a people. It cannot be met by repressive police action. It cannot be left to increased demonstrations in the streets. It cannot be quieted by token moves or talk. It is a time to act in the Congress, in your State and local legislative body and, above all, in all of our daily lives. It is not enough to pin the blame on others, to say this a problem of one section of the country or another, or deplore the facts that we face. A great change is at hand, and our task, our obligation, is to make that revolution, that change, peaceful and constructive for all. Those who do nothing are inviting shame, as well as violence. Those who act boldly are recognizing right, as well as reality. This is one country. It has become one country because all of us and all the people who came here had an equal chance to develop their talents. We cannot say to ten percent of the population that you can't have that right that your children cannot have the chance to develop whatever talents they have that the only way that they are going to get their rights is to go in the street and demonstrate. I think we owe them and we owe ourselves a better country than that. Therefore, I'm asking for your help in making it easier for us to move ahead and to provide the kind of equality of treatment which we would want ourselves to give a chance for every child to be educated to the limit of his talents. As I've said before, not every child has an equal talent or an equal ability or equal motivation, but they should have the equal right to develop their talent and their ability and their motivation, to make something of themselves. We have a right to expect that the Negro community will be responsible, will uphold the law, but they have a right to expect that the law will be fair, that the Constitution will be color blind, as Justice Harlan said at the turn of the century. This is what we're talking about and this is a matter which concerns this country and what it stands for, and in meeting it I ask the support of all our citizens. Thank you very much. 
17000280_ComCore_AddresstoStudents_6-8;1;But progress is not foreordained. The key is freedom--freedom of thought, freedom of information, freedom of communication. The renowned scientist, scholar, and founding father of this university, Mikhail Lomonosov, knew that. It is common knowledge, he said, that the achievements of science are considerable and rapid, particularly once the yoke of slavery is cast off and replaced by the freedom of philosophy. The explorers of the modern era are the entrepreneurs, men with vision, with the courage to take risks and faith enough to brave the unknown. These entrepreneurs and their small enterprises are responsible for almost all the economic growth in the United States. They are the prime movers of the technological revolution. In fact, one of the largest personal computer firms in the United States was started by two college students, no older than you, in the garage behind their home. Some people, even in my own country, look at the riot of experiment that is the free market and see only waste. What of all the entrepreneurs that fail? Well, many do, particularly the successful ones often several times. And if you ask them the secret of their success, they'll tell you it's all that they learned in their struggles along the way yes, it's what they learned from failing. Like an athlete in competition or a scholar in pursuit of the truth, experience is the greatest teacher. We Americans make no secret of our belief in freedom. In fact, it's something of a national pastime. Every years the American people choose a new President, and is one of those years. At one point there were major candidates running in the two major parties, not to mention all the others, including the Socialist and Libertarian candidates--all trying to get my job. Aboutlocal television stations,radio stations, anddaily newspapers--each one an independent, private enterprise, fiercely independent of the Government--report on the candidates, grill them in interviews, and bring them together for debates. In the end, the people vote they decide who will be the next President. But freedom doesn't begin or end with elections. Go to any American town, to take just an example, and you'll see dozens of churches, representing many different beliefs--in many places, synagogues and mosques--and you'll see families of every conceivable nationality worshiping together. Go into any schoolroom, and there you will see children being taught the Declaration of Independence, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights--among them life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness--that no government can justly deny the guarantees in their Constitution for freedom of speech, freedom of assembly, and freedom of religion. Go into any courtroom, and there will preside an independent judge, beholden to no government power. There every defendant has the right to a trial by a jury of his peers, usually men and women--common citizens they are the ones, the only ones, who weigh the evidence and decide on guilt or innocence. In that court, the accused is innocent until proven guilty, and the word of a policeman or any official has no greater legal standing than the word of the accused. Go to any university campus, and there you'll find an open, sometimes heated discussion of the problems in American society and what can be done to correct them. Turn on the television, and you'll see the legislature conducting the business of government right there before the camera, debating and voting on the legislation that will become the law of the land. March in any demonstration, and there are many of them the people's right of assembly is guaranteed in the Constitution and protected by the police. Go into any union hall, where the members know their right to strike is protected by law. But freedom is more even than this. Freedom is the right to question and change the established way of doing things. It is the continuing revolution of the marketplace. It is the understanding that allows us to recognize shortcomings and seek solutions. It is the right to put forth an idea, scoffed at by the experts, and watch it catch fire among the people. It is the right to dream--to follow your dream or stick to your conscience, even if you're the only one in a sea of doubters. Freedom is the recognition that no single person, no single authority or government has a monopoly on the truth, but that every individual life is infinitely precious, that every one of us put on this world has been put there for a reason and has something to offer. 
17000281_ComCore_PreambleandFirstAmendment_6-8;1;Preamble. We, the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution of the United States of America. Amendment I. Congress shall make no law respecting the establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press or the right of people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances. 
17000282_ComCore_NighttoRemember_6-8;1;High in the crow's nest of the New White Star Liner Titanic, Lookout Frederick Fleet peered into a dazzling night. It was calm, clear and bitterly cold. There was no moon, but the cloudless sky blazed with starts. The Atlantic was like polished plate glass people later said they had never seen it so smooth. This was the fifth night of the Titanic's maiden voyage to New York, and it was already clear that she was not only the largest but also the most glamorous ship in the world. Even the passengers' dogs were glamorous. John Jacob Astor had along his Airedale Kitty. Henry Sleeper Harper, of the publishing family, had his prize Pekingese Sun Yat-sen. Robert W. Daniel, the Philadelphia banker, was bringing back a champion French bulldog just purchased in Britain. Clarence Moore of Washington had also been dog shopping, but the pairs of English foxhounds he bought for the Loudoun Hunt weren't making the trip. This was all another world to Frederick Fleet. He was one of six lookouts carried by the Titanic, and the lookouts didn't worry about passenger problems. They were the eyes of the ship, and on this particular night Fleet had been warned to watch especially for icebergs. So far, so good. On duty at o'clock ...a few words about he ice problem with Lookout Reginald Lee, who shared the same watch... a few more words about the cold... but mostly just silence, as the two men stared into the darkness. Now the watch was almost over, and still there was nothing unusual. Just the night, the stars, the biting cold, the wind that whistled through the rigging as the Titanic raced across the calm, black sea at - / knots. It was almost : p.m. on Sunday, the th of April, . Suddenly Fleet saw something directly ahead, even darker than the darkness. 
17000283_ComCore_ShortWalk_6-8;1;At Giza, a few miles north of Saqqara, sit three great pyramids, each named for the king--or Pharaoh--during whose reign it was built. No other buildings are so well known, yet the first sight of them sitting in their field is breathtaking. When you walk among them, you walk in a place made for giants. They seem too large to have been made by human beings, too perfect to have been formed by nature, and when the sun is overhead, not solid enough to be attached to the sand. In the minutes before sunrise, they are the color of faded roses, and when the last rays of the desert sun touch them, they turn to amber. But whatever the light, their broad proportions, the beauty of the limestone, and the care with which it is fitted into place create three unforgettable works of art. What do we learn about art when we look at the pyramids? First, when all of the things that go into a work--its components--complement one another, they create and object that has a certain spirit, and we can call that spirit harmony. The pyramids are harmonious because limestone, a warm, quiet material, is a cordial companion for a simple, logical, pleasing shape. In fact, the stone and the shape are so comfortable with each other that the pyramids seem inevitable--as though they were bound to have the form, color, and texture that they do have. The pyramids also show us that simple things must be made with care. The fine workmanship that went into the building of the pyramids is part of their beauty. Complicated shapes may conceal poor work--such shapes distract our eye--but in something as simple as a pyramid, there is no way to hide its flaws. Because any flaw would mar its beauty, the craftsmanship must be perfect. Finally, pyramids show us that light helps to shape our feelings about art. As the sun moves above the desert, the pyramids seem to change. As they do, our feelings about them also change. In the early morning they sit squarely on the horizon and we feel that they have become the kings for which they were named by midday they have become restless and change into silver-white clouds and at dusk they settle down and regain their power. The pyramids will always work their magic on us. Their forms, so simple and reasonable, and their great size lift us high above the ordinary moments in our lives. 
17000285_ComCore_VincentVanGogh_6-8;1;I have nature and art and poetry, if that is not enough what is? --Letter to Theo, January . On March, the handsome, soberly dressed Reverend Theodorus van Gogh entered the ancient town hall of Groot-Zundert, in the Brabant, a province of the Netherlands. He opened the birth register to number twenty-nine, where exactly one year earlier he had sadly written Vincent Willem van Gogh, stillborn. Beside the inscription he wrote again Vincent Willem van Gogh, the name of his new, healthy son, who was sleeping soundly next to his mother in the tiny parsonage across the square. The baby's arrival was an answered prayer for the still-grieving family. The first Vincent lay buried in a tiny grave by the door of the church where Pastor van Gogh preached. The Vincent who lived grew to be a sturdy redheaded boy. Every Sunday on his way to church, young Vincent would pass the headstone carved with the name he shared. Did he feel as if his dead brother where the rightful Vincent, the one who would remain perfect in his parents' hearts, and that he was merely an unsatisfactory replacement? That might have been one of the reasons he spent so much of his life feeling like a lonely outsider, as if he didn't fit anywhere in the world. Despite his dramatic beginning, Vincent had an ordinary childhood, giving no hint of the painter he would become. The small parsonage, with an upstairs just two windows wide under a slanting roof, quickly grew crowded. By the time he was six he had two sisters, Anna and Elizabeth, and one brother, Theo, whose gentle nature made him their mother's favorite. Their mother, Anna Carbentus van Gogh, herself one of eight, came from an artistic background. Her father had been a bookbinder to the royal family. A gifted amateur artist who filled notebooks with drawings of plants and flowers, she thought Vincent had a pleasant talent that might be useful someday. She didn't suspect he would develop into a great artist. In fact she recalled only that once he modeled an elephant out of clay but smashed it when she and his father praised it more than he thought they should. For the same reason he tore up a drawing of a cat climbing a tree. It wasn't his artistic ability but his obstinate personality that left the biggest impression on his mother. That willful stubbornness turned up again and again as he grew older. With a big family and a little house, the children spent a lot of time out of doors. The freckled, red-haired Vincent, solitary by nature, often wandered by himself in fields and heaths that surrounded the parsonage. He became familiar with the seasons of planting and harvest and with the hardworking local farm families whose labors connected them to the soil. The strong feeling he developed for the rural landscape of Brabant and the lives of its peasants would be one of the major influences in his life. Mostly he did what boys like to do. He collected bugs and birds' nests. He teased his sisters. He built sand castles in the garden with Theo. Sometimes he invented games for all of them to play. After one exciting day his brothers and sisters thanked Vincent by staging a ceremony, and, with mock formality, presented him with a rosebush from their father's garden. 
17000286_ComCore_ThisLand_6-8;1; I hate a song that makes you think that you're not any good. I hate a song that makes you think you are just born to lose. I am out to fight those kind of songs to my very last breath of air and my last drop of blood. Woody Guthrie could never cure himself of wandering off. One minute he'd be there, the next he'd be gone, vanishing without a word to anyone, abandoning those he loved best. He'd throw on a few extra shirts, one on top of the other, sling his guitar over his shoulder, and hit the road. He'd stick out his thumb and hitchhike, swing onto moving freight trains, and hunker down with other traveling men in flophouses, hobo jungles, and Hoovervilles across Depression America. He moved restlessly from state to state, soaking up some songs: work songs, mountain and cowboy songs, sea chanteys, songs from the southern chain gangs. He added them to the dozens he already knew from his childhood until he was bursting with American folk songs. Playing the guitar and singing, he started making up new ones: hard-bitten, rough-edged songs that told it like it was, full of anger and hardship and hope and love. Woody said the best songs came to him when he was walking down a road. He always had fifteen or twenty songs running around in his mind, just waiting to be put together. Sometimes he knew the words, but not the melody. Usually he'd borrow a tune that was already well known--the simpler the better. As he walked along, he tried to catch a good, easy song that people could sing the first time they heard it, remember, and sing again later. Woody sang his songs the old-fashioned way, his voice droning and nasal, the words sharp and clear. Promoters and club owners wanted him to follow their tightly written scripts and sing the melodious, popular songs that were on the radio. Whenever they came at him with their hands full of cash, Woody ran the other way. I had rather sound like the cab drivers cursing at one another, like the longshoremen yelling, like the cowhands whooping and like the lone wolf barking, than to sound like a slick, smooth tongued, oily lipped, show person. Just after New Years Day inWoody set off on one of his unannounced road trips. He left his wife and three kids in a shack in Texas and headed for New York City. It was a long, cold trip in the dead of winter, and every time he stopped in a diner he heard Irving Berlin's lush, sentimental song, God Bless America, on the jukebox. It was exactly the kind of song Woody couldn't stand, romanticizing America, telling people not to worry, that God would take care of everything. Woody thought there was plenty to worry about. The Great Depression, which had begun inwas grinding on. For years, desperate, hungry people had been tramping the roads and riding the rails, looking for work or handouts. In Europe another world war was raging, threatening to pull America into the bloody conflict. Bits of tunes and snatches of words swirled in Woody's mind, and a few weeks later in a cheap, fleabag hotel in New York City, his own song about America came together. Using an old Baptist tune for the melody, Woody wrote This Land Is Your Land. His song caught the bittersweet contrasts of America: the beauty of our country, and the desperate strength of people making do in impossibly difficult times. Across the bottom of the sheet Woody wrote in his neat script, All you can write is what you see, and put the song away. Writing about what he saw--and felt, and heard about, and read about--gave Woody plenty of material. During his lifetime he wrote down more than three thousand songs, taking stories from everywhere: the front page of the newspaper union meetings and busted-up strikes and the sights and sounds of America as he walked that ribbon of highway. In April Woody recorded This Land Is Your Land. When his good friend Pete Seeger heard the recording, he thought the song was one of Woody's weaker attempts. Too simple, thought Pete, an accomplished folk singer himself. Later he would say, That shows how wrong you can be. Over the years he watched as This Land Is Your Land went from one guitar picker to another, gathering momentum as it made its way across America and out into the world. After Woody's death inthe song kept steadily spreading. Today, This Land Is Your Land is sung all over the United States by just about everybody: schoolchildren, Scout troops, new immigrants, gospel choirs, and rest-home residents. More than half a century after Woody first recorded his song, Pete Seeger figures it has reached hundreds of millions of people, maybe billions of people. Many Americans consider it our unofficial national anthem. Woody would be proud. Years before he had written, I am out to sing songs that'll prove to you that this is your world, no matter how hard it has run you down and rolled over you. I am out to sing the songs that will make you take pride in yourself. Over and over again, he did just that. 
17000289_ComCore_Cathedral_6-8;1;In order to construct the vaulted ceiling a wooden scaffold was erected connecting the two walls of the choir one hundred and thirty feet above ground. On the scaffolding wooden centerings like those used for the flying buttresses were installed. They would support the arched stone ribs until the mortar was dry, at which times the ribs could support themselves. The ribs carried the webbing, which was the ceiling itself. The vaults were constructed one bay at a time, a bay being the rectangular area between four piers. One by one, the cut stones of the ribs, called voussoirs, were hoisted onto the centering and mortared into place by the masons. Finally the keystone was lowered into place to lock the ribs together at the crown, the highest point of the arch. The carpenters then installed pieces of wood, called lagging, that spanned the space between two centerings. On top of the lagging the masons laid one course or layer of webbing stones. The lagging supported the course of webbing until the mortar was dry.... Two teams, each with a mason and a carpenter, worked simultaneously from both sides of the vault--installing first the lagging, then the webbing. When they met in the center the vault was complete. The vaulting over the aisle was constructed in the same way and at the same time. When the mortar in the webbing had set, a four-inch layer of concrete was poured over the entire vault to prevent any cracking between the stones. Once the concrete had set, the lagging was removed and the centering was lowered and moved onto the scaffolding of the next bay. The procedure was repeated until eventually the entire choir was vaulted. 
17000290_ComCore_BuildingManhattan_6-8;1;Concrete arrives at a construction site as a soupy mixture of Portland cement, aggregate, and water which, by chemical accretion, will harden into a solid mass as hard as stone. On some projects small amounts are mixed right on the spot. It can be formed or cast into almost any shape. The aggregate--sand and crushed stone or gravel--is added to the mixture to give more volume. Portland cement is a combination of limestone and clay, ground to very fine powder and heated in a kiln to drive out the moisture. Chemicals and other materials can be added to give special properties to the concrete: for waterproofing, for insulation, to make a lighter, more porous concrete, or to affect the drying time. The ingredients in concrete are proportioned for specific uses. In the foundation of a skyscraper there is more sand and stone in the mix than cement. In the upper structure of the building more cement is used and less aggregate, since this allows the support columns and other parts of the building to be thinner, or reduced in bulk, without losing strength. The amount of water in the mix is also carefully controlled--just enough to ensure maximum hardening, yet a sufficient amount to keep the concrete fluid and workable as it is poured and formed at the job site. Concrete however, requires and additional ingredient to make high-rise construction practical. Steel reinforcing bars--some are - / inches in diameter and weigh . pounds per foot--are embedded in the concrete. When tied in clusters, or woven into a mesh of wires and bars, the steel bars give the hardened concrete the strength to withstand any vertical stress and strain as well as horizontal pressure. The protruding ends of the steel bars seen at all concrete construction sites are for the connection of this reinforcement, by which a freshly formed concrete section is solidly bonded to the metal reinforcing of the rest of the concrete building. The bars must be placed in the areas of maximum tensile stress as determined by the engineers. 
17000291_ComCore_NumberDevil_6-8;1;. . . I see, said the number devil with a wry smile. I have nothing against your Mr. Bockel, but that kind of problem has nothing whatever to do with what I'm interested in. Do you want to know something? Most genuine mathematicians are bad at sums. Besides, they have no time to waste on them. That's what pocket calculators are for. I assume you have one. Sure, but we're not allowed to use them in school. I see, said the number devil. That's all right. There's nothing wrong with a little addition and subtraction. You never know when your battery will die on you. But mathematics, my boy, that's something else again! . . . . . . The thing that makes numbers so devilish is precisely that they are simple. And you don't need a calculator to prove it. You need one thing and one thing only: one. With one--I am speaking of the numeral of course--you can do almost anything. If you are afraid of large numbers--let's say five million seven hundred and twenty-three thousand eight hundred and twelve--all you have to do is start with + + + + + + + + + + . . . and go on until you come to five million etcetera. You can't tell me that's too complicated for you, can you? 
17000292_ComCore_MathTrek_6-8;1;From the meanderings of a pond's edge to the branching of trees and the intricate forms of snowflakes, shapes in nature are often more complicated than geometrical shapes such as circles, spheres, angles, cones, rectangles, and cubes. ...Benoit Mandelbrot, a mathematics professor at Yale University and an IBM fellow, was the first person to recognize how amazingly common this type of structure is in nature. Inhe coined the term fractal for shapes that repeat themselves within an object. The word fractal comes from the Latin term for broken. Inlong before Mandelbrot conceived of fractals, Swedish mathematician Helge von Koch created and intriguing but puzzling curve. It zigzags in such an odd pattern that it seems impossible to start at one pint and follow the curve to reach another point. Like many figures now known to be fractals, Koch's curve is easy to generate by starting with a simple figure and turning it into an increasingly crinkly form. What to Do . Draw an equilateral triangle with each side measuring centimeters. (Remember, each angle of an equilateral triangle measures .) . Divide each -centimeter side into three parts, each measuring three centimeters. At the middle of each side, add an equilateral triangle one third the size of the original, facing outward. Because each side of the original triangle is centimeters, the new triangles will have -centimeter sides. When you examine the outer edge of your diagram you should se a six-pointed star made up of line segments. . At the middle of each segment of the star, add a triangle one ninth the side of the original triangle. The new triangles will have sides centimeter in length so divide each -centimeter segment into thirds, and use the middle third to form a new triangle. . Going one step farther, you create a shape that begins to resemble a snowflake. If you were to continue the process by endlessly adding smaller and smaller triangles to every new side, you would produce the Koch snowflake curve. Between any two points, the snowflake would have an infinite number of zigzags. 
17000293_ComCore_EvolutionGroceryBag_6-8;1;That much-reviled bottleneck known as the American supermarket checkout lane would be an even greater exercise in frustration were it not for several technological advances. The Universal Product Code and the decoding laser scanner, introduced intally a shopper's groceries far more quickly and accurately than the old method of inputting each purchase manually into a cash register. But beeping a large order past the scanner would have led only to a faster pileup of cans and boxes down the line, where the bagger works, had it not been for the introduction, more than a century earlier, of an even greater technological masterpiece: the square-bottomed paper bag. The geometry of paper bags continues to hold a magical appeal for those of us who are fascinated by how ordinary things are designed and made. Originally, grocery bags were created on demand by storekeepers, who cut, folded, and pasted sheets of paper, making versatile containers into which purchases could be loaded for carrying home. The first paper bags manufactured commercially are said to have been made in Bristol, England, in the s. Ina Machine for Making Bags of Paper was patented in America by Francis Wolle, of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. According to Wolle's own description of the machine's operation, pieces of paper of suitable length are given out from a roll of the required width, cut off from the roll and otherwise suitably cut to the required shape, folded, their edges pasted and lapped, and formed into complete and perfect bags. The perfect bags produced at the rate of eighteen hundred per hour by Wolle's machine were, of course, not perfect, nor was his machine. The history of design has yet to see the development of a perfect object, though it has seen many satisfactory ones and many substantially improved ones. The concept of comparative improvement is embedded in the paradigm for invention, the better mousetrap. No one is ever likely to lay claim to a best mousetrap, for that would preclude the inventor himself from coming up with a still better mousetrap without suffering the embarrassment of having previously declared the search complete. As with the mousetrap, so with the bag. 
17000294_ComCore_Geology_6-8;1;Geology is the scientific study of Earth. Geologists study the planet--its formation, its internal structure, its materials, its chemical and physical processes, and its history. Mountains, valleys, plains, sea floors, minerals, rocks, fossils, and the processes that create and destroy each of these are all the domain of the geologist. Geology is divided into two broad categories of study: physical geology and historical geology. Physical geology is concerned with the processes occurring on or below the surface of Earth and the materials on which they operate. These processes include volcanic eruptions, landslides, earthquakes, and floods. Materials include rocks, air, seawater, soils, and sediment. Physical geology further divides into more specific branches, each of which deals with its own part of Earth's materials, landforms, and processes. Mineralogy and petrology investigate the composition and origin of minerals and rocks. Volcanologists study lava, rocks, and gases on live, dormant, and extinct volcanoes. Seismologists use instruments to monitor and predict earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. Historical geology is concerned with the chronology of events, both physical and biological, that have taken place in Earth's history. Paleontologists study fossils (remains of ancient life) for evidence of the evolution of life on Earth. Fossils not only relate evolution, but also speak of the environment in which the organism lived. Corals in rocks at the top of the Grand Canyon in Arizona, for example, show a shallow sea flooded the area around million years ago. In addition, by determining the ages and types of rocks around the world, geologists piece together continental and oceanic history over the past few billion years. Plate tectonics (the study of the movement of the sections of Earth's crust) adds to Earth's story with details of the changing configuration of the continents and oceans. 
