Rocman “Roc” Whitesell retires from The Pfister Hotel tonight at 10:00 pm after 18 years of service as Concierge. I got a chance to talk to him a few hours before he hung up his uniform. Roc affirmed in my a belief in and celebration of ignorance–there is so much that we don’t know about so much . . . and that’s pretty cool. I’ll be inviting Hotel associates and blog readers to share their favorite stories about Roc!
Gallery Night last Friday in the Pop-Up Gallery and the Rouge Ballroom taught me about textures:
How atmospheric textures can affect a photograph of the Grand Tetons, or how printing in black and white versus color can lead to striking differences–thanks to insight offered by Coalition of Photographic Arts (CoPA) founding member Tom Federbar during the opening of his exhibit Yosemite & the Tetons.
How printing a photograph on a different surface, such as Sunset Metallic Photo Paper or Brushed Aluminum or Breathing Color Elegant Velvet Fine Art Paper (all Prime Digital Media products), can change the way a photograph appears and is perceived.
And how the musical textures of an electronically-amplified cello and the dramatic swish of snare drum brushes can affect what an artist such as Pamela M. Anderson, our Artist-in-Residence, sees and feels–and how that can translate to a blank canvas.
All in all, to bridge the gap between the evening’s art and my life, I was reminded to attend to the “textures” in my own life–those I’ve been given, those others create for me, and those I create myself–and how they transform how I present myself to the world, how I am perceived, how I affect and effect.
Stay tuned for my full reflection on these stories!
This woman is a state legislator from North Dakota. She and her husband were enjoying some sit-at-the-bar time after a long week for her at a Council of State Governments conference.
We are happiest when we travel. We were in Dublin this spring, and this fall, we’re going to Iceland then London. One of our favorite places was Seattle. I [Mike] particularly loved the Boeing airplane exhibit. My dad flew a B-17, so being able to get on a real B-17 and crawl around on it, sit where he sat–it’s a magnificent plane–was pretty incredible.
We’ve traveled in groups many times, but as we got older, we got used to just traveling together. We learned how to adjust to each others’ schedules, think about someone else’s feelings, things like that. We do a good pace, we think.
When we travel, we really are sit-at-the-bar people. We meet the most interesting people, some of whom become good friends. We’re able to suggest things that strangers might like–and just have a good time.
We’re both retired teachers, so travel always had to happen in the summer. But now . . .
The photo is a little blurry, but this is the one she liked. It captures her youthful spirit, which emerged as she talked about her independence. When I saw her, she was sitting alone, reading the newspaper, her expression inscrutable. I couldn’t tell if she was going to welcome my company.
I am happiest when I travel to a new city and I get to figure out how to navigate it, use the mass transit, and such. When I travel, I’m almost always on my own, which makes me feel independent and strong.
My first trip was–I was only 20 or 21–when I went to New York City. I was working at the time. I didn’t finish college. I didn’t drop out, though–back then, they called it “stopping college.” Most people who “stopped” college planned on going back after they “found themselves.” But once I started working and the money started coming in (I was never rich, of course), it got comfortable. There was a documentary on in the 60s about elderly people who didn’t have enough to eat–and I remember telling myself that I didn’t want to be poor when I got older. So, anyways: all my friends had just graduated from college, and they didn’t have a lot of money. I figured that I could either wait to go to NYC until they had some money or–so I just went.
I never got married. I was born independent. In fact, I had my fortune told by a psychic once. My mother was deceased, but the psychic saw her and my mother told her, “She’s always been independent, even as a little child.”
Two buddies from college in Indiana attended a wedding of a friend at the Milwaukee Art Museum this past weekend. They both spoke about the happiest moments in their lives. Guess which one is which. 🙂
People think I’m the ‘Wedding Grinch.’ But the happiest day of my life was calling my wedding off 17 days before the date. I saved her life and my own in the process. That’s why I always have a smile on my face. I love my independence: I have my family, my friends.
What’s funny is that I had my bachelor party planned from the time I was 7. All I knew is that it was going to be in Las Vegas and that money wasn’t going to be an option. I didn’t know, of course, about Scarface or women or any extracurriculars. I just wanted it to be fun. And when my buddy Matt offered to help, as best man, I told him, ‘Don’t worry. I got it.’
