Armand Singer

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Climbing Mt. Everest, 1968

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Armand once recalled the physical effects of high altitude to his body and I thought I would impress him by telling him about the research and work done by LabMan Hawaii. I told Armand that elite athletes were housed on the slopes of Mauna Kea and taken down to sea level to train. He gently told me that the idea was nothing new, he had heard of blood tests being done on Everest although he conceded that there was no sea-level training site nearby.

Armand trekked the Himalayas in 1968 and what did I find as I looked for photos of Mt. Everest expeditions circa 1968? Scientists performing red cell studies, of course. Armand was the original search engine, acquiring his data year after year and bit by bit. The following is an excerpt from his Christmas 1968 letter:

Speaking of age, Armand, who has been climbing and scrambling in the mountains for the past forty years, finally realized that he isn't getting any younger. Hence, he thought that if he was ever going to do the Himalayas, he better go now. He left for Nepal in late April, and was met in Katmandu by two guides, four porters, and the requisite camping gear for a twenty-five day trek to Mt. Everest.

The weather was on the whole superb, the mountains were unbelievably beautiful, and all goals were reached. To wit: a visit to three lamaseries (one lama showed a scalp and mummified left hand of a reputed yeti --- abominable snowman to the uninitiated; Armand reserves final judgement but guesses it could have been an ape or previous trekker), a fine batch of spectacular photographs, three nights at 17,000' with a side trip to the Mt. Everest Base Camp, 17,500' (where climbers try for the summit 11,500' higher), and scaling of Kala Pattar, 18,000', directly in front of Everest itself.

After the return to Katmandu, none the worse for wear, he went into the wild game county of southern Nepal and hunted rhinoceros from the back of an elephant (with camera, not gun; in any case, an elephant affords a rather uncomfortable ride).

Then on to Dacca , Pakistan and Thailand, where he jumped two steps into the safety(?) of a Buddhist temple to avoid a sudden tropical downpour, slipped on a wet marble floor, fell and broke his left arm near the shoulder, in three places. A California doctor in the Seventh Day Adventist hospital there checked it, gave him a sling (but no plaster cast) to protect it, sent him on his somewhat painful way. O.K. now but a bit sore for several weeks to say the least.

After two uncomfortable days of sightseeing in Bangkok, on to Singapore, Manila and Pagsanjan Falls (including a wild trip up a "white" river in a canoe to see the falls; the falls were disappointing but the canoe trip, what with a bad arm, was exciting), Taipei with its marvelous Chinese antiquities collection, a week in Japan, over the North Pole via Japan Airlines to Paris. A few more hours put him at Shannon Airport to meet his Humanities Summer Culture Tour group, including the welcome sight of daughter Ann. Mary stayed home to be with her mother who is well along in years and no longer able to care for herself.

Two months in Ireland, England, the Netherlands, Belgium, France, Switzerland, Germany, Austria, Italy, southern France, Spain and Portugal. All most rewarding, with a fine group of students and just plain travellers. Mid-August saw us reunited for an especially busy fall semester.


A busy fall semester? I counted twenty countries visited during that summer jaunt, and what became of his broken arm? There was no mention of it in the rest of the letter, only more trips during the school year and a 'short drive' to the west coast for a month in his new car. Oh, and a wish for his readers to have a Merry Christmas!

Photo: Berkeley Lab/Research

Writing Christmas Letters

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     Last week, I shared Armand's Christmas Chronicle #39 because I wanted you to appreciate the length and breadth of some of his roadtrips which nearly totaled a million miles.

In keeping with the season, I thought you'd enjoy bits and pieces of Armand's Christmas tomes, particularly the opening paragraphs, as they hold clues to Armand's mentality and humor. He typed his letters (1963 is the earliest copy I have) until 1998 when "thanks to Ann's laptop and her and Tomas' typing skills" he could ask his readers to "note the fine printing".

Enjoy them with A Triple 'HO' from You Know Who (the title of his 1994 letter):

December 6, 1963
Dear Friends:
Well, we swore we wouldn't, but now we have. One more well-intentioned American family has joined the
mimeographing throng. We haven't even an original excuse: just the usual tale of watching the clock tick inexorably toward Christmas and no time to write our friends.


