Those who know me that I am a man of many avocations. The pastime of which I am most passionate (and anyone who knows me will agree with this assessment) is officiating high school football. I’m a referee.

For those who know football, one of the first duties of the officials is to preside over a coin toss. Many years ago, my father gave me a 1921 silver dollar. This was a well used Morgan Dollar from the last year of Morgan Dollar production. Today, a circulated 1921 Morgan Dollar is worth about $20. The value of my ’21 Morgan was not in the value of the coin, but in the value of the giver.

The coin has been AWOL for several years. It was my only pre-game flipping coin for many seasons. As I met with the team captains at midfield, my speech always included the line, “This is a 1921 silver dollar my father gave me . . . .” And then it was gone. For about a season and a half I used a lesser coin, feeling a twinge of pain at every coin toss. Time to remedy the situation.

I browsed the Waysides for a coin dealer. My presumption was that in our Nation’s capital city, such a merchant would be an easy find. It was easy, what with the modern miracle of the Internet, but I was surprised to find only one in all of DC. Capitol Coin (1001 Connecticut Avenue, NW, Washington, DC 20036) was my only DC choice to replace my missing Morgan.

So off to the Metro, Red line this time, to Farragut North. A quick jaunt around the corner and—it’s a big office building. This doesn’t look right. I go in and tell the guard I’m looking for the coin store. “Take the elevator to the 7^th floor.” I was there.

What a place!

Capitol Coin

Calling it a coin store is not quite adequate. Nelson, the genial proprietor, has packed every square inch of his smallish store with coins, stamps, and an impressive array of collectible political memorabilia. Hats and pins and bumper stickers and note pads and watches and autographed everything and more and more. I have to admit being tempted by a Spiro Agnew watch. Really! A Spiro Agnew watch. Nelson has quite a store.

Capitol Coin

I explained that I was missing a 1921 Morgan Dollar and he said that could easily be replaced, but I told him that perhaps a 1925 coin would be better, as my late father was born in 1925. Not a problem, but it would be a different coin as the Morgans stopped in 1921 and the Peace Dollar was the dollar coin minted in 1925.

The Peace Dollar is so named because the reverse shows an American Eagle perched on a rock which displays the word, “Peace.” It is a stunning, shiny, beautiful coin. I used it every Friday night this season. My speech now includes the line, “This is a 1925 silver dollar I bought in honor of my Father.” The 1925 Peace Dollar is not particularly valuable or hard to find, but the value is not in the coin, but in the memory of a man who was minted that same year.

1925 Peace Obverse

1925 Peace Reverse

The Arthur M. Sackler Gallery

The Sackler Gallery is a wonderful gem in the Smithsonian crown. Situated on Independence Avenue, SW, the Arthur M. Sackler Gallery is one of the primarily underground offerings of the Smithsonian. The entrance is just west of the beautifully landscaped Parterre which sits just in front of the famed Smithsonian castle. The Sackler specializes in the art of Asia. A travelling exhibit, The Tsars and the East: Gifts from Turkey and Iran in the Moscow Kremlin, is here from May 9 to September 13.

The Smithsonian Castle

The Parterre

There are no pictures to share of the Tsars exhibit. As with all visiting exhibits, no photos are allowed. The works on display included fabulous artistry in gold, silver, emeralds, rubies, peridot, opals, and pearls. The craftsmanship on the woven tapestries, carpets, garments and upholsteries were fantastic. Impressive among the works on display were the saddles and saddle blankets. These had to be among the best-dressed horses of all time! I’m not sure the horses appreciated the honor, for these were cumbersome items with inset with many heavy jewels. One in particular I remember had dozens of beautiful peridot , each about the size of a fun-sized Snickers (how’s that for an apt comparison!). The artisans also made custom stirrups and bridles for the horses—heavy, ornate, and jeweled works of art. Centuries old, these works endure as a testament to artisans’ craft and conspicuous consumption.

There are pictures to share of the balance of the museum. Although my tastes do not run towards Asian art, the works were nonetheless astounding. Having visited Europe last year (see my other blog at http://www.davidandjudyineurope.blogspot.com), I was impressed with the oldness of things European. New punks on the block, they, compared to the offerings of the Sackler.

A set of six Chinese bells, over 2,500 years old (!) are on display.

Chinese Bells

A compound wardrobe, about 700 years old, was fascinating in its detail and function. The wardrobe could be easily disassembled and reassembled, ideal for a traveling court official whose duties had him perpetually on the road.