I’m the life of the party. I danced the night away with a 7-year-old at the wedding this weekend. We’re buddies for life now. But happiness is not identifiable only with weddings.
The happiest day of my life? Well, I got married in November. The wedding day was great, but the engagement was better. It’s all about the preparation and the anticipation.
So I bought a ring right around Thanksgiving and called my parents–my dad started crying. I wanted to ask her parents’ permission, thinking I could wait until the next holiday, like Christmas. But my mother told me, ‘No, you’re doing this now. This week.’ So I flew from L.A. to San Francisco on the following Monday, making up a story to my girlfriend that I was on a business trip, emailing her parents to tell them that I was going to be in their neighborhood. I’m pretty sure they knew I was going to ask for permission to marry their daughter, but they didn’t say anything. I did, then proposed two weeks later.
Her dad and mom had been in a long-distance relationship like ours, except the reverse: she was in L.A. and he was in San Francisco. He had brought her down to the beach to propose, but it started raining and she didn’t want to get out of the car. So he proposed to her in the car. I brought my girlfriend to the same beach and proposed to her there–successfully. My father-in-law still jokes about how the next generation makes up for the mistakes of the previous one.
Today is actually the anniversary of our first date.
Brian had to leave for the airport, so we departed, and within minutes, Amy appeared in search of food. “I’ll have the burger,” she told Val, barely having scanned the menu. “I just got here from the airport. I’m very hungry.” I took a risk and bugged her as she waited for her food. We both discovered, however, that we could have talked for much longer; she barely touched her burger until I left. (I won’t lie. It was partly that we discovered we were both Eurasian, she Chinese-Sicilian, me Japanese-Calabrian.) Amy offered a different perspective on relationships and marriage than Brian or Matt.
I waited a long time to get married. My husband kept trying and trying and trying. When I lost my mom–I took care of her for four years–I told her on her deathbed that I didn’t want to get married or have kids. I wanted to travel and . . . When I think of freedom, I think of travel, of having choices. Dancing, too–that’s being free.
I finally agreed to get married. But I was firm from the first date: “No kids.” There’s a social stigma surrounding this, though. People might say you’re selfish. From the perspective of overpopulation, I think I’m being rather green by not bringing another person into this world ‘just because.’ I’m making a choice not to become a mother. There are obviously many women who choose to become moms, but what about people like me who don’t want to give into social norms?
People have told me, ‘You’re not a woman.’ But a female shouldn’t be defined by her ability to bear children. I want to be able to wake up every day and not have to take care of another human. I mean, maybe when I’m old and all alone and wondering why there’s no one around to take care of me, but . . . for now, it’s my choice.
Feel free to send me a photo and an anecdote (more questions here) to firstname.lastname@example.org!
The following letter was sent to me by Marie Foote, who divides her time between San José, Costa Rica, and Denver:
“I grabbed your flyer from the 23rd floor of The Pfister Hotel–what a
fabulous idea to tell the stories of those of us who have been touched
by its historic & modern charms!
As I write this out, I am currently en route from Milwaukee to Chicago
with my husband and two children. We are happy Denverites, serving in
a coffee business and ministryin San José, Costa Rica. It just so
happens that we are family reunion-hopping this week (a grand total of
3, yes, THREE reunions!), before we wing our way to Costa Rica, to
renew our two year residency status so our work can continue.
“We had plans, initially, to stay at another hotel in the Milwaukee
area, but after our first night there, we realized that the atmosphere
–ahem, other obnoxious guests–would not be the cohabitants with
whom we’d love to share the next two days! So, we canceled our
reservation there and chose to stay at the Pfister. It was one of the
best gifts we could have been given this week! Every interaction we
had with the staff resulted in us feeling as though we were the only
people they were serving the entire time. The Pfister serves with
excellence and pleasure . . . and left us aching for more time there
than our two splendid days!
“You asked what my happiest memory has been . . . when I’ve felt fully
alive. That ‘moment,’ for me, has been a conglomeration of several
memories from the last 12 years, since we first held our daughter in
our arms. All of the moments, pieced together into one grand story of
love, are moments which include the three people who complete me the
My husband, Jordan, my best friend and unfailing servant-companion
for 19 years; we have laughed and cried together on many international
Our daughter, Megan, adopted since birth, who sprinkles a multitude
of drawings on scraps of paper in every corner of our world–her
artistic signature sealing a life-letter full of chatter, song and
Our son, Micah, also adopted since birth, who can entertain a
roomful of incredulous adults with his Wikipedia-esque recitation of
random facts or humorous quips, and yet would rather eat a chocolate
donut with his Dad than do just about anything else.