17000295_ComCore_SpaceProbe_6-8;1;A space probe is an unpiloted spacecraft that leaves Earth's orbit to explore the Moon, planets, asteroids, comets, or other objects in outer space as directed by onboard computers and/or instructions send from Earth. The purpose of such missions is to make scientific observations, such as taking pictures, measuring atmospheric conditions, and collecting soil samples, and to bring or report the data back to Earth. Numerous space probes have been launched since the former Soviet Union first fired Luna toward the Moon in . Probes have now visited each of the eight planets in the solar system. In fact, two probes--Voyager and Voyager --are approaching the edge of the solar system, for their eventual trip into the interstellar medium. By January Voyager was about . billion miles ( . billion kilometers) from the Sun and in May it entered the heliosheath (the boundary where the solar wind is thought to end), which is the area that roughly divides the solar system from interstellar space. Voyager is not quite as far as its sister probe. Voyager is expected to be the first human space probe to leave the solar system. Both Voyager probes are still transmitting signals back to Earth. They are expected to help gather further information as to the true boundary of the solar system. The earliest probes traveled to the closest extraterrestrial target, the Moon. The former Soviet Union launched a series of Luna probes that provided humans with first pictures of the far side of the Moon. InLuna made the first successful landing on the Moon and sent back television footage from the Moon's surface. The National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) initially made several unsuccessful attempts to send a probe to the Moon. Not until did a Ranger probe reach its mark and send back thousands of pictures. Then, a few months after LunaNASA landed Surveyor on the Moon. In the meantime, NASA was moving ahead with the first series of planetary probes, called Mariner. Mariner first reached the planet Venus in . Later Mariner spacecrafts flew by Mars in andproviding detailed images of that planet. InMariner became the first spacecraft to orbit Mars. During its year in orbit, Mariner 's two television cameras transmitted footage of an intense Martian dust storm, as well as images of percent of the planet's surface and the two Martian natural satellites (moons). Encounters were also made with Mars in by the U.S. probes Viking and Viking . Each Viking spacecraft consisted of both an orbiter and a lander. Viking made the first successful soft landing on Mars on July. Soon after, Viking landed on the opposite side of the planet. The Viking orbiters made reports on the Martian weather and photographed almost the entire surface of the planet. 
17000296_ComCore_ElementaryParticles_6-8;1;Since ancient times, people have tried to discover the basic units of matter. What, they have asked, are the smallest particles from which all the objects in the universe are made? Many people in ancient Greece thought that all matter was made of various combinations of four basic elements --earth, fire, air, and water. But one Greek philosopher, Democritus (c. Dc. B.C.), had a different theory. He suggested that matter was composed of tiny particles called atoms. The word atom comes from a Greek word meaning unable to be cut or indivisible. The theory of Democritus was largely ignored foryears. Then, inan English chemist and physicist named John Dalton ( D ) revived the atomic theory. He was the first scientist to define the atom as it is understood today--the smallest particle of an element that behaves chemically like that element. Atomic physics is the study of atoms and their behavior. Atoms are incredibly small. A tiny speck of dust contains many millions of atoms. Some molecules, such as certain of the protein molecules, contain hundreds of thousands of atoms. Yet a protein molecule is so small, compared with things we can see with the unaided eye, that a powerful electron microscope is needed to view it. Even then, the individual atoms cannot usually be seen. Small as the atom is, however, it is not the smallest component of matter. Particle physics is the study of the smallest, most elemental building blocks and the basic forces of nature. Inside the Atom. Beginning in the late s, scientists discovered that the atom is composed of still smaller particles. The first of these subatomic particles to be discovered was the electron. Then it was found that the atom has a central core, which was named the nucleus. Surrounding the nucleus are the electrons. The nucleus of the simplest atom, that of ordinary hydrogen, consists of a single particle, the proton. A single electron moves around the nucleus. A heavier nucleus, such as that of an oxygen or an iron atom, contains two kinds of particles: protons and neutrons. Neutrons are about the same size as protons. Electrons are much smaller than protons and neutrons. By the s, the basic structure of matter seemed almost completely understood. Scientists had established that electrons, protons, and neutrons are the chief components of an atom. But since that time, several hundred other particles have been discovered. In some cases, the existence of these particles was predicted on the basis of complicated theories. The particles themselves were later detected during experiments. In other cases, the particles were discovered first. Physicists presented new theories to try to make sense out of the chaos of particles that had been detected. One theory gained favor. It states that particles such as protons and neutrons are not elementary at all, but are themselves made up of even smaller units, called quarks. This theory has revolutionized the picture of the elementary particles. Many physicists now think that quarks and a second group of particles--the leptons, which include electrons--are the fundamental building blocks of nature. Yet quarks never appear alone--only in groups of two or three, forming composite particles. Understanding why is one of many challenges in the field of particle physics. Some recent theories and discoveries are described in greater detail in the article Particle Physics. This article focuses mainly on the properties of subatomic particles and the principles that seem to govern their behavior. Particles of subatomic size can be observed only indirectly, because they are too minute and move far too rapidly to be seen. But physicists can determine how particles interact and how they are affected by electrical and magnetic forces. Scientists can detect new particles that form as existing particles decay or react with each other. In this way, they have learned a great deal about the nature of various particles. 
17000297_ComCore_Odyssey_9-10;2;Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy. Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds, many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea, fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home. But he could not save them from disaster, hard as he strove-- the recklessness of their own ways destroyed them all, the blind fools, they devoured the cattle of the Sun and the Sungod blotted out the day of their return. Launch out on his story, Muse, daughter of Zeus. Start from where you will--sing for our time too. By now, all the survivors, all who avoided headlong death were safe at home, escaped the wars and waves. But one man alone... his heart set on his wife and his return--Calypso, the bewitching nymph, the lustrous goddess, held him back, deep in her arching caverns, craving him for a husband. But then, when the wheeling seasons brought the year around. That year spun out by the gods when he should reach his home, Ithaca--though not even there would he be free of trials, even among his loved ones--then every god took pity, all except Poseidon. He raged on, seething against the great Odysseus till he reached his native land. 
17000298_ComCore_Nose_9-10;2;An extraordinarily strange thing happened in St. Petersburg on March. Ivan Yakovlevich, a barber who lived on Voznesensky Avenue (his surname has got lost and all that his shop-front signboard shows is a gentleman with a lathered cheek and the inscription We also let blood') woke up rather early one morning and smelt hot bread. As he sat up in bed he saw his wife, who was a quite respectable lady and a great coffee-drinker, taking some freshly baked rolls out of the oven. I don't want any coffee today, Praskovya Osipovna,' said Ivan Yakovlevich. I'll make do with some hot rolls and onion instead.' (Here I must explain that Ivan Yakovlevich would really have liked to have had some coffee as well, but knew it was quite out of the question to expect both coffee and rolls, since Praskovya Osipovna did not take very kindly to these whims of his.) Let the old fool have his bread, I don't mind,' she thought. That means extra coffee for me!' And she threw a roll on to the table. Ivan pulled his frock-coat over his nightshirt for decency's sake, sat down at the table, poured out some salt, peeled two onions, took a knife and with a determined expression on his face started cutting one of the rolls. When he had sliced the roll in two, he peered into the middle and was amazed to see something white there. Ivan carefully picked at it with his knife, and felt it with his finger. Quite thick,' he said to himself. What on earth can it be?' He poked two fingers in and pulled out--a nose! He flopped back in his chair, and began rubbing his eyes and feeling around in the roll again. Yes, it was a nose all right, no mistake about that. And, what's more, it seemed a very familiar nose. His face filled with horror. But this horror was nothing compared with his wife's indignation. You beast, whose nose is that you've cut off?' she cried furiously. You scoundrel! You drunkard! I'll report it to the police myself, I will. You thief! Come to think of it, I've heard three customers say that when they come in for a shave you start pulling their noses about so much it's a wonder they stay on at all!' But Ivan felt more dead than alive. He knew that the nose belonged to none other than Collegiate Assessor Kovalyov, whom he shaved on Wednesdays and Sundays. Wait a minute, Praskovya! I'll wrap it up in a piece of cloth and dump it in the corner. Let's leave it there for a bit, then I'll try and get rid of it.' I don't want to know! Do you think I'm going to let a sawn-off nose lie about in my room ... you fathead! All you can do is strop that blasted razor of yours and let everything else go to pot. Layabout! Night-bird! And you expect me to cover up for you with the police! You filthy pig! Blockhead! Get that nose out of here, out! Do what you like with it, but I don't want that thing hanging around here a minute longer!' Ivan Yakovlevich was absolutely stunned. He thought and thought, but just didn't know what to make of it. I'm damned if I know what's happened!' he said at last, scratching the back of his ear. I can't say for certain if I came home drunk or not last night. All I know is, it's crazy. After all, bread is baked in an oven, and you don't get noses in bakeries. Can't make head or tail of it! ...' Ivan Yakovlevich lapsed into silence. The thought that the police might search the place, find the nose and afterwards bring a charge against him, very nearly sent him out of his mind. Already he could see that scarlet collar beautifully embroidered with silver, that sword ... and he began shaking all over. Finally he put on his scruffy old trousers and shoes and with Praskovya Osipovna's vigorous invective ringing in his ears, wrapped the nose up in a piece of cloth and went out into the street. All he wanted was to stuff it away somewhere, either hiding it between two curb-stones by someone's front door or else accidentally' dropping it and slinking off down a side street. But as luck would have it, he kept bumping into friends, who would insist on asking: Where are you off to?' or It's a bit early for shaving customers, isn't it?' with the result that he didn't have a chance to get rid of it. Once he did manage to drop it, but a policeman pointed with his halberd and said: Pick that up! Can't you see you dropped something!' And Ivan Yakovlevich had to pick it up and hide it in his pocket. Despair gripped him, especially as the streets were getting more and more crowded now as the shops and stalls began to open. He decided to make his way to St. Isaac's Bridge and see if he could throw the nose into the River Neva without anyone seeing him. But here I am rather at fault for not telling you before something about Ivan Yakovlevich, who in many ways was a man you could respect. 
17000299_ComCore_GiftofMagi_9-10;2;White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rimsjust the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone. But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: My hair grows so fast, Jim! And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, Oh, oh! Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it. Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. Dell, said he, let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on. The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi. 
17000300_ComCore_GrapesWrath_9-10;2;The man took off his dark, stained hat and stood with a curious humility in front of the screen. Could you see your way to sell us a loaf of bread, ma'am? Mae said, This ain't a grocery store. We got bread to make san'widges. I know, ma'am. His humility was insistent. We need bread and there ain't nothin' for quite a piece, they say. IF we sell bread we gonna run out. Mae's tone was faltering. We're hungry, the man said. Whyn't you buy a san'widge? We got nice san'widges, hamburgs. We'd sure admire to do that, ma'am. But we can't. We got to make a dime do all of us. And he said embarrassedly, We ain't got but a little. Mae said, You can't get no loaf a bread for a dime. We only got fifteen-cent loafs. From behind her Al growled, God Almighty, Mae, give em bread. We'll run out fore the bread truck comes. Run out then, goddamn it, said Al. He looked sullenly down at the potato salad he was mixing. Mae shrugged her plump shoulders and looked to the truck drivers to show them what she was up against. She held the screen door open and the man came in, bringing a smell of sweat with him. The boys edged behind him and they went immediately to the candy case and stared in--not with craving or with hope or even with desire, but just with a kind of wonder that such things could be. They were alike in size and their faces were alike. One scratched his dusty ankle with the toe nails of his other foot. The other whispered some soft message and then they straightened their arms so that their clenched fists in the overall pockets showed through the thin blue cloth. Mae opened a drawer and took out a long waxpaper-wrapped loaf. This here is a fifteen-cent loaf. The man put his hat back on his head. He answered with inflexible humility, Won't you--can't you see your way to cut off ten cents' worth? Al said snarlingly, Goddamn it, Mae. Give em the loaf. The man turned toward Al. No, we want ta buy ten cents' worth of it. We got it figgered awful close, mister, to get to California. Mae said resignedly, You can have this for ten cents. That'd be robbin' you, ma'am. Go ahead--Al says to take it. She pushed the waxpapered loaf across the counter. The man took a deep leather pouch from his rear pocket, untied the strings, and spread it open. It was heavy with silver and with greasy bills. May soun' funny to be so tight, he apologized. We got a thousan' miles to go, an' we don' know if we'll make it. He dug in the pouch with a forefinger, located a dime, and pinched in for it. When he put it down on the counter he had a penny with it. He was about to drop the penny back into the pouch when his eye fell on the boys frozen before the candy counter. He moved slowly down to them. He pointed in the case at big long sticks of striped peppermint. Is them penny candy, ma'am? Mae moved down and looked in. Which ones? There, them stripy ones. The little boys raised their eyes to her face and they stopped breathing their mouths were partly opened, their half-naked bodies were rigid. Oh--them. Well, no--them's two for a penny. Well, gimme two then, ma'am. He placed the copper cent carefully on the counter. The boys expelled their held breath softly. Mae held the big sticks out. 
17000301_ComCore_Fahrenheit451_9-10;2;It was a pleasure to burn. It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed. With the brass nozzle in his fists, with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood pounded in his head, and his hands were the hands of some amazing conductor playing all the symphonies of blazing and burning to bring down the tatters and charcoal ruins of history. With his symbolic helmet numbered on his stolid head, and his eyes all orange flame with the thought of what came next, he flicked the igniter and the house jumped up in a gorging fire that burned the evening sky red and yellow and black. He strode in a swarm of fireflies. He wanted above all, like the old joke, to shove a marshmallow on a stick in the furnace, while the flapping pigeon-winged books died on the porch and lawn of the house. While the books went up in sparkling whirls and blew away on a wind turned dark with burning. Montag grinned the fierce grin of all men singed and driven back by flame. He knew that when he returned to the firehouse, he might wink at himself, a minstrel man, burnt-corked, in the mirror. Later, going to sleep, he would feel the fiery smile still gripped by his face muscles, in the dark. It never went away, that smile, it never ever went away, as long as he remembered. 
17000302_ComCore_IStandHere_9-10;2;I stand here ironing, and what you asked me moves tormented back and forth with the iron. I wish you would manage the time to come in and talk with me about your daughter. I'm sure you can help me understand her. She's a youngster who needs help and whom I'm deeply interested in helping. Who needs help ...Even if I came, what good would it do? You think because I am her mother I have a key, or that in some way you could use me as a key? She has lived for nineteen years. There is all that like that has happened outside of me, beyond me. And when is there time to remember, to sift, to weigh, to estimate, to total? I will start and there will be an interruption and I will have to gather it all together again. Or I will become engulfed with all I did or did not do, with what should have been and what cannot be helped. She was a beautiful baby. The first and only one of our five that was beautiful at birth. You do not guess how new and uneasy her tenancy in her now-loveliness. You did not know her all those years she was thought homely, or see her peering over her baby pictures, making me tell her over and over how beautiful she had been--and would be, I would tell her--and was now, to the seeing eye. But the seeing eyes were few or non-existent. Including mine. I nursed her. They feel that's important nowadays. I nursed all the children, but with her, with all the fierce rigidity of first motherhood, I did like the books then said. Though her cries battered me to trembling and my breasts ached with swollenness, I waited till the clock decreed. Why do I put that first? I do not even know if it matters or if it explains anything. She was a beautiful baby. She blew shining bubbles of sound. She loved motion, loved light, loved color and music and textures. She would lie on the floor in her blue overalls patting the surface so hard in ecstasy her hands and feet would blur. She was a miracle to me, but when she was eight months old I had to leave her daytimes with the woman downstairs to whom she was no miracle at all, for I worked or looked for work and for Emily's father, who could no longer endure (he wrote us in his good-bye note) sharing want with us. 
17000303_ComCore_KillerAngels_9-10;2; . . . have no doubt, Fremantle was saying, that General Lee shall become the world's foremost authority on military matters when this war is over, which would appear now to be only a matter of days, or at most a few weeks. I suspect all Europe will be turning to him for lessons. Lessons? I have been thinking, I must confess, of setting some brief thoughts to paper, Fremantle announced gravely. Some brief remarks of my own, appended to an account of this battle, and perhaps others this army has fought. Some notes as to tactics. Tactics? General Lee's various stratagems will be most instructive, most illuminating. I wonder, sir, if I might enlist your aid in this, ah, endeavor. As one most closely concerned? That is, to be brief, may I come to you when in need? Sure, Longstreet said. Tactics? He chuckled. The tactics were simple: find the enemy, fight him. He shook his head, snorting. Fremantle spoke softly, in tones of awe. One would not think of General Lee, now that one has met him, now that one has looked him, so to speak, in the eye, as it were, one would not think him, you know, to be such a devious man. Devious? Longstreet swung to stare at him, aghast. Oh my word, Fremantle went on devoutly, but he's a tricky one. The Old Gray Fox, as they say. Charming phrase. American to the hilt. Devious? Longstreet stopped dead in the road. Devious. He laughed aloud. Fremantle stared an owlish stare. Why, Colonel, bless your soul, there ain't a devious bone in Robert Lee's body, don't you know that? My dear sir. By damn, man, if there is one human being in the world less devious than Robert Lee, I aint yet met him. By God and fire, Colonel, but you amuse me. And yet Longstreet was not amused. He leaned forward blackly across the pommel of the saddle. Colonel, let me explain something. The secret of General Lee is that men love him and follow him with faith in him. That's one secret. The next secret is that General Lee makes a decision and he moves, with guts, and he's been up against a lot of sickly generals who don't know how to make decisions, although some of them have guts but whose men don't love them. That's why we win, mostly. Because we move with speed, and faith, and because we usually have the good ground. Tactics? God, man, we don't win because of tricks. What were the tactics at Malvern Hill? What were the tactics at Fredericksburg, where we got down behind a bloody stone wall and shot the bloody hell out of them as they came up, wave after wave, bravest thing you ever saw, because, listen, there are some damn good boys across the way, make no mistake on that. I've fought with those boys, and they know how to fight when they've got the ground, but tactics? Tactics? He was stumbling for words, but it was pouring out of him in hot clumps out of the back of the brain, the words like falling coals, and Fremantle stared openmouthed. God in Heaven, Longstreet said, and repeated it, there's no strategy to this bloody war. What it is is old Napoleon and a hell of a lot of chivalry. That's all it is. What were the tactics at Chancellorsville, where we divided the army, divided it, so help me God, in the face of the enemy, and got away with it because Joe Hooker froze cold in his stomach? What were the tactics yesterday? What were they today? And what will be the blessed tactics tomorrow? I'll tell you the tactics tomorrow. Devious? Christ in Heaven. Tomorrow we will attack an enemy that outnumbers us, an enemy that outguns us, an enemy dug in on the high ground, and let me tell you, if we win that one it will not be because of tactics or because we are great strategists or because there is anything even remotely intelligent about the war at all. It will be a bloody miracle, a bloody miracle. 
17000304_ComCore_JoyLuckClub_9-10;2;My mother believed you could be anything you wanted to be in America. You could open a restaurant. You could work for the government and get good retirement. You could buy a house with almost no money down. You could become rich. You could become instantly famous. Of course you can be prodigy, too, my mother told me when I was nine. You can be best anything. What does Auntie Lindo know? Her daughter, she is only best tricky. America was where all my mother's hopes lay. She had come here in after losing everything in China: her mother and father, her family home, her first husband, and two daughters, twin baby girls. But she never looked back with regret. There were so many ways for things to get better. We didn't immediately pick the right kind of prodigy. At first my mother thought I could be a Chinese Shirley Temple. We'd watch Shirley's old movies on TV as though they were training films. My mother would poke my arm and say, Ni kan --You watch. And I would see Shirley tapping her feet, or singing a sailor song, or pursing her lips into a very round O while saying, Oh my goodness. Ni kan, said my mother as Shirley's eyes flooded with tears. You already know how. Don't need talent for crying! 
17000305_ComCore_InTimeofButterflies_9-10;2;She remembers a clear moonlit night before the future began. They are sitting in the cool darkness under the anacahuita tree in the front yard, in the rockers, telling stories, drinking guanabana juice. Good for the nerves, Mama always says. They're all there, Mama, Papa, Patria-Minerva-Dede. Bang-bang-bang, their father likes to joke, aiming a pistol finger at each one, as if he were shooting them, not boasting about having sired them, Three girls, each born within a year of each other! And then, nine years later, Maria Teresa, his final desperate attempt at a boy misfiring. Their father has his slippers on, one foot hooked behind the other. Every once in a while Dede hears the clink of the rum bottle against the rim of his glass. Many a night, and this night is no different, a shy voice calls out of the darkness, begging their pardon. Could they spare a calmante for a sick child out of their stock of kindness? Would they have some tobacco for a tired old man who spent the day grating yucca? Their father gets up, swaying a little with drink and tiredness, and opens up the store. The campesino goes off with his medicine, a couple of cigars, a few mints for the godchildren. Dede tells her father that she doesn't know how they do as well as they do, the way he gives everything away. But her father just puts his arm around her, and says, Ay, Dede, that's why I have you. Every soft foot needs a hard shoe. She'll bury us all, her father adds, laughing, in silk and pearls. Dede hears again the clink of the rum bottle. Yes, for sure, our Dede here is going to be the millionaire in the family. 
17000306_ComCore_BookThief_9-10;2;The last time I saw her was red. The sky was like soup, boiling and stirring. In some places it was burned. There were black crumbs, and pepper, streaked amongst the redness. Earlier, kids had been playing hopscotch there, on the street that looked like oil-stained pages. When I arrived I could still hear the echoes. The feet tapping the road. The children-voices laughing, and the smiles like salt, but decaying fast . Then, bombs. This time, everything was too late. The sirens. The cuckoo shrieks in the radio. All too late. Within minutes, mounds of concrete and earth were stacked and piled. The streets were ruptured veins. Blood streamed till it was dried on the road, and the bodies were stuck there, like driftwood after the flood. They were glued down, every last one of them. A packet of souls. Was it fate? Misfortune? Is that what glued them down like that? Of course not. Let's not be stupid. It probably had more to do with the hurled bombs, thrown down by humans hiding in the clouds. For hours, the sky remained a devastating, home-cooked red. The small German town had been flung apart one more time. Snowflakes of ash fell so lovelily you were tempted to stretch out your tongue to catch them, taste them. Only, they would have scorched your lips. They would have cooked your mouth. Clearly, I see it. I was just about to leave when I found her kneeling there. A mountain range of rubble was written, designed, erected around her. She was clutching at a book. Apart from everything else, the book thief wanted desperately to go back to the basement, to write, or read through her story one last time. In hindsight, I see it so obviously on her face. She was dying for it--the safety, the home of it--but she could not move. Also, the basement no longer existed. It was part of the mangled landscape. 
17000311_ComCore_BuryMyHeart_9-10;2;The decade following establishment of the permanent Indian frontier was a bad time for the eastern tribes. The great Cherokee nation had survived more than a hundred years of the white man's wars, diseases, and whiskey, but now it was to be blotted out. Because the Cherokees numbered several thousands, their removal to the West was planned to be in gradual stages, but the discovery of Appalachian gold within their territory brought on a clamor for their immediate wholesale exodus. During the autumn ofGeneral Winfield Scott's soldiers rounded them up and concentrated them into camps. (A few hundred escaped to the Smoky Mountains and many years later where given a small reservation in North Carolina.) From the prison camps they were started westward to Indian Territory. On the long winter trek, one of every four Cherokees died from the cold, hunger, or disease. They called the march their trail of tears. The Choctaws, Chickasaws, Creeks, and Seminoles also gave up their homelands in the South. In the North, surviving remnants of the Shawnees, Miamis, Ottawas, Hurons, Delawares, and many other once mighty tribes walked or traveled by horseback and wagon beyond the Mississippi, carrying their shabby goods, their rusty farming tools, and bags of seed corn. All of them arrived as refugees, poor relations, in the country of the proud and free Plains Indians. Scarcely were the refugees settled behind the security of the permanent Indian frontier when soldiers began marching westward through Indian country. The white men of the United States--who talked so much of peace but rarely seemed to practice it--were marching to war with the white men who had conquered the Indians of Mexico. When the war with Mexico ended inthe United States took possession of a vast expanse of territory reaching from Texas to California. All of it was west of the permanent Indian frontier. 