Fantastic Chinese Wardrobe

I suspect the Sackler is one of the lesser-visited offerings of the Smithsonian, but it is certainly worth a visit.

String of Hanging Monkeys passes through several floors of the Sackler

Seated Buddha-14th Century-Copper and Pigment

Wardrobe Detail

Time for a retro edition of Washington Waysides. Recent posts have related visits to places where two hours were allotted but eight were needed. Today, a time to sit and watch the city go by.

Start with a riddle: What do you get when you cross Pennsylvania and North Carolina? I’m not sure, but if you cross Pennsylvania Avenue, SE and North Carolina Ave, SE, you get Seward Square. Take the Orange or Blue line to Eastern Market Metro Station, make a U-turn off of the escalator, walk about 3 blocks, and you’re there.

The peak of the Asylum, just barely visible, looking northwest on Pennsylvania Avenue SE

Lovely townhome on the periphery of Seward Square.

The walk up Pennsylvania Avenue, SE, was uneventful. This section of one of the most famous Avenues in the world is decidedly less busy—nearly bustle-less—than the other end of Pennsylvania Avenue. Even though it was about the beginning of the afternoon rush, there was little auto or pedestrian traffic.

Seward Square is different than other District squares I have experienced. At other squares, the streets stop and do not pass through. Not so with Seward Square. Both Avenues cut directly through without deviating their course. As a result, Seward Square offers little space to mingle, socialize, walk about, or toss a Frisbee.

Somebody's getting a parking ticket!

No . . .

So, what to do in Seward Square? Not much. One unfriendly lady walked one unfriendly, mouse-like dog. Several apparently homeless residents made camp among the shrubbery in the shadow of plenty. There is no monument or placard denoting the importance of Seward, or even which Seward is the Square’s namesake. A circular stone walkway, sits empty, begging for a statue to be placed inside. But alas, only several “no alcohol” signs decorate this square.

One of the few gas stations in the District. At the time, the rest of the US was paying about $2.35 for regular.

This display post, perhaps, previously told the history of Seward Square. Perhaps not. Now it is but an obstacle.

The Library of Congress, as seen from Seward Square.

Not really in Seward Square, but seen on 3rd Street, SE, on my walk to Union Station. Not really sure what it is, but it's interesting.

For the first time in a long time, Washington Waysides allotted more time than necessary to visit a site. Even so, it was a uncharacteristically pleasant day in the District. A fine July day to stop and smell the roses. Had there been any.

Time for a photo essay! There is much too much to say about the National Portrait Gallery (801 F Street, NW, Washington, DC 20004). However, before we go to the pictures, a quick word about the One Life: The Mask of Lincoln. The Mask was a special exhibit at the Gallery and no pictures were allowed. A Matthew Brady original was on display. The most striking pieces, however, were a pair of life masks. Apparently, it was all the rage in the mid-1800’s to have life masks made. The two masks were made four years apart. The first mask of a young man; the second portrayed an older, haggard, careworn man—evidence of the ravages of difficult leadership. I was staggered to know that I was looking on masks actually cast from the face of Abraham Lincoln.

Now, the photo essay. Keep in mind that everything in the Gallery is the original:

The National Portrait Gallery

The original "Hope" poster, included at no extra charge. You can keep the change.

OK, this one is just weird. It's a denim girl ironing denim on a denim ironing board.

Jimmy Carter, as seen by Andy Warhol.

Detail of the original autographs of Carter and Warhol.

Got Prince Albert in a picture? Better let him out!

I was stopped in my tracks by this vivid oil-on-canvas of one of my all-time heroes. Thomas Jonathan Jackson from the brush of J. W. King (no relation), 1864. The fine gent somehow reminds one of a stone wall.

Not sure I understand the curator's decision to place General Jackson's portrait in the same room as the village drunk, but so it is.

One of the more eye-catching pieces, due to the colorful and fancy dress of the subject. And who might this natty gent be? Why of course, it's Isaac Singer! Yes, that Singer.

Edison, hard at work, as usual.

Davy. Distinguished, famed Tennessean. Member of the Asylum before it was the Asylum. Victim of wanderlust.

Poe, Emerson, Hawthorne, Longfellow.

Poets everywhere. Here's Walt Whitman.

Richard Henry Lee from the pallet of Charles Wilson Peale. Lee, a fine Virginian, signer of the Declaration of Independence, and unfortunately, a lesser-known Founding Father. It was Lee who introduced the resolution to the Second Continental Congress “that these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States.”

