Showing posts with label ten past noon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ten past noon. Show all posts

Thursday, July 9, 2026

'The world was composed of letters,' but 'letters themselves are secondary'

In this essay in Triple Ampersand, "Occult Perso-Punkism of Cyclonopedia," Muhammad Sangesari is talking about the mystical heresy of Nuqtavism, in which someone achieves hulul (immanence, from the word for dissolving a solid into a liquid) and believes they are one with god.

More than a theological deviation, Nuqtavism posed a radical question: how does history move, and how is earthly history manipulated by forces that do not belong to historical time itself? At stake was not merely the end of Islam or the birth of a new god, but the relation between local, terrestrial history and what can be called suprahistory, the occult, cosmic strata that condition historical change.

This problem was inherited from Horufism. The Horufis conceived reality as an inscriptional order: the world was composed of letters (horuf), each letter a manifestation of divinity, each entity a glyph written by God. Reality, in this view, was not substance but script. Yet Horufism remained largely metaphysical and it was only nuqtavism that radicalized it.

In Asrar al-Nuqta (The Secrets of the Point), Mir Sayyid ʿAli Hamadani explains that letters themselves are secondary. They emerge from the movement of the point (nuqta) within a supra-physical spatiality, the unseen (qayb). The nuqta is not a symbol but an operator. Its movement generates letters, forms, and ultimately worlds, much like talismans produced through occult crafts. What matters is not inscription but motion in the unseen.

One idea, from Mahmoud Pasikhani (Nuqtavi), is that time is manipulated, and each era (adwar, cosmic cycles) has its own god.

This is important for the new iteration of Ten Past Noon on which I am working.

chrysalis

I've published books, and my next one will be Attis & Aleph: Poems of the Daimonic. It's about a man in 1930s New York who was fascinated with what the idea of eunuchs meant to him. He couldn't finish writing his book, but I finished writing this one. It's advice to overthinkers. It talks about how to see your project in a new way and take the paths that will bring happiness and completion. I need your pledge on Attis & Aleph so that I can reach minimum funding and this book can happen!

Attis and Aleph book cover. A Sphinx with violets around the ampersand.

It's part of the Book Bazaar 2026, a crowdfunding event on BackerKit, Oct 29–Nov 19.

Launches October 29th, 2026. Part of The Book Bazaar 2026. Browse More Projects

Sunday, March 24, 2024

1931: U.S. railroad deaths

trees in mist

Pauli Murray writes in Song in a Weary Throat: Memoir of an American Pilgrimage (Chapter 7, Survival):

"I did not know in that psring of 1931 that I was about to join an estimated 200,000 to 300,000 homeless boys — and a smattering of girls — between the ages of twelve and twenty, products of the Depression, who rode freights or hitchhiked from town to town in search of work. Thousands lived in 'jungles' near railroad tracks, constituting the 'tragic army' which aroused the alarm of the Children's Bureau, U.S. Department of Labor, and created a national problem which eventually led to the establishment of the Civilian Conservation Corps. These young people were part of a larger army of nearly three million homeless unemployed men who also rode the rails and lived in jungles. One railroad official reported that some ten thousand transients per month were traveling through the Southern Pacific freight yards in 1931. In the same year, 831 were killed on the arterial highways and dozens met their deaths under freight trains.

* * *

Hoboes faced the ever-present risk of being shot by armed railroad guards in the big railroad divisions where the freight trains were assembled. When the long trains pulled out of the yards, we had to choose between two dangers. If we ignored the guards who shouted warnings to stay off the train as they ran along the walkways on top of the cars, we became targets for their bullets. If we waited for them to get off, the train had picked up such speed that we risked being thrown under the wheels trying to swing onto a fast-moving boxcar. Another hazard was the fierce cold of windy nights, which forced us to try to keep warm by riding too close to the engine, in the path of hot cinders that blew back upon us. One night the only shelter from the wind I could find was on a flatcar loaded with bridge timber. I crawled into a crevice covered by lon wooden beams and went to sleep. Next morning I discovered that the heavy beams shifted every time the train lurched and this shifting had provided my crevice; a strong enough lurch would have dislodged some of the heaviest beams and crushed me to death.