17000312_ComCore_SonofMorningStar_9-10;2;Sitting Bull. In English this name sounds a little absurd, and to whites of the nineteenth century is was still more so they alluded to him as Slightly Recumbent Gentleman Cow. Exact Translation from the Sioux is impossible, but his name may be better understood if one realizes how plains Indians respected and honored the bull buffalo. Whites considered this animal to be exceptionally stupid. Col. Dodge states without equivocation that the buffalo is the dullest creature of which he has any knowledge. A herd of buffalo would graze complacently while every member was shot down. He himself shot two cows and thirteen calves while the survivors grazed and watched. He and others in his party had to shout and wave their hats to drive the herd away so the dead animals could be butchered. Indians, however, regarded buffalo as the wisest and most powerful of creatures, nearest to the omnipresent Spirit. Furthermore if one says in English that somebody is sitting it means he is seated, balanced on the haunches but the Sioux expression has an additional sense, not equivalent to but approximating the English words situate and locate and reside. Thus from an Indian point of view, the name Sitting Bull signified a wise and powerful being who had taken up residence among them. As a boy, he was called Slow, Hunkesni, because of his deliberate manner, and it has been alleged that his parents thought him ordinary, perhaps even a bit slow in the head. Most biographies state that he was known also as Jumping Badger but Stanley Vestal, after talking to many Indians who knew his, said that none of them nor any member of Sitting Bull?s family could remember his being called Jumping Badger. In any event, Slow he was called, and Slow would suffice until he distinguished himself. 
17000313_ComCore_HistoryArt_9-10;2;In one of his letters to a young painter, Cezanne had advised him to look at nature in terms of spheres, cones and cylinders. He presumably meant that he should always keep these basic solid shapes in mind when organizing his pictures. But Picasso and his friends decided to take this advice literally. I suppose that they reasoned somewhat like this: We have long given up claiming that we represent things as they appear to our eyes. That was a will-o-the-wisp which it is useless to pursue. We do not want to fix on the canvas the imaginary impression of a fleeting moment. Let us follow Cezannes example, and build up the picture of our motifs as solidly and enduringly as we can. Why not be consistent and accept the fact that our real aim is rather to construct something, rather than to copy something? If we think of an object, let us say a violin, it does not appear before the eye of our mind the way it would appear before our bodily eyes. We can, and in fact do, think of its various aspects at the same time. Some of them stand out so clearly that we feel we can touch them and handle them others are somehow blurred. And this strange medley of images represents more of the real violin than any single snapshot or meticulous painting could ever contain. This, I suppose, was the reasoning which led to such paintings as Picassos still life of a violin, figure . In some respects, it represents a return to what we have called Egyptian principles, in which an object was drawn from the angle from which its characteristic form came out most clearly. The scroll and one peg are seen from the side as we imagine them when we think of a violin. The sound-holes, on the other hand, are seen as from in front--they would not be visible from the side. The curve of the rim is greatly exaggerated, as we are apt to over-estimate the steepness of such curves when thinking of the feeling it gives us to run our hands along the sides of such an instrument. The bow and strings float somewhere in space the strings even occur twice, once related to the front view, once towards the volute. Despite this jumble of unconnected forms--and there are more than I have enumerated--the picture does not really look messy. The reason is that the artist has constructed his picture out of more or less uniform parts so that the whole presents an appearance of consistency comparable to such works of primitive art as the American totem pole. 
17000314_ComCore_Cod_Inf_9-10;2;A medieval fisherman is said to have hauled up a three-foot-long cod, which was common enough at the time. And the fact that the cod could talk was not especially surprising. But what was astonishing was that it spoke an unknown language. It spoke Basque. This Basque folktale shows not only the Basque attachment to their orphan language, indecipherable to the rest of the world, but also their tie to the Atlantic cod, Gadus morhua, a fish that has never been found in Basque or even Spanish waters. The Basques are enigmatic. They have lived in what is now the northwest corner of Spain and a nick of the French southwest for longer than history records, and not only is the origin of their language unknown, but also the origin of the people themselves remains a mystery also. According to one theory, these rosy-cheeked, dark-haired, long-nosed people where the original Iberians, driven by invaders to this mountainous corner between the Pyrenees, the Cantabrian Sierra, and the Bay of Biscay. Or they may be indigenous to this area. They graze sheep on impossibly steep, green slopes of mountains that are thrilling in their rare, rugged beauty. They sing their own songs and write their own literature in their own language, Euskera. Possibly EuropeOs oldest living language, Euskera is one of only four European languages--along with Estonian, Finnish, and Hungarian--not in the Indo-European family. They also have their own sports, most notably jai alai, and even their own hat, the Basque beret, which is bigger than any other beret. 
17000315_ComCore_BlackBlueGray_9-10;2;In the first shots were fired in the war between the thirteen American colonies and Great Britain that ended in a victory for the colonists and the founding of a new nation, the United States of America. Only eighty-five years later, inthe first shots were fired in a different war--a war between the states that became known as the Civil War. It was a war fought between the Confederate States of America and the states that remained in the Union--each side representing a distinct economy, labor system, and philosophy of government. The southern states that formed the Confederacy had agricultural economies that depended on a slave workforce and believed that any rights not granted to the federal government by the United States Constitution belonged to the states. The northern states were undergoing rapid industrialization, which depended on wage labor, and while northerners disagreed among themselves about slavery, most believed it represented a direct challenge to their own rights and freedoms. Most also believed that a strong federal government, with the ability to legislate behavior in areas not specifically set forth in the Constitution, was key to the growth and strength of the American republic. It was inevitable that these two very distinct societies would clash. For the Confederates, nicknamed Rebels, the Civil War was a new war of Independence. For the Unionists, nicknamed Yankees, it was a war to preserve the Union that had been so dearly won in the American Revolution. In the eyes of the four and an half million African Americans, enslaved and free, it was a war about slavery and they wanted to be part of the fight. But many northern whites did not want blacks to serve in the northern military. They called it a white man's war and said that slavery was not the main point of the conflict. At first, northern generals actually sent escaped slaves back to their southern masters. Eventually, the Union did accept blacks into its army and navy. A total ofblack men served in infantry regiments, twelve heavy artillery regiments, ten light artillery batteries, and seven cavalry regiments. Black soldiers constituted twelve percent of the North's fighting forces, and they suffered a disproportionate number of casualties. 
17000316_ComCore_LongitudePrize_9-10;2;At six in the morning I was awaked by a great shock, and a confused noise of the men on deck. I ran up, thinking some ship had run foul of us, for by my own reckoning, and that of every other person in the ship, we were at least thirty-five leagues distant from land but, before I could reach the quarter-deck, the ship gave a great stroke upon the ground, and the sea broke over her. Just after this I could perceive the land, rocky, rugged and uneven, about two cables' length from us... the masts soon went overboard, carrying some men with them... notwithstanding a most terrible sea, one of the [lifeboats] was launched, and eight of the best men jumped into her but she had scarcely got to the ship's stern when she was hurled to the bottom, and every soul in her perished. The rest of the boats were soon washed to pieces on the deck. We then made a raft... and waited with resignation for Providence to assist us. --From an account of the wreck of HMS Litchfield off the coast of North Africa, . The Litchfield came to grief because no one aboard knew where they were. As the narrator tells us, by his own reckoning and that of everyone else they were supposed to be thirty-five leagues, about a hundred miles, from land. The word reckoning was short for dead reckoning --the system used by ships at sea to keep track of their position, meaning their longitude and latitude. It was an intricate system, a craft, and like every other craft involved the mastery of certain tools, in this case such instruments as compass, hourglass, and quadrant. It was an art as well. Latitude, the north-south position, had always been the navigator's faithful guide. Even in ancient times, a Greek or Roman sailor could tell how far north of the equator he was by observing the North Star's height above the horizon, or the sun's at noon. This could be done without instruments, trusting in experience and the naked eye, although it is believed that an ancestor of the quadrant called the astrolabe-- star-measurer --was known to the ancients, and used by them to measure the angular height of the sun or a star above the horizon. Phoenicians, Greeks, and Romans tended to sail along the coasts and were rarely out of sight of land. As later navigators left the safety of the Mediterranean to plunge into the vast Atlantic--far from shore, and from the shorebirds that led them to it--they still had the sun and the North Star. And these enabled them to follow imagined parallel lines of latitude that circle the globe. Following a line of latitude-- sailing the parallel --kept a ship on a steady east-west course. Christopher Columbus, who sailed the parallel inheld his ships on such a safe course, west and west again, straight on toward Asia. When they came across an island off the coast of what would later be called America, Columbus compelled his crew to sign an affidavit stating that this island was no island but mainland Asia. A hundred years later, in Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice, one of his characters discusses trade with Mexico and the West Indies as a risky but established business. For the great voyages of exploration that followed Columbus were followed in turn by an explosion of international commerce. There was intense competition for goods and markets. Naval and merchant vessels jammed the familiar sea-lanes, the safe courses, where pirates lay in wait for them. Piracy, too, had become a flourishing trade. And all of them, whether pirate, merchant, or naval vessel, had to crowd into the familiar sea-lanes based on latitude--because longitude, the east-west location, was not straightforward or reliable. Longitude was an awesome, mysterious, perhaps unknowable secret. It was the seaman's pot of gold, his will-o'-the wisp, his misfortune, his curse, sometimes his deadly enemy. 
17000317_ComCore_IllustratedBookGreatComposers_9-10;2;Music as a Language. Music as a language is the most mysterious of all art forms. People who can easily come to terms with a work of literature or a painting are still often baffled by the process by which a piece of music--appearing in material form as notation--must then be translated back into sound through the medium of a third party--the performer. Unlike a painting, a musical composition cannot be owned (except by its creator) and although a score may be published, like a book, it may remain incomprehensible to the general public until it is performed. Although a piece may be played thousands of times each repetition is entirely individual, and interpretations by different players may vary widely. Origins of musical notation. The earliest musical compositions were circumscribed by the range of the human voice. People from all cultures have always sung, or used primitive instruments to make sounds. Notation, or the writing down of music, developed to enable performers to remember what they had improvised, to preserve what they had created, and to facilitate interaction between more than one performer. Musical notation, like language, has ancient origins, dating back to the Middle East in the third millennium BC. The ancient Greeks appear to have been the first to try to represent variations of musical pitch through the medium of the alphabet, and successive civilizations all over the world attempted to formulate similar systems of recognizable musical notation. Neumatic notation. The earliest surviving Western European notational system was called neumatic notation--a system of symbols which attempted to portray the rise and fall of a melodic line. These date back to the th century AD, and were associated with the performance of sacred music particularly plainsong--in monastic institutions. Several early manuscript sources contain sacred texts with accompanying notation, although there was no standard system. The first appearance of staff notation, in which pitch was indicated by noteheads on or between lines with a symbol called a clef at the beginning to fix the pitch of one note, was in the th century French treatise Musica enchiriadis. At the same time music for instruments (particularly organ and lute) was beginning to be written down in diagrammatic form known as tablature, which indicated the positions of the players fingers. 
17000318_ComCore_BeforeColumbus_9-10;2;If you asked modern scientists to name the worldOs greatest achievements in genetic engineering, you might be surprised by one of their low-tech answers: maize. Scientists know that maize, called corn in the United States, was created more thanyears ago. Although exactly how this well-know plant was invented is still a mystery, they do know where it was invented--in the narrow waist of southern Mexico. This jumble of mountains, beaches, wet tropical forests, and dry plains is the most ecologically diverse part of Mesoamerica. Today it is the home of more than a dozen different Indian groups, but the human history of these hills and valleys stretches far into the past. From Hunting to Gathering to Farming. Aboutyears ago a group of Paleoindians was living in caves in what is now the Mexican state of Puebla. These people were hunters, but they did not bring down mastodons and mammoths. Those huge species were already extinct. Now and then they even feasted on giant turtles (which were probably a lot easier to catch than the fast-moving deer and rabbits.) Over the nextyears, though, game animals grew scarce. Maybe the people of the area had been too successful at hunting. Maybe, as the climate grew slowly hotter and drier, the grasslands where the animals lived shrank, and so the animal populations shrank, as well. Perhaps the situation was a combination of these two reasons. Whatever the explanation, hunters of Puebla and the neighboring state of Oaxaca turned to plants for more of their food. Their lives--and their diets--were shaped by the rhythm of the seasons. For most of the year, individual families lived by themselves, moving from place to place. During the winter, they hunted. In spring and fall, they gathered seeds and fruits. By summer, one of their favorite foods--cactus leaves--was plentiful enough to feed larger groups. With enough food available, or people might gather in a band to spend the season together. Meanwhile the people kept learning about their environment. They discovered that the thick-leaved, cactus-like agave plants could be eaten if they were first roasted over a fire. They found a way to make acorns into nutritious food: grind them into powder, then soak the powder in water and let it dry. Along the way, people might have noticed the seed they threw into the garbage one year would sprout as new plants the next year. At some point, they started to intentionally scatter seed, so that they would have food to gather during the next growing season. They were practicing agriculture. This happened in many places across southern Mexico. People began to grow food crops that are still harvested across Mesoamerica toady--squash, gourds, and peppers. Then came maize. 
17000319_ComCore_Elements_9-10;2;Definitions. . A point is that of which there is no part. . And a line is a length without breadth. . And the extremities of a line are points. . A straight-line is whatever lies evenly with points upon itself. . And a surface is that which has length and breadth alone. . And the extremities of a surface are lines. . A plane surface is whatever lies evenly with straight-lines upon itself. . And a plane angle is the inclination of the lines, when two lines in a plane meet one another, and are not laid down straight-on with respect to one another. . And when the lines containing the angle are straight then the angle is called rectilinear. . And when a straight-line stood upon (another) straight-line makes adjacent angles (which are) equal to one another, each of the equal angles is a right-angle, and the former straight-line is called perpendicular to that upon which it stands. . An obtuse angle is greater than a right-angle. . And an acute angle is less than a right-angle. . A boundary is that which is the extremity of something. . A figure is that which is contained by some boundary or boundaries. . A circle is a plane figure contained by a single line [which is called a circumference], (such that) all of the straight-lines radiating towards [the circumference] from a single point lying inside the figure are equal to one another. . And the point is called the center of the circle. . And a diameter of the circle is any straight-line, being drawn through the center, which is brought to an end in each direction by the circumference of the circle. And any such (straight-line) cuts the circle in half. . And a semi-circle is the figure contained by the diameter and the circumference it cuts off. And the center of the semi-circle is the same (point) as the (center of) the circle. . Rectilinear figures are those figures contained by straight-lines: trilateral figures being contained by three straight-lines, quadrilateral by four, and multilateral by more than four. . And of the trilateral figures: an equilateral triangle is that having three equal sides, an isosceles (triangle) that having only two equal sides, and a scalene (triangle) that having three unequal sides. . And further of the trilateral figures: a right-angled triangle is that having a right-angle, an obtuse-angled (triangle) that having an obtuse angle, and an acute-angled (triangle) that having three acute angles. . And of the quadrilateral figures: a square is that which is right-angled and equilateral, a rectangle that which is right-angled but not equilateral, a rhombus that which is equilateral but not right-angled, and a rhomboid that having opposite sides and angles equal to one another which is neither right-angled nor equilateral. And let quadrilateral figures besides these be called trapezia. . Parallel lines are straight-lines which, being in the same plane, and being produced to infinity in each direction, meet with one another in neither (of these directions). Postulates. . Let it have been postulated to draw a straight-line from any point to any point. . And to produce a finite straight-line continuously in a straight-line. . And to draw a circle with any center and radius. . And that all right-angles are equal to one another. . And that if a straight-line falling across two (other) straight-lines makes internal angles on the same side (of itself) less than two right-angles, being produced to infinity, the two (other) straight-lines meet on that side (of the original straight-line) that the (internal angles) are less than two right-angles (and do not meet on the other side). Common Notions . Things equal to the same thing are also equal to one another. . And if equal things are added to equal things then the wholes are equal. . And if equal things are subtracted from equal things then the remainders are equal. . And things coinciding with one another are equal to one another. . And the whole [is] greater than the part. Proposition To construct an equilateral triangle on a given finite straight-line. Let AB be the given finite straight-line. So it is required to construct an equilateral triangle on the straight-line AB. Let the circle BCD with center A and radius AB have been drawn [Post. ], and again let the circle ACE with center B and radius BA have been drawn [Post. ]. And let the straight-lines CA and CB have been joined from the point C, where the circles cut one another, to the points A and B (respectively) [Post. ]. And since the point A is the center of the circle CDB, AC is equal to AB [Def. . ]. Again, since the point B is the center of the circle CAE, BC is equal to BA [Def. . ]. But CA was also shown to be equal to AB. Thus, CA and CB are each equal to AB. But things equal to the same thing are also equal to one another [C.N. ]. Thus, CA is also equal to CB. Thus, the three (straight-lines) CA, AB, and BC are equal to one another. Thus, the triangle ABC is equilateral, and has been constructed on the given finite straight-line AB. (Which is) the very thing it was required to do. 
17000320_ComCore_ClassifyingStars_9-10;2;Sunlight and starlight are composed of waves of various lengths, which the eye, even aided by a telescope, is unable to separate. We must use more than a telescope. In order to sort out the component colors, the light must be dispersed by a prism, or split up by some other means. For instance, sunbeams passing through rain drops, are transformed into the myriad-tinted rainbow. The familiar rainbow spanning the sky is Nature's most glorious demonstration that light is composed of many colors. The very beginning of our knowledge of the nature of a star dates back towhen Isaac Newton gave to the world the results of his experiments on passing sunlight through a prism. To describe the beautiful band of rainbow tints, produced when sunlight was dispersed by his three-cornered piece of glass, he took from the Latin the word spectrum, meaning an appearance. The rainbow is the spectrum of the Sun. Inmore than a century after Newton, the spectrum of the Sun was obtained in such purity that an amazing detail was seen and studied by the German optician, Fraunhofer. He saw that the multiple spectral tings, ranging from delicate violet to deep red, were crossed by hundreds of fine dark lines. In other words, there were narrow gaps in the spectrum where certain shades were wholly blotted out. We must remember that the word spectrum is applied not only to sunlight, but also to the light of any glowing substance when its rays are sorted out by a prism or a grating. Each substance thus treated sends out its own vibrations of particular wave lengths, which may be likened to singing its own song. Now the spectrum of salt, called sodium chloride by chemists, is very simple and includes two bright yellow lines. In the spectrum of the Sun exactly the same shades of yellow are cut out by two black lines. Could there be any connection? Could the earthly yellow lines be made to change to black? Yes, it was found by experiment that they would do so instantly if a cooler vapor of salt were placed between the prism and a source of light that emits all wave lengths. Thus it was reasoned that some of the bright yellow light from the Sun's hot surface was absorbed by cooler sodium vapors in the Sun's atmosphere. Likewise two thousand black lines in the Sun's spectrum were traced to iron, and indeed all the common substances, so familiar to us here on the Earth, have been found to exist in the Sun by comparing its absorption spectrum with the bright line spectra given by these substances in laboratories. 
17000321_ComCore_BiographyAtom_9-10;2;The birth began in a young star. A young star is a mass of hydrogen nuclei. Because the star is hot (about thirteen million degrees at the center), the nuclei cannot hold on to their electrons. The electrons wander around. The nuclei of hydrogen--that is, the protons--are moving about very fast too. From time to time one proton runs headlong into another. When this happens, one of the protons loses its electric charge and changes into a neutron. The pair then cling together as a single nucleus of heavy hydrogen. This nucleus will in time capture another proton. Now there is a nucleus with two protons and one neutron, called light helium. When two of these nuclei smash into each other, two protons are expelled in the process. This creates a nucleus of helium with two protons and two neutrons. This is the fundamental process of fusion by which the primitive hydrogen of the universe is built up into a new basic material, helium. In this process, energy is given off in the form of heat and light that make the stars shine. It is the first stage in the birth of the heavier atoms. After billions of years, the star, now no longer young, has a central core of almost pure helium. The helium nuclei begin to run into one another headlong. Every so often two helium nuclei crash together to form a nucleus of four protons four neutrons. This is called a beryllium- nucleus. It is not the stable beryllium that we know on earth, which has another neutron is called beryllium- . Beryllium- is an unstable isotope that has a fantastically short life flies apart almost as soon as it is formed--less than a millionth of a millionth of a second. Only if another helium nucleus crashes into the table beryllium nucleus in the brief moment its life do the parts remain together and form sew stable nucleus of six protons and six neutrons. This is the moment when a carbon nucleus truly born. The atom of carbon whose story are telling was born by this extraordinary chance billions of years ago. How, then, does the carbon atom get out of star and come here to earth? The aging star goes on building up carbon atoms and other heavier atoms from its helium. Finally these nuclear reactions stop. The star collapses, the temperature rises suddenly, and the star explodes, scattering the carbon and other atoms through space. There they become mixed with the dust and thin sea of hydrogen gas which fill space. Later when a fresh star begins to form from hydrogen gas and dust, it catches up some the carbon and other atoms with it. There fresh stars being formed like this all the time, and one of these fresh stars is the sun, which was formed four or five billion years ago. Later the earth and the other planets were formed from the sun. The carbon atom was part of the earth when it was formed. The carbon atom has been part of many different things, dead and alive, since the earth began. It has joined with other atoms, broken away, and then joined other atoms again. But always it has remained the same carbon atom. At one time the carbon atom may have been part of a diamond--a pure crystal of carbon. Or it may have joined with two atoms of oxygen to form the gas carbon dioxide. The carbon dioxide may have entered through the pores of a leaf and been used to make sugar when the sunlight struck it there. The sugar became part of the tissues of the plant. That plant may have become peat or coal. When the plant died and fell to the ground, bacteria broke some of it down into simpler chemical substances--ammonia, water, and carbon dioxide. The carbon dioxide may have escaped into the air and been used again by other plants. But most of the carbon in the plant tissue remained in the ground. With other dead plants around it, the plant got pressed down by layers of sand, mud, and water that settled on it. Over millions of years the plants changed and hardened until they became hard coal, deep in the ground. The carbon atom may have been locked in the coal for millions of years. But one day it was dug out of the earth. When the coal was burned, the carbon atom joined the oxygen again and formed carbon dioxide. The next time it entered through the pores of a leaf into a plant, it was used again to make sugar. The plant was perhaps eaten by a cow. One of your forefathers may have drunk the milk of that cow or eaten a steak from it, and the carbon atom might have been in either. In the body of your forefather the carbon atom became part of one of the chromosomes which was passed on to your parents and then to you. You may pass this carbon atom to a son or daughter. Or perhaps you will die with this carbon atom still in your body. But the career of the carbon atom is not over. It will return to the soil and from there it may get into the air again as carbon dioxide and pass in and out of the lungs of human beings for thousands of years. The air in a man's lungs at any moment contains,,,atoms, so sooner or later every one of us breathes an atom that has been breathed by someone who has lived before us--perhaps Michelangelo or George Washington or Moses! Your carbon atom, linked with atoms of oxygen, may be breathed by some great man or woman of the future. Then it may return again to the soil and lie dormant in some mineral for millions of years. And in time its cycle of life may begin again. Will this cycle ever end? We do not know. Your carbon atom has been unchanged, as an atom, for four billion years or more, and there is no reason why it should not go on forever. Even if the earth is burned up at last by the sun, your carbon atom may go back into space and be swept again into some new star. In a star, and only in a star, will its identity finally disappear. It will be broken apart by violent atomic collisions and its pieces built into other atoms. Then, and only then, will the career of your carbon atom be at an end. But it will be part of new atoms of a different kind. And in this sense it will go on forever--a never-ending link between you and the stars. 