Christmas, 1969
Dear victim(s) of mimeographed greetings,
There seems to be no way to avoid the cheapening of good intentions of writing all one's friends at the festive season. Excuses: 1) we still both finish our teaching chores three days before Christmas; 2) increasing age brings more friends; 3) and removes one's efficiency. It's fashionable these days to blame everything on 4) the population explosion. But 5) let's blame
Gutenberg, too. No printing press; no linotypers, typewriters, stencils, and this sort of thing. Just papyrus or holiday sheepskin salutations.


Christmas, 1979
To All Our Dear Friends,
Once more into the breach! And no more leisure for the jump than ever. But doubtless, next year...one of your correspondents, the poor old foreign language dominie, is being put out to pasture, having reached, not quite a month ago, his great climacteric -- to wit, the sixty-fifth anniversary of the day of his birth. No drums were rolled, nor bugles sounded, the occasion scarcely a subject for revelry or celebration, but, withal, an accomplishment of some merit and dexterity. The pasturizing of the old party in question is slated for July 1...after the first term of summer school. Other than which, Mrs. Lincoln, did you enjoy the performance?


December 1989
These prepolished missives, I've come to realize, are truly addictive. Yet, they do possess certain redeeming virtues: they're usually more legible than handwritten scribble (certainly than mine), tell it all (possibly more than most would prefer to learn), and save the composer time. Time, to me at least, is of the essence: I've just passed my seventy-fifth, November thirty, annual crisis and have lots to do before throwing in the towel.

Christmas 1999
The Old Folks at Home. We got the house painted, the chimney waterproofed, the plumbing rejuvenated, I endlessly groomed and combed the yard, (next spring) we'll redo shrubbery, and we've managed to stay reasonably sound of physique. Two months ago we took possession of a silver Mercury Cougar 2000 model sports car (the speedometer tempts the foot with a top reading of 150 mph) - Mary enjoys its comforts (e.g., power windows; we never had those before!); I dance to the tune of its wild engine (and CD player; again, never before). We don't need this beauty, so what?

I was elated to read the last few paragraphs:

I have a theory that the world is still suffering from the Romantic Syndrome, where everybody demands an ever-increasing amount of just about everything - excitement, pleasures, violence, rewards - you name it - a kinetic viewpoint so different from the classic, static world before it. If I'm right, I'm my own victim, guilty as well of trying to pull Mary along with me. (Or could it be that Swan Song thing?)

Alternatively (and hopefully), I'm just trying to set a good example for us oldsters, spokesperson for the ever-active life. Like the battery ad says, "just keeps going and going....."


Armand saw himself as the Energizer Bunny too, just as I
wrote in May this year. If he were still alive, he'd be working on his 2007 Christmas letter about now so for those who used to receive it annually, we close with a few choice Armand farewells:


There, now. We've tried to inspire you to adopt the right attitude towards senescence. "Don't go gentle into that good night." (1998)

Hugs (and where appropriate, kisses). (1991)

And what are YOU all doing to keep ahead in the great human race??? (1968)

Time (magazine), week of Dec. 14, p. 58, says these mimeo'd letters are going out of fashion. Now we're getting old fashioned, along with all our other problems. Really a no-win situation.(1981)

News is no good unless shared.(2001)

                                     

                                                         

Young at Heart and Good for the Mind

Youngheart My brother Jason loves connections,and sent me a link to Kotkke.org that directed me to a video featuring Young at Heart. This is a chorus of people with an average age of 80! Their rendition of "Fix You" by Coldplay is heartwarming.

Obviously functioning with legions of brain reserves, I asked Jason if he thought these folks, like Armand, are products of a special generation. His reply:

I don't know, but I don't think it's as symptomatic of the age group as the age of media that we live in.  We can simply know more about everything and everyone, and the interesting ones bubble up to the surface.

What's your opinion?

Watch: Young at Heart

Prudhoe Bay, Alaska - July 2001

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Armand wrote annual Christmas letters to friends and family for forty-four years! His Christmas Chronicle #39 gave details of his trip with Mary, to the Arctic Ocean: by car from Morgantown, WV. Armand was then 86 and Mary, 89. This is a lengthy post, but then so was the trip!

