Rebecca Black’s Thursday

This morning I learned from NPR that Rebecca Black has an album coming out today. Thanks, NPR.

In 2011, as a moderator for the East-Central Illinois Cultural Studies Association Conference’s Music-as-Culture Division’s Pop Music section, I issued an call for papers on Rebecca Black’s “Friday.” I enjoyed rereading the titles of the submissions this Thursday. My favorite: “Notes Toward a Supreme Weekend: The Suburban Sublime in ‘Friday.’”

[The E-CICSAC was, of course, imaginary.]

Ronald Blythe (1922–2022)

Author of Akenfield: Portrait of an English Village. The New York Times has an obituary.

Related posts
Eight excerpts from Akenfield

EXchange names on screen

Philip Raven (Alan Ladd) consults a telephone directory.

[This Gun for Hire (dir. Frank Tuttle, 1942). Click for a larger view.]

In the remake, Kyle Niles (Robert Ivers) gets to consult one too.

[Shortcut to Hell (dir. James Cagney, 1957). Click for a larger view.]

More telephone EXchange names on screen
Act of Violence : The Amazing Dr. Clitterhouse : Armored Car Robbery : Baby Face : Black Angel : Black Widow : Blast of Silence : The Blue Dahlia : Blue Gardenia : Boardwalk Empire : Born Yesterday : The Brasher Doubloon : The Brothers Rico : The Case Against Brooklyn : Chinatown : Craig’s Wife : Danger Zone : The Dark Corner : The Dark Corner (again) : Dark Passage : Deception : Deux hommes dans Manhattan : Dial Red 0 : Dick Tracy’s Deception : Down Three Dark Streets : Dream House : East Side, West Side : Escape in the Fog : Fallen Angel : Framed : Hollywood Story : Kiss of Death : The Little Giant : Loophole : The Man Who Cheated Himself : Mr. District Attorney : Modern Marvels : Murder by Contract : Murder, My Sweet : My Week with Marilyn : Naked City (1) : Naked City (2) : Naked City (3) : Naked City (4) : Naked City (5) : Naked City (6) : Naked City (7) : Naked City (8) : Naked City (9) : Nightfall : Nightmare Alley : Nocturne : Old Acquaintance : Out of the Past : Perry Mason : Pitfall : The Public Enemy : Railroaded! : Red Light : She Played with Fire : Side Street : The Slender Thread : Slightly Scarlet : Stage Fright : Sweet Smell of Success (1) : Sweet Smell of Success (2) : Tension : Till the End of Time : This Gun for Hire : The Unfaithful : Vice Squad : Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?

Twelve movies

[One to four stars. Four sentences each. No spoilers. Sources: Criterion Channel, TCM, YouTube.]

Shortcut to Hell (dir. James Cagney, 1957). James Cagney’s lone effort as a director stars Robert Ivers as hitman Kyle Niles and Georgann Johnson as Glory Hamilton, an upbeat, jokey nightclub singer. As I watched, I kept thinking that Jacques Aubuchon was channeling Laird Cregar, and it’s no wonder: the movie is a remake of This Gun for Hire, itself adapted from Graham Greene’s A Gun for Sale. Many scenes come straight from the original movie; Cagney’s hand might be most evident in Niles’s White Heat-like agony. Best line: “I’m not a person; I’m a gun.” ★★ (YT)

*

This Gun for Hire (dir. Frank Tuttle, 1942). Far superior to the remake. Alan Ladd as the hitman Philip Raven and Veronica Lake as singer-magician Ellen Graham pair well: unlike Glory, Ellen is a cool customer, devoid of Martha Raye-like comedy. As nightclub owner Willard Gates, Laird Cregar adds an oily, minty, villainous charm to the proceedings. Lake gets first billing; Robert Preston, as Ellen’s police-lieutenant boyfriend, second; but the real star, always, is Ladd, as a short vicious ailurophile. ★★★★ (CC)