Whether serving others in a tropical capital city, far from our
homeland, or receiving the gift of refreshment in a luxury hotel near
Lake Michigan, these three fellow travelers are the means by which God
gives me the strength to face each day, no matter what may come.
Living as an expat missionary in another culture is, at times, the
most trying task we have been given and yet, the joys which call to us
through every trial make every step worth the struggle. We have become
a family who travels well together, lives well together, loves well.
With them, traveling the world, I am fully alive.”
Feel free to send me a photo and an anecdote (more questions here) to email@example.com
“I feel most alive when I’m at my peak, with my home life, my love life, my work life. And also with my wealth. I don’t mean just monetary wealth. It’s also my personal wealth, the things I value, the laurels I have–and then staying true to those things. I feel most alive when I’m doing things the right way and things are working out.”
“I feel most alive when I feel like I’m making a progression, moving forward. Otherwise, I’m at a standstill. I measure myself to see how I’m progressing. It’s not an ‘envy’ kind of measurement. But I’m only twenty and I feel like I’m behind. We’re all born with different cards. Some people get aces, kings, or queens. Others get deuces, two’s, or three’s. I just want to feel like I have a nice strong deck in my hands.”
Her: “I am the happiest when I get to watch my husband find his happiness. He’s a closet rock star who never pursued that part of his life. Luckily, though, we live in Madison and there’s a band called The Gomerswho play what’s called ‘Gomeroke.'”
Him: “How lucky am I?” (referring to his wife, with whom he was celebrating their 28th anniversary) “I do feel so happy when I’m on that stage. It doesn’t matter what song you want to sing, they’ll play it. And if you’re singing off-key, they’ll change the key. If you forget the words, they’ll fill in for you. And the best part is coming down from that stage to join my wife and friends. This was like my therapy at times.”
Her: “Sometimes magic happens on that stage–I cried when he sang Chris Isaak’s ‘Wicked Game.’ And sometimes people are pretty bad, but it doesn’t matter. The band will just smile and keep playing, and we’ll all celebrate the fact that they got on that stage. And me, I’m a doo-wop girl, a roadie, who’s there to help everyone shine.”
“My country song would be a happy adventure song, fully of travel, sunshine, and good people. I really foresee more travel for me in the future. My cousin and I have been talking about going to Cape Cod, the east coast, next. And Greece has been on my European bucket list for awhile.”
“My country song would be kind of like my cousin’s: full of sunshine, warm weather, and water. And there’d be a little love story. But definitely a beach, because it lightens you, frees you. Ooo…it’s invigorating to me.”
“We love coming downtown and staying at The Pfister. We live out in Sussex, but we still come down, even though lots of people out there would say we’re crazy going all that way. We used to live on 89th and Center in Milwaukee before we moved to Sussex. And when we first moved, our four-year-old daughter would cry: ‘It’s too quiet, mom. Where are the sirens? And where are the sidewalks? And the street lights?’ It would be dead silent. But you know what? She got used to it. And loves it.”
“My wife has some health problems and so we’re part of a support group. So many people are dying, so I try to lighten things up. I write a monthly, 18-page newsletter. I can put whatever the hell I want in it. There are a lot of jokes, of course. And this month I’ll have a quote from Patrick Henry: ‘Give me liberty or give me death.’ There will be a Beauty of Nature section with a beautiful bird. And an Everybody Needs Somebody section with pictures of people with their dogs. An Aunty Acid section. Features about special people, like the one about the police commissioner of Chicago, and excerpts from caregiver journals. I’ll send you a copy of the latest newsletter.”
Him: “I’m the most alive when I’m listening to live music. I get emotional. So I try to go wherever the music is: Jazz Fest, Newport, Austin, here for Summerfest. Wherever. Even last night, at the Johnson Control stage–their whole focuse was on emerging artists, we got to hear Peter Bjorn. Me being fifty-six, I’ve never heard of them before, but it was like Swedish pop heaven; everyone was singing at the top of their lungs. I got–I get–very verklempt; I feel a connection. I mean, life is about dancing and singing. They’re the two biggest cures for illness. If we don’t live, then we’re not accomplishing anything, right?”