We're preprogrammed to travel, we two, but didn't grace so many spots as last year (six big ones). Just two: Hawaii in February- our annual rich-in-the-good- stuff visit with daughter Ann and husband Tomas.

Then, the improbable summer July 6 to September 7 drive to the Arctic Ocean (something vaguely on tap for years). There were the incredulous, with raised eyebrows (including mine), but we did it! Wisconsin, Montana, Alberta, British Columbia, Yukon Territory and Alaska. Put our hands in the icy waters July 24, Prudhoe Bay Oil Field, just 8 miles north of Deadhorse, AK (the last 8 is company land and you get there by guided tour).

The layout is impressive, whether you're pro or con extracting Arctic oil. There starts the 800-mile pipeline south to Valdez, itself an engineering marvel- pressure, temperature, consistency, what you could call "pipeline plaque" are all taken care of.

Anyway, it impressed me, and I've written my share of angry letters to Congress and President condemning the rape of the wilderness. (Note: if you enjoy cheaper gas, be glad no one listened to the lot of us).

The last 450 miles lie over a dangerous dirt and gravel road known to have punctured three tires in one 20-mile stretch (we heard). You have to have 2 wheels with tires, not just the usual spare, if you must do it.

We were lucky. The extra set of wheel and tire I bought in Fairbanks I resold unscathed, at a discount, once back on pavement. Some weren't so fortunate- we saw an RV in the ditch, on its side, badly caved in. No garages or gas for some two hundred miles.

Morgantown to the Ocean ca. 5,500 miles. The odometer actually read 13,850 by the time we got back (851 miles on the last day from Independence, MO) but we did a lot of detouring all over Alaska. Add five bush planes we hired for flights to spectacular places (notably Mt. Logan, at 19,850' the highest in Canada, located deep within Yukon Territory's Kluane National Park, which has no roads inside it, and Mt. McKinley, at 20,320', the nation's highest, which we flew over, sucking oxygen).

I took pictures galore, as pen or mouth can't begin to do these endless ranks of ice and snow, and precipitous rock any kind of justice. Suffiseth to say, they rival the Himalayas in beauty and height (remember, the bases are much lower with the North American peaks).

We finally reached Vancouver, after a week near Banff, Alberta, where we met up with Tomas' family reunion and had a grand old time. Mary begged off but I even got to do a raft trip down the roaring Kicking Horse River; we didn't overturn or get tossed overboard, but several of us jumped into the icy waters (we had on wet suits, etc.) to see what it would feel like. I did it because the others were half my age or less. Not the best of choices. I've been wetter and colder, but never before at the same time. Looks good on my CV, I hope!


Armand and Mary then drove to Vancouver where Annie and I met them to board a cruise ship for a trip up the southwest coast of Alaska. The octogenarians stayed up every night while we 'younger ones' retired (!!) to our rooms. Back in port, we said goodbye to the hardy couple. After a night or two in Vancouver, they drove back to West Virginia. I remember that it took me three to five days before I got my balance back.

In Armand's words:
Then home via Rocky Mt. National Park, where we've been paying pilgrimage off and on for 61 years (in my case, 72). We always have a picnic at Dream Lake, a hike of 2 miles RT., and an elevation of over 10,000'. Well, we made it, never mind how long it took. We also hiked a bit at 12,000'. This whole journey was meant as a sort of recap of all the trips we've done for sixty-one years. Revisited more than a few places we've loved over time; hikes, views, experiences. I think it did both of us a lot of good. Just maybe we can still try one more run down memory lane.

Map: csmonitor.com

Watch Woody Brown

Woodybrown Armand might have taken up surfing, had he met Woody Brown. This 94-year-old is a legend in surfing, soaring and sailing.

At 8pm Tuesday night, December 11, Hawaii's PBS station will air Of Wind and Waves, the incredible story of the inventor of the modern catamaran, protege of Charles Lindbergh and big wave surfer.

The film will be aired to also raise funds and awareness for public television, gerontology and elderly health and fitness issues.

Where's Armand.com will definitely be a supporter in memory of Armand Singer.