*

From the Criterion Channel’s Mike Leigh at the BBC

Nuts in May (1976). A BBC Play for Today, and a remake (who knew?) of a 1953 television movie with the same title, a title shared with an unrelated 1917 Stan Laurel short — which is strange, because I thought of this movie as Laurel-and-Hardy-go-camping, if Laurel and Hardy were straight, insufferable, banjo-and-guitar-playing, lacto-vegetarian prigs. Roger Sloman and Alison Steadman are the prigs, Keith and Candice Marie, whose ten-day camping trip to the countryside is made miserable by nearby campers who have no respect for The Country Code. Quietly and sometimes loudly hilarious. Just wait for the songs. ★★★★

The Kiss of Death (1977). Another Play for the Day, it’s the story of a young mortuary assistant, Trevor (David Threlfall), his friend Ronnie, his friend’s girlfriend Sandra, and Sandra’s friend Linda (Kay Adshead), a shoestore employee who may prove a suitable girlfriend for Trevor. Ronnie and Sandra seem to be emotional blanks, figures from The Waste Land. Trevor is an enigma: when the more talkative Linda asks him about the possibility of a kiss, he giggles uncontrollably — yet he’s astonishingly capable when taking on matters of life and death. We’re meant, I think, to understand that Trevor’s daily intimacy with the dead has deeply affected him, but I’m not sure that the movie helps us to understand why giggles are the result. ★★★

*

Loan Shark (dir. Seymour Friedman, 1952). Impossibly ludicrous: just-released ex-con Joe Gargen (George Raft) joins up with the loansharking crew that just killed his brother-in-law; and thus Joe’s sister and his girlfriend, who don’t know that he’s really working undercover, turn their backs on him. Paul Stewart is menacing and has a good scene in a commercial laundry taken over by the sharks. But Raft, is as usual, wooden. Give him any line — “April is the cruellest month,” “My pants are on fire,” “Yabba dabba doo” — and it will come out in the same affectless tone. ★★ (YT)

*

I Accuse! (dir. José Ferrer, 1958). The Dreyfus affair, with Ferrer giving a great performance as the protagonist. Impossible to watch without thinking about McCarthyism — accusations without merit, lives ruined. The really chilling part: nothing Albert Dreyfus can say or do is enough to establish his innocence; everything depends some other person choosing (finally) to do the right thing. A superior effort, with a screenplay by Gore Vidal. ★★★★ (TCM)

*

Edge of Darkness (dir. Lewis Milestone, 1943). Warner Brothers at its finest, in a story told in one long flashback, as a Norwegian fishing village under Nazi occupation awaits a shipment of British arms and a chance to fight back. Impossible to watch without thinking about Ukraine. With Errol Flynn, Ann Sheridan, and Walter Huston. Great cinematography by Sid Hickox, with scenes of combat that recall the director’s All Quiet on the Western Front. ★★★★ (TCM)

*

The Life of Jimmy Dolan (dir. Archie Mayo, 1933). Prizefighter Jimmy Dolan (Douglas Fairbanks Jr.) kills a nasty newspaper man with one punch and flees the city, ending up way out west at a ranch for children with polio, where he assumes the name Jack Dougherty and meets caregiver Peggy (Loretta Young). When the ranch needs money to remain open, Jack decides to enter a boxing contest, even at the risk of being recognized. With Guy Kibbee, Allen Hoskins, Aline MacMahon, Mickey Rooney, and John Wayne. Try to figure out what marks the movie as pre-Code. ★★★ (TCM)

*

They Made Me a Criminal (dir. Busby Berkeley, 1939). A remake, with John Garfield as the fighter (now Johnnie Bradfield), Gloria Dickson as Peggy, and Claude Rains as Guy Kibbee. But much screentime goes to the Dead End Kids (reform-school alums): Gabriel Dell, Leo Gorcey, Huntz Hall, Billy Halop, Bobby Jordan, Bernard Punsly. The love story is weaker than in the original; the scene in the water-storage tank is harrowing. Try to figure out what marks the movie as post-Code. ★★★ (YT)

*

The Little Foxes (dir. William Wyler, 1941). From Lillian Hellman’s play, with a screenplay mostly by Hellman. Greed and schemes in a southern family, circa 1900, with Regina Hubbard Giddens (Bette Davis), an ailing husband (Herbert Marshall), two wealthier brothers (Ben Hubbard and Carl Benton Reid), a daughter who serves as witness to the family’s dysfunction (Teresa Wright), a drunken sister-in-law (Patricia Collinge), a callow nephew (Dan Duryea), and a host of loyal Black servants. Not my kind of movie, but it’s full of great performances: the scene with Mr. and Mrs. Giddens in the sitting room is chilling. Gregg Toland’s cinematography is, as always, brilliant: consider the shaving scene. ★★★★ (TCM)