Her: “We just watched a documentary about China and Samoa and global warming. A woman in the film was saying that there has to be a shift in our moral imagination if we’re to fix things and be happy. She asked, ‘What do you want to do as a human being? You’re an adult. You have to make a human choice for yourself. You need the personal satisfaction that you’re doing something morally right for yourself and the world. Imagine, then, where you want to be morally, as a moral person.”
I met some fun Humans today at Blu and the Lobby Lounge.
I’m preparing their stories for the next installment of HUMANS OF THE PFISTER (HOTP): LIFE, LIBERTY, & HAPPINESS,
but for now, here’s a preview of their beautiful faces.
Can you guess which of these HOTPsaid the following?
a. “I feel most alive when I’m at my peak, with my home life, my love life, my work life.”
b. “I just want to feel like I have a nice strong deck of cards in my hands.”
c. “Singing with the band was like my therapy.”
d. “My country song would be an adventure song, with travels, sunshine, and good people.”
e. “Our daughter was four years old when we moved from Milwaukee to Sussex. At first, she’d cry and say, ‘It’s too quiet, mom. Where are the sirens?’ She got used to it.”
f. “I’m a doo-wop girl. Or a roadie. I like to help people shine.”
g. “I love the beach because it lightens you, frees you, and oooh, it’s invigorating to me!”
h. “Life is about dancing and singing. They’re the two biggest cures for illness. If we don’t live, we’re not accomplishing anything.”
i. “I try to lighten things up. I write a monthly newsletter–18 pages long–for the support group.”
j. “We just watched a documentary about how we need a ‘shift in our moral imagination,’ so that we can have personal satisfaction that we’re doing something morally right, that we’re doing what we want to do as human beings.”
This month, I am beginning a series called Humans of The Pfister (or HOTP for short), inspired by the prolific Brandon Stanton and his blog series Humans of New York (HONY), which captures the lives and experiences of hundreds and hundreds of New Yorkers in stunning photographs and anecdotes. His HONY “photographic census” has expanded to tell stories from different countries–including Pakistan, Iran, Uganda, India, Vietnam, and Mexico–and collected stories of inmates and refugees and individuals with pediatric cancer. Since the success of HONY, especially via social media, two books have collected many of Stanton’s photographs and stories, Mario Sinclair’s Humans of Milwaukee website has amassed an impressive over the last year and, to be expected, numerous spinoffs and parodieshave emerged.
Each month, I will explore a different theme. The month of July I will dedicate to–you guessed it–life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I will ask guests and associates questions like these:
When have you felt most alive?
What is your secret to living a fulfilling life?
What is the number one thing that has gotten you to this point in your life?
What is one thing that you are still working on in your life?
When have you felt the freest?
What have you felt the least free?
What is the most liberating thing you have ever done?
Does freedom come with a price?
How do you pursue happiness?
What was one of the happiest moments of your life?
Who or what makes you the happiest?
What is your definition of happiness?
Please enjoy the first set of HOTP, who I met on the afternoon of July 1st:
“I felt the most alive and extremely, extremely at peace after my nine-year-old daughter was ill and needed a kidney transplant. We went to two different doctors in southern California, both of whom said she also had cardiomyopathy and recommended both kidney and heart surgery. One of the doctors told us, “Your daughter’s life is finite.” Devastated, and wanting another opinion, we went to a doctor in Brazil (my ex-wife is Brazilian) and he told us to convince the American doctors to just do the kidney transplant. So now she has my kidney and is 17 years old. Her life wasn’t finite. After the surgery, I felt super, super peaceful. I felt such presence and non-resistance–so free, so alive, so at peace. I began meditating, which brought me clarity, a sense of letting go, without attachment. I also felt joy, felt connected. I was able to live with this life energy for some time (it’s like we need to go to a mental gym where we make ourselves aware of all our attachments, then let them go), but it’s a difficult thing to maintain, just like working out. I’m still working on it.”