17000322_ComCore_AmusementParkPhysics_9-10;2;The rides in an amusement park not only are fun but also demonstrate principles of physics. Among them are rotational dynamics and energy conversion. I have been exploring the rides at Geauga Lake Amusement Park near Cleveland and have found that nearly every ride offers a memorable lesson. To me the scariest rides at the park are the roller coasters. The Big Dipper is similar to many of the roller coasters that have thrilled passengers for most of this century. The cars are pulled by chain t the top of the highest hill along the track, Released from the chain as the front of the car begins its descent, the unpowered cars have almost no speed and only a small acceleration. As more cars get onto the downward slope the acceleration increases. It peaks when all the cars are headed downward. The peak value is the product of the acceleration generated by gravity and the sine of the slope of the track. A steeper descent generates a greater acceleration, but packing the coaster with heavier passengers does not. When the coaster reaches the bottom of the valley and starts up the next hill, there is an instant when the cars are symmetrically distributed in the valley. The acceleration is zero. As more cars ascend the coaster begins to slow, reaching its lowest speed just as it is symmetrically positioned at the top of the hill. A roller coaster functions by means of transfers of energy. When the chain hauls the cars to the top of the first hill, it does work on the cars, endowing them with gravitational potential energy, the energy of a body in a gravitational field with respect to the distance of the body from some reference level such as the ground. As the cars descend into the first valley, much of the stored energy is transferred into kinetic energy, the energy of motion. If the loss of energy to friction and air drag is small, the total of the potential and kinetic energies must remain constant throughout the descent and even throughout the rest of the ride. The coaster gains kinetic energy and speed at the expense of potential energy. If the first valley is at ground level, the transfer is complete, and for a moment the coaster has all its energy in the form of kinetic energy. Without energy losses the coaster could climb any number of hills as high as the one from which it is released (but no higher). To be sure, friction and air drag do remove energy from the coaster, and its total energy content dwindles. It can no longer climb high hills, which is why the last stages of the track consist only of low hills. 
17000323_ComCore_LifebytheNumbers_9-10;2;Though animals come in many shapes and sizes, there are definite limits on the possible size of an animal of a particular shape. King Kong simply could not exist, for instance. As Labarbara has calculated, if you were to take a gorilla and blow it up to the size of King Kong, its weight would increase by more thantimes but the size of its bones would increase by only a few hundred times. Kongs bones would simply not be able to support his body. He would collapse under his own weight! And the same is true for all those giant locusts, giant ants, and the like. Imagining giants--giant people, giant animals, or giant insects--might prove the basis for an entertaining story, but the rules of science say that giants could not happen. You cant have a giant anything. If you want to change size, you have to change to overall design. The reason is quite simple. Suppose you double the height (or length) of any creature, say, a gorilla. The weight will increase times (i.e., cubed), but the cross section of the bones will increase only fourfold ( squared). Or, if you increase the height of the gorilla times, the weight will increase,times ( cubed), but the cross-sectional area of the bones will increase only times ( squared). In general, when you increase the height by a certain factor, the weight will increase by the cube of that factor but the cross section of the bone will increase only by the square of that factor. This simple relationship between the increase in length, area, and volume (and hence weight, since weight depends on volume--on how much material there is) is most easily imagined by thinking of a sugar cube. Suppose you wanted to make a giant sugar cube, three times the size of the original cube by sticking together lots of ordinary sugar cubes. To make a sugar cube a mere three times the size of the original one, it also has to be three times deeper and three times taller. That means you need X X = cubes altogether. A cross section of the giant sugar cube, on the other hand, has only nine (= X ) cubes in it. So cross section increases faster than height ( times faster in the case of the sugar cube), but volume (and hence weight) goes up much more rapidly ( times for the sugar cube). 
17000324_ComCore_RacetoSave_9-10;2;Any species in nature, from the tiniest insect to the Blue Whale, is a collection of design experiments, field-tested and remodeled again and again over thousands of years. By looking carefully at the way a bird is built and then thinking backward-asking questions like Why would a wing be so long? Or Why are its eyes on the side of the head instead of the front? --it's possible to get some sense of how the bird got its food and defended itself, how widely it traveled, and what role it might have had within its ecosystem. Of course my attention goes first to the amazing bill. It's not really made of ivory like an elephant's tusk, but of bone, covered by a sheath of a special protein call keratin. It's broad at the base, and rooted deep into the bird's thick-boned skull to absorb the shock of pounding a tree. Its slit-like nostrils are fringed with hair to keep out sawdust. An Ivory-bill needed this big, stout crowbar of a bill to pry strips of bark off a tree, because its favorite food lay just underneath. The Ivory-bill ate some fruits and berries when they were in season, but mostly it ate grubs-the larvae of beetles. Certain kinds of beetle would attack a dying or injured tree by boring through the bark to lay their eggs, which hatched into stout, wormlike creatures--the grubs. Ivory-bills used their bills to peel bark away from the tree and get at these fat delicacies--which were then exposed under the bark-like thieves robbing a safe. 
17000325_ComCore_StoryofScience_9-10;2;Probability, a branch of mathematics, began with gambling. Pierre de Fermat (of the famous Last Theorem), Blaise Pascal, and the Bernoullis wanted to know the mathematical odds of winning at the card table. Probability didn't tell them for certain that they would or wouldn't draw an ace it just told them how likely it was. A deck of cards has aces, so the odds of the first drawn card being an ace are in (or in ). If cards have been played and not an ace among them, those odds improve to in ( in ). Always keep in mind that probability is about the likelihood of outcomes, not the certainty. If there are only cards left in the deck, and no aces have been played, you can predict with certainty that the next card will be an ace--but you're not using probability you're using fact. Probability is central to the physics that deals with the complex world inside atoms. We can't determine the action of an individual particle, but with a large number of atoms, predictions based on probability become very accurate. 
17000326_ComCore_Circumference_9-10;2; The Astrolabe . The astrolabe (in Greek, star reckoner ) is a manual computing and observation device with myriad uses in astronomy, time keeping, surveying, navigation, and astrology. The principles behind the most common variety, the planispheric astrolabe, were first laid down in antiquity by the Greeks, who pioneered the notion of projecting three-dimensional images on flat surfaces. The device reached a high degree of refinement in the medieval Islamic world, where it was invaluable for determining prayer times and the direction of Mecca from anywhere in the Muslim world. The astrolabe was introduced to Europe by the eleventh century, where is saw wide use until the Renaissance. The fundamental innovation underlying the astrolabe was the projection of an image of the sky (usually the northern hemisphere, centered on Polaris) on a plane corresponding to the earths equator. This image, which was typically etched on a brass plate, was inserted into a round frame (the mater) whose circumference was marked in degrees or hours. Over the plate was fitted a lattice-work disk, the rete, with pointers to indicate the positions of major stars. A metal hand, similar to those on a clock, was hinged with the rete at the center of the instrument, as was a sighting vane (the alidade) for determining the angular height of the stars or other features, such as mountaintops. The entire device was usually not more than six to eight inches in diameter and half an inch thick. One common use of the astrolabe was to determine the time of day, even after dark. Other uses included determination of sunrise, and sunset times for any date past or future, predicting eclipses, finding important stars or constellations, and measuring the height of earthbound objects and the circumference of the earth. For this and other reasons, the astrolabe has been called the worlds first personal computer. 
17000327_ComCore_Poetics_9-10;2; . Completeness. We have laid down that tragedy is an imitation of a complete, i.e. whole, action, possessing a certain magnitude. (There is such a thing as a whole which possesses no magnitude.) A whole is that which has a beginning, a middle and an end. A beginning is that which itself does not follow necessarily from anything else, but some second thing naturally exists or occurs after it. Conversely, an end is that which does itself naturally follow from something else, either necessarily or in general, but there is nothing else after it. A middle is that which itself comes after something else, and some other thing comes after it. Well-constructed plots should therefore not begin or end at any arbitrary point, but should employ the stated forms. . Magnitude. Any beautiful object, whether a living organism or any other entity composed of parts, must not only possess those parts in proper order, but its magnitude also should not be arbitrary beauty consists in magnitude as well as order. For this reason no organism could be beautiful if it is excessively small (since observation becomes confused as it comes close to having no perceptible duration in time) or excessively large (since the observation is then not simultaneous, and the observers find that the sense of unity and wholeness is lost from their observation, e.g. if there were an animal a thousand miles long). So just as in the case of physical objects and living organisms, they should possess a certain magnitude, and this should be such as can readily be taken in at one view, so in the case of plots they should have a certain length, and this should be such as can readily be held in memory. The definition of length which is determined by theatrical performances and perception is not relevant to the art of poetry if it were necessary to perform a hundred tragedies they would time the performances by the clock, as they say used to be done on other occasions. But the definition which agrees with the actual nature of the matter is that invariably the greater the plot is (up to the limits of simultaneous perspicuity) the more beautiful it is with respect to magnitude or, to state a straightforward definition, the magnitude in which a series of events occurring sequentially in accordance with probability or necessity gives rise to a change from good fortune to bad fortune, or from bad fortune to good fortuneis an adequate definition of magnitude. . Unity. A plot is not (as some think) unified because it is concerned with a single person. An indeterminately large number of things happen to any one person, not all of which constitute a unity likewise a single individual performs many actions, and they do not make up a single action. So it is clear that a mistake has been made by all those poets who have composed a Heracleid or Theseid, or poems of that kind, on the assumption that, just because Heracles was one person, the plot too is bound to be unified. Just as Homer excels in other respects, he seems to have seen this point clearly as well, whether through art or instinct. When he composed the Odyssey he did not include everything which happened to Odysseus (e.g. the wounding on Parnassus and the pretence of madness during the mobilization: the occurrence of either of these events did not make the occurrence of the other necessary or probably) instead, he constructed the Odyssey about a single action of the kind we are discussing. The same is true of the Iliad. . Determinate structure. Just as in other imitative arts the imitation is unified if it imitates a single object, so too the plot, as the imitation of an action, should imitate a single, unified action--and one that is also a whole. So the structure of the various sections of the events must be such that the transposition or removal of any one section dislocates and changes the whole. If the presence or absence of something has no discernible effect, it is not a part of the whole. 
17000328_ComCore_PrefaceLyrical_9-10;2;The principal object, then, proposed in these Poems was to choose incidents and situations from common life, and to relate or describe them, throughout, as far as was possible in a selection of language really used by men, and, at the same time, to throw over them a certain colouring of imagination, whereby ordinary things should be presented to the mind in an unusual aspect and, further, and above all, to make these incidents and situations interesting by tracing in them, truly though not ostentatiously, the primary laws of our nature: chiefly, as far as regards the manner in which we associate ideas in a state of excitement. Humble and rustic life was generally chosen, because, in that condition, the essential passions of the heart find a better soil in which they can attain their maturity, are less under restraint, and speak a plainer and more emphatic language because in that condition of life our elementary feelings coexist in a state of greater simplicity, and, consequently, may be more accurately contemplated, and more forcibly communicated because the manners of rural life germinate from those elementary feelings, and, from the necessary character of rural occupations, are more easily comprehended, and are more durable and, lastly, because in that condition the passions of men are incorporated with the beautiful and permanent forms of nature. The language, too, of these men has been adopted (purified indeed from what appear to be its real defects, from all lasting and rational causes of dislike or disgust) because such men hourly communicate with the best objects from which the best part of language is originally derived and because, from their rank in society and the sameness and narrow circle of their intercourse, being less under the influence of social vanity, they convey their feelings and notions in simple and unelaborated expressions. Accordingly, such a language, arising out of repeated experience and regular feelings, is a more permanent, and a far more philosophical language, than that which is frequently substituted for it by Poets, who think that they are conferring honour upon themselves and their art, in proportion as they separate themselves from the sympathies of men, and indulge in arbitrary and capricious habits of expression, in order to furnish food for fickle tastes, and fickle appetites, of their own creation. 
17000329_ComCore_SpeechtotheSecondVirginia_9-10;2;MR. PRESIDENT: No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House. But different men often see the same subject in different lights and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen if, entertaining as I do, opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely, and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The question before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offence, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the majesty of heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings. Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth to know the worst, and to provide for it. I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves, and the House? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with these war-like preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask, gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned we have remonstrated we have supplicated we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult our supplications have been disregarded and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free, if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending, if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left us! They tell us, sir, that we are weak unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance, by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come. It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take but as for me, give me liberty or give me death! 
17000330_ComCore_SecondInaugural_9-10;2;Fellow-Countrymen: At this second appearing to take the oath of the Presidential office there is less occasion for an extended address than there was at the first. Then a statement somewhat in detail of a course to be pursued seemed fitting and proper. Now, at the expiration of four years, during which public declarations have been constantly called forth on every point and phase of the great contest which still absorbs the attention and engrosses the energies of the nation, little that is new could be presented. The progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as well known to the public as to myself, and it is, I trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. With high hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured. On the occasion corresponding to this four years ago all thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil war. All dreaded it, all sought to avert it. While the inaugural address was being delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving the Union without war, urgent agents were in the city seeking to destroy it without war--seeking to dissolve the Union and divide effects by negotiation. Both parties deprecated war, but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish, and the war came. One-eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not distributed generally over the Union, but localized in the southern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. All knew that this interest was somehow the cause of the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest was the object for which the insurgents would rend the Union even by war, while the Government claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it. Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with or even before the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has His own purposes. Woe unto the world because of offenses for it must needs be that offenses come, but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh. If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of those offenses which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having continued through His appointed time, He now wills to remove, and that He gives to both North and South this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the offense came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living God always ascribe to Him? Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether. With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations. 
17000331_ComCore_StateofUnion_9-10;2;For there is nothing mysterious about the foundations of a healthy and strong democracy. The basic things expected by our people of their political and economic systems are simple. They are: Equality of opportunity for youth and for others. Jobs for those who can work. Security for those who need it. The ending of special privilege for the few. The preservation of civil liberties for all. The enjoyment of the fruits of scientific progress in a wider and constantly rising standard of living. These are the simple, basic things that must never be lost sight of in the turmoil and unbelievable complexity of our modern world. The inner and abiding strength of our economic and political systems is dependent upon the degree to which they fulfill these expectations. Many subjects connected with our social economy call for immediate improvement. As examples: We should bring more citizens under the coverage of old-age pensions and unemployment insurance. We should widen the opportunities for adequate medical care. We should plan a better system by which persons deserving or needing gainful employment may obtain it. I have called for personal sacrifice. I am assured of the willingness of almost all Americans to respond to that call. A part of the sacrifice means the payment of more money in taxes. In my Budget Message I shall recommend that a greater portion of this great defense program be paid for from taxation than we are paying today. No person should try, or be allowed, to get rich out of this program and the principle of tax payments in accordance with ability to pay should be constantly before our eyes to guide our legislation. If the Congress maintains these principles, the voters, putting patriotism ahead of pocketbooks, will give you their applause. In the future days, which we seek to make secure, we look forward to a world founded upon four essential human freedoms. The first is freedom of speech and expression--everywhere in the world. The second is freedom of every person to worship God in his own way--everywhere in the world. The third is freedom from want--which, translated into world terms, means economic understandings which will secure to every nation a healthy peacetime life for its inhabitants-everywhere in the world. The fourth is freedom from fear--which, translated into world terms, means a world-wide reduction of armaments to such a point and in such a thorough fashion that no nation will be in a position to commit an act of physical aggression against any neighbor--anywhere in the world. 
17000332_ComCore_IamanAmerican_9-10;2;We have gathered here to affirm a faith, a faith in a common purpose, a common conviction, a common devotion. Some of us have chosen America as the land of our adoption the rest have come from those who did the same. For this reason we have some right to consider ourselves a picked group, a group of those who had the courage to break from the past and brave the dangers and the loneliness of a strange land. What was the object that nerved us, or those who went before us, to this choice? We sought liberty freedom from oppression, freedom from want, freedom to be ourselves. This we then sought this we now believe that we are by way of winning. What do we mean when we say that first of all we seek liberty? I often wonder whether we do not rest our hopes too much upon constitutions, upon laws and upon courts. These are false hopes believe me, these are false hopes. Liberty lies in the hearts of men and women when it dies there, no constitution, no law, no court can even do much to help it. While it lies there it needs no constitution, no law, no court to save it. And what is this liberty which must lie in the hearts of men and women? It is not the ruthless, the unbridled will it is not freedom to do as one likes. That is the denial of liberty, and leads straight to its overthrow. A society in which men recognize no check upon their freedom soon becomes a society where freedom is the possession of only a savage few as we have learned to our sorrow. What then is the spirit of liberty? I cannot define it I can only tell you my own faith. The spirit of liberty is the spirit which is not too sure that it is right the spirit of liberty is the spirit which seeks to understand the mind of other men and women the spirit of liberty is the spirit which weighs their interests alongside its own without bias the spirit of liberty remembers that not even a sparrow falls to earth unheeded the spirit of liberty is the spirit of Him who, near two thousand years ago, taught mankind that lesson it has never learned but never quite forgotten that there may be a kingdom where the least shall be heard and considered side by side with the greatest. And now in that spirit, that spirit of an America which has never been, and which may never be nay, which never will be except as the conscience and courage of Americans create it yet in the spirit of that America which lies hidden in some form in the aspirations of us all in the spirit of that America for which our young men are at this moment fighting and dying in that spirit of liberty and of America I ask you to rise and with me pledge our faith in the glorious destiny of our beloved country. 
17000333_ComCore_RemarkstotheSenate_9-10;2;Mr. President: I would like to speak briefly and simply about a serious national condition. It is a national feeling of fear and frustration that could result in national suicide and the end of everything that we Americans hold dear. It is a condition that comes from the lack of effective leadership in either the Legislative Branch or the Executive Branch of our Government. That leadership is so lacking that serious and responsible proposals are being made that national advisory commissions be appointed to provide such critically needed leadership. I speak as briefly as possible because too much harm has already been done with irresponsible words of bitterness and selfish political opportunism. I speak as briefly as possible because the issue is too great to be obscured by eloquence. I speak simply and briefly in the hope that my words will be taken to heart. I speak as a Republican. I speak as a woman. I speak as a United States Senator. I speak as an American. The United States Senate has long enjoyed worldwide respect as the greatest deliberative body in the world. But recently that deliberative character has too often been debased to the level of a forum of hate and character assassination sheltered by the shield of congressional immunity. It is ironical that we Senators can in debate in the Senate directly or indirectly, by any form of words, impute to any American who is not a Senator any conduct or motive unworthy or unbecoming an American--and without that non-Senator American having any legal redress against us--yet if we say the same thing in the Senate about our colleagues we can be stopped on the grounds of being out of order. It is strange that we can verbally attack anyone else without restraint and with full protection and yet we hold ourselves above the same type of criticism here on the Senate Floor. Surely the United States Senate is big enough to take self-criticism and self-appraisal. Surely we should be able to take the same kind of character attacks that we dish out to outsiders. I think that it is high time for the United States Senate and its members to do some soul-searching--for us to weigh our consciences--on the manner in which we are performing our duty to the people of America--on the manner in which we are using or abusing our individual powers and privileges. I think that it is high time that we remembered that we have sworn to uphold and defend the Constitution. I think that it is high time that we remembered that the Constitution, as amended, speaks not only of the freedom of speech but also of trial by jury instead of trial by accusation. Whether it be a criminal prosecution in court or a character prosecution in the Senate, there is little practical distinction when the life of a person has been ruined. Those of us who shout the loudest about Americanism in making character assassinations are all too frequently those who, by our own words and acts, ignore some of the basic principles of Americanism: The right to criticize The right to hold unpopular beliefs The right to protest The right of independent thought. The exercise of these rights should not cost one single American citizen his reputation or his right to a livelihood nor should he be in danger of losing his reputation or livelihood merely because he happens to know someone who holds unpopular beliefs. Who of us doesn't? Otherwise none of us could call our souls our own. Otherwise thought control would have set in. The American people are sick and tired of being afraid to speak their minds lest they be politically smeared as Communists or Fascists by their opponents. Freedom of speech is not what it used to be in America. It has been so abused by some that it is not exercised by others. The American people are sick and tired of seeing innocent people smeared and guilty people whitewashed. But there have been enough proved cases, such as the Amerasia case, the Hiss case, the Coplon case, the Gold case, to cause the nationwide distrust and strong suspicion that there may be something to the unproved, sensational accusations. I doubt if the Republican Party could--simply because I don't believe the American people will uphold any political party that puts political exploitation above national interest. Surely we Republicans aren't that desperate for victory. I don't want to see the Republican Party win that way. While it might be a fleeting victory for the Republican Party, it would be a more lasting defeat for the American people. Surely it would ultimately be suicide for the Republican Party and the two-party system that has protected our American liberties from the dictatorship of a one party system. As members of the Minority Party, we do not have the primary authority to formulate the policy of our Government. But we do have the responsibility of rendering constructive criticism, of clarifying issues, of allaying fears by acting as responsible citizens. As a woman, I wonder how the mothers, wives, sisters, and daughters feel about the way in which members of their families have been politically mangled in the Senate debate--and I use the word debate advisedly. As a United States Senator, I am not proud of the way in which the Senate has been made a publicity platform for irresponsible sensationalism. I am not proud of the reckless abandon in which unproved charges have been hurled from the side of the aisle. I am not proud of the obviously staged, undignified countercharges that have been attempted in retaliation from the other side of the aisle. I don't like the way the Senate has been made a rendezvous for vilification, for selfish political gain at the sacrifice of individual reputations and national unity. I am not proud of the way we smear outsiders from the Floor of the Senate and hide behind the cloak of congressional immunity and still place ourselves beyond criticism on the Floor of the Senate. As an American, I am shocked at the way Republicans and Democrats alike are playing directly into the Communist design of confuse, divide, and conquer. As an American, I don't want a Democratic Administration whitewash or cover-up any more than a want a Republican smear or witch hunt. As an American, I condemn a Republican Fascist just as much I condemn a Democratic Communist. I condemn a Democrat Fascist just as much as I condemn a Republican Communist. They are equally dangerous to you and me and to our country. As an American, I want to see our nation recapture the strength and unity it once had when we fought the enemy instead of ourselves. It is with these thoughts that I have drafted what I call a Declaration of Conscience. I am gratified that Senator Tobey, Senator Aiken, Senator Morse, Senator Ives, Senator Thye, and Senator Hendrickson have concurred in that declaration and have authorized me to announce their concurrence. 
17000334_ComCore_AddressMarchWashington_9-10;2;Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity. But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition. In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable Rights of Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked insufficient funds. But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children. It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges. But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, When will you be satisfied? We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: For Whites Only. We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream. I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest--quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal. I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today! I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification --one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today! I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together. This is our hope, and this is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day. And this will be the day--this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning: My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride, From every mountainside, let freedom ring! And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania. Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California. But not only that: Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia. Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee. Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring. And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last! 
17000335_ComCore_NobelPrizeSpeech_9-10;2;It is with a profound sense of humility that I accept the honor--the highest there is--that you have chosen to bestow upon me. I know your choice transcends my person. Do I have the right to represent the multitudes who have perished? Do I have the right to accept this great honor on their behalf? I do not. No one may speak for the dead, no one may interpret their mutilated dreams and visions. And yet, I sense their presence. I always do--and at this moment more than ever. The presence of my parents, that of my little sister. The presence of my teachers, my friends, my companions... This honor belongs to all the survivors and their children and, through us to the Jewish people with whose destiny I have always identified. I remember: it happened yesterday, or eternities ago. A young Jewish boy discovered the Kingdom of Night. I remember his bewilderment, I remember his anguish. It all happened so fast. The ghetto. The deportation. The sealed cattle car. The fiery altar upon which the history of our people and the future of mankind were meant to be sacrificed. I remember he asked his father: Can this be true? This is the twentieth century, not the Middle Ages. Who would allow such crimes to be committed? How could the world remain silent? And now the boy is turning to me. Tell me, he asks, what have you done with my future, what have you done with your life? And I tell him that I have tried. That I have tried to keep memory alive, that I have tried to fight those who would forget. Because if we forget, we are guilty, we are accomplices. And then I explain to him how naïve we were, that the world did know and remained silent. And that is why I swore never to be silent whenever wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Wherever men and women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must--at that moment--become the center of the universe.