*

The Hoodlum (dir. Max Nosseck, 1951). You can see it coming: if the movie stars Lawrence Tierney (as felon Vincent Lubeck) and begins with his character’s mother (Lisa Golm) successfully pleading for his parole, things are not going to end well. Vincent is a psychopath: no sooner is he released than he betrays family members and begins scheming an armored-car robbery. Not especially surprising or even suspenseful, but Lisa Golm shines briefly when she recounts her son’s destruction of his family. Best line: “You took your Papa’s name and burned a number on his heart: one nine nine four three six.” ★★★ (YT)

*

Crime and Punishment U.S.A. (dir. Denis Sanders, 1959). The third adaptation of Dostoevsky our household has seen (after Crime and Punishment (1935) and Fear (1946)), and by far the best. George Hamilton — yes, really — is our Raskolnikov, Robert Cole, a Los Angeles college student; Frank Silvera (Killer’s Kiss) is the Porfiry-like Lieutenant Porter, Cole’s nemesis; Mary Murphy (The Wild One) is the Sonya-like Sally. Walter Newman’s screenplay is a brilliant paring down of the novel: Cole’s mother, sister, and best friend are nearly absent; his sister’s employer and suitor are collapsed into one person; emphasis thus falls on the three principals. I have to admit: I preferred this adaptation to the novel itself. ★★★★ (TCM)

Related reading
All OCA “twelve movies” posts (Pinboard)

IPS e-mail scam

[Click for a larger, scammier view.]

Really? Well, we’re always ordering things. And Elaine had just talked about Ryvita, which now can only be had from the UK — or is it from Ireland? I clicked on the tracking number, saw something odd in the browser’s address bar, and immediately closed the tab. No harm done.

Had I looked just a little more closely, I would have realized that I was looking at a scam e-mail. Notice the logo: IPS, not UPS. There are various shipping enterprises with the initials IPS, some more reliable than others, but they have their own logos. Notice too the stilted phrasing: “We are here to inform you.” And the clumsy syntax at the bottom:

click here for requesting to stop receive future email messages Or write us to, &c.

Had I bothered to check the sender’s e-mail address, hiding behind “UPS,” I would have seen numerical gibberish, and I would have known scam. Had I seen the large block of textual gibberish hiding behind the message’s images, I would have known scam. I should have known scam anyway: enough evidence was right in front of me.

Don’t get fooled.

*

Obvious afterthought: Had I not been reading this e-mail on a phone, I almost certainly would have noticed the fine print and clumsy syntax.

[This scam was publicized last year on reddit.]

Edwin who?

One more try, and I’m done. What can ChatGPT tell us about Edwin Mullhouse, of Steven Millhauser’s novel Edwin Mullhouse: The Life and Death of an American Writer 1943–1954, by Jeffrey Cartwright ? Presented without comment:

Edwin Mullhouse is the main character in the novel “The Breakthrough” by American author Jonathan Safran Foer. Edwin is an 11-year-old boy who dies suddenly and is remembered by his best friend, Jeffrey Eugenides, who recounts Edwin’s life in a fictional memoir. The novel explores themes of memory, childhood, and loss, as Jeffrey tries to piece together Edwin’s life and personality. “The Breakthrough” is a coming-of-age story that blends elements of fiction and non-fiction, and is widely regarded as one of Foer’s most notable works.

Related posts
A 100-word blog post generated by ChatGPT : I’m sorry too, ChatGPT : Spot the bot : Teachers and chatbots : Imaginary lines from real poems : ChatGPT writes about Lillian Mountweazel : Rob Zseleczky on computer-generated poetry : ChatGPT’s twenty-line poems

Arnold Hasselstrom

Arnold Hasselstrom is a troubled boy.

Steven Millhauser, Edwin Mullhouse: The Life and Death of an American Writer 1943–1954, by Jeffrey Cartwright (1972).

