The Wonderful World of Hobo Nickels

Recently I encountered a phenomenon that had, until now, totally escaped my notice — the world of Hobo Nickels. Once you know to look for them, you can find a plethora of websites dedicated to the collecting of these fascinating objects.

In brief, a Hobo Nickel is a coin that has been re-engraved, carved, or augmented on one or both sides. This, in effect, defaces the coin, making it no longer legal tender, but turns the object into a miniature sculpture often given as a keepsake.  The practice was popular as early as 1750, primarily in Britain, France and South Africa.

From Wikipedia:

“The art form made its way to the Americas in the 1850s, where the most common form of coin alteration was the “potty coin”, engraved on United States Seated Liberty coinage (half dime through trade dollar) and modifying Liberty into a figure sitting on a chamber pot. This time period was also the heyday of the love token, which was made by machine-smoothing a coin (usually silver) on one or both sides, then engraving it with initials, monograms, names, scenes, etc., often with an ornate border. Hundreds of thousands of coins were altered in this manner. They were often mounted on pins or incorporated into bracelets and necklaces. ”

The practice eventually expanded to include many different images.   Vintage carvings typically looked a lot like these:

 

There seems to be a thriving collectors’ community for Hobo Nickels, both the vintage coins and new works being done today.  There is a faithful community of artists producing the miniature bas-reliefs, and some works sell for many thousands of dollars.

Here are some modern examples:

It’s a fascinating world. If you’re interested, you can read more about Hobo Nickels at http://www.hobonickels.org/graphics/tri_fold.pdf  or  http://www.hobonickels.org/what_is.html

 

The other end of the art spectrum

On our way out of the Guillermo del Toro exhibit at the Minneapolis Art Institute, we stumbled across this installation.  It’s a project by local artist Alison Hiltner, in which she cultivates bags of spirolina algae.

The Minneapolis StarTribune describes the presentation:

“A total of 56 teardrop-shaped sacs, heavy with a multihued soup of green, are suspended in groups of four from a canopy of metal racks. Each sac is warmed by a utility lamp and connected to black tubing, tangled overhead like sinister vines. The tubes connect to a hydroponic pump that serves to aerate the algae. But this does not occur unless gallerygoers breathe into a CO² sensor, which triggers an Arduino microcontroller to actuate a series of power switches that run the pump.”

Kind of a cool concept.  The room gurgles, bubbles and wheezes as the algae breathes in CO2 and breaths out O2.  It’s a stark contrast to the spectacular detail and polish of the del Toro exhibit, but no less impressive in its way.

Twin Cities Artist – Kater the Alchemist

In the news recently, we find Kater the Alchemist, natal name and identity unknown.  Starting as a graffiti artist, he has his first one-day gallery show  “Nightmare on Kater St.” this coming Saturday, October 29, from  5-10 p.m. at the Riverview Business Plaza, 320 Chester St., St. Paul  MN.

Hue asked if I thought this was worthy art.  My response:  “Oh, yes.  Extremely worthy art.”  See pictures and read about the artist here and here.  Then go see the show.

kater4  kater1

Power, Prestige and Profit: The Wells Fargo Debacle

stumpf-million

By now, we’ve all heard about the recent trouble at Wells Fargo:

  • 5300 employees fired for creating two million unauthorized customer accounts since 2011.
  • The customers affected charged millions in fees against the illicit accounts opened in their names.
  • John Stumpf, Chairman & CEO of Wells Fargo, fired effective immediately with no additional severance package.
  • Stumpf to forfeit $41 million in unvested stock options, one of the largest bonus clawbacks in history according to the Wall Street Journal.  (Note:  He’s only forfeiting options that have no current value.  He keeps his vested options in the amount of $134 million previously paid as bonuses.)
  • Wells Fargo fined $185 million for their actions (which, incidentally, isn’t that much for a company that reported a net income of $22.9 BILLION in 2015.)
  • New CEO Tim Sloan promises to reform bank practices.  Whatever that means.