Pocahantas. The only outfit in the house fancier than Singer's.

I studied the one for a long time. One of the most amazing oil-on-canvas works I have ever seen. Eunice Kennedy Shriver with five Special Olympians. The subjects are (L-R) Airika Straka, Katie Meade, Andy Leonard, Loretta Claiborne, Mrs. Shriver, and Marty Sheets.

Check out Marty's expression. He's is looking right at you! Or through you!

Airika trying to grab the sun. I think she got it! See how the light plays on the water, her hair, and . . .

. . . her hand. Really, it's oil on canvas!

Another fine Virginian. Yeah, it's the original.

Peale's famous unfinished Washington. The dollar bill portrait. Yeah, the original.

James A. Garfield by Ole Peter Hansen Balling, 1881, oil on canvas. I don't know much about Garfield, except for his unfortunate status as one of four assassinated Presidents, but this painting is so vivid it appears Garfield is about to turn towards you and speak. A lifelike and impressive work.

We could use a little more Cal these days.

The least impressive portrait in the Gallery. I knew who it was because of where it was hanging. But except for that and the plaque on the wall, who would have guessed Clinton?

One of the most engaging portraits in the Gallery. Bush 43 relaxed, casual, and welcoming.

A classy guy.

Norman Rockwell's version of RMN. Almost makes him look pleasant, friendly, and approachable. Almost.

A whimsical piece to wrap up the essay. Sorry it is blurred--didn't know I was shaking at the time. But you can still figure it out. The blessings of liberty do indeed need securing. Cal?

“I know that guy!” That was my initial thought upon my initial visit to the Navy Memorial. The Lone Sailor, a work in bronze by Stanley Bleifeld, rightfully serves as the centerpiece of this fine memorial. I have seen the Lone Sailor in real life, many times, seabag at his side, waiting at the end of the pier. Sometimes the Lone Sailor was my Dad, sometimes he was somebody else’s Dad; either way I have seen him many times. I know the Lone Sailor. If a picture is worth a thousand words, this Lone Sailor speaks a million. Just listen.

The Navy Memorial is a striking reminder of the vastness of the Navy’s place of work. The deck (that’s Navy talk for what you are walking on) of the memorial is the globe, flattened out in all directions, a “Granite Sea.” The Lone Sailor can see the world from his spot at the head of the Memorial; fitting because this Sailor has indeed seen the world and sailed all of her seas. Fountains? Of course there are fountains. The Navy Memorial could not be complete without water.

The perimeter of the Granite Sea has twenty-six bronze relief sculptures depicting famous and significant scenes from Navy history. Each is a striking work by a different artist. The scenes depict famous events, important Naval figures, and recurring themes. These sculptures evoke the memories of John Paul Jones, Navy Chaplains, Naval Aviation, the Coast Guard, Naval Reserves, and the Navy Family (“Those Who Wait Also Serve,” proclaims the sculpture by Robert Lamb). Perhaps most poignant is the memorial to Explosive Ordnance Disposal which states, “Initial Success or Total Failure.”

Several flag poles, which look like ships’ masts, mark the front of the memorial (701 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW). The flags give the Memorial the appearance of a Naval man-o’-war in full dress. The classic Naval banner, “Don’t Tread on Me” is on prominent display. A striking quote by President John F. Kennedy graces the Memorial. Quothe he: “Any man who may be asked what he did to make his life worthwhile, can respond with a good deal of pride and satisfaction, ‘I served in the United States Navy.’”

Because of its location and its layout as a mostly flat, open area, the Memorial attracts a lot of visitors. The Memorial is on Pennsylvania Ave about halfway between the White House and the Asylum and directly across the street from the National Archives (on my list of places to visit). Today, the anti-malaria activists were using the Memorial to solicit donations so that mosquito netting could be purchased for those in need. “Send a Net. Save a Life” was their message. To make their point, they set up a small soccer goal and invited passing children to kick the ball into the goal (“Get a net! Save a Life.”). I’m not sure they picked the Navy Memorial because it was the Navy Memorial—probably instead because it was an available piece of attractive, popular real estate—but I imagine the Lone Sailor was supportive of their efforts.

When Admiral Arleigh Burke died, I remember reading the official announcement from the Chief of Naval Operations. Although Admiral Burke was an accomplished officer with many laurels to his credit, he insisted that his tombstone describe him simply as a “Sailor.” His wife’s place on the stone, says “Sailor’s Wife.” The CNO decreed at that time, and in Admiral Burke’s honor, the word Sailor would henceforth be capitalized. Most have forgotten that directive; as I have a profound fondness for Sailors, I have not. To this day, over 35 years after my Father’s last return from deployment, I still feel a rising lump in my throat when the nightly news shows the throng on the pier awaiting the return of their Lone Sailor—this day, the Navy Memorial has the same effect.