Arnold (though not the Arnold of this passage) reminds me of a kid from my Brooklyn elementary school days. I knew him only by his name and reputation. He stuck out his leg and tripped me one day when I was running home from school for lunch, excited about something. “Don’t run,” he said. I went flying. On some other day, he climbed the exterior walls of the school to the narrow pitched roof of the long multi-story corridor that joined the two large parts of the school building. He was four very tall stories up. The fire department had to come to get him down.

You can see the corridor in this Google Maps photograph.

Related reading
All OCA Steven Millhauser posts (Pinboard)

ChatGPT’s twenty-line poems

I asked ChatGPT to produce twenty-line poems in the styles of major American poets. A number of tentative conclusions: ChatGPT has difficulty distinguishing “in the style of” from a hazy idea of subject matter. And ChatGPT assumes that almost all poets write in quatrains of iambic tetrameter, with clumsy rhymes and inspirational messages. At times I was reminded of the calypso section of John Ashbery’s “Variations, Calypso and Fugue on a Theme of Ella Wheeler Wilcox”:

Gazing at the Alps was quite a sight
I felt the tears flow forth with all their might

A climb to the Acropolis meant a lot to me
I had read the Greek philosophers you see

Here are the exhibits. Chat GPT didn’t provide titles for its poems. You may provide a laugh track.

With Emily Dickinson, Chat GPT appeared unable to distinguish “in the style of” from “about”:

A life of simplicity,
With words that cut like knife,
Her thoughts, so deep and true,
Still echo through the time.

Her spirit, wild and free,
Her verse, a mystery,
A world of insight and power,
A soul that feels no cower.

A heart that knew true pain,
A mind that sought refuge in verse,
A voice that spoke of love, loss,
And truths that we still traverse.

Her quill, a tool of grace,
Her words, a healing place,
For those who seek a meaning,
Her legacy, still gleaming.

So let us raise a glass,
To Emily, our guiding star,
Whose words still touch our hearts,
And will forever be a part.

ChatGPT has a little information about Gertrude Stein:

Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose,
A simple statement that everyone knows,
It’s a symbol of beauty and grace,
A color that brings a smile to our face.

But words and their meanings are complex,
And the truth of what we say is often vexed,
So we repeat and repeat with care,
To make sure the meaning is always there.

And Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose,
A reminder of all that nature bestows,
A symbol of life, and its constant flow,
Of growth and renewal, in rain or in snow.

So we hold tight to the words we say,
And the truth that they hold, every day,
For Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose,
And its meaning will never, ever, go.

Wallace Stevens GPT exhorts us to cherish and bask in beauty:

The world is a dream, a mirage of hue,
A dance of shadows, a play of light and dew.
Its beauty lies in the eye of the beholder,
A kaleidoscope of colors, forever bolder.

The sky is a canvas, a masterpiece of blue,
The clouds, a symphony, a chorus of hues.
The trees sway in the breeze, like an endless show,
A gentle rhythm, a song of life that flows.

The stars shine like diamonds, in the endless night,
A constellation of wonders, so distant, so bright.
The moon is a mystery, a story untold,
A whisper of secrets, that forever unfold.

So let us embrace this world with open hearts,
With grace and wonder, with joy and art.
Let us cherish its beauty, its mystery and might,
And bask in its splendor, till the end of light.

ChatGPT has enough information about William Carlos Williams to produce a poem about a red wheelbarrow while avoiding meter and rhyme. But that’s about all it has:

The red wheelbarrow
Glazed with rainwater
beside the white chickens.
A simple thing,
yet so much depends
on its functional grace.
The tool of the farmer,
carrying weight with ease,
rolling through fields of green.
A symbol of hard work,
of the toil and sweat
that brings sustenance to life.
Without the wheelbarrow,
the farm would grind to a halt,
leaving only emptiness.
But with it, the earth yields
a bounty to be shared,
nourishing body and soul.
So let us give thanks
for the red wheelbarrow,
a humble hero of the land.

Langston Hughes GPT has “heard the blues.” He too wants us to appreciate beauty. Because poets love beauty:

Verse 1:
I’ve seen the sunset, orange and gold
Over fields of cotton, the story untold
Of those who worked the land, in scorching sun
    and rain
With calloused hands, they toiled, they sought to
    sustain

Chorus:
For I am a child of the earth, so rich and so bold
With a spirit unbroken, a soul that won’t fold
I sing for the weary, the tired, the worn
For the ones who’ve been burdened, it’s a brand
    new morn

Verse 2: I’ve heard the blues, the lament of the night
With a voice that’s so sorrowful, but filled with
    delight
For it tells of the struggles, the pain, the strife
Of a people seeking justice, a better life

Chorus:
For I am, &c.