17000336_ComCore_QuiltofaCountry_9-10;2;America is an improbable idea. A mongrel nation built of ever-changing disparate parts, it is held together by a notion, the notion that all men are created equal, though everyone knows that most men consider themselves better than someone. Of all the nations in the world, the United States was built in nobody's image, the historian Daniel Boorstin wrote. That's because it was built of bits and pieces that seem discordant, like the crazy quilts that have been one of its great folk-art forms, velvet and calico and checks and brocades. Out of many, one. That is the ideal. The reality is often quite different, a great national striving consisting frequently of failure. Many of the oft-told stories of the most pluralistic nation on earth are stories not of tolerance, but of bigotry. Slavery and sweatshops, the burning of crosses and the ostracism of the other. Children learn in social-studies class and in the news of the lynching of blacks, the denial of rights to women, the murders of gay men. It is difficult to know how to convince them that this amounts to crown thy good with brotherhood, that amid all the failures is something spectacularly successful. Perhaps they understand it at this moment, when enormous tragedy, as it so often does, demands a time of reflection on enormous blessings. This is a nation founded on a conundrum, what Mario Cuomo has characterized as community added to individualism. These two are our defining ideals they are also in constant conflict. Historians today bemoan the ascendancy of a kind of prideful apartheid in America, saying that the clinging to ethnicity, in background and custom, has undermined the concept of unity. These historians must have forgotten the past, or have gilded it. The New York of my children is no more Balkanized, probably less so, than the Philadelphia of my father, in which Jewish boys would walk several blocks out of their way to avoid the Irish divide of Chester Avenue. (I was the product of a mixed marriage, across barely bridgeable lines: an Italian girl, an Irish boy. How quaint it seems now, how incendiary then.) The Brooklyn of Francie Nolan's famous tree, the Newark of which Portnoy complained, even the uninflected WASP suburbs of Cheever's characters: they are ghettos, pure and simple. Do the Cambodians and the Mexicans in California coexist less easily today than did the Irish and Italians of Massachusetts a century ago? You know the answer. What is the point of this splintered whole? What is the point of a nation in which Arab cabbies chauffeur Jewish passengers through the streets of New York--and in which Jewish cabbies chauffeur Arab passengers, too, and yet speak in theory of hatred, one for the other? What is the point of a nation in which one part seems to be always on the verge of fisticuffs with another, blacks and whites, gays and straights, left and right, Pole and Chinese and Puerto Rican and Slovenian? Other countries with such divisions have in fact divided into new nations with new names, but not this one, impossibly interwoven even in its hostilities. Once these disparate parts were held together by a common enemy, by the fault lines of world wars and the electrified fence of communism. With the end of the cold war there was the creeping concern that without a focus for hatred and distrust, a sense of national identity would evaporate, that the left side of the hyphen--African-American, Mexican-American, Irish-American--would overwhelm the right. And slow-growing domestic traumas like economic unrest and increasing crime seemed more likely to emphasize division than community. Today the citizens of the United States have come together once more because of armed conflict and enemy attack. Terrorism has led to devastation--and unity. Yet even inthe overwhelming majority of those surveyed by the National Opinion Research Center agreed with this statement: The U.S. is a unique country that stands for something special in the world. One of the things that it stands for is this vexing notion that a great nation can consist entirely of refugees from other nations, that people of different, even warring religions and cultures can live, if not side by side, than on either side of the country's Chester Avenues. Faced with this diversity there is little point in trying to isolate anything remotely resembling a national character, but there are two strains of behavior that, however tenuously, abet the concept of unity. There is that Calvinist undercurrent in the American psyche that loves the difficult, the demanding, that sees mastering the impossible, whether it be prairie or subway, as a test of character, and so glories in the struggle of this fractured coalescing. And there is a grudging fairness among the citizens of the United States that eventually leads most to admit that, no matter what the English-only advocates try to suggest, the new immigrants are not so different from our own parents or grandparents. Leonel Castillo, former director of the Immigration and Naturalization Service and himself the grandson of Mexican immigrants, once told the writer Studs Terkel proudly, The old neighborhood Ma-Pa stores are still around. They are not Italian or Jewish or Eastern European any more. Ma and Pa are now Korean, Vietnamese, Iraqi, Jordanian, Latin American. They live in the store. They work seven days a week. Their kids are doing well in school. They're making it. Sound familiar? Tolerance is the word used most often when this kind of coexistence succeeds, but tolerance is a vanilla-pudding word, standing for little more than the allowance of letting others live unremarked and unmolested. Pride seems excessive, given the American willingness to endlessly complain about them, them being whoever is new, different, unknown or currently under suspicion. But patriotism is partly taking pride in this unlikely ability to throw all of us together in a country that across its length and breadth is as different as a dozen countries, and still be able to call it by one name. When photographs of the faces of all those who died in the World Trade Center destruction are assembled in one place, it will be possible to trace in the skin color, the shape of the eyes and the noses, the texture of the hair, a map of the world. These are the representatives of a mongrel nation that somehow, at times like this, has one spirit. Like many improbable ideas, when it actually works, it's a wonder. 
17000337_ComCore_JaneEyre_11-12;2;There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question. I was glad of it: I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, and humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed. The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round their mama in the drawing-room: she lay reclined on a sofa by the fireside, and with her darlings about her (for the time neither quarrelling nor crying) looked perfectly happy. Me, she had dispensed from joining the group saying, She regretted to be under the necessity of keeping me at a distance but that until she heard from Bessie, and could discover by her own observation, that I was endeavouring in good earnest to acquire a more sociable and childlike disposition, a more attractive and sprightly manner--something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were--she really must exclude me from privileges intended only for contented, happy, little children. What does Bessie say I have done? I asked. Jane, I dont like cavillers or questioners besides, there is something truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that manner. Be seated somewhere and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent. A breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room, I slipped in there. It contained a bookcase: I soon possessed myself of a volume, taking care that it should be one stored with pictures. I mounted into the window-seat: gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk and, having drawn the red moreen curtain nearly close, I was shrined in double retirement. Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November day. At intervals, while turning over the leaves of my book, I studied the aspect of that winter afternoon. Afar, it offered a pale blank of mist and cloud near a scene of wet lawn and storm-beat shrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a long and lamentable blast. 
17000338_ComCore_AtHome_11-12;2; Somebody came from the Grigorievs to fetch a book, but I said you were not at home. The postman has brought the newspapers and two letters. And, by the way, sir, I wish you would give your attention to Seriozha. I saw him smoking today and also the day before yesterday. When I told him how wrong it was he put his fingers in his ears, as he always does, and began to sing loudly so as to drown my voice. Eugene Bilovsky, an attorney of the circuit court, who had just come home from a session and was taking off his gloves in his study, looked at the governess who was making this statement and laughed. So Seriozha has been smoking! he said with a shrug of his shoulders. Fancy the little beggar with a cigarette in his mouth! How old is he? Seven years old. It seems of small consequence to you, but at his age smoking is a bad, a harmful habit and bad habits should be nipped in the bud. You are absolutely right. Where does he get the tobacco? From your table. He does? In that case, send him to me. When the governess had gone, Bilovsky sat down in an easy-chair before his writing-table and began to think. For some reason he pictured to himself his Seriozha enveloped in clouds of tobacco smoke, with a huge, yard-long cigarette in his mouth, and this caricature made him smile. At the same time the earnest, anxious face of the governess awakened in him memories of days long past and half-forgotten, when smoking at school and in the nursery aroused in masters and parents a strange, almost incomprehensible horror. It really was horror. Children were unmercifully flogged, and expelled from school, and their lives were blighted, although not one of the teachers nor fathers knew exactly what constituted the harm and offence of smoking. Even very intelligent people did not hesitate to combat the vice they did not understand. Bilovsky called to mind the principal of his school, a highly educated, good-natured old man, who was so shocked when he caught a scholar with a cigarette that he would turn pale and immediately summon a special session of the school board and sentence the offender to expulsion. No doubt that is one of the laws of society--the less an evil is understood the more bitterly and harshly it is attacked. The attorney thought of the two or three boys who had been expelled and of their subsequent lives, and could not but reflect that punishment is, in many cases, more productive of evil than crime itself. The living organism possesses the faculty of quickly adapting itself to every condition if it were not so man would be conscious every moment of the unreasonable foundations on which his reasonable actions rest and how little of justice and assurance are to be found even in those activities which are fraught with so much responsibility and which are so appalling in their consequences, such as education, literature, the law-- And thoughts such as these came floating into Bilovsky s head light, evanescent thoughts such as only enter weary, resting brains. One knows not whence they are nor why they come they stay but a short while and seem to spread across the surface of the brain without ever sinking very far into its depths. For those whose minds for hours and days together are forced to be occupied with business and to travel always along the same lines, these homelike, untrammelled musings bring a sort of comfort and a pleasant restfulness of their own. It was nine o clock. On the floor overhead someone was pacing up and down, and still higher up, on the third storey, four hands were playing scales on the piano. The person who was pacing the floor seemed, from his nervous strides, to be the victim of tormenting thoughts or of the toothache his footsteps and the monotonous scales added to the quiet of the evening something somnolent that predisposed the mind to idle reveries. In the nursery, two rooms away, Seriozha and his governess were talking. Pa-pa has come! sang the boy. Papa has co-ome! Pa! Pa! Pa! Votre pere vous appelle, allez vite! cried the governess, twittering like a frightened bird. What shall I say to him? thought Bilovsky. But before he had time to think of anything to say his son Seriozha had already entered the study. This was a little person whose sex could only be divined from his clothes--he was so delicate, and fair, and frail. His body was as languid as a hot-house plant and everything about him looked wonderfully dainty and soft--his movements, his curly hair, his glance, his velvet tunic. Good evening, papa, he said in a gentle voice, climbing on to his father s knee and swiftly kissing his neck. Did you send for me? Wait a bit, wait a bit, master, answered the lawyer, putting him aside. Before you and I kiss each other we must have a talk, a serious talk. I am angry with you, and I don t love you any more do you understand that, young man? I don t love you, and you are no son of mine. Seriozha looked steadfastly at his father and then turned his regard to the table and shrugged his shoulders. What have I done? he asked, perplexed, and blinked. I didn t go into your study once today, and I haven t touched a thing. Miss Natalie has just been complaining to me that you have been smoking is that so? Have you been smoking? Yes, I smoked once. That is so. There! So now you have told a lie into the bargain! said the lawyer, disguising his smile by a frown. Miss Natalie saw you smoking twice. That means that you have been caught doing three naughty things: smoking, taking tobacco that doesn t belong to you off my table, and telling a lie. Three accusations! 
17000339_ComCore_GreatGatsby_11-12;2;There was music from my neighbor's house through the summer nights. In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars. At high tide in the afternoon I watched his guests diving from the tower of his raft, or taking the sun on the hot sand of his beach while his two motorboats slit the waters of the Sound, drawing aquaplanes over cataracts of foam. On week ends his Rolls-Royce became an omnibus, bearing parties to and from the city between nine in the morning and long past midnight, while his station wagon scampered like a brisk yellow bug to meet all trains. And on Mondays eight servants, including an extra gardener, toiled all day with mops and scrubbing brushes and hammers and garden shears, repairing the ravages of the night before. Every Friday five crates of oranges and lemons arrived from a fruiterer in New York--every Monday these same oranges and lemons left his back door in a pyramid of pulpless halves. There was a machine in the kitchen which could extract the juice of two hundred oranges in half an hour if a little button was pressed two hundred times by a butler's thumb. At least once a fortnight a corps of caterers came down with several hundred feet of canvas and enough colored lights to make a Christmas tree of Gatsby's enormous garden. On buffet tables, garnished with glistening hors d'oeuvres, spiced baked hams crowded against salads of harlequin designs and pastry pigs and turkeys bewitched to a dark gold. In the main hall a bar with a real brass rail was set up, and stocked with gins and liquors and with cordials so long forgotten that most of his female guests were too young to know one from another. By seven o'clock the orchestra has arrived, no thin five piece affair, but a whole pitful of oboes and trombones and saxophones and viols and cornets and piccolos, and low and high drums. The last swimmers have come in from the beach now and are dressing upstairs the cars from New York are parked five deep in the drive, and already the halls and salons and verandas are gaudy with primary colors, and hair bobbed in strange new ways, and shawls beyond the dreams of Castile. The bar is in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside, until the air is alive with chatter and laughter, and casual innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot, and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other's names. The lights grow brighter as the earth lurches away from the sun, and now the orchestra is playing yellow cocktail music, and the opera of voices pitches a key higher. Laughter is easier minute by minute, spilled with prodigality, tipped out at a cheerful word. The groups change more swiftly, swell with new arrivals, dissolve and form in the same breath already there are wanderers, confident girls who weave here and there among the stouter and more stable, become for a sharp, joyous moment the center of the group, and then, excited with triumph, glide on through the sea change of faces and voices and color under the constantly changing light. Suddenly one of these gypsies, in trembling opal, seizes a cocktail out of the air, dumps it down for courage and, moving her hands like Frisco, dances out alone on the canvas platform. A momentary hush the orchestra leader varies his rhythm obligingly for her, and there is a burst of chatter as the erroneous news goes around that she is Gilda Gray's understudy from the Follies. The party has begun. 
17000340_ComCore_AsILayDying_11-12;2;Jewel and I come up from the field, following the path in single file. Although I am fifteen feet ahead of him, anyone watching us from the cottonhouse can see Jewels frayed and broken straw hat a full head above my own. The path runs straight as a plumb-line, worn smooth by feet and baked brick-hard by July, between the green rows of laidby cotton, to the cottonhouse at four soft right angles and goes on across the field again, worn so by feet in fading precision. The cottonhouse is of rough logs, from between which the chinking has long fallen. Square, with a broken roof set at a single pitch, it leans in empty and shimmering dilapidation in the sunlight, a single broad window in two opposite walls giving onto the approaches of the path. When we reach it I turn and follow the path which circles the house. Jewel, fifteen feet behind me, looking straight ahead, steps in a single stride through the window. Still staring straight ahead, his pale eyes like wood set into his wooden face, he crosses the floor in four strides with the rigid gravity of a cigar store Indian dressed in patched overalls and endued with life from the hips down, and steps in a single stride through the opposite window and into the path again just as I come around the corner. In single file and five feet apart and Jewel now in front, we go on up the path toward the foot of the bluff. Tulls wagon stands beside the spring, hitched to the rail, the reins wrapped about the seat stanchion. In the wagon bed are two chairs. Jewel stops at the spring and takes the gourd from the willow branch and drinks. I pass him and mount the path, beginning to hear Cashs saw. When I reach the top he has quit sawing. Standing in a litter of chips, he is fitting two of the boards together. Between the shadow spaces they are yellow as gold, like soft gold, bearing on their flanks in smooth undulations the marks of the adze blade: a good carpenter, Cash is. He holds the two planks on the trestle, fitted along the edges in a quarter of the finished box. He kneels and squints along the edge of them, then he lowers them and takes up the adze. A good carpenter. Addie Bundren could not want a better one, a better box to lie in. It will give her confidence and comfort. I go on to the house, followed by the Chuck, Chuck, Chuck of the adze. 
17000341_ComCore_TheirEyes_11-12;2;Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time. That is the life of men. Now, women forget all those things they don't want to remember, and remember everything they don't want to forget. The dream is the truth. Then they act and do things accordingly. So the beginning of this was a woman and she had come back from burying the dead. Not the dead of sick and ailing with friends at the pillow and the feet. She had come back from the sodden and the bloated the sudden dead, their eyes flung wide open in judgment. The people all saw her come because it was sundown. The sun was gone, but he had left his footprints in the sky. It was the time for sitting on porches beside the road. It was the time to hear things and talk. These sitters had been tongueless, earless, eyeless conveniences all day long. Mules and other brutes had occupied their skins. But now, the sun and the bossman were gone, so the skins felt powerful and human. They became lords of sounds and lesser things. They passed nations through their mouths. They sat in judgment. Seeing the woman as she was made them remember the envy they had stored up from other times. So they chewed up the back parts of their minds and swallowed with relish. They made burning statements with questions, and killing tools out of laughs. It was mass cruelty. A mood come alive, Words walking without masters walking altogether like harmony in a song. What she doin coming back here in dem overhalls? Can't she find no dress to put on? -- Where's dat blue satin dress she left here in? -- Where all dat money her husband took and died and left her? -- What dat ole forty year ole 'oman doin' wid her hair swingin' down her back lak some young gal? Where she left dat young lad of a boy she went off here wid? -- Thought she was going to marry? -- Where he left her? -- What he done wid all her money? -- Betcha he off wid some gal so young she ain't even got no hairs -- why she don't stay in her class? When she got to where they were she turned her face on the bander log and spoke. They scrambled a noisy good evenin' and left their mouths setting open and their ears full of hope. Her speech was pleasant enough, but she kept walking straight on to her gate. The porch couldn't talk for looking. The men noticed her firm buttocks like she had grape fruits in her hip pockets the great rope of black hair swinging to her waist and unraveling in the wind like a plume then her pugnacious breasts trying to bore holes in her shirt. They, the men, were saving with the mind what they lost with the eye. The women took the faded shirt and muddy overalls and laid them away for remembrance. It was a weapon against her strength and if it turned out of no significance, still it was a hope that she might fall to their level some day. But nobody moved, nobody spoke, nobody even thought to swallow spit until after her gate slammed behind her. Pearl Stone opened her mouth and laughed real hard because she didn't know what else to do. She fell all over Mrs. Sumpkins while she laughed. Mrs. Sumpkins snorted violently and sucked her teeth. Humph! Y'all let her worry yuh. You ain't like me. Ah ain't got her to study 'bout. If she ain't got manners enough to stop and let folks know how she been malkin' out, let her g'wan! She ain't even worth talkin' after, Lulu Moss drawled through her nose. She sits high, but she looks low. Dat's what Ah say 'bout dese ole women runnin' after young boys. Pheoby Watson hitched her rocking chair forward before she spoke. Well, nobody don't know if it's anything to tell or not. Me, Ah'm her best friend, and Ah don't know. Maybe us don't know into things lak, you do, but we all know how she went 'way from here and us sho seen her come back. 'Tain't no use in your tryin' to cloak no ole woman lak Janie Starks, Pheoby, friend or no friend. At dat she ain't so ole as some of y'all dat's talking. She's way past forty to my knowledge, Pheoby. No more'n forty at de outside. She's 'way too old for a boy like Tea Cake. Tea Cake ain't been no boy for some time. He's round thirty his ownself. Don't keer what it was, she could stop and say a few words with us. She act like we done done something to her, Pearl Stone complained. She de one been doin' wrong. You mean, you mad 'cause she didn't stop and tell us all her business Anyhow, what you ever know her to do so bad as y'all make out? The worst thing Ah ever knowed her to do was taking a few years offa her age and dat ain't never harmed nobody. Y'all makes me tired. De way you talkin' you'd think de folks in dis town didn't do nothin' in de bed 'cept praise de Lawd. You have to 'scuse me, 'cause Ah'm bound to go take her some supper. Pheoby stood up sharply. Don't mind us, Lulu smiled, just go right ahead, us can mind yo' house for you till you git back. Mah supper is done. You bettah go see how she feel. You kin let de rest of us know. 
17000342_ComCore_BlackBoy_11-12;2;That night in my rented room, while letting the hot water run over my can of pork and beans in the sink, I opened A Book of Prefaces and began to read. I was jarred and shocked by the style, the clear, clean, sweeping sentences. Why did he write like that? And how did one write like that? I pictured the man as a raging demon, slashing with his pen, consumed with hate, denouncing everything American, extolling everything European or German, laughing at the weakness of people, mocking God, authority. What was this? I stood up, trying to realize what reality lay behind the meaning of the words... Yes, this man was fighting, fighting with words. He was using words as a weapon, using them as one would use a club. Could words be weapons? Well, yes, for here they were. Then maybe, perhaps, I could use them as a weapon? No. It frightened me. I read on and what amazed me was not what he said, but how on earth anybody had the courage to say it. Occasionally I glance up to reassure myself that I was alone in the room. Who were these men about whom Mencken was talking so passionately? Who was Anatole France? Joseph Conrad? Sinclair Lewis, Sherwood Anderson, Dostoevski, George Moore, Gustave Flaubert, Maupassant, Tolstoy, Frank Harris, Mark Twain, Thomas Hardy, Arnold Bennett, Stephen Crane, Zola, Norris, Gorky, Bergson, Ibsen, Balzac, Bernard Shaw, Dumas, Poe, Thomas Mann, O. Henry, Dreiser, H.G. Wells, Gogol, T.S. Eliot, Gide, Baudelaire, Edgar Lee masters, Stendhal, Turgenev, Huneker, Nietzsche, and scores of others? Were these men real? Did they exist or had they existed? And how did one pronounce their names? I ran across many words whose meanings I did not know, and I either looked them up in a dictionary or, before I had a chance to do that, encountered the word in a context that made its meaning clear. But what strange world was this? I concluded the book with the conviction that I had somehow overlooked something terribly important in my life. I had once tried to write, had once reveled in feeling, had let my crude imagination roam, but the impulse to dream had been slowly beaten out of me by experience. Now it surged up again and I hungered for books, new ways of looking and seeing. It was not a matter of believing or disbelieving what I read, but of feeling something new, of being affected by something that made the look of the world different. As dawn broke I ate my pork and beans, feeling dopey, sleepy. I went to work, but the mood of the book would not die it lingered, coloring everything I saw, heard, did. I now felt that I knew what the white men were feeling. Merely because I had read a book that had spoken of how they lived and thought, I identified myself with that book. I felt vaguely guilty. Would I, filled with bookish notions, act in a manner that would make the whites dislike me? I forged more notes and my trips to the library became frequent. Reading grew into a passion. 
17000343_ComCore_AdventuresofAugie_11-12;2; I haven't been wasting my time, he said. I've been working on something. I think I'm getting married soon, he said, and didn't allow himself to smile with the announcement or temper it in some pleasant way. When? To whom? To a woman with money. A woman? An older woman? That was how I interpreted it. Well, what's the matter with you? Yes, I'd marry an older woman. Why not? I bet you wouldn't. He was still able to amaze me, as though we had remained kids. We don't have to argue about it because she's not old. She's about twenty-two, I'm told. By whom? And you haven't even seen her? No, I haven't. You remember the buyer, my old boss? He's fixing me up. I have her picture. She's not bad. Heavy--but I'm getting heavy too. She's sort of pretty. Anyhow, even if she weren't pretty, and if the buyer isn't lying about the dough--her family is supposed to have a mountain of dough--I'd marry her. You've already made up your mind? I'll say I have! And suppose she doesn't want to marry you? I'll see that she does. Don't you think I can? Maybe you can, but I don't like it. It's cold-blooded. Cold-blooded! he said with sudden emotion. What's cold-blooded about it? I'd be cold-blooded if I stayed as I am. I see around this marriage and beyond it. I'll never again go for all the nonsense about marriage. Everybody you lay eyes on, except perhaps a few like you and me, is born of marriage. Do you see anything so exceptional or wonderful about it that it makes it such a big deal? Why be fooling around to make this perfect great marriage? What's it going to save you from? Has it saved anybody--the jerks, the fools, the morons, the schleppers, the jag-offs, the monkeys, rats, rabbits, or the decent unhappy people or what you call nice people? They're all married or are born of marriages, so how can you pretend to me that it makes a difference that Bob loves Mary who loves Jerry? That's for the movies. Don't you see people pondering how to marry for love and getting the blood gypped out of them? Because while they're looking for the best there is--and I figure that's what's wrong with you--everything else gets lost. It's sad. It's a pity, but it's that way. I was all the same strongly against him that he saw. Even if I couldn't just then consider myself on the active list of lovers and wasn't carrying a live torch any more for Esther Fenchel. I recognized his face as the face of a man in the wrong. 