Crossing the country, I learned to ride cattle trains, fruit-butter-and-egg trains, 'hot shots' (fast express freights), and 'manifestos' (nonstop express freight trains). When refrigerator cars carried citrus fruit, the narrow ice chests, or 'reefers,' at each end of the car were left empty. The hobo's haven was an open reefer which could be entered through the small trapdoor at the top of the empty ice chamber. The upraised door was held by a jack, and if one was small enough to wriggle through the opening one could slither down inside the steel-plated cell floored with wooden slats and ride in comfort out of sight of railroad 'bulls.'"

NYC's Grand Central Station, as featured in a Japanese treatise on the world's subway systems from 1927 (the same year Tokyo's first metro line started running between Asakusa and Ueno)

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— David Fedman (@dfeds.bsky.social) October 29, 2024 at 12:09 AM

Can’t stop thinking about the fact that the Shinkansen has been around for over 6 DECADES, connecting dozens of cities across a mountainous, earthquake-ridden country, while the best the US can manage is a single line with an average speed that’s just over half as fast at a fraction of the frequency

— Katie Mack (@astrokatie.com) October 19, 2024 at 7:19 AM

Oh and as for safety? Over the more than 6 decades the Shinkansen has been running there has never been an accident resulting in even so much as an *injury.* (The only injuries and fatalities have been due to platform incidents and suicides/passenger violence.)

— Katie Mack (@astrokatie.com) October 19, 2024 at 7:21 AM

Canada, meanwhile, has no high-speed rail at all, despite fully half the population already obligingly arranging itself IN A STRAIGHT LINE en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quebec_...

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— Katie Mack (@astrokatie.com) October 19, 2024 at 7:51 AM

Friday, May 5, 2023

G. M. Cumming taught law with Burdick, Kirchwey, and Moore

One of the things about writing a biography is knowing when to stop. I published Ten Past Noon: Focus and Fate at Forty in 2020, but I keep learning things about Edward Dilworth Cumming and his family.

misty trees
Image by noriyuki yagi from Pixabay

Just now, online, I found a news brief from the Tunkhannock Republican (Tunkhannock, Pennsylvania), 10 Apr 1891. p. 2.

Three new law professors have been appointed by the trustees of Columbia college. They are Francis M. Burdick, George W. Kirchwey and George Miller Cumming. John Bassett Moore was appointed professor of international law.

This newspaper issue announced that the showman P.T. Barnum had died the previous evening. The column to the left of the news brief has the Barnum obituary.

I did already know that George Miller Cumming had been appointed Professor of Law on April 6, 1891, reappointed on April 2, 1894 and resigned effective June 30, 1897. From this news brief, however, I learn that he had three colleagues at least for his first year: Francis Marion Burdick (who was on an anti-vice squad, the Committee of Fourteen, in New York City), George Washington Kirchwey, and John Bassett Moore. It is interesting to me that today, in 2023, G. M. Cumming is the only one who doesn't have a Wikipedia page. He wasn't notable enough.

Another thing I've learned is that when Ben "Felix" Kittredge reported playing a game called "Canfield" with the Canfield family, it wasn't a game they'd made up and named after the Canfields (as I assumed). George Folger Canfield was married to G. M. Cumming's wife's sister, Sarah Kittredge, and after Sarah died, he married back into the Kittredge family. There's a solitaire card game called Canfield, named after Richard Albert Canfield (1855–1914). He ran a casino in Saratoga Springs, New York, and in the first few years of the 20th century, he ran a card game he called Klondike. A similar game is today called Canfield in the United States and Demon Patience in the UK. Canfield died after falling and hitting his head in the New York City Subway station on 14th Street.

You can learn more about G. M. Cumming and especially his son, Edward Dilworth Cumming, in Ten Past Noon: Focus and Fate at Forty.