Verse 3:
I’ve walked the streets, of cities so bright
With neon lights, and the sounds of the night
For the Harlem Renaissance, it was a time of pride
With artists and writers, who sought to defy the tide

Chorus:
For I am, &c.

Outro:
So let my voice echo, through the streets and the
    skies
For all to hear, for all to realize
The beauty in life, the beauty in rhyme
For a brighter tomorrow, for a future that’s truly
    mine.

John Ashbery GPT also encourages us to appreciate beauty. And look — he’s plagiarizing Wallace Stevens GPT:

The world is a strange and shifting place,
A maze of colors, sounds, and shapes.
Its mysteries are infinite, untold,
A labyrinth of secrets waiting to unfold.

The trees sway in the wind, the rivers flow,
The sky is vast, and the clouds aglow.
The world is a never-ending surprise,
A constant change, a flicker in the eyes.

But even in this chaos, there is peace,
A stillness that whispers, a gentle release.
The world is a tapestry, woven with care,
A masterpiece of life, beyond compare.

So let us embrace this world with open arms,
With wonder and grace, with joy and charm.
Let us cherish its beauty, its secrets untold,
And bask in its radiance, till we grow old.

Frank O’Hara GPT wants to stay in the city:

I am walking down the street,
The city’s lights shining bright,
I hear the sounds of cars and feet,
As people hurry through the night.

I feel the wind blow through my hair,
And see the stars up in the sky,
It's moments like this I can’t compare,
This feeling makes me want to fly.

I think of all the friends I’ve made,
The memories that will last a lifetime,
And I’m so grateful that I’ve stayed,
In this place that’s always been so kind.

I see the city’s endless rows,
Of buildings tall and grand,
And I know that everyone knows,
This is where they want to stand.

So I’ll keep walking down the street,
With a smile upon my face,
And I’ll remember this moment sweet,
This time and this place.

And then I wondered: what if I tried an unmajor poet? Here’s Amanda Gorman GPT:

Verse 1:
Amidst the night, I stand so tall
With words that carry weight, words that will
    enthrall
My voice a beacon, a lighthouse in the sea
Of doubts and fears, it’s a symbol of freedom,
    you’ll see

Chorus:
For I am a child of the earth and its fire
With a spirit unbreakable, a soul that won’t tire
I speak for the silenced, the broken, the torn
For the ones who’ve been crushed, it’s a brand new
    dawn

Verse 2:
My pen is mightier than the sword they say
With each word I write, I pave a brighter way
For those who’ve been oppressed, I am their voice
With my words I heal, with my words I rejoice

Chorus:
For I am a child of the earth, &c.

Verse 3:
The world is listening, and I won’t be still
With every rhyme, every line, I will uplift and heal
For I know what it’s like to live in pain
But now I rise, now I soar, and I won’t refrain

Chorus:
For I am a child of the earth, &c.

Outro:
So let my voice echo far and wide
For all to hear, for all to take pride
In the power of words, the power of rhyme
For a brighter tomorrow, for a future that’s truly
    mine.

With that chorus, Amanda Gorman GPT is ripping off Langston Hughes GPT. And Gorman GPT repeats the same curious verse-chorus-outro structure. But that structure isn’t reserved for Black poets. T.S. Eliot GPT uses it too:

In the still of the night, I hear the city moan
With the sounds of the traffic, a symphony alone
For the city is alive, with a life of its own
And the shadows they dance, to a rhythm unknown

Chorus:
For I am a part of the world, a part of the scene
With a mind that’s so restless, a soul that’s so lean
I wander the streets, in a daze and a trance
In search of the truth, in search of a chance

Verse 2:
In the heart of the city, I see the people move
With a pace that’s so frantic, they’ve got nothing to
    prove
For the city is a maze, with a life that’s so cruel
And the ones who get lost, they’re just another fool

Chorus:
For I am a part of the world, &c.