17000344_ComCore_BluestEye_11-12;2;One winter Pauline discovered she was pregnant. When she told Cholly, he surprised her by being pleased. He began to drink less and come home more often. They eased back into a relationship more like the early days of their marriage, when he asked if she were tired or wanted him to bring her something from the store. In this state of ease, Pauline stopped doing day work and returned to her own housekeeping. But the loneliness in those two rooms had not gone away. When the winter sun hit the peeling green paint of the kitchen chairs, when the smoked hocks were boiling in the pot, when all she could hear was the truck delivering furniture downstairs, she thought about back home, about how she had been all alone most of the time then too, but that this lonesomeness was different. Then she stopped staring at the green chairs, at the delivery truck she went to the movies instead. There in the dark her memory was refreshed, and she succumbed to her earlier dreams. Along with the idea of romantic love, she was introduced to another--physical beauty. Probably the most destructive ideas in the history of human thought. Both originated in envy, thrived in insecurity, and ended in disillusion. In equating physical beauty with virtue, she stripped her mind, bound it, and collected self-contempt by the heap. She forgot lust and simple caring for. She regarded love as possessive mating, and romance as the goal of the spirit. It would be for her a well-spring from which she would draw the most destructive emotions, deceiving the lover and seeking to imprison the beloved, curtailing freedom in every way. She was never able, after her education in the movies, to look at a face and not assign it some category in the scale of absolute beauty, and the scale was one she absorbed in full from the silver screen. There at last were the darkened woods, the lonely roads, the river banks, the gentle knowing eyes. There the flawed became whole, the blind sighted, and the lame and halt threw away their crutches. There death was dead, and people made every gesture in a cloud of music. There the black-and-white images came together, making a magnificent whole--all projected through the ray of light from above and beyond. It was really a simple pleasure, but she learned all there was to love and all there was to hate. 
17000345_ComCore_DreaminginCuban_11-12;2;Abuela gives me a box of letters she wrote to her onetime lover in Spain, but never sent. She shows me his photograph, too. It's very well preserved. He'd be good-looking by today's standards, well built with a full beard and kind eyes, almost professorial. He wore a crisp linen suit and a boater tilted slightly to the left. Abuela tells me she took the picture herself one Sunday on the Malecon. She also gives me a book of poems she's had sincewe she heard Garcia Lorca read at the Principal de la Comedia Theater. Abuela knows each poem by heart, and recites them quite dramatically. I've started dreaming in Spanish, which has never happened before. I wake up feeling different, like something inside me is changing, something chemical and irreversible. There's a magic here working its way through my veins. There's something about the vegetation, too, that I respond to instinctively--the stunning bougainvillea, the flamboyants and jacarandas, the orchids growing from the trunks of the mysterious ceiba trees. And I love Havanna, its noise and decay and painted ladyness. I could happily sit on one of those wrought-iron balconies for days, or keep my grandmother company on her porch, with its ringside view of the sea. I'm afraid to lose all this. To lose Abuela Celia again. But I know that sooner or later I'd have to return to New York. I know now it's where I belong--not instead of here, but more than here. How can I tell my grandmother this? 
17000346_ComCore_Namesake_11-12;2;One day he attends a panel discussion about Indian novels written in English. He feels obligated to attend one of the presenters on the panel, Amit, is a distant cousin who lives in Bombay, whom Gogol has never met. His mother has asked him to greet Amit on her behalf. Gogol is bored by the panelists, who keep referring to something called marginality, as if it were some sort of medical condition. For most of the hour, he sketches portraits of the panelists, who sit hunched over their papers along a rectangular table. Teleologically speaking, ABCDs are unable to answer the question Where are you from? the sociologist on the panel declares. Gogol has never heard the term ABCD. He eventually gathers that it stands for American-born confused deshi. In other words, him. He learns that the C could also stand for conflicted. He knows that deshi, a generic word for countryman, means Indian, knows that his parents and all their friends always refer to India simply as desh. But Gogol never thinks of India as desh. He thinks of it as Americans do, as India. Gogol slouches in his seat and ponders certain awkward truths. For instance, although he can understand his mother tongue, and speak it fluently, he cannot read or write it with even modest proficiency. On trips to India his American-accented English is a source of endless amusement to his relatives, and when he and Sonia speak to each other, aunts and uncles and cousins always shake their heads in disbelief and say, I didn't understand a word! Living with a pet name and a good name, in a place where such distinctions do not exist--surely that was emblematic of the greatest confusion of all. He searches the audience for someone he knows, but it isn't his crowd--lots of lit majors with leather satchels and gold-rimmed glasses and fountain pens, lots of people Ruth would have waved to. There are also lots of ABCDs. He has no idea there are this many on campus. He has no ABCD friends at college. He avoids them, for they remind him too much of the way his parents choose to live, befriending people not so much because they like them, but because of a past they happen to share. Gogol, why aren't you a member of the Indian association here? Amit asks later when they go for a drink at the Anchor. I just don't have the time, Gogol says, not telling his well-meaning cousin that he can think of no greater hypocrisy than joining an organization that willingly celebrates occasions his parents forced him, throughout his childhood and adolescence, to attend. I'm Nikhil now, Gogol says, suddenly depressed by how many more times he will have to say this, asking people to remember, reminding them to forget, feeling as if an errata slip were perpetually pinned to his chest. 
17000351_ComCore_DeclarationIndependence_11-12;2;IN CONGRESS, July. The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America. When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume, among the Powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes and accordingly all experience hath shown, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.--Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world. He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good. He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them. He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only. He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures. He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people. He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected whereby the Legislative Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within. He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States for that purpose obstructing the Laws of Naturalization of Foreigners refusing to pass others to encourage their migration hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands. He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers. He has made judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries. He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our People, and eat out their substance. He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures. He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil Power. He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended legislation: For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us: For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from Punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States: For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world: For imposing taxes on us without our Consent: For depriving us, in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury: For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences: For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies: For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments: For suspending our own Legislatures and declaring themselves invested with Power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever. He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us. He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people. He is at this time transporting large armies of foreign mercenaries to complete the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy of the Head of a civilized nation. He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands. He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions. In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free People. Nor have We been wanting in attention to our British brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends. We, therefore, the Representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by the Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the Protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor. 
17000352_ComCore_Crisis_11-12;2;These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated. Britain, with an army to enforce her tyranny, has declared that she has a right (not only to TAX) but to BIND us in ALL CASES WHATSOEVER, and if being bound in that manner, is not slavery, then is there not such a thing as slavery upon earth. Even the expression is impious for so unlimited a power can belong only to God. Whether the independence of the continent was declared too soon, or delayed too long, I will not now enter into as an argument my own simple opinion is, that had it been eight months earlier, it would have been much better. We did not make a proper use of last winter, neither could we, while we were in a dependent state. However, the fault, if it were one, was all our own* we have none to blame but ourselves. But no great deal is lost yet. All that Howe has been doing for this month past, is rather a ravage than a conquest, which the spirit of the Jerseys, a year ago, would have quickly repulsed, and which time and a little resolution will soon recover. *The present winter is worth an age, if rightly employed but, if lost or neglected, the whole continent will partake of the evil and there is no punishment that man does not deserve, be he who, or what, or where he will, that may be the means of sacrificing a season so precious and useful. I have as little superstition in me as any man living, but my secret opinion has ever been, and still is, that God Almighty will not give up a people to military destruction, or leave them unsupportedly to perish, who have so earnestly and so repeatedly sought to avoid the calamities of war, by every decent method which wisdom could invent. Neither have I so much of the infidel in me, as to suppose that He has relinquished the government of the world, and given us up to the care of devils and as I do not, I cannot see on what grounds the king of Britain can look up to heaven for help against us: a common murderer, a highwayman, or a house-breaker, has as good a pretence as he. 
17000353_ComCore_Walden_11-12;2;I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion. For most men, it appears to me, are in a strange uncertainty about it, whether it is of the devil or of God, and have somewhat hastily concluded that it is the chief end of man here to glorify God and enjoy him forever. 
17000354_ComCore_SocietySolitude_11-12;2;It is hard to mesmerize ourselves, to whip our own top but through sympathy we are capable of energy and endurance. Concert fires people to a certain fury of performance they can rarely reach alone. Here is the use of society: it is so easy with the great to be great so easy to come up to an existing standard -- as easy as it is to the lover to swim to his maiden through waves so grim before. The benefits of affection are immense and the one event which never loses its romance, is the encounter with superior persons on terms allowing the happiest intercourse. It by no means follows that we are not fit for society, because soirees are tedious, and because the soiree finds us tedious. A backwoodsman, who had been sent to the university, told me that, when he heard the best-bred young men at the law school talk together, he reckoned himself a boor but whenever he caught them apart, and had one to himself alone, then they were the boors, and he the better man. And if we recall the rare hours when we encountered the best persons, we then found ourselves, and then first society seemed to exist. That was society, though in the transom of a brig, or on the Florida Keys. A cold, sluggish blood thinks it has not facts enough to the purpose, and must decline its turn in the conversation. But they who speak have no more, -- have less. It is not new facts that avail, but the heat to dissolve everybody's facts. The capital defect of cold, arid natures is the want of animal spirits. They seem a power incredible, as if God should raise the dead. The recluse witnesses what others perform by their aid, with a kind of fear. It is as much out of his possibility as the prowess of Coeur-de-Lion, or an Irishman's day's-work on the railroad. It is said, the present and the future are always rivals. Animal spirits constitute the power of the present, and their feats are like the structure of a pyramid. Their result is a lord, a general, or a boon companion. Before these, what a base mendicant is Memory with his leathern badge! But this genial heat is latent in all constitutions, and is disengaged only by the friction of society. As Bacon said of manners, To obtain them, it only needs not to despise them, so we say of animal spirits, that they are the spontaneous product of health and of a social habit. For behavior, men learn it, as they take diseases, one of another. But the people are to be taken in very small doses. If solitude is proud, so is society vulgar. In society, high advantages are set down to the individual as disqualifications. We sink as easily as we rise, through sympathy. So many men whom I know are degraded by their sympathies, their native aims being high enough, but their relation all too tender to the gross people about them. Men cannot afford to live together by their merits, and they adjust themselves by their demerits,--by their love of gossip, or by sheer tolerance and animal good-nature. They untune and dissipate the brave aspirant. The remedy is, to reinforce each of these moods from the other. Conversation will not corrupt us, if we come to the assembly in our own garb and speech, and with the energy of health to select what is ours and reject what is not. Society we must have but let it be society, and not exchanging news, or eating from the same dish. Is it society to sit in one of your chairs? I cannot go into the houses of my nearest relatives, because I do not wish to be alone. Society exists by chemical affinity, and not otherwise. Put any company of people together with freedom for conversation, and a rapid self-distribution takes place, into sets and pairs. The best are accused of exclusiveness. It would be more true to say, they separate as oil from water, as children from old people, without love or hatred in the matter, each seeking his like and any interference with the affinities would produce constraint and suffocation. All conversation is a magnetic experiment. I know that my friend can talk eloquently you know that he cannot articulate a sentence: we have seen him in different company. Assort your party, or invite none. Put Stubbs and Coleridge, Quintilian and Aunt Miriam, into pairs, and you make them all wretched. 'Tis an extempore Sing-Sing built in a parlor. Leave them to seek their own mates, and they will be as merry as sparrows. A higher civility will re-establish in our customs a certain reverence which we have lost. What to do with these brisk young men who break through all fences, and make themselves at home in every house? I find out in an instant if my companion does not want me, and ropes cannot hold me when my welcome is gone. One would think that the affinities would pronounce themselves with a surer reciprocity. Here again, as so often, Nature delights to put us between extreme antagonisms, and our safety is in the skill with which we keep the diagonal line. Solitude is impracticable, and society fatal. We must keep our head in the one and our hands in the other. The conditions are met, if we keep our independence, yet do not lose our sympathy. These wonderful horses need to be driven by fine hands. We require such a solitude as shall hold us to its revelations when we are in the street and in palaces for most men are cowed in society, and say good things to you in private, but will not stand to them in public. But let us not be the victims of words. Society and solitude are deceptive names. It is not the circumstance of seeing more or fewer people, but the readiness of sympathy, that imports and a sound mind will derive its principles from insight, with ever a purer ascent to the sufficient and absolute right, and will accept society as the natural element in which they are to be applied. 
17000355_ComCore_FallacySuccess_11-12;2;There has appeared in our time a particular class of books and articles which I sincerely and solemnly think may be called the silliest ever known among men. They are much more wild than the wildest romances of chivalry and much more dull than the dullest religious tract. Moreover, the romances of chivalry were at least about chivalry the religious tracts are about religion. But these things are about nothing they are about what is called Success. On every bookstall, in every magazine, you may find works telling people how to succeed. They are books showing men how to succeed in everything they are written by men who cannot even succeed in writing books. To begin with, of course, there is no such thing as Success. Or, if you like to put it so, there is nothing that is not successful. That a thing is successful merely means that it is a millionaire is successful in being a millionaire and a donkey in being a donkey. Any live man has succeeded in living any dead man may have succeeded in committing suicide. But, passing over the bad logic and bad philosophy in the phrase, we may take it, as these writers do, in the ordinary sense of success in obtaining money or worldly position. These writers profess to tell the ordinary man how he may succeed in his trade or speculation--how, if he is a builder, he may succeed as a builder how, if he is a stockbroker, he may succeed as a stockbroker. They profess to show him how, if he is a grocer, he may become a sporting yachtsman how, if he is a tenth-rate journalist, he may become a peer and how, if he is a German Jew, he may become an Anglo-Saxon. This is a definite and business-like proposal, and I really think that the people who buy these books (if any people do buy them) have a moral, if not a legal, right to ask for their money back. Nobody would dare to publish a book about electricity which literally told one nothing about electricity no one would dare publish an article on botany which showed that the writer did not know which end of a plant grew in the earth. Yet our modern world is full of books about Success and successful people which literally contain no kind of idea, and scarcely and kind of verbal sense. It is perfectly obvious that in any decent occupation (such as bricklaying or writing books) there are only two ways (in any special sense) of succeeding. One is by doing very good work, the other is by cheating. Both are much too simple to require any literary explanation. If you are in for the high jump, either jump higher than any one else, or manage somehow to pretend that you have done so. If you want to succeed at whist, either be a good whist-player, or play with marked cards. You may want a book about jumping you may want a book about whist you may want a book about cheating at whist. But you cannot want a book about Success. Especially you cannot want a book about Success such as those which you can now find scattered by the hundred about the book-market. You may want to jump or to play cards but you do not want to read wandering statements to the effect that jumping is jumping, or that games are won by winners. If these writers, for instance, said anything about success in jumping it would be something like this: The jumper must have a clear aim before him. He must desire definitely to jump higher than the other men who are in for the same competition. He must let no feeble feelings of mercy (sneaked from the sickening Little Englanders and Pro-Boers) prevent him from trying to do his best. He must remember that a competition in jumping is distinctly competitive, and that, as Darwin has gloriously demonstrated, THE WEAKEST GO TO THE WALL. That is the kind of thing the book would say, and very useful it would be, no doubt, if read out in a low and tense voice to a young man just about to take the high jump. Or suppose that in the course of his intellectual rambles the philosopher of Success dropped upon our other case, that of playing cards, his bracing advice would run: In playing cards it is very necessary to avoid the mistake (commonly made by maudlin humanitarians and Free Traders) of permitting your opponent to win the game. You must have grit and snap and go in to win. The days of idealism and superstition are over. We live in a time of science and hard common sense, and it has now been definitely proved that in any game where two are playing IF ONE DOES NOT WIN THE OTHER WILL. It is all very stirring, of course but I confess that if I were playing cards I would rather have some decent little book which told me the rules of the game. Beyond the rules of the game it is all a question either of talent or dishonesty and I will undertake to provide either one or the other--which, it is not for me to say. 
17000356_ComCore_AmericanLanguage_11-12;2;...What chiefly lies behind (slang) is simply a kind of linguistic exuberance, an excess of word-making energy. It relates itself to the standard language a great deal as dancing relates itself to music. But there is also something else. The best slang is not only ingenious and amusing it also embodies a kind of social criticism. It not only provides new names for a series of every-day concepts, some new and some old it also says something about them. Words which produce the slang effect, observes Frank Sechrist, arouse associations what are incongruous or incompatible with those of customary thinking. Everyone, including the metaphysician in his study or the eremite in his cell, has a large vocabulary of slang, but the vocabulary of the vulgar is likely to be larger than that of the cultured, and it is harder worked. Its content may be divided into two categories: (a) old words, whether used singly or in combination, that have been put to new uses, usually metaphorical, and (b) new words that have not yet been admitted to the standard vocabulary. Examples of the first type are rubberneck, for a gaping and prying person, and iceberg, for a cold woman examples of the second are hoosegow, flim-flam, blurb, bazoo and blah. There is a constant movement of slang into accepted usage. Nice, as an adjective of all work, signifying anything satisfactory, was once used in slang only, but today no one would question a nice day, a nice time, or a nice hotel. ... The verb-phrase to hold up is now perfectly good American, but so recently as the late Brander Matthews was sneering at it as slang. In the same way many other verb-phrases, e.g., to cave in, fill the bill and to fly off the handle, once viewed askance, have gradually worked their way to a relatively high level of the standard speech. On some indeterminate tomorrow to stick up and to take for a ride may follow them. ... 
17000357_ComCore_PoliticsandEnglishLanguage_11-12;2;Most people who bother with the matter at all would admit that the English language is in a bad way, but it is generally assumed that we cannot by conscious action do anything about it. Our civilization is decadent and our language--so the argument runs--must inevitably share in the general collapse. It follows that any struggle against the abuse of language is a sentimental archaism, like preferring candles to electric light or hansom cabs to aeroplanes. Underneath this lies the half-conscious belief that language is a natural growth and not an instrument which we shape for our own purposes. Now, it is clear that the decline of a language must ultimately have political and economic causes: it is not due simply to the bad influence of this or that individual writer. But an effect can become a cause, reinforcing the original cause and producing the same effect in an intensified form, and so on indefinitely. A man may take to drink because he feels himself to be a failure, and then fail all the more completely because he drinks. It is rather the same thing that is happening to the English language. It becomes ugly and inaccurate because our thoughts are foolish, but the slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us to have foolish thoughts. The point is that the process is reversible. Modern English, especially written English, is full of bad habits which spread by imitation and which can be avoided if one is willing to take the necessary trouble. If one gets rid of these habits one can think more clearly, and to think clearly is a necessary first step toward political regeneration: so that the fight against bad English is not frivolous and is not the exclusive concern of professional writers. I will come back to this presently, and I hope that by that time the meaning of what I have said here will have become clearer. Meanwhile, here are five specimens of the English language as it is now habitually written. These five passages have not been picked out because they are especially bad--I could have quoted far worse if I had chosen--but because they illustrate various of the mental vices from which we now suffer. They are a little below the average, but are fairly representative examples. I number them so that I can refer back to them when necessary: ( ) I am not, indeed, sure whether it is not true to say that the Milton who once seemed not unlike a seventeenth-century Shelley had not become, out of an experience ever more bitter in each year, more alien [sic] to the founder of that Jesuit sect which nothing could induce him to tolerate. Professor Harold Laski (Essay in Freedom of Expression) ( ) Above all, we cannot play ducks and drakes with a native battery of idioms which prescribes egregious collocations of vocables as the Basic put up with for tolerate, or put at a loss for bewilder. Professor Lancelot Hogben (Interglossa) ( ) On the one side we have the free personality: by definition it is not neurotic, for it has neither conflict nor dream. Its desires, such as they are, are transparent, for they are just what institutional approval keeps in the forefront of consciousness another institutional pattern would alter their number and intensity there is little in them that is natural, irreducible, or culturally dangerous. But on the other side, the social bond itself is nothing but the mutual reflection of these self-secure integrities. Recall the definition of love. Is not this the very picture of a small academic? Where is there a place in this hall of mirrors for either personality or fraternity? Essay on psychology in Politics (New York) ( ) All the 'best people' from the gentlemen's clubs, and all the frantic fascist captains, united in common hatred of Socialism and bestial horror at the rising tide of the mass revolutionary movement, have turned to acts of provocation, to foul incendiarism, to medieval legends of poisoned wells, to legalize their own destruction of proletarian organizations, and rouse the agitated petty-bourgeoisie to chauvinistic fervor on behalf of the fight against the revolutionary way out of the crisis. Communist pamphlet. ( ) If a new spirit is to be infused into this old country, there is one thorny and contentious reform which must be tackled, and that is the humanization and galvanization of the B.B.C. Timidity here will bespeak canker and atrophy of the soul. The heart of Britain may be sound and of strong beat, for instance, but the British lion's roar at present is like that of Bottom in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's DreamNas gentle as any sucking dove. A virile new Britain cannot continue indefinitely to be traduced in the eyes or rather ears, of the world by the effete languors of Langham Place, brazenly masquerading as 'standard English.' When the Voice of Britain is heard at nine o'clock, better far and infinitely less ludicrous to hear aitches honestly dropped than the present priggish, inflated, inhibited, school-ma'amish arch braying of blameless bashful mewing maidens! Letter in Tribune. Each of these passages has faults of its own, but, quite apart from avoidable ugliness, two qualities are common to all of them. The first is staleness of imagery the other is lack of precision. The writer either has a meaning and cannot express it, or he inadvertently says something else, or he is almost indifferent as to whether his words mean anything or not. This mixture of vagueness and sheer incompetence is the most marked characteristic of modern English prose, and especially of any kind of political writing. As soon as certain topics are raised, the concrete melts into the abstract and no one seems able to think of turns of speech that are not hackneyed: prose consists less and less of words chosen for the sake of their meaning, and more and more of phrases tacked together like the sections of a prefabricated hen-house. 
17000358_ComCore_ALincolnandSelfmadeMyth_11-12;2;Lincoln was shaken by the presidency. Back in Springfield, politics had been a sort of exhilarating game but in the White House, politics was power, and power was responsibility. Never before had Lincoln held executive office. In public life he had always been an insignificant legislator whose votes were cast in concert with others and whose decisions in themselves had neither finality nor importance. As President he might consult with others, but innumerable grave decisions were in the end his own, and with them came a burden of responsibility terrifying in its dimensions. Lincolns rage for personal success, his external and worldly ambition, was quieted when he entered the White House, and he was at last left alone to reckon with himself. To be confronted with the fruits of his victory only to find that it meant choosing between life and death for others was immensely sobering. That Lincoln should have shouldered the moral burden of the war was characteristic of the high seriousness into which he had grown since and it may be true, as Professor Charles W. Ramsdell suggested, that he was stricken by an awareness of his own part in whipping up the crisis. This would go far to explain the desperation with which he issued pardons and the charity that he wanted to extend to the conquered South at the wars close. In one of his rare moments of self-revelation he is reported to have said: Now I dont know what the soul is, but whatever it is, I know that it can humble itself. The great prose of the presidential years came from a soul that had been humbled. Lincolns utter lack of personal malice during these years, his humane detachment, his tragic sense of life, have no parallel in political history. Lincoln, said Herndon, is a man of heart--aye, as gentle as a womans and as tender.... Lincoln was moved by the wounded and dying men, moved as no one in a place of power can afford to be. He had won high office by means sometimes rugged, but once there, he found that he could not quite carry it off. For him it was impossible to drift into the habitual callousness of the sort of officialdom that sees men only as pawns to be shifted here and there and expended at the will of others. It was a symbolic thing that his office was so constantly open, that he made himself more accessible than any other chief executive in our history. Men moving only in an official circle, he told Carpenter, are apt to become merely official--not to say arbitrary--in their ideas, and are apter and apter with each passing day to forget that they only hold power in a representative capacity. Is it possible to recall anyone else in modern history who could exercise so much power and yet feel so slightly the private corruption that goes with it? Here, perhaps, is the best measure of Lincolns personal eminence in the human calendar--that he was chastened and not intoxicated by power. 