Cumming was interested in Cuba, and his son Ned ended up spending time in Tampico, Mexico, probably while working for Stone & Webster. Regarding what Stone & Webster was doing in Tampico, this source may have something to say.

Ninety-eight years after his death, in July 2025, the Union Pacific railroad announced its plan "to acquire Norfolk Southern Railway, which, if approved by the US Surface Transportation Board (STB), would make the new entity the largest railroad company in American history, controlling over 50,000 total miles of interstate rail." (Common Dreams)


If you'd like to learn more about my work, I've published books. Also, I write on Medium.


Tuesday, August 16, 2022

On encyclopedic urges

Four quotes:

"I see. You desire a catalog of all imaginary creatures from the dawn of time until the present day. From the ancient Greeks with their Minotaur to the Norsemen's All-Father." Dr. Flowers smiled, cherishing the absurdity of the request. "From the Fair Folk to the leprechauns. From the mermaids of the deep to the vampires of Serbia — "
— T. Baggins. Soulless. 2013.

“In the realm of language, the opposite of a monster is a catalogue.”
— Del Samatar and Sofia Samatar. Monster Portraits. Brookline, Mass.: Rose Metal Press, 2018.

“Encyclopedias provide factual information, but they, like all texts, are authored, constructed so that subjects become captured. Things can be held under a magnifying glass one entry at a time, forever. Does that permanence give them a sort of truth that they are still existing? How, I wonder, does a writer account for the ways time is written into entries? Surely, definitions shift. Things change, and therefore so do meanings—but on the page, the words are impervious to adaptation, to learning. Maybe I can gain something from that sort of cataloguing now. After all, it was those books I went to so often back then, when I wanted to understand something.”
— Kristin Keane. An Encyclopedia of Bending Time. Baltimore: Barrelhouse, 2022. p. 33.

"We as a culture have been content to analyze melancholy and intellectualize depression since we had the words for either, and likely even before this walls were strewn with highbrow marks about some hunter’s lost prey. Not being above that, there is doubtless some desire to utilize academic means or the analytical part of me to understand why my brain seems to want to set itself on fire. However, knowing mere analysis will only lead to further analysis, some dimension had to present itself to disrupt that tendency. Thus, much of the work here has been rewritten, and unwritten in an atypical approach to nonfiction. I don’t think that I believe in nonfiction. Language is as subjective and impossible as depression itself, so I have not attempted to reach anything like objective truth. I've sought a means of transmission, and what remains of it in reception seems beyond my grasp. I have warped old journals and papers and rewritten them because that is depression to me, that is anxiety and addiction and the only true means I’ve found of escape is through, as the old poem goes. So through the documents, the feelings, the intellectualizing and not, the anger, the sorrow, the misery, the piss, the blood, the wasted days and weeks and months and lives in seas of ugly rotting sentiment, or sediment, the only means that seemed to make any sense was total inclusion, and abjection in turn."
— Grant Maierhofer. Peripatet. Inside the Castle, 2019. pp. 295 – 296 of PDF

"Ecologists have reoriented their field as a 'crisis discipline,' a field of study that’s not just about learning things but about saving them. We technologists need to do the same."
— We Need To Rewild The Internet: The internet has become an extractive and fragile monoculture. But we can revitalize it using lessons learned by ecologists. Maria Farrell and Robin Berjon, Noema, April 16, 2024

If these ideas interest you, you may want to know that I wrote a biography of a man with encyclopedia-writing tendencies. The book is Ten Past Noon: Focus and Fate at Forty.

Welsh dragon illustration

On the unhappiness of the frustrated writer more generally

Elif Batuman (Jul 08, 2026):

"...the part of my own book that I’m working on right now, which is about Selin in the first few years after college...