Pardon me if I don’t put too much faith in his promise of reforms.

Here’s the thing: I worked for Wells Fargo for 19 years,  In that time I witnessed the bank, first as Norwest, later as Wells Fargo (and then as Wachovia in all but name) evolve from a bank that was…well… a bank, offering checking, savings and loan accounts to private citizens and businesses, into a retail store, selling financial products.  By the end of my tenure at Wells, if you were a banker, teller, broker, financial advisor, loan officer or manager for the bank , your yearly bonus (if any), performance rating, opportunity for advancement, and salary were directly tied to how many financial products you sold each quarter.

The standard as stated by Wells Fargo was to sell eight separate financial products to each customer that walked through the door. If your customer had less than eight Wells Fargo products (things like Investment banking, securities, private, commercial and student loans, asset management, retirement products, health savings accounts, etc.) then as a good salesperson, you were expected to get them “up to speed”.  In fact, your job depended on it.  So much so, that many Wells Fargo “store” associates felt the need to game the system in order to meet their quarterly sales goals.

And the Wells Fargo powers-that-be have known for years that there was a problem. A problem large enough that every employee in every division in Wells had to take the same “Ethics” training course every year– a course where it was explained in detail how to game the system and how doing so would be wrong.  It was an online how-to for making those sales goals, with the caveat that if you were caught, you’d be fired.  If you were caught in a public manner, it would also mean loss of reputation for the bank, possible federal fines and loss of bank charter, lower stock prices, and so on.  You know… all those things that the bank really cares about…  Profit.  Net worth.  Stock price.  Power.  Prestige.

Thankfully, I spent the last 11 years in the Technology Division at Wells, so my desk was somewhat sheltered from the “sell, sell, sell” mentality. I helped develop the financial products that our bankers were supposed to push.  “Wealth Management” is still a phrase that makes my teeth itch.  I saw firsthand what the real goal of the bank was:  not to help the average citizen realize his or her financial goals, but to enhance the power, prestige and net worth of those in charge, at the expense of the drones on the bottom of the heap.  Because when it comes right down to it, offering up as scapegoat  5300 drones and one CEO is not too great a price to pay to ensure that the power, prestige and profit endure.  That’s business, right?

Yeah, that’s business. But it’s not right.

Banking used to be a service, as in “Financial Services”. They used to offer a safe place for the individual to house their money, so that it wouldn’t be stolen.  And while banks were keeping all our money “safe”, they were allowed to use it.  Often times, they’d offer interest as an incentive for being allowed to use our money.

In time, the bank came to regard those deposits as the bank’s money. The bank’s profits. The bank’s success.  And by extension, the officers of the bank shared in that success in very tangible ways.  The bank became the entity, with people working for the bank, instead of the bank working for its people.

And so we come to now, where the dreadnought that is Wells Fargo, in pursuit of ever-increasing profits, rolls over anyone in its way: its own employees, its leadership, its investors.

Until Wells Fargo abandons its greed and returns to a Service model, nothing will change.

Banking and Retail Sales do not mix.

 

 

Sometimes you just get lucky

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I always feel like I’ve been given a gift when the perennial hibiscus blooms.

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Dinner plate-sized blooms make for an impressive show.

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 Each bloom only lasts a day, so you have to look fast or you’ll miss them.

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But it’s totally worth it.

 

Enough is enough

Philando Castile: You know, we tell ourselves that we’re better than this. That stuff like this only happens in North Minneapolis or Chicago or LA.

Hue and I stood on the sidewalk at Larpenteur and Snelling last night watching the flashing lights of seven police cars, ambulance and fire truck. An officer with a high-power rifle turned cars back that wanted to drive west on Larpenteur. Another officer kept onlookers at bay. We saw no sign of a traffic accident or natural disaster, and from a block away, we speculated with the other bystanders as to what had happened.