Verse 3:
In the mind of the city, I feel the emptiness grow
With the weight of the world, it’s a burden I know
For the city is a world, with a life that’s so low
And the ones who find peace, they’re just letting
    it go

Chorus:
For I am a part of the world, &c.

Outro:
So let my words flow, with a rhythm so pure
For all to hear, for all to endure
For a world that’s so bleak, for a world that’s so true
For a future that’s bright, for a future that’s brand
    new.

I was hoping for “A future that’s bright, for me and for you.” I guess I’ll have to write my own poem.

*

When I showed Elaine these bot efforts, she suggested trying Charles Bukowski. Why hadn’t I thought of him? Perhaps because I sold my Bukowski books some years ago.

Beneath the streetlights, I stand and ponder,
Of all the drinks I’ve had, the nights I’ve squandered.
With worn out shoes, and a broken soul,
I roam the streets, seeking a new goal.

The city is alive, with neon lights,
And laughter ringing in the endless nights.
I walk the alleys, with a bottle in hand,
Looking for solace, in this lonely land.

The raindrops fall, like tears from above,
As I remember the women I’ve loved.
With lipstick stains, on cigarette butts,
I find comfort, in my drunken ruts.

I write my thoughts, in a crumpled notebook,
Of life on the edge, and the streets I took.
With every word, I pour out my heart,
And hope to capture, what tears me apart.

So I’ll keep drinking, and I’ll keep writing,
Until I find meaning, in this endless fighting.
For in the words, and in the whiskey’s flow,
I’ll find redemption, and a way to grow.

Even Bukowski ends with a message of hope. On his gravestone though: “DON’T TRY.”

Related posts
A 100-word blog post generated by ChatGPT : I’m sorry too, ChatGPT : Spot the bot : Teachers and chatbots : Imaginary lines from real poems : ChatGPT writes about Lillian Mountweazel : Rob Zseleczky on computer-generated poetry

Rob Zseleczky on computer-generated poetry

I often go searching for the past online. And thus I found (via Google Books) a letter about the possibilities of computer-generated poetry by my friend Rob Zseleczky, published in the February 1983 issue of the computer magazine Byte. Strange: a few days ago I took screenshots of the pages with the letter and did some cutting and pasting to make a column of text. And now this issue of Byte is available only in Snippet view.

[Rob Zseleczky, “Computer Poetry: Art or Craft?” Byte, February 1983.]

The key passage, to my mind:

An artist may draw upon any or all of his life’s history in order to pass judgment on a single word. His intellect, his moral integrity, his honesty, his passion, his love, his hope, his hate, his fear, his skepticism, his faith — in short, the sum of the poet’s whole existence gives him the ability to make artistic judgments. And a sense of tradition supports the artist’s individuality, which includes his powers of artistic discernment. Thus, in our ever-changing, prone-to-forgetfulness world, the popularity of computers is assured, but computers still lack what Keats called “the knowledge of contrast, feeling for light and shade, all that information (primitive sense) necessary for a poem.”

If you could accurately enter your whole life into a computer without leaving the minutest fact out, then the computer could possess a chance of becoming artistic. But even then the computer would have to be considered the protégé of its programmer. For now, computers may be profitably used as electronic thesauri, as servants to the new craft of electronic poetry-writing. As far as the art of poetry is concerned, computers will have to wait.

Right on, Rob. Judging by the poems I ordered up from ChatGPT this past weekend, computers are still waiting.

Related reading
Rob Zseleczky (1957–2013) : All RZ posts

O.B. Rude Drug Co.

[O.B. Rude Drug Co. 5003 Fifth Avenue, Sunset Park, Brooklyn, c. 1939–1941. From the NYC Municipal Archives Collections. Click for a much larger view.]

Looking at this photograph, I went back and forth: Rude’s, Rex, Rude’s, Rex. I decided to go with Rude’s Drugs — I like how its sign (look closely) turns R into Rx. And it’s just as well, because after looking into Rude’s Drugs, I couldn’t find a thing about Rex Repairs. If it’s Rex Shoe Repair Service, as I suspect it it, the owner declared bankruptcy on April 13, 1940.