...why am I still writing about that? But my core belief is that that very avoidance is worthy of examination. I mean, so many people feel that way about their 20s—and at the earliest opportunity they escape it into the dignity of actual adulthood, a stable relationship, etc.; and then that has a way leading into parenthood (“I have way too much to think about now instead of just obsessing over my dumb self”)—and then their kids are in their 20s and then they can’t wait to not think about it anymore. So I want to think about it.

Anyway, for me (and Selin), the defining “problem” of those years was wanting so much to be a novelist, and having no idea how to do it. And that’s just what The Magician and Famesick are about, at least at the beginning: someone in their early 20s who desperately wants to be a writer/ artist, and can’t produce at the level of their desire, and has no clear career path or trajectory, and how bad it feels. And then there is the “relationships and sex” B-plot, which is also depressing, and becomes part of that same “unhappiness” that later they don’t take seriously.

I recently had coffee with one of my best friends from that time in my life, and she said, of our 20s, “Remember how unhappy we thought we were?” As if what we had then was only an idea of unhappiness—not actual unhappiness, which we didn’t know yet. And to an extent that is what it now feels like: like that was such an “innocent time.” But I don’t think this feeling now is more true than that feeling was then.

Tuesday, March 15, 2022

An inscribed book of children's poetry: Did E. D. Cumming know Lincoln Kirstein?

One of the things about writing a biography is knowing when to stop. I published Ten Past Noon: Focus and Fate at Forty in 2020, but I keep learning things about Edward Dilworth Cumming.

misty trees
Image by noriyuki yagi from Pixabay

George Miller Cumming (1854–1927) graduated from Harvard College in 1876. He studied at Harvard Law for a few months in the fall of 1876 but then switched to Columbia Law. From 1877-1879 he traveled and studied in England, France, and Germany, and he was admitted to the New York Bar in 1881.

I have just found that George's son, Edward — "Ned," born 1901 — once owned a book of children's poetry and stories in German, Schnaken & Schnurren, by Wilhelm Busch and published in München in the 1860s-1870s. Ned's name was written inside it, along with the place name "Irvington." Eventually, the collection ended up in the hands of Lincoln Kirstein, born 1907, and who donated it to the Morgan in 1979. It's still available to see at the Morgan Library & Museum in New York City today.

I don't know if the two of them knew each other as children (though they were six years apart) and exchanged the book then, or if they did it later as adults, or if the two of them never knew each other at all and the book passed through a used bookseller — or, possibly, through their fathers.

The Cummings spent time at their Irvington home especially around 1915, though the home may have been in the family earlier than that. Ned may have been reading the children's poetry as a teenager to practice German.

Schnaken & Schnurren / von Wilhelm Busch ; eine Sammlung humoristischer kleiner Erzählungen in Bildern. I. Teil. Author: Busch, Wilhelm, 1832-1908. Published: München: Verlag von Braun & Schneider, [189-?] Gift of Lincoln Kirstein, 1979. E. Mühlthalers Buch- und Kunstdruckerei A.G., München--verso of lower cover. Edward Dilworth Cumming, Irvington--inscription in black ink on recto of fly-leaf. Dyrsen & Pfeiffer. New York. 16 West 33rd Street--bookseller's label inside upper cover. Binding: Publisher's pictorial cream colored paper boards, printed in black, blue, red, yellow, and green. Provenance: Edward Dilworth Cumming, inscription; from the library of Lincoln Kirstein.
Screenshot of the library catalog listing of Schnaken & Schnurren from the Morgan.

The question interests me because, while Cumming was a private person and I know nothing about his personal relationships, Kirstein was more prominent and knew famous people. While a Harvard undergraduate, Kirstein was a cofounder of the Harvard Society for Contemporary Art, along with his fellow undergraduates Edward Warburg and John Walker and a twentysomething PhD candidate, Alfred Barr, a bisexual man who was already lecturing on modernist art at Wellesley College. (This detail on Kirstein comes from Bad Gays: A Homosexual History.)