17000359_ComCore_MotherTongue_11-12;2;Just last week, I was walking down the street with my mother, and I again found myself conscious of the English I was using, the English I do use with her. We were talking about the price of new and used furniture and I heard myself saying this: Not waste money that way. My husband was with us as well, and he didnt notice any switch in my English. And then I realized why. Its because over the twenty years weve been together Ive often used that same kind of English with him, and sometimes he even uses it with me. It has become our language of intimacy, a different sort of English that relates to family talk, the language I grew up with. So youll have some idea of what this family talk I heard sounds like, I quote what my mother said during a recent conversation which I videotaped and then transcribed. During this conversation, my mother was talking about a political gangster in Shanghai who had the same last name as her familys, Du, and how the gangster in his early years wanted to be adopted by her family, which was rich by comparison. Later, the gangster became more powerful, far richer than my mothers family, and one day showed up at my mothers wedding to pay his respects. Heres what she said in part: Du Yusong having business like fruit stand. Like off the street kind. He is Du like Du Zong--but not Tsung-ming Island people. The local people call putong, the river east side, he belong to that side local people. That man want to ask Du Zong father take him in like become own family. Du Zong father wasnt look down on him, but didnt take seriously, until that man big like become a mafia. Now important person, very hard to inviting him. Chinese way, came only to show respect, dont stay for dinner. Respect for making big celebration, he shows up. Mean gives lots of respect. Chinese custom. Chinese social life that way. If too important wont have to stay too long. He come to my wedding. I didnt see, I heard it. I gone to boys side, they have YMCA dinner. Chinese age I was nineteen. You should know that my mothers expressive command of English belies how much she actually understands. She reads the Forbes report, listens to Wall Street Week, converses daily with her stockbroker, reads all of Shirley MacLaines books with ease--all kinds of things I cant begin to understand. Yet some of my friends tell me they understand percent of what my mother says. Some say they understand to percent. Some say they understand none of it, as if she were speaking pure Chinese. But to me, my mothers English is perfectly clear, perfectly natural. Its my mother tongue. Her language, as I hear it, is vivid, direct, full of observation and imagery. That was the language that helped shape the way I saw things, expressed things, made sense of the world. Lately, Ive been giving more thought to the kind of English my mother speaks. Like others, I have described it to people as broken or fractured English. But I wince when I say that. It has always bothered me that I can think of no way to describe it other than broken, as if it were damaged and needed to be fixed, as if it lacked a certain wholeness and soundness. Ive heard other terms used, limited English, for example. But they seem just as bad, as if everything is limited, including peoples perceptions of the limited English speaker. I know this for a fact, because when I was growing up, my mothers limited English limited my perception of her. I was ashamed of her English. I believed that her English reflected the quality of what she had to say That is, because she expressed them imperfectly her thoughts were imperfect. And I had plenty of empirical evidence to support me: the fact that people in department stores, at banks, and at restaurants did not take her seriously, did not give her good service, pretended not to understand her, or even acted as if they did not hear her. My mother has long realized the limitations of her English as well. When I was fifteen, she used to have me call people on the phone to pretend I was she. In this guise, I was forced to ask for information or even to complain and yell at people who had been rude to her. One time it was a call to her stockbroker in New York. She had cashed out her small portfolio and it just so happened we were going to go to New York the next week, our very first trip outside California. I had to get on the phone and say in an adolescent voice that was not very convincing, This is Mrs. Tan. And my mother was standing in the back whispering loudly, Why he dont send me check, already two weeks late. So mad he lie to me, losing me money. And then I said in perfect English, Yes, Im getting rather concerned. You had agreed to send the check two weeks ago, but it hasnt arrived. Then she began to talk more loudly. What he want, I come to New York tell him front of his boss, you cheating me? And I was trying to calm her down, make her be quiet, while telling the stockbroker, I cant tolerate any more excuses. If I dont receive the check immediately, I am going to have to speak to your manager when Im in New York next week. And sure enough, the following week there we were in front of this astonished stockbroker, and I was sitting there red-faced and quiet, and my mother, the real Mrs. Tan, was shouting at his boss in her impeccable broken English. 
17000360_ComCore_TakeTortillas_11-12;2;In a recent lecture, Is Nothing Sacred?Salman Rushdie, one of the most censored authors of our time, talked about the importance of books. He grew up in a household in India where books were as sacred as bread. If anyone in the household dropped a piece of bread or a book, the person not only picked it up, but also kissed the object by way of apologizing for clumsy disrespect. He goes on to say that he had kissed many books before he had kissed a girl. Bread and books were for his household, and for many like his, food for the body and the soul. This image of the kissing of the book one had accidentally dropped made an impression on me. It speaks to the love and respect many people have for them. I grew up in a small town in New Mexico, and we had very few books in our household. The first one I remember reading was my catechism book. Before I went to school to learn English, my mother taught me catechism in Spanish. I remember the questions and answers I had to learn, and I remember the well-thumbed, frayed volume which was sacred to me. Growing up with few books in the house created in me a desire and a need for them. When I started school, I remember visiting the one room library of our town and standing in front of the dusty shelves. In reality there were only a few shelves and not over a thousand books, but I wanted to read them all. There was food for my soul in the books, that much I realized. As a child I listened to the stories of the people, the cuentos the old ones told. Those stories were my first contact with the magic of storytelling. Those stories fed my imagination, and later, when I wrote books, I found the same sense of magic and mystery in writing. In Bless Me, Ultima, my first novel, Antonio, my main character who had just started to school, sees in them the power of the written word. He calls books the magic of words. For me, reading has always been a path toward liberation and fulfillment. To learn to read is to start down the road of liberation, a road which should be accessible to everyone.... 
17000361_ComCore_CourthouseRing_11-12;2;One of George Orwell's finest essays takes Charles Dickens to task for his lack of constructive suggestions. Dickens was a powerful critic of Victorian England, a proud and lonely voice in the campaign for social reform. But, as Orwell points out, there was little substance to Dickens's complaints. He attacks the law, parliamentary government, the educational system and so forth, without ever clearly suggesting what he would put in their places, Orwell writes. There is no clear sign that he wants the existing order to be overthrown, or that he believes it would make very much difference if it were overthrown. For in reality his target is not so much society as 'human nature.' Dickens sought a change of spirit rather than a change in structure. Orwell didn't think that Dickens should have written different novels he loved Dickens. But he understood that Dickens bore the ideological marks of his time and place. His class did not see the English social order as tyrannical, worthy of being overthrown. Dickens thought that large contradictions could be tamed through small moments of justice. He believed in the power of changing hearts, and that's what you believe in, Orwell says, if you do not wish to endanger the status quo. But in cases where the status quo involves systemic injustice this is no more than a temporary strategy. Eventually, such injustice requires more than a change of heart. [...] The argument over race had risen to such a pitch that it could no longer be alleviated by gesture and symbolism--by separate but equal inaugural balls and hearty handshakes--and he was lost. Finch's moral test comes at the end of To Kill a Mockingbird. Bob Ewell has been humiliated by the Robinson trial. In revenge, he attacks Scout and her brother on Halloween night. Boo Radley, the reclusive neighbor of the Finches, comes to the children's defense, and in the scuffle Radley kills Ewell. Sheriff Tate brings the news to Finch, and persuades him to lie about what actually happened the story will be that Ewell inadvertently stabbed himself in the scuffle. As the Sheriff explains: Maybe you'll say it's my duty to tell the town all about it and not hush it up. Know what'd happen then? All the ladies in Maycomb includin' my wife'd be knocking on his door bringing angel food cakes. To my way of thinkin', Mr. Finch, taking the one man who's done you and this town a great service an' draggin' him with his shy ways into the limelight--to me, that's a sin. It's a sin and I'm not about to have it on my head. If it was any other man it'd be different. But not this man, Mr. Finch. The courthouse ring had spoken. Maycomb would go back to the way it had always been. Scout, Finch says to his daughter, after he and Sheriff Tate have cut their little side deal. Mr. Ewell fell on his knife. Can you possibly understand? Understand what? That her father and the Sheriff have decided to obstruct justice in the name of saving their beloved neighbor the burden of angel-food cake? Atticus Finch is faced with jurors who have one set of standards for white people like the Ewells and another set for black folk like Tom Robinson. His response is to adopt one set of standards for respectable whites like Boo Radley and another for white trash like Bob Ewell. A book that we thought instructed us about the world tells us, instead, about the limitations of Jim Crow liberalism in Maycomb, Alabama. 
17000362_ComCore_Democracy_11-12;2;The remarks I have made will suffice to display the character of Anglo-American civilization in its true light. It is the result (and this should be constantly present to the mind of two distinct elements), which in other places have been in frequent hostility, but which in America have been admirably incorporated and combined with one another. I allude to the spirit of Religion and the spirit of Liberty. The settlers of New England were at the same time ardent sectarians and daring innovators. Narrow as the limits of some of their religious opinions were, they were entirely free from political prejudices. Hence arose two tendencies, distinct but not opposite, which are constantly discernible in the manners as well as in the laws of the country. It might be imagined that men who sacrificed their friends, their family, and their native land to a religious conviction were absorbed in the pursuit of the intellectual advantages which they purchased at so dear a rate. The energy, however, with which they strove for the acquirement of wealth, moral enjoyment, and the comforts as well as liberties of the world, is scarcely inferior to that with which they devoted themselves to Heaven. Political principles and all human laws and institutions were moulded and altered at their pleasure the barriers of the society in which they were born were broken down before them the old principles which had governed the world for ages were no more a path without a turn and a field without an horizon were opened to the exploring and ardent curiosity of man: but at the limits of the political world he checks his researches, he discreetly lays aside the use of his most formidable faculties, he no longer consents to doubt or to innovate, but carefully abstaining from raising the curtain of the sanctuary, he yields with submissive respect to truths which he will not discuss. Thus, in the moral world everything is classed, adapted, decided, and foreseen in the political world everything is agitated, uncertain, and disputed: in the one is a passive, though a voluntary, obedience in the other an independence scornful of experience and jealous of authority. These two tendencies, apparently so discrepant, are far from conflicting they advance together, and mutually support each other. Religion perceives that civil liberty affords a noble exercise to the faculties of man, and that the political world is a field prepared by the Creator for the efforts of the intelligence. Contented with the freedom and the power which it enjoys in its own sphere, and with the place which it occupies, the empire of religion is never more surely established than when it reigns in the hearts of men unsupported by aught beside its native strength. Religion is no less the companion of liberty in all its battles and its triumphs the cradle of its infancy, and the divine source of its claims. The safeguard of morality is religion, and morality is the best security of law and the surest pledge of freedom. 
17000363_ComCore_DeclarationSentiments_11-12;2;When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one portion of the family of man to assume among the people of the earth a position different from that which they have hitherto occupied, but one to which the laws of nature and of nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes that impel them to such a course. We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men and women are created equal that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness that to secure these rights governments are instituted, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. Whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of those who suffer from it to refuse allegiance to it, and to insist upon the institution of a new government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes and accordingly all experience hath shown that mankind are more disposed to suffer while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object, evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their duty to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security. Such has been the patient sufferance of the women under this government, and such is now the necessity which constrains them to demand the equal station to which they are entitled. The history of mankind is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations on the part of man toward woman, having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over her. To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world. The history of mankind is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations on the part of man toward woman, having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over her. To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world. He has never permitted her to exercise her inalienable right to the elective franchise. He has compelled her to submit to laws, in the formation of which she had no voice. He has withheld from her rights which are given to the most ignorant and degraded men--both natives and foreigners. Having deprived her of this first right of a citizen, the elective franchise, thereby leaving her without representation in the halls of legislation, he has oppressed her on all sides. He has made her, if married, in the eye of the law, civilly dead. He has taken from her all right in property, even to the wages she earns. He has made her, morally, an irresponsible being, as she can commit many crimes with impunity, provided they be done in the presence of her husband. In the covenant of marriage, she is compelled to promise obedience to her husband, he becoming, to all intents and purposes, her master--the law giving him power to deprive her of her liberty, and to administer chastisement. He has so framed the laws of divorce, as to what shall be the proper causes, and in case of separation, to whom the guardianship of the children shall be given, as to be wholly regardless of the happiness of women--the law, in all cases, going upon a false supposition of the supremacy of man, and giving all power into his hands. After depriving her of all rights as a married woman, if single, and the owner of property, he has taxed her to support a government which recognizes her only when her property can be made profitable to it. He has monopolized nearly all the profitable employments, and from those she is permitted to follow, she receives but a scanty remuneration. He closes against her all the avenues to wealth and distinction which he considers most honorable to himself. As a teacher of theology, medicine, or law, she is not known. He has denied her the facilities for obtaining a thorough education, all colleges being closed against her. He allows her in church, as well as state, but a subordinate position, claiming apostolic authority for her exclusion from the ministry, and, with some exceptions, from any public participation in the affairs of the church. He has created a false public sentiment by giving to the world a different code of morals for men and women, by which moral delinquencies which exclude women from society are not only tolerated, but deemed of little account in man. He has usurped the prerogative of Jehovah himself, claiming it as his right to assign for her a sphere of action, when that belongs to her conscience and to her God. He has endeavored, in every way that he could, to destroy her confidence in her own powers, to lessen her self-respect, and to make her willing to lead a dependent and abject life. Now, in view of this entire disfranchisement of one-half the people of this country, their social and religious degradation--in view of the unjust laws above mentioned, and because women do feel themselves aggrieved, oppressed, and fraudulently deprived of their most sacred rights, we insist that they have immediate admission to all the rights and privileges which belong to them as citizens of the United States. 
17000364_ComCore_IndependenceDaySpeech_11-12;2;Fellow Citizens, I am not wanting in respect for the fathers of this republic. The signers of the Declaration of Independence were brave men. They were great men, too--great enough to give frame to a great age. It does not often happen to a nation to raise, at one time, such a number of truly great men. The point from which I am compelled to view them is not, certainly, the most favorable and yet I cannot contemplate their great deeds with less than admiration. They were statesmen, patriots and heroes, and for the good they did, and the principles they contended for, I will unite with you to honor their memory. ...Fellow-citizens, pardon me, allow me to ask, why am I called upon to speak here to-day? What have I, or those I represent, to do with your national independence? Are the great principles of political freedom and of natural justice, embodied in that Declaration of Independence, extended to us? And am I, therefore, called upon to bring our humble offering to the national altar, and to confess the benefits and express devout gratitude for the blessings resulting from your independence to us? Would to God, both for your sakes and ours, that an affirmative answer could be truthfully returned to these questions! Then would my task be light, and my burden easy and delightful. For who is there so cold, that a nation's sympathy could not warm him? Who so obdurate and dead to the claims of gratitude, that would not thankfully acknowledge such priceless benefits? Who so stolid and selfish, that would not give his voice to swell the hallelujahs of a nation's jubilee, when the chains of servitude had been torn from his limbs? I am not that man. In a case like that, the dumb might eloquently speak, and the lame man leap as an hart. But such is not the state of the case. I say it with a sad sense of the disparity between us. I am not included within the pale of glorious anniversary! Your high independence only reveals the immeasurable distance between us. The blessings in which you, this day, rejoice, are not enjoyed in common. The rich inheritance of justice, liberty, prosperity and independence, bequeathed by your fathers, is shared by you, not by me. The sunlight that brought light and healing to you, has brought stripes and death to me. This Fourth July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn. To drag a man in fetters into the grand illuminated temple of liberty, and call upon him to join you in joyous anthems, were inhuman mockery and sacrilegious irony. Do you mean, citizens, to mock me, by asking me to speak to-day? If so, there is a parallel to your conduct. And let me warn you that it is dangerous to copy the example of a nation whose crimes, towering up to heaven, were thrown down by the breath of the Almighty, burying that nation in irrevocable ruin! I can to-day take up the plaintive lament of a peeled and woe-smitten people! By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down. Yea! We wept when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof. For there, they that carried us away captive, required of us a song and they who wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion. How can we sing the Lord's song in a strange land? If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth. Fellow-citizens, above your national, tumultuous joy, I hear the mournful wail of millions! whose chains, heavy and grievous yesterday, are, to-day, rendered more intolerable by the jubilee shouts that reach them. If I do forget, if I do not faithfully remember those bleeding children of sorrow this day, may my right hand forget her cunning, and may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth! To forget them, to pass lightly over their wrongs, and to chime in with the popular theme, would be treason most scandalous and shocking, and would make me a reproach before God and the world. My subject, then, fellow-citizens, is American slavery. I shall see this day and its popular characteristics from the slave's point of view. Standing there identified with the American bondman, making his wrongs mine, I do not hesitate to declare, with all my soul, that the character and conduct of this nation never looked blacker to me than on this th of July! Whether we turn to the declarations of the past, or to the professions of the present, the conduct of the nation seems equally hideous and revolting. America is false to the past, false to the present, and solemnly binds herself to be false to the future. Standing with God and the crushed and bleeding slave on this occasion, I will, in the name of humanity which is outraged, in the name of liberty which is fettered, in the name of the constitution and the Bible which are disregarded and trampled upon, dare to call in question and to denounce, with all the emphasis I can command, everything that serves to perpetuate slavery the great sin and shame of America! I will not equivocate I will not excuse I will use the severest language I can command and yet not one word shall escape me that any man, whose judgment is not blinded by prejudice, or who is not at heart a slaveholder, shall not confess to be right and just. But I fancy I hear some one of my audience say, It is just in this circumstance that you and your brother abolitionists fail to make a favorable impression on the public mind. Would you argue more, an denounce less would you persuade more, and rebuke less your cause would be much more likely to succeed. But, I submit, where all is plain there is nothing to be argued. What point in the anti-slavery creed would you have me argue? On what branch of the subject do the people of this country need light? Must I undertake to prove that the slave is a man? That point is conceded already. Nobody doubts it. The slaveholders themselves acknowledge it in the enactment of laws for their government. They acknowledge it when they punish disobedience on the part of the slave. There are seventy-two crimes in the State of Virginia which, if committed by a black man (no matter how ignorant he be), subject him to the punishment of death while only two of the same crimes will subject a white man to the like punishment. What is this but the acknowledgment that the slave is a moral, intellectual, and responsible being? The manhood of the slave is conceded. It is admitted in the fact that Southern statute books are covered with enactments forbidding, under severe fines and penalties, the teaching of the slave to read or to write. When you can point to any such laws in reference to the beasts of the field, then I may consent to argue the manhood of the slave. When the dogs in your streets, when the fowls of the air, when the cattle on your hills, when the fish of the sea, and the reptiles that crawl, shall be unable to distinguish the slave from a brute, then will I argue with you that the slave is a man! For the present, it is enough to affirm the equal manhood of the Negro race. Is it not astonishing that, while we are ploughing, planting, and reaping, using all kinds of mechanical tools, erecting houses, constructing bridges, building ships, working in metals of brass, iron, copper, silver and gold that, while we are reading, writing and ciphering, acting as clerks, merchants and secretaries, having among us lawyers, doctors, ministers, poets, authors, editors, orators and teachers that, while we are engaged in all manner of enterprises common to other men, digging gold in California, capturing the whale in the Pacific, feeding sheep and cattle on the hill-side, living, moving, acting, thinking, planning, living in families as husbands, wives and children, and, above all, confessing and worshipping the Christian's God, and looking hopefully for life and immortality beyond the grave, we are called upon to prove that we are men! Would you have me argue that man is entitled to liberty? That he is the rightful owner of his own body? You have already declared it. Must I argue the wrongfulness of slavery? Is that a question for Republicans? Is it to be settled by the rules of logic and argumentation, as a matter beset with great difficulty, involving a doubtful application of the principle of justice, hard to be understood? How should I look to-day, in the presence of Americans, dividing, and subdividing a discourse, to show that men have a natural right to freedom? Speaking of it relatively and positively, negatively and affirmatively. To do so, would be to make myself ridiculous, and to offer an insult to your understanding. There is not a man beneath the canopy of heaven that does not know that slavery is wrong for him. What, am I to argue that it is wrong to make men brutes, to rob them of their liberty, to work them without wages, to keep them ignorant of their relations to their fellow men, to beat them with sticks, to flay their flesh with the lash, to load their limbs with irons, to hunt them with dogs, to sell them at auction, to sunder their families, to knock out their teeth, to burn their flesh, to starve them into obedience and submission to their masters? Must I argue that a system thus marked with blood, and stained with pollution, is wrong? No! I will not. I have better employment for my time and strength than such arguments would imply. What, then, remains to be argued? Is it that slavery is not divine that God did not establish it that our doctors of divinity are mistaken? There is blasphemy in the thought. That which is inhuman, cannot be divine! Who can reason on such a proposition? They that can, may I cannot. The time for such argument is passed. At a time like this, scorching irony, not convincing argument, is needed. O! Had I the ability, and could reach the nation's ear, I would, to-day, pour out a fiery stream of biting ridicule, blasting reproach, withering sarcasm, and stern rebuke. For it is not light that is needed, but fire it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake. The feeling of the nation must be quickened the conscience of the nation must be roused the propriety of the nation must be startled the hypocrisy of the nation must be exposed and its crimes against God and man must be proclaimed and denounced. What, to the American slave, is your th of July? I answer a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham your boasted liberty, an unholy license your national greatness, swelling vanity your sounds of rejoicing are empty and heartless your denunciation of tyrants, brass fronted impudence your shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade and solemnity, are, to Him, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy--a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. There is not a nation on the earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody than are the people of the United States, at this very hour. Go where you may, search where you will, roam through all the monarchies and despotisms of the Old World, travel through South America, search out every abuse, and when you have found the last, lay your facts by the side of the everyday practices of this nation, and you will say with me, that, for revolting barbarity and shameless hypocrisy, America reigns without a rival. 
17000365_ComCore_Education_11-12;2;By the s, public schools had been established throughout the United States, During the next fifty years, however, there was a movement toward more schooling for more students. In part, this was a result of the development of public high schools. Although such schools had existed since the early nineteenth century, they began to enroll a significant proportion of young people only at the turn of the century. Inpercent of the nations youth between fourteen and seventeen years of age enrolled in school, a figure that rose by to percent. Reflecting the realization that schooling was an alternative to early employment, the social worker Florence Kelley observed that the most effective compulsory education law was a child labor law. Byall states had some form of compulsory school attendance. At the same time that schooling was being extended upward, it was moving downward to encompass more and more young children. Never constant, the age of school entry declined as kindergartens were being added to an increasing number of school systems. Developed by the Prussian educator Friedrich Froebel, kindergartens were intended to teach children between the ages of thee and seven to work, to cooperate with one another, and to appreciate the spiritual unity of all things. Kindergartens spread rapidly in the United States, Initially operating under private auspices, the first kindergarten that was part of a public school system was opened by Susan Blow in St. Louis, Missouri, in more than four thousand kindergartens were in operation by . Acceptance of the idea of early childhood education programs was encouraged by such influential American educators as the psychologist G. Stanley Hall, who was a critical figure in the child study movement that began in the s, and the psychologist and philosopher John Dewey, whose early writings focused attention on the need to organize schools in harmony with the interests and capacities of children. At a time of significant immigration and heightened concern with urban poverty, early childhood education became a favorite project of many philanthropic organizations and social settlements. 
17000366_ComCore_WhatTheyFought_11-12;2;One of the questions often asked a Civil War historian is, Why did the North fight? Southern motives seem easier to understand. Confederates fought for independence, for their own property and way of life, for their very survival as a nation. But what did the Yankees fight for? Why did they persist through four years of the bloodiest conflict in American history, costingnorthern livesnot to mentionsouthern lives and untold destruction of resources? Puzzling over this question inConfederate War Department clerk John Jones wrote in his diary: Our men must prevail in combat, or lose their property, country, freedom, everything.... On the other hand the enemy, in yielding the contest, may retire into their own country, and possess everything they enjoyed before the war began. If that was true, why did the Yankees keep fighting? We can find much of the answer in Abraham Lincolns notable speeches: the Gettysburg Address, his first and second inaugural addresses, the peroration of his message to Congress on December. But we can find even more of the answer in the wartime letters and diaries of the men who did the fighting. Confederates who said that they fought for the same goals as their forebears of would have been surprised by the intense conviction of the northern soldiers that they were upholding the legacy of the American Revolution. 