What had happened was that yet another person of color was killed by police. In our quiet little neighborhood. Where police are still seen as being courteous and helpful. Well… were, maybe.

At first report, it seems that Castile, his companion and her child had been pulled over for a broken taillight. He informed the officers that he had a concealed carry license, and that he was reaching for his wallet to get out his license. And then he was shot. Four times. His companion started filming the scene just after he was shot. We don’t see what happened leading up to the shooting, but we hear the aftermath in stark detail. Castile died later that night.

I can speculate a lot of what-ifs, but what does that really get us? But I can say this with utter certainty: THIS HAS TO STOP. Right here, right now. If that means a total ban on firearms in the US, I’m all for that. No handguns, no rifles, no shotguns. No firearms. Period. None for the police. None for the general populace. None for game hunters. At least then, we all have a fighting chance of staying alive long enough to resolve our differences with nonlethal force.

I know a lot of folks reading this will vehemently disagree, stating that it’s their right to own firearms. To that, I can only say: sometimes, we have to impose limits for the common good. That’s how a society works. That’s what making and enforcing laws are all about. If you no longer get to go out to the range or into the woods to fire your weapons, well, too bad for you. Find another hobby that doesn’t endanger yourselves and everyone around you. And that goes for law enforcement, too. No guns. Find another way to do your job that doesn’t involve shooting first, then never asking questions later.

We don’t need or want this kind of “law enforcement”.  We’re better than this.

And incidentally, exactly what law was being enforced here? Is a broken taillight worth a man’s life? I’m sure more of the story will be heard, but at the moment, I see an innocent person displaying a lethal weapon that he had no intention of using, and an officer too scared to assess the situation before using lethal force. Erase the guns from the mix, and we’re left with a $75 ticket and four people whose lives have not just been ruined.

Enough is enough.

Doggerel for Spring

Dawn

Two squirrels play a game of catch me in the branches of the maple tree.
Exulting in the suppleness of their bodies,
they leap from branch to branch,
catching the tips of twigs too slender to support squirrel weight.
Slim branches sag under sudden load,
then spring back as squirrel hands release
to catch another twig just as reedy as the first.

The sky brightens, shading from indigo to grey,
through mauve to petal pink, then effervescent golden-bright.
The leaves on the trees glow
emerald and chartreuse, viridian and honey gold,
punctuated by the black and grey of fluid trunk and crisscrossing branch.
Birdsong fills the air, as if they who sing
can hardly contain the aria that spills from them.

And through the cacophony of rustling leaf and dancing squirrel feet,
avians’ exultant call and response, the inhalation of the waking day,
still, there is a quiet in the air, a wholesome silence, a completeness.
As if, in this moment, as all is calm and still and bright,
we are all remade, perfect and unbroken, pure and replete.
And for one precious instant, we are whole.

– D.J. White

Doggerel 5

Here’s a piece of blank verse for a rainy day:

When All the World Is Grey…

When all the world’s comprised of shades of grey
you learn to see the beauty in the differing tones;
the infinite variety of muted hue and subtle shadow,
the cleverness of light against dark,
and myriad shadings in-between.

When the earth is the grey of a winter sky,
you’re compelled to see the charm in a cozy room.
Cloud-washed walls reflect the dappled light of a leaden landscape,
as blue-white snow blankets ashy, bare-branched trees
that grow like gateposts beside a black ribbon of highway
stretching to the horizon.

When the sky holds the grey of a summer rain,
you’re allowed to feel the healing
of nature’s softly falling tears;
tears warm and wet, washing clean the dirt and sorrow and regret
of a thousand missed opportunities, a hundred misunderstandings,
and a world full of misapprehension and fear.

When all the world is grey,
you begin to see the color living deep within the tones;
the subtle blues of steel and smoke,
the effervescence of opal, pearl and nacreous shell,
the hard-edged spark of silver,
and the warmth of dusty lilac, mauve and taupe.