Rachel Maddow wrote about Lincoln Kirstein in her 2023 book Prequel: An American Fight Against Fascism. Kirstein, she says, was "Harvard educated, independently wealthy thanks to his father, bisexual, an unflinching aesthete, and a budding arts impresario," just like his colleague Philip Johnson, who was "an almost exact contemporary." But Kirstein was Jewish, and Johnson was a Nazi sympathizer. Maddow writes:

"While at Harvard, Kirstein had founded the society for Contemporary Art on campus, as well as a literary magazine that published new poetry by e.e. cummings, T. S. Eliot, Edmund Wilson, and Ezra Pound — before Pound was revealed as a committed fascist himself. While Johnson spent the first years of his professional life introducing Europe's modern design and architecture to America, Kirstein was busy creating an American ballet troupe to rival the best in Europe."

This was the New York City ballet, co-founded with George Balanchine.

Kirstein's father, Louis E. Kirstein, was, according to Maddow, "close friends" with Felix Frankfurter, a professor at Harvard Law who "spent the 1933–34 academic year at Oxford" and who wrote to FDR (they were friends) saying that England had a "sober" feeling like that which "preceded 1914." The younger Kirstein, Lincoln, "could sense ill winds blowing across the Atlantic and into the kinds of upper-class salons of Manhattan that welcomed rich, influential young men like him and Philip Johnson." And in New York at the end of 1934, Johnson "was losing sway at the Museum of Modern Art, where Lincoln Kirstein had started warning its key trustees, including Nelson Rockefeller and his mother, that the museum was in danger of being 'tarred with the Fascist brush.' Kirstein's whispered misgivings had also helped scuttle the Art, Inc., concessions at Rockefeller Center. Johnson's standing in New York was at a low, and he was working himself into a full-on snit about it."

There was an evening soiree in 1934 "at a stylish loft on East Fortieth Street," Maddow writes, with a "bohemian hostess," at which a drunk "wealthy socialite" guest told a Jewish guest that his people were corrupt and should be genocided. Though Kirstein wasn't there, the hostess reported to him the next day what had happened, explaining that she feared that antisemitism of the German intensity "might happen here in America."

In late 1934, Johnson and Alan Blackburn left New York for Louisiana to work for Huey Long. Maddow writes: "Kirstein had managed to keep his sense of humor about their weird fascist buccaneering," even when "Blackburn asked for Kirstein's latest address and then threatened to have him beaten up," but he always remembered "Johnson's nastiest remark to him." As he recalled in 1944 while serving in the Army: "He told me I was number one on his list for elimination in the coming revolution." However, as he continued in this letter, which was a character recommendation for Johnson, who was at risk of indictment for sedition: "Since being in the Army, I have seen Pvt Johnson frequently... I am convinced that he has sincerely repented of his former fascist beliefs, that he understands the nature of his mistake and is a loyal American." Maddow commented that this was "very generous," given that it would be "decades" before Johnson himself made "any statement of contrition."

In 1927, George Miller Cumming died, and around that time, his three surviving family members moved to the New York suburb of Scarsdale.

(The Weinbergs lived on 8 Reimer Rd. Sidney Weinberg was good friends with Paul Codman Cabot.)

Then, around 1937, when the owner of the house in which they lodged had a physical fight with the neighbors (political? we don't know), the three of them moved back to Manhattan. As I wrote in the book: "The Cumming family — Ned, his sister Emily, and their mother Lucy — had two apartments: West 116th Street and East 43rd Street. All three of them were associated with both addresses." I note the proximity of East 43rd Street to the party on East 40th Street where Kirstein's friends had gathered one night in 1934.

Though Louis Kirstein (1867–1942), who was born in New York, dropped out of school at 13, he later received honorary degrees from Harvard University and Boston University, and he became associated with Harvard Business School. His friend, Felix Frankfurter (1882–1965), who was born in Vienna, came to New York at age 12 and graduated first in his class from Harvard Law, where he was an editor of the Harvard Law Review. He began working for a law firm in 1906. That firm was Hornblower, Byrne, Miller & Potter; he was the firm's first Jewish lawyer, but he stayed there only briefly. (At that time, Lewis Bartholomew Woodruff, who had begun his law studies at Columbia in the 1890–1891 academic year, was a lawyer there; Woodruff had "full charge of preparation of railroad mortgages.")