17000367_ComCore_AmericasConstitution_11-12;2;Several factors conspired at Philadelphia to produce a precisely proportioned House. The very novelty of the House of Representatives offered a clean slate on which to draft. In individual states, any rationalistic reapportionment proposal had to overcome established usages and entrenched interests of lawmakers and the localities they represented. No comparably entrenched federal apportionment system existed.... The result ... was a clever combination of New World wheels and gadgets. Less than twenty years after the famous American clockmaker David Rittenhouse unveiled his mechanical orrery modeling the precise dimensions of the solar system in motion, the Philadelphia delegates offered their own constitutional clockwork designed to make the American House replicate in miniature the movements of the American people in macro. The proposed machinery of regular elections, regular enumerations, and regular reapportionments based solely on population exemplified eighteenth century innovation at its best. three fifths And also at its worst. Lets begin with two tiny puzzles posed by the Article I command that Representatives and direct Taxes shall be apportioned among the several States... by adding to the whole Number of free Persons... three fifths of all other Persons. First, although this language specified the apportionment formula among the several states, it failed to specify the formula within each state. .... A second small puzzle: why did Article I peg the number of representatives to the underlying number of persons, instead of the underlying number of eligible voters, a la New York? These two small problems, centering on the seemingly innocent words among and Persons quickly spiral out into the most vicious words of the apportionment clause: adding three fifths of all other persons. Other persons here meant other than free persons--that is, slaves. Thus, the more slaves a given states master class bred or bought, the more seats the state could claim in Congress, for every decade in perpetuity. The Philadelphia draftsmen camouflaged this ugly point as best they could, euphemistically avoiding the S-word and simultaneously introducing the T-word--taxes--into the equation (Representatives and direct Taxes shall be apportioned...). The full import of the camouflaged clause eluded many readers in the late s. In the wake of two decades of debate about taxation and burdens under the empire and confederation, many Founding-era Americans confronting the clause focused on taxation rather than on representation. Some Northern critics grumbled that three-fifths should have been five-fifths so as to oblige the South to pay more taxes, without noticing that five-fifths would have also enabled the South to gain more House seats. Modern laypersons and law students confronting the words, three fifths for the first time often suffer a similar confusion, recoiling at the idea of valuing slaves at less than percent. This initial reaction misses the point. The clause did not mean to apportion how much a slave was a person as opposed to chattel. Had this been the question, the antislavery answer in the s would have been to value slaves fully: five-fifths. Yet in the context of House apportionment, a five-fifths formula would not have freed a single slave, or endowed any bondsman with more rights of personhood against his master or the world. Five-fifths would simply have given slave states even more voting power vis-a-vis free states. The precise Article I question concerned Congresss proportions, not the slaves. The principled antislavery answer to this question in was that for legislative apportionment purposes, slaves should be valued not at five-fifths, or even three-fifths, but rather at zero-fifths. 
17000368_ComCore_1776_11-12;2;On Januarytwo weeks into the new year, George Washington wrote one of the most forlorn, despairing letters of his life. He had been suffering sleepless nights in the big house by the Charles. The reflection upon my situation and that of this army produces many an uneasy hour when all around me are wrapped in sleep, he told the absent Joseph Reed. Few people know the predicament we are in. Filling page after page, he enumerated the same troubles and woes he had been reporting persistently to Congress for so long, and that he would report still again to John Hancock that same day. There was too little powder, still no money. (Money was useful in the common affairs of life but in war it was essential, Washington would remind the wealthy Hancock.) So many of the troops who had given up and gone home had, against orders, carried off muskets that were not their own that the supply of arms was depleted to the point where there were not enough for the new recruits. We have not at this time guns in the stores of all that have been taken in the prize ship [the captured British supply ship Nancy], he wrote to Reed. On paper his army numbered betweenand. In reality only half that number where fit for duty. It was because he had been unable to attack Boston that things had come to such a pass, he was convinced, The changing of one army to another in the midst of winter, with the enemy so close at hand, was like nothing, in the pages of history. That the British were so blind to what was going on and the true state of his situation he considered nearly miraculous. He was downcast and feeling quite sorry for himself. Had he known what he was getting into, he told Reed, he would never have accepted the command. 
17000369_ComCore_MirrorWorld_11-12;2;China, Southern India, the Americas, Italy - . Histories such as this have a bias toward progress. The idea that artists are transforming the cultures around them and imagining the previously unimaginable--Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel, for instance--makes for a more exciting story. But if we insist on looking for innovation, we may go against the historical grain. Art cultures always move, but not always in leaps. Westerners are used to thinking that small-scale societies (Aboriginal Australia, for instance) have changed their terms of reference relatively slowly, but the same might be said of the largest of all regional civilizations. Through the th century--as through most of the last two millennia--the world s wealthiest and most populous state was China, then ruled by the Ming dynasty. Far from Beijing, the empire s capital, a landed elite had converged for three centuries around the lakeside city of Souzhou. In this agreeably sophisticated environment, Weng Zhingming was one of hundreds devoting himself to painting scrolls with landscape or plant studies accompanied by poetic inscriptions. It was a high-minded pursuit, in so far as literati like Wen would not (in principle at least) take money for their work. Wen's Seven Junipers [ ] of stands out among the throng of such works on account of its whip-crack dynamism, a wild, irregular rhythm bounding over the length of three and a half metres (twelve feet) of paper. It seems to do things with pictorial space that Western painters would not attempt until the th century. But its force--unlike that of contemporary works by Michelangelo--is by no means a matter of radicalism. Wen, painting the scroll in his sixties, was returning to an image painted by his revered predecessor in Suzhou, Shen Zhou, and looking back beyond Shen to the style of Zhao Mengfu, who had painted around . His accompanying poem, written in admiration of antiquityidentifies the junipers as morally encouraging emblems of resilience as magic witnesses of days gone by . Who knowshe adds wistfully, what is to come hereafter? In other words, the momentum here is one of nostalgia: in the hands of a distinguished exponent in a privileged location in a politically unruffled era, backwards-looking might have a creative force of its own. 
17000370_ComCore_Innumeracy_11-12;2; Archimedes and Practically Infinite Numbers. There is a fundamental property of numbers named after the Greek mathematician Archimedes which states that any number, no matter how huge, can be exceeded by adding together sufficiently many of any smaller number, no matter how tiny. Though obvious in principle, the consequences are sometimes resisted, as they were by the student of mine who maintained that human hair just didn't grow in miles per hour. Unfortunately, the nanoseconds used up in a simple computer operation do add up to lengthy bottlenecks on intractable problems, many of which would require millennia to solve in general. It takes some getting accustomed to the fact that the minuscule times and distances of microphysics as well as the vastness of astronomical phenomena share the dimensions of our human world. It's clear how the above property of numbers led to Archimedes' famous pronouncement that given a fulcrum, a long enough lever, and a place to stand, he alone could physically lift the earth. An awareness of the additivity of small quantities is lacking in innumerates, who don't seem to believe that their little aerosol cans of hairspray could play any role in the depletion of the ozone layer of the atmosphere, or that their individual automobile contributes anything to the problem of acid rain. The pyramids, impressive as they are, were built a stone at a time over a period very much shorter than the five thousand to ten thousand years required to move the-foot Mount Fuji by truck. A similar but more classic calculation of this type was made by Archimedes, who estimated the number of grains of sand needed to fill up the earth and heavens. Though he didn't have exponential notation, he invented something comparable, and his calculations were essentially equivalent to the following. Interpreting the earth and heavens to be a sphere about the earth, we observe that the number of grains of sand needed to fill it depends on the radius of the sphere and the coarseness of the sand. Assuming there are fifteen grains per linear inch, there are x per planar inch and [to the] [rd power] grains per cubic inch. Since there are twelve inches per foot, there are [to the] [rd power] cubic inches per cubic foot and thus [to the] [rd power] x [to the] [rd power] grains per cubic foot. Similarly, there are x xgrains per cubic mile. Since the formula for the volume of a sphere is / x pi x the cube of the radius, the number of grains of sand needed to fill a sphere of radius one trillion miles (approximately Archimedes' estimate) is / x pi x,, x [to the] [rd power] x [to the] [rd power] x. This equals approximately [to the] [th power] grains of sand. There is a sense of power connected with such calculations which is hard to explain but which somehow involves a mental encompassing of the world. A more modern version is the calculation of the approximate number of subatomic bits that would fill up the universe. This number plays the role of practical infinity for computer problems which are solvable but only theoretically. The size of the universe is, to be a little generous, a sphere about billion light-years in diameter. To be even more generous and also to simplify the rough calculation, assume it's a cube billion light-years on a side. Protons and neutrons are about - centimeters in diameter. The Archimedean question computer scientist Donald Knuth poses is how many little cubes - centimeters in diameter ( / the diameter of these nucleons) would fit into the universe. An easy calculation shows the number to be less than [to the] [th power]. Thus, even if a computer the size of the universe had working parts that were smaller than nucleons, it would contain fewer than [to the] [th power] such parts, and thus computations on problems which require more parts wouldn't be possible. Perhaps surprisingly, there are many such problems, some of them quite ordinary and of practical importance. A comparably tiny time unit is the amount of time required for light, which travels atkilometers per second, to traverse the length of one of the above tiny cubes, whose edges are [to the] - [th power] centimeters. Taking the universe to be about billion years old, we determine that fewer than [to the] [nd power] such time units have passed since the beginning of time. Thus, any computer calculation which requires more than [to the] [nd power] steps (each of which is certainly going to require more time than our unit of time) requires more time than the present history of this universe. Again, there are many such problems. Taking a human being to be spherical and about a meter in diameter (assume a person is squatting), we end with some biologically revealing comparisons that are somewhat easier to visualize. The size of a human cell is to that of a person as a person's size s to that of Rhode Island. Likewise, a virus is to a person as a person is to the earth an atom is to a person as a person is to the earth's orbit around the sun and a proton is to a person as a person is to the distance to Alpha Centauri. 
17000371_ComCore_GravityReverse_11-12;2; Sung to the tune of The Times They Are A-Changin' : Come gather 'round, math phobes, Wherever you roam And admit that the cosmos Around you has grown And accept it that soon You won't know what's worth knowin' Until Einstein to you Becomes clearer. So you'd better start listenin' Or you'll drift cold and lone For the cosmos is weird, gettin' weirder. --The Editors (with apologies to Bob Dylan). Cosmology has always been weird. Worlds resting on the backs of turtles, matter and energy coming into existence out of much less than thin air. And now, just when you'd gotten familiar, if hot really comfortable, with the idea of a big bang, along comes something new to worry about. A mysterious and universal pressure pervades all of space and acts against the cosmic gravity that has tried to drag the universe back together ever since the big bang. On top of that, negative gravity has forced the expansion of the universe to accelerate exponentially, and cosmic gravity is losing the tug-of-war. For these and similarly mind-warping ideas in twentieth-century physics, just blame Albert Einstein. Einstein hardly ever set foot in the laboratory he didn't test phenomena or use elaborate equipment. He was a theorist who perfected the thought experiment, in which you engage nature through your imagination, inventing a situation or a model and then working out the consequences of some physical principle. If--as was the case for Einstein--a physicist's model is intended to represent the entire universe, then manipulating the model should be tantamount to manipulating the universe itself. Observers and experimentalists can then go out and look for the phenomena predicted by that model. If the model is flawed, or if the theorists make a mistake in their calculations, the observers will detect a mismatch between the model's predictions and the way things happen in the real universe. That's the first cue to try again, either by adjusting the old model or by creating a new one. One of the most powerful and far-reaching theoretical models ever devised is Einstein's theory of general relativity, published in as The Foundation of the General Theory of Relativity and refined in in Cosmological Considerations in the General Theory of Relativity. Together, the papers outline the relevant mathematical details of how everything in the universe moves under the influence of gravity. Every few years, laboratory scientists devise ever more precise experiments to test the theory, only to extend the envelope of its accuracy. 
17000372_ComCore_Casualties_11-12;2;When U.S. combat deaths in Iraq reached the mark in September, the event captured worldwide attention. Combat deaths are seen as a measure of the magnitude and dangerousness of war, just as murder rates are seen as a measure of the magnitude and dangerousness of violence in our communities. Both, however, are weak proxies. Little recognized is how fundamentally important the medical system is--and not just the enemy's weaponry--in determining whether or not someone dies. U.S. homicide rates, for example, have dropped in recent years to levels unseen since the mid- s. Yet aggravated assaults, particularly with firearms, have more than tripled during that period. The difference appears to be our trauma care system: mortality from gun assaults has fallen from percent in to percent today. We have seen a similar evolution in war. Though firepower has increased, lethality has decreased. In World War II, percent of the Americans injured in combat died. In Vietnam, the proportion dropped to percent. In the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, about percent of those injured have died. At least as many U.S. soldiers have been injured in combat in this war as in the Revolutionary War, the War ofor the first five years of the Vietnam conflict, from through (see table). This can no longer be described as a small or contained conflict. But a far larger proportion of soldiers are surviving their injuries. 
17000373_ComCore_GoogleHacks_11-12;2;Google Web Search Basics. Whenever you search for more than one keyword at a time, a search engine has a default strategy for handling and combining those keywords. Can those words appear individually in a page, or do they have to be right next to each other? Will the engine search for both keywords or for either keyword? Phrase Searches. Google defaults to searching for occurrences of your specified keywords anywhere on the page, whether side-by-side or scattered throughout. To return results of pages containing specifically ordered words, enclose them in quotes, turning your keyword search into a phrase search, to use Google's terminology. On entering a search for the keywords: to be or not to be Google will find matches where the keywords appear anywhere on the page. If you want Google to find you matches where the keywords appear together as a phrase, surround them with quotes, like this: to be or not to be Google will return matches only where those words appear together (not to mention explicitly including stop words such as to and or [...]). Phrase searches are also useful when you want to find a phrase but aren't sure of the exact wording. This is accomplished in combination with wildcards [...]) Basic Boolean. Whether an engine searches for all keywords or any of them depends on what is called its Boolean default. Search engines can default to Boolean AND (searching for all keywords) or Boolean OR (searching for any keywords). Of course, even if a search engine defaults to searching for all keywords, you can usually give it a special command to instruct it to search for any keyword. Lacking specific instructions, the engine falls back on its default setting. Google's Boolean default is AND, which means that, if you enter query words without modifiers, Google will search or all of your query words. For example if you search for: snowblower Honda Green Bay Google will search for all the words. If you prefer to specify that any one word or phrase is acceptable, put an OR between each: snowblower OR Honda OR Green Bay 
17000374_ComCore_MysteriesMass_11-12;2;Physicists are hunting for an elusive particle that would reveal the presence of a new kind of field that permeates all of reality. Finding that Higgs field will give us a more complete understanding about how the universe works. Most people think they know what mass is, but they understand only part of the story. For instance, an elephant is clearly bulkier and weighs more than an ant. Even in the absence of gravity, the elephant would have greater mass--it would be harder to push and set in motion. Obviously the elephant is more massive because it is made of many more atoms than the ant is, but what determines the masses of the individual atoms? What about the elementary particles that make up the atoms--what determines their masses? Indeed, why do they even have mass? We see that the problem of mass has two independent aspects. First, we need to learn how mass arises at all. It turns out mass results from at least three different mechanisms, which I will describe below. A key player in physicists' tentative theories about mass is a new kind of field that permeates all of reality, called the Higgs field. Elementary particle masses are thought to come about from the interaction with the Higgs field. If the Higgs field exists, theory demands that it have an associated particle, the Higgs boson. Using particle accelerators, scientists are now hunting for the Higgs. The second aspect is that scientists want to know why different species of elementary particles have their specific quantities of mass. Their intrinsic masses span at least orders of magnitude, but we do not yet know why that should be so [see illustration on page ]. For comparison, an elephant and the smallest of ants differ by about orders of magnitude of mass. What is mass? Isaac Newton presented the earliest scientific definition of mass in in his landmark Principia: The quantity of matter is the measure of the same, arising from its density and bulk conjointly. That very basic definition was good enough for Newton and other scientists for more than years. They understood that science should proceed first by describing how things work and later by understanding why. In recent years, however, the why of mass has become a research topic in physics. Understanding the meaning and origins of mass will complete and extend the Standard Model of particle physics, the well-established theory that describes the known elementary particles and their interactions. It will also resolve mysteries such as dark matter, which makes up about percent of the universe. The foundation of our modern understanding of mass is far more intricate than Newton's definition and is based on the Standard Model. At the heart of the Standard model is a mathematical function called a Lagrangian, which represents how the various particles interact. From that function, by following rules known as relativistic quantum theory, physicists can calculate the behavior of the elementary particles, including how they come together to form compound particles, such as protons. For both the elementary particles and the compound ones, we can then calculate how they will respond to forces, and for a force F, we can write Newton's equation F = ma, which relates the force, the mass and the resulting acceleration. The Lagrangian tells us what to use for m here, and that is what is meant by the mass of the particle. But mass, as we ordinarily understand it, shows up in more than just F = ma. For example, Einstein's special relativity theory predicts that massless particles in a vacuum travel at the speed of light and that particles with mass travel more slowly, in a way that can be calculated if we know their mass. The laws of gravity predict that gravity acts on mass and energy as well, in a precise manner. The quantity m deduced from the Lagrangian for each particle behaves correctly in all those ways, just as we expect for a given mass. Fundamental particles have an intrinsic mass known as their rest mass (those with zero rest mass are called massless). For a compound particle, the constituents' rest mass and also their kinetic energy of motion and potential energy of interactions contribute to the particle's total mass. Energy and mass are related, as described by Einstein's famous equation, E = mc squared (energy equals mass times the speed of light squared). An example of energy contributing to mass occurs in the most familiar kind of matter in the universe--the protons and neutrons that make up atomic nuclei in stars, planets, people and all that we see. These particles amount to to percent of the mass-energy of the universe. The Standard Model tells us that protons and neutrons are composed of elementary particles called quarks that are bound together by massless particles called gluons. Although the constituents are whirling around inside each proton, from outside we see a proton as a coherent object with an intrinsic mass, which is given by adding up the masses and energies of its constituents. The Standard Model lets us calculate that nearly all the mass of protons and neutrons is from the kinetic energy of their constituent quarks and gluons (the remainder is from the quarks' rest mass). Thus, about to percent of the entire universe--almost all the familiar matter around us--comes from the energy of motion of quarks and gluons in protons and neutrons. 
17000375_ComCore_WorkingKnowledge_11-12;2;Steer Clear. Automakers are offering electronic stability control on more and more passenger vehicles to help prevent them from sliding, veering off the road, or even rolling over. The technology is a product of an ongoing evolution stemming from antilock brakes. When a driver jams the brake pedal too hard, anti-lock hydraulic valves subtract brake pressure at a given wheel so the wheel does not lock up. As these systems proliferated in the s, manufacturers tacked on traction-control valves that help a spinning drive wheel grip the road. For stability control, engineers mounted more hydraulics that can apply pressure to any wheel, even if the driver is not braking. When sensors indicate the car is sliding forward instead of turning or is turning too sharply, the actuators momentarily brake certain wheels to correct the trajectory. Going to electronic stability control was a big step, says Scott Dahl, director of chassis-control strategy at supplier Robert Bosch in Farmington Hills, Michigan. We had to add sensors that can determine what the driver intends to do and compare that with what the car is actually doing. Most systems also petition the engine-control computer to reduce engine torque to dampen wayward movement. 
17000376_ComCore_ComingMerger_11-12;2;The accelerating pace of technological progress means that our intelligent creations will soon eclipse us--and that their creations will eventually eclipse them. Sometime early in this century the intelligence of machines will exceed that of humans. Within a quarter of a century, machines will exhibit the full range of human intellect, emotions and skills, ranging from musical and other creative aptitudes to physical movement. They will claim to have feelings and, unlike today's virtual personalities, will be very convincing when they tell us so. By around a $computer will at least match the processing power of the human brain. By the software for intelligence will have been largely mastered, and the average personal computer will be equivalent tobrains. Once computers achieve a level of intelligence comparable to that of humans, they will necessarily soar past it. For example, if I learn French, I can't readily download that learning to you. The reason is that for us, learning involves successions of stunningly complex patterns of interconnections among brain cells (neurons) and among the concentrations of biochemicals known as neurotransmitters that enable impulses to travel from neuron to neuron. We have no way of quickly downloading these patterns. But quick downloading will allow our nonbiological creations to share immediately what they learn with billions of other machines. Ultimately, nonbiological entities will master not only the sum total of their own knowledge but all of ours as well. As this happens, there will no longer be a clear distinction between human and machine. We are already putting computers--neural implants--directly into people's brains to counteract Parkinson's disease and tremors from multiple sclerosis. We have cochlear implants that restore hearing. A retinal implant is being developed in the U.S. that is intended to provide at least some visual perception for some blind individuals, basically by replacing certain visual-processing circuits of the brain. A team of scientists at Emory University implanted a chip in the brain of a paralyzed stroke victim that allowed him to use his brainpower to move a cursor across a computer screen. In the s neural implants will improve our sensory experiences, memory and thinking. Byinstead of just phoning a friend, you will be able to meet in, say, a virtual Mozambican game preserve that will seem compellingly real. You will be able to have any type of experience--business, social, sexual--with anyone, real or simulated, regardless of physical proximity. 
17000377_ComCore_UntanglingRoots_11-12;2;Recent evidence challenges long-held theories of how cells turn malignant--and suggests new ways to stop tumors before they spread. What causes cancer? Tobacco smoke, most people would say. Probably too much alcohol, sunshine or grilled meat infection with cervical papillomaviruses asbestos. All have strong links to cancer, certainly. But they cannot be root causes. Much of the population is exposed to these carcinogens, yet only a tiny minority suffers dangerous tumors as a consequence. A cause, by definition, leads invariably to its effect. The immediate cause of cancer must be some combination of insults and accidents that induces normal cells in a healthy human body to turn malignant, growing like weeds and sprouting in unnatural places. At this level, the cause of cancer is not entirely a mystery. In fact, a decade ago many geneticists were confident that science was homing in on a final answer: cancer is the result of cumulative mutations that alter specific locations in a cell's DNA and thus change the particular proteins encoded by cancer-related genes at those spots. The mutations affect two kinds of cancer genes. The first are called tumor suppressors. They normally restrain cells' ability to divide, and mutations permanently disable the genes. The second variety, known as oncogenes, stimulate growth--in other words, cell division. Mutations lock oncogenes into an active state. Some researchers still take it as axiomatic that such growth-promoting changes to a small number of cancer genes are the initial event and root cause of every human cancer. For the past few years, however, prominent oncologists have increasingly challenged that theory. No one questions that cancer is ultimately a disease of the DNA. But as biologists trace tumors to their roots, they have discovered many other abnormalities at work inside the nuclei of cells that, though not yet cancerous, are headed that way. Whole chromosomes, each containingor more genes, are often lost or duplicated. Pieces of chromosomes are frequently scrambled, truncated or fused together. Chemical additions to the DNA, or to the histone proteins around which it coils, somehow silence important genes, but in a reversible process quite different from mutation. And scans of the genomes of malignant cells within tumors have found that they typically harbor myriad rare mutations rather than a handful of common generic alterations. The accumulating evidence has spawned new hypotheses that compete with the standard dogma to explain what changes come first and which aberrations matter most in the decadelong transformation of a cell and its descendants from well-behaved tissue to invasive tumor. The challengers dispute the dominant view of the disease as the product of a defined genetic state. They argue that it is more useful to think of cancer as the consequence of a chaotic process, a combination of Murphy's Law and Darwin's Law: anything that can go wrong will, and in a competitive environment, the most prolific variants will dominate. Despite that shared underlying principle, the new theories make different predictions about what kind of treatments will work best. Some suggest that many cancers could be prevented altogether by better screening, changes in diet, and new drugs--or even by old drugs, such as aspirin. Other theories cast doubt on that hope. 