In salute of our Navy, the finest the world has ever seen, I offer the Navy Hymn (William Whiting, 1825-1878; you can hear the US Navy Sea Chanters sing it here):

Eternal Father, Strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bid’st the mighty Ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
O hear us when we cry to thee,
for those in peril on the sea.

O Christ! Whose voice the waters heard
And hushed their raging at Thy word,
Who walked’st on the foaming deep,
and calm amidst its rage didst sleep;
Oh hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea!

Most Holy spirit! Who didst brood
Upon the chaos dark and rude,
And bid its angry tumult cease,
And give, for wild confusion, peace;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea!

O Trinity of love and power!
Our brethren shield in danger’s hour;
From rock and tempest, fire and foe,
Protect them wheresoe’er they go;
Thus evermore shall rise to Thee,
Glad hymns of praise from land and sea.

Union Station in a word: impressive. Standing in Union Station (40 E Massachusetts Avenue NE, Washington, DC 20002) presents nearly limitless opportunities. Every kind of food is available, from the fast food Food Court, which rivals any shopping mall food court you’ve seen, to fancy meals at sit-down restaurants. All types of goods are available for sale, from notions to business suits to souvenirs. Fine cigars, wines, fragrances, and anything else you can think of are there, including the ubiquitous FourBucks. One store, Art of Shaving, sells nothing but shaving supplies (at a goodly price).

Travelling? Yes, people actually travel to and from Union Station. Lots of people. You have easy access by rail to anyplace along the Boston-New York-Philadelphia-Baltimore-Washington-Richmond corridor. Union Station Metro Station (on the RED line), will get you to or near just about anywhere in metro DC. Also easily accessible are Thurgood Marshall (BWI) and Reagan National (WAS) airports. Taxis, buses, commuter lines, zip cars, and rental cars are all available. Parking, for those who foolishly decide to drive here, is available for thousands of cars ($19/day).

Technically, one could be born here, although the appropriate facilities are among the few things not in the building. Technically, one could die here, although perhaps this is inadvisable. I also saw no evidence of a cemetery. However, for everything in between birth and death, you could do it without leaving Union Station.

And you can do whatever suits your fancy in a staggeringly impressive Beaux-Arts building. The photos I snapped do not do the building justice. (Gentle readers are reminded that all of the pictures taken for Washington Waysides, even those that do not appear on the blog pages, are available for viewing here). The soaring architecture, the marble tile, the statues and fountains and staircases and wrought iron all come together in a work of beauty. People, oh the people, are everywhere by the thousands. They are not as attractive as the building but typically, they don’t stay long. Constant movement is the constant theme at Union Station.

You can tell the tourists: mouth agape, typically looking up in the grand lobby. A small army of Romanesque soldiers peer down; no two alike. Each warrior carries a shield—not originally there—added later because the soldiers, shall we say, leave nothing to the imagination. The portico of the building is a majestic façade of columns and arches. Out in front, matching the impressive approach afforded by Columbus Circle NE, a large fountain takes center stage. Between the fountain and the building is a replica of the Liberty Bell.

Passing through Union Station? At least once, try not to just pass through. You could see a lot, just by looking.

One thousand gentle readers! Thanks for visiting!

“O for a thousand tongues to sing my great Redeemer’s praise!”

I was sure that my opening line for this post would be, “Listen my children, and you shall hear . . .” More on that later.

Today was a bright, warm, and beautiful day on Boston, Massachusetts. Not only were touri in abundance, the Bostonians gladly continued shaking off winter’s cold and ventured out into the grandeur of this Spring day. The sun was bright, the breeze gentle, and the temperature perfect for all manner of outdoor activities.

But first, Boston Common. The Common was established as an open, public, common meeting space for Bostonians in 1634. Early in its history, Boston Common served as playground, pasture, cemetery, pillory, hanging ground, and meeting place. The tree-lined walks, the frog pond (dry this day), and Spring flowers in bloom are a welcome respite to those who wander by. Several impressive canines enjoyed their masters’ company, many happily retrieving thrown balls and reveling in this day, a glorious gift from Above.