George Miller Cumming, who served as the president of various railroads, was a law professor at Columbia from April 1891 to June 1897, so it's possible he encountered the young student Lewis Bartholomew Woodruff in 1891.

Ned Cumming died in 1940. Lincoln Kirstein died in 1996.

About these historical people

You can learn more about George and Ned Cumming in Ten Past Noon: Focus and Fate at Forty.

You can learn more about Kirstein in Lincoln Kirstein: The Published Writings 1922-1977. A First Bibliography and in Martin Duberman's The Worlds of Lincoln Kirstein. Chicago: Northwestern University Press, 2008.

Maddow says: "In the 2014 film The Monuments Men, Bob Balaban's character, Preston Savitz, is modeled on Kirstein."

Who worked at the library

"Belle da Costa Greene...was appointed the director and inaugural librarian of the Morgan, which was founded by J. Pierpont Morgan — the American financier. * * * Greene’s mother, Genevieve Ida Fleet Greener, separated from Belle’s father, Richard T. Greener, the first Black graduate of Harvard College, in the 1890s. * * * Genevieve dropped the last letter of their family name and was lighter-skinned enough to pass as white, as were Greene’s siblings.

This opened doors for Belle da Costa Greene in segregated America, and she worked at Princeton before joining the research library. There she met a cousin of J. Pierpont Morgan, who at the time was looking for someone to organize his growing collection.

* * *

Being a woman librarian and director of a major institution was a big deal at the time. Greene was able to achieve what most women could not, especially during a time when they had just gotten the right to vote."

— The true story of a famed librarian and the secret she guarded closely, Jordan-Marie Smith, NPR, October 29, 2024

More about her:

Harriet S. Onderdonk, 1880

In 1880, Harriet S. Onderdonk became the first president of the Great Neck Library. It formally incorporated in 1889, and she remained on the board until 1904. One of her fellow library trustees at that time was Edward Morgan. (See this PDF from greatnecklibrary.org) "Great Neck," the document says, "inspired the creation of 'Gatsby' and 'West Egg'" in F. Scott Fitzgerald's imagination.

End of the line: 1866 marked the start of service of the North Shore Railroad (now the LIRR) from Flushing to the end of the line at the 'Thomaston' station in Great Neck. One of its largest stockholders was Mr. Messenger (father and grandfather of Library Board members, Emma and Elise Gignoux). For 46¢ each way, commuters could catch the lone train a day in each direction. They could leave Great Neck at 7:30 a.m. to Hunters Point where a ferry connected to the city. Return connection was from Hunters Point at 4 p.m. Twenty-three years later, the single track line from Great Neck to Port Washington was opened. More than 1,000 people called Great Neck 'home' by 1880. Land owners were engaged in commerce and agriculture, while merchants, shopkeepers and other villagers met the community's needs for goods and services. In the village were hotels, saloons, blacksmiths, carriage makers, a variety of stores and a volunteer fire department. Growth prior to 1900 was marked by the establishment of schools, churches, new roads, new modes of transportation, commercial enterprises ... and
the beginning of the Great Neck Library.

People paid a lot to belong, and they didn't stock just any book in the library.

Censored - The Three Musketeers:
Constant discussions were held on the quality of books on the shelves, comparing 'solid' reading, i.e. non fiction, to fiction. Each Board member was required to read and approve every book before purchase and those books that were considered 'unwholesome' didn't get to the shelves ... including The Three Musketeers. This form of censorship continued until 1900.
Money to run:
The Library's operating income was derived from membership dues and subscription fees. Membership in the Association, $10 per family, was by Board approval. In 1921, the fee was reduced to $1.

Where the Cummings were living in 1900

In my book, Ten Past Noon, I said the Cummings — George, Lucy, and five-year-old Emily (Ned wasn't born yet), plus maidservants — were living on 113 East 35th Street because that is what the census appears to say.