When all the world is grey.

–D.J. White

Doggerel 4

AND NOW, some really bad and rather pointless limericks, for your edification!  Although I must say, because of it’s rigidity in metre and rhyme pattern, the limerick as a poetry form is actually pretty hard to write.  So here goes:

 

Limericks

While painting a dreary landscape,
Van Gogh dreamt of a wild escape.
He said, “I can’t abide
one more pallid hillside,
give me color, perspective and shape.”

The Chapel at Kensington’s vicar
helped himself to the sacristy’s liquor.
He fell down in a swoon
in the ladies rest room
and awoke missing gaiters and knickers.
(This is too obvious. Someone has to have already written it.)

While walking alone by the highway,
a gentleman asked, “Going my way?”
I spitefully said,
“Not unless I was dead.
If you have to be going, then why wait?”

While stalled in the K-Mart express lane
I read candy wrappers to stay sane.
I noticed a trend:
That the more that you spend
the louder your checkbook complains. (Stands to reason)

The songbirds in May start to sing
and, so, herald the coming of spring.
The flowers rejoice
when the frogs find their voice,
and the doves and the eagles take wing.

Once spied by marauding fruit fairies,
my beautiful tree full of cherries
was stripped wholly bare
of all fruit that was there.
Then the sprites went off searching for berries.

— D.J. White

Your 7 Minutes and 47 Seconds of Zen

About 10 years ago, I dabbled in the world of art patronage.  This is a piece I commissioned for the Rose Ensemble.  It was written by local composer J. David Moore, with text by Sr. Juana Inez de la Cruz, a 17th-century Mexican nun.  In the Mexican Baroque style, a piece for 12 voices, viola da gamba and vihuela de mano, I give you A BELÉN:

Musical interlude – more

The Rose Ensemble does a wide variety of early music from diverse cultures and eras.  If you liked the selection below, here’s more of their work that’s nothing at all like the previous post.  The second frame has a whole playlist of their early American music (Hey! They even sing in English!):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMfepresjmw

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GQV9Qy0iVV0&index=11&list=PLhPtp_Ezpp1OcGNjQIsk5bPUU12pzIKeI

Doggerel 3- Another Song About Shadows & Trees

Amidst the shadows and the trees,
within the shelter of the leaves,
deep in the wood, where no one sees,
they dwell.
Among the shadows on the ground
it’s perfect to be small and brown;
overlooked and unrenowned,
and safe.
They play in warm, green, dappled light,
then steal away when comes the night,
and hide themselves from mortal sight
‘til dawn.
Under the birdsong and the dew,
around the branches of the yew,
they come again when day renews
once more.
Amidst the shadows and the trees,
within the shelter of the leaves,
the small, brown folk do as they please
this day.
— D.J. White

Doggerel 1- The Handsome Maid

The Handsome Maid
 .
There once was a maid so exciting
that all of the boys fell to fighting
to see who would be
the one she’d chance to see
when she gazed out her door in her nightie.
                                       (which she did every night.)
 .
The fetching young maid, fair and buxom,
went to her back door, as was custom,
to gather a basket
of produce, a task that
had been hers since she was a young’un.
                                      (not having a younger sibling to fob the task off on.)
.
As soon as she stepped out she spied him—
a lad fair and trim, and beside him,
his lovely twin sister
who’d come with him unasked for
because she thought she’d better guide him.
                                      (he being a bit simple-minded, you see.)
 .
The handsome young maid said politely
“Is it you who’s been visiting nightly?
I’ve ne’er seen another
so fair; be my lover,
and together forever we might be.”
                                      (kinda fast, but that’s the way it is in ballads.)
 .
So she took the hand of the twin sister
and deeply and tenderly kissed her.
They lived happy together
for ever and ever
and all of the boys sorely missed her.
                                      (a nice twist, don’t you think?)
  .
— D.J. White