Our very unfriendly and impatient hack drove us to Salem Street in the North End, depositing us without a word in front of Christ Church—that’s the real name of the Old North Church (193 Salem Street, Boston, MA). We entered through the same gates that Patriots had used centuries before: august names like John Hancock, Samuel Adams, Paul Revere, and his lesser-known but equally important companion, William Dawes (perhaps the disparity in historical treatment is due to Dawes not rhyming with “hear?”).

The church is much as it was in April, 1775, when Paul and William made their famous rides. The same clock still keeps time on the rail below the church’s impressive organ. The pews—box pews—still bear the names of those who paid to sit in positions of prestige during Sunday services. A distinguished bust of an aged George Washington graces an alcove, stage right. On either side of the organ, twin staircases rise, ending behind the organ at the door to the rickety, dark ladders that Robert Newman and John Pulling used that fateful night. Two lamps, please.

The risk that night was great but sturdy Patriots stood to answer the call. The sexton, Robert Newman, one of the two men on lantern duty that night, was arrested by British troops the next day on charges of high treason. He was acquitted because no one would testify against him.

It was stirring to darken the doors, walk the aisles, and sit in the pews of brave visionaries gone on before. I thought that would be the primary thrill of the Old North Church experience. The thrill for me was borne of a plaque on the wall. The plague commemorates a visit during the months of September and October, 1736, by Rev Charles Wesley, late of England. Wesley, a giant of the Christian faith, surely rocked the timbers of Christ Church with his powerful, persuasive oratory and his powerful, persuasive voice. In his honor, this post opens and closes with words he penned circa 1738:

O for a thousand tongues to sing

My great Redeemer’s praise,

The glories of my God and King,

The triumphs of his grace!

My gracious Master and my God,

Assist me to proclaim,

To spread through all the earth abroad

The honors of thy name.

Jesus! the name that charms our fears,

That bids our sorrows cease;

’tis music in the sinner’s ears,

’tis life, and health, and peace.

He breaks the power of canceled sin,

He sets the prisoner free;

His blood can make the foulest clean;

His blood availed for me.

Out in the middle of the water where Connecticut, Rhode Island, and New York meet, where Long Island Sound, Block Island Sound, and Narragansett Bay comingle, Mystic Harbor has for centuries provided safe harbor for those who venture to the sea. Follow Mystic Harbor north into Connecticut and in about 2 ½ miles it narrows to become the estuary that is the Mystic River. On both sides of the Mystic River is the old, quaint, seaside village of Mystic, Connecticut.

The unincorporated town of Mystic has a lot going for it. First, its very cool name. Second is its beautiful, picturesque situation on the water. Third are the many shops, restaurants, hiking and biking trails, and local attractions. Fourth, the movie.

“Mystic Pizza” was released 21 years ago in 1988. The town and the namesake pizzeria (which existed before the movie) continue to capitalize on the attention gained through the movie. Several locals told me that Mystic Pizza (65 W. Main Street, Mystic, CT 06355) was good but that I could do better. Even so, I found myself drawn to the tourist attraction that Mystic Pizza has become.

A slice of heaven (cheese)

Cod and chips

Critical to the history of Mystic is its seafaring heritage. Years ago Mystic was a whaling center. Those days are gone but fishing is still very important. Chatting with Katie, my server at MP, the fish in the fish and chips is cod (she said codfish but I prefer to avoid the redundancy) purchased regularly off the local fishing docks. So, fish and chips it was, with a cheese slice on the side to complete the experience.

The intent behind Washington Wayside was not to be a food critic blog, but, “you gotta eat” (so says Checkers, the home of one of the best fast-food burgers, but there I go talking about food again). So here I am at my second restaurant (following Ben’s Chili Bowl), and happily so.

The pizza was good. The crust was very good with a toothsome crunch. This is a less saucy pizza than I’m used to and the balance of sauce and cheese was very pleasant and tasty. Even though this is a pizza place, the highlight was the fish. The cod was served hot and fresh, was perfectly done, and generously piled on the plate. So generous that the chips (AKA: fries), which were average, were mostly untouched. The cod made it worth the trip.

The restaurant plays a continuous loop of the movie on several high-def screens. Movie memorabilia abounds on the walls. The obligatory tee-shirts, hats, key chains, and the like are available for purchase. The DVD of the movie is $20 (hint: it can be had used for nearly free on Amazon). Mystic Pizza has evolved from home-grown, local pizza shop to tourist Mecca and continues to work that angle, quite nicely.

The locals are proud of their flagpole . . . . . . and their drawbridge.

Mystic souvenirs