Upon review, I now wonder if the 1900 census taker misrecorded the address. The house number may have been 123, which belonged to Harriet Onderdonk. If so, the Cummings would have been renting it, and they would have vacated within a year, as that address, along with 125 next door, was sold in 1901 to banker James F. D. Lanier II. He built a new house for himself there.

123

New York Times, Feb 14, 1901. McVickar & Co, in conjunction with Collins & Collins, have sold for Mrs. Harriet S. Onderdonk the four-story English basement dwelling, 123 East Thirty-fifth Street, 16.8 by 98.9. The adjoining house, No. 125 sold last week through Collins & Collins, has since been resold.
New York Times, Feb 22, 1901. Pease & Elliman have sold for Park E. Bell the four-story dwelling 123 East Thirty-fifth Street, 16.8 by 98.9.

125

New York Times, Feb 2, 1901. Collins & Collins have sold for the estate of Sidney S. Harris to a client the four-story limestone English basement dwelling 125 East Thirty-fifth Street, 16.8 by 85 by 98.9.
New York Times, Feb 12, 1901. Pease & Ellman have sold for Park E. Bell, to an investor, for $32,500, the dwelling 125 East Thirty-fifth Street, 16.8 by 98.5.

Result

New York Times, July 10, 1901. Nos. 123 and 125 East Thirty-fifth Street, 33.4 by 75.2, for a five-story brick dwelling: J. F. D. Lanier, owner; Hoppin & Koen, architects; cost, $45,000.

At Harvard

See p. 158, Harvard Gazette for the end of May 1918.

No more emperors

"The concept of emperors, so firmly carved into the entirety of world history, collapsed over a few short years. The First World War began on 28 July 1914. By the time th war ended, on 11 November 1918, emperors were discredited beyond redemption. They were the way things always had been, but in a blink they were gone.
* * *
Empires were born when population growth caused egalitarian structures to break down. They ended when technology had grown to the point where warfare could no longer be tolerated. The imperial system, it turned out, was not the unarguable, unavoidable system of human organisation that it had been believed to be for most of history. It was a system that only functioned during a certain period of human and technological growth.
* * *
An absolute monarch was the omphalos around which the rest of society orientated itself. ... You knew what your role in the hierarchy was, and you orientated yourself accordingly. Without the omphalos of emperors, society was a jumble of different, relative, individual perspectives, all fighting for credibility and political power.
This is what was so remarkable about the changes that occurred in the first decades of the twentieth century. The sudden departure of emperors across huge swathes of the planet was the removal of single, absolute, fixed perspectives. This is a story we've already seen played out in different arenas. Art, physics and geopolitical structures all underwent similar revolutions around the same time, for seemingly unconnected reasons. Politicians were wrestling with the same challenges that faced Einstein, Picasso, Schoenberg and Joyce: how can we proceed, now that we understand there is no ultimate perspective that every other viewpoint is subservient to? How do we reconcile contradictory positions? When our previous ways of thinking are fundamentally flawed, how do we move forward?
* * *
Heisenberg's uncertianty principle...was discovered in 1927 when the German physicist Werner Heisenberg proved that knowing a particle's momentum made it impossible to know its position, and vice versa. The more accurate we are about one of a complementary pair of variables, the less it is possible to know about the other. ... it was Heisenberg's uncertainty principle that was as shocking to physicists as Gödel's Incompleteness Theorem had been to mathematicians. The problem was not that we didn't know the exact facts about physical reality, but that we couldn't know them.
The world of solid matter had turned out to be resting upon a bedrock as incomprehensible as the unconscious. Just as our conscious minds were only a bubble of rationality in a larger unconscious mind that we were usually unable to observe or understand, so the physical world of solid matter and comprehensible cause and effect was just a hiccup in a larger reality, produced by the quirk of a human-scale perspective. Mind and matter had both initially seemed understandable, but when we drilled down to find out what they rested on we found not firm foundations, but the unknowable and the incomprehensible. There was nothing down there that might conceivably come to act as our much needed new omphalos. Our world, both mind and matter, was a small bubble of coherence inside something so alien we haven't even been able to find adequate metaphors to describe it."
— John Higgs, Stranger Than We Can Imagine: Making Sense of the Twentieth Century, 2015