The O.B. Rude Drug Co. had a much longer life. Ola B. Rude established a pharmacy at this address in 1908. He and two partners incorporated the business in 1919. In 1931 and 1932 Rude ran the same ad again and again in Brooklyn newspapers:

[Brooklyn Times-Union, December 7, 1931.]

A Norske Apotek? A Norwegian pharmacy. Wikipedia on Sunset Park: “By the 1910s there was a growing Scandinavian district. Portions of the neighborhood became known as “Finntown” and “Little Norway.” Of Bay Ridge, just south of Sunset Park, Wikipedia says, “Until the early 1970s, Bay Ridge was dominated by its Norwegian community.”

Rude died in October 1931, as reported in a compilation of Brooklyn deaths in The Brooklyn Daily Eagle. He left $10 to his wife Evelyn, who left him in 1927. Two sisters in Norway received $1000 each. Everything else — what the paper called “the residue” — went to Rude’s son Christopher.

In 1938, a new advertisement:

[The Brooklyn Daily Eagle, February 2, 1938.]

In 1955 and 1956 Christopher — now Christoffer — appeared in the Bay Ridge Home Reporter in photographs of gatherings of Scandinavian-American Business Association.

[Bay Ridge Home Reporter, March 127, 1955.]

And here’s a photograph of the younger Rude with a fancy cake.

Rude Drug was still going as late as 1960. Here’s a story with an unusual headline. Do click for Mixtura Brita and more:

[“Norwegian Compounds in Aura of Old Bklyn.” Bay Ridge Home Reporter, November 4, 1960. Click for a readable view.]

No wonder the store was still going. It gave good service:

[The Brooklyn Daily Eagle, March 30, 1931.]

Here is the final item I discovered, a brief biography with a photograph:

[Norske utvandrere og forretningsdrivende i Amerika: Utgis som minde i anledning av hundreaaret for den Norske indvandring til Amerika [Norwegian emigrants and business operators in America: Published as a commemoration on the occasion of the centennial of the Norwegian immigration to America] New York and Oslo: J. Burner, 1927.]

A translation, via DeepL, Google Translate, and a small bit of sprachgefühl:

Ola Bertram Rude was born on June 12, 1875 in Drammen, the son of the late photographer Rude. He departed from Oslo on May 27, 1902 and arrived in New York on his birthday. Immediately after his arrival he was employed as manager of a pharmacy in Brooklyn. After six years, in 1908, he bought his own pharmacy and established himself at 5003 Fifth Avenue, Brooklyn, where he still does business. Rude graduated as a pharmacist from the University of Oslo and is the only Norwegian-graduated pharmacist in the eastern states. He has one of the largest and best Norwegian pharmacies in America, and is noted for his conscientious efficiency and thorough knowledge of his profession.

He might also be noted for a more than slight resemblance to the actor Thomas Mitchell.

The Rude stretch of commerce — one side of one Brooklyn block — gives a nice sense of urban retail density. On the corner, Kane’s Men’s Clothing, followed by Rude’s, Rex Repairs, The Bargain Center, Merit Shoes, Leonard’s Meat Market, Weisslite Paints, O’Malley’s Tavern, P. Gleicher Floor Coverings, a Paints and Hardware store, S & L Public Market, and Fancy Fruit & Vegetables.

Google Maps shows no. 5003 for sale in 2022. Before that it was a Party Fair store.

*

February 15: Just one more. A reader found an advertisement in a Swedish-American newspaper published in Sioux City, Iowa. From the Svenska monitoren, October 6, 1922:


A translation, via DeepL, Google Translate, and a small bit of sprachgefühl:

ATTENTION, GOUT SUFFERERS! Rude’s Rheumatic Remedy should be tried by anyone suffering from gout in one of its many forms. Many are those who bless this wonderful medicine. Price per bottle $1.00, payable with order.

Rude’s Specific Capsules — “The Pink Capsules” — prevent and quickly relieve the grippe, influenza, malaria, and all kinds of fever. There should be a package in every home — 25¢ and 50¢ per box, postage paid.

These and many other excellent home remedies were prepared by the famous Norwegian pharmacist and chemist O. B. Rude, and provided by 0.B. Rude Drug Company, Inc. Manufacturing Chemists & Apothecaries. Agents wanted.

Rude had quite a reach. Thanks, reader.

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