While we're here... related to the end of empires:

sahibzada mayed posted to LinkedIn on Nov 18, 2025: The word "polycrisis" sounds like "a sudden entanglement of isolated emergencies that make collapse seem accidental rather than convergence of centuries of colonial/imperial violence, domination, and extraction. ... What we call 'crisis' is also the unravelling of narratives that justify and legitimize harm: endless growth, human supremacy, resource extraction, militarized borders, and engineered scarcity." Try seeing this moment as "one of the many afterlives of empire."

Caspar Whitney

In 1920, Caspar Whitney became the president of the Audubon Society of Irvington-on-Hudson. (Bird lore v.24(1922), p. 433) Ned Cumming's mother attended an annual meeting on behalf of the chapter, so she may have known Caspar Whitney.

A couple paragraphs saying the local chapter was founded in 1920, a couple years later there were 140 members, and Caspar Whitney was the president.

As of this 4 May 1923 Irvington Gazette article, Caspar Whitney was still president.

newspaper clipping from Irvington Gazette

In 1930, Caspar Whitney wrote a biography of his wife (Florence Canfield)'s father, Charles Adelbert Canfield, an oil prospector in California who co-founded Beverly Hills.

Ned's mother, Lucy (Kittredge) Cumming, was also related to a Canfield family by marriage. Her sister, Sarah, had married George Folger Canfield. However, I don't see a shared ancestor between Charles Adelbert Canfield and George Folger Canfield.

FindAGrave:

Charles Adelbert Canfield (1848–1913), son of Orville Sillick Canfield (1816–1891), son of Sillick Canfield (1791–1865), son of Jonathan Canfield (1765–1851), son of Jonathan Canfield (1742–1829), son of Timothy Canfield (1700–1754), son of Ebenezer Canfield (1670–1716), son of Samuel Canfield (1645–1690), son of Matthew Canfield (1604–1673), who was born in England and came to Connecticut in midlife. Find a Grave: "He came over after his father Gregory's death in 1635."

George Folger Canfield (1854–1933), son of Albert Warren Canfield (1815–1879), son of James Canfield (1786–1841), son of David Canfield (1757–1804), son of Thomas Canfield (1717–1791), son of Israel Canfield (1684–1744), son of Thomas Canfield (1654–1689), son of Thomas Canfield Jr (1623–1689), who was born in England and came to Connecticut where he married and had children. Find a Grave: "He was born in Tring, England, the son of Thomas & Agnes Canfield of Hertfordshire, England."

Emily died at age 82 in mid-1977 in Peekskill — in a nursing home, as I recall reading somewhere. Looks like it was Field Home on Catherine Street in Shrub Oak, and apparently she'd lived there many years.

Field Home

"Field Home Raises $743 At Bazaar," Patent Trader, 24 November 1963:

"Corsages made for Westfield," Patent Trader, 15 December 1963:

The person named as Hermine Leger by Patent Trader may have been a medium. See p. 17 of this PDF. (January 25, 1951)

article about Rev. Hermine Leger

Psychic Observer, Jan 25, 1953, p. 15

Hermine Leger article 1953
Hermine Leger 1953 last sentence of article

Rev. Leger was still listed there as of 1955 and still in 1958.

Ancestry has a Hermine Leger who lived in New York and died in 1975.

Patent Trader unfortunately isn't digitized after 1974, so Emily's 1977 obituary (if it's in that paper) wouldn't be online.

Shrub Oak is an unincorporated place within Yorktown. The Yorktowner newspaper (1966-1978) would likely have carried her 1977 obituary. Try it on microfilm.

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