“I feel the freest when I’m hiking out in the woods, especially in Northern Minnesota where I’m from. Out there, you can’t hear anything from the city. One of the most intense hikes is in Devil’s Kettle, where you have to go down 400 stairs at the beginning, then, of course, hike back up them at the end. And out there, I don’t have to worry about my make-up.”
“I’ll tell you, in my most humble opinion, that I feel the least free in today’s culture. There is so much constraint. We live in the greatest country and culture ever devised, but there are too many rules and regulations. I’m not just talking about government. I just think that people are not as flexible to do the things they want to do. Yes, there are lots of opportunities on the creative end, but there’s a pervasive ‘political correctness’ that makes people almost fear retribution if they say or do something that other people don’t like. I would say that I’m one of the most open individuals you can find–it doesn’t matter to me your religious orientation or sexual orientation, for instance. That’s why the three things I try to hammer into my sons are these: (1) Stay out of debt (you lose part of your liberty when you’re in debt), (2) Follow your passion, and (3) Do what you want to do. You don’t have to be rich to be happy. If you want to be a janitor, then be the best janitor that you can be.”
“Life is all about love, family (my son, of course), and friends. Outside of career and money, those are the secrets to living a fulfilling life, a ‘successful’ life. I have unconditional love for my seven-year-old son. He just loves me to death, too. My little sweetheart. Also, what’s sad about seeing these questions is that I can’t honestly remember the last time in, say, the past five years, that I felt truly “free.” Life seems to get in the way. But there was that time I went snowboarding down a mountain and felt totally free. And that time when my colleagues and I were in Beijing, riding bikes through the Forbidden City–and that was free, freeing. We had to book it through Tiananmen Square because it’s illegal to do that. But that was freeing, too.”
Thank you for following my blog on The Pfister Hotel website. I hope you’re enjoying the variety of stories: jazz and graduations, art and hearts, jazz and justice. There are many more to come, so stay tuned! There are also a few things that you can do to make the blog more dynamic, more of a conversation:
RECOMMEND a post you like by clicking the little heart at the end of post.
SHARE the posts on your social media (and direct them to potentially interested readers).
JOIN ME in conversation about the stories that emerge from my time at the Hotel.
One of my goals in the next twelve months is to create conversations and connections between guests to this blog. I invite you, then, to RESPOND whenever you can to the questions I pose in the Comments section at the end of each post, typically a question or prompt inspired by the people I’ve met. I want to hear your stories, too! To date, here are the questions I’ve posted, with a link to the posts.
At the Mason Street Grill on Wednesday evening, after listening to part of a set by the Jamie Breiwick/Mark Davis Duo, I snuck up to a table where a woman was sitting alone.
Her companion had just temporarily vacated his seat to chat with Jamie and Mark. This seemed like a good opportunity to see what she knew and thought about jazz. I introduced myself (her name is Sheryl) and remarked about how smoothly Jamie’s embouchure and Mark’s fingers communicated with each other, almost telepathically (I didn’t use the term “embouchure”–I had to look that up!). I was really bemoaning the fact that I’d never been able to tear my eyes away from the sheet music and just, well, jam. Improvise. Instead, my classical and acoustic guitar playing was always literally by-the-book. Sheryl conjectured that improvisation was like telling each other, “We’re going to do this together–but also separately. Let’s just agree to play in this key, this tempo, this style.” Then I’m going to play, then you’ll come in when it seems right. I’ll listen to your notes, you listen to my rhythm. We’ll build off each other. Communicate and create with a look, a beat, a tone. We’ll build off what we know and take it from there.
Sheryl’s husband, Kurt, whose seat I had taken, is an accomplished pianist, composer, and arranger. When Kurt returned to the table, I learned that he had arranged the music this spring for James & the Giant Peach at The Prairie School, where Jamie and I just got done teaching for the year, and had also just performed with Aretha Franklin at the Riverside the previous Friday. When I told them that one of my missions as the Narrator is to uncover the story of jazz at The Pfister–and educate myself on the genre–both Sheryl and Kurt recommended that I begin my instruction with Ken Burn’s famous Jazz documentary series. Sheryl admitted to knowing about as much as I do about the technical side of jazz, but it must be nice having a jazz expert to which to defer when jazz virgins like me ask questions like “How do Jamie and Mark know when to come in after the other one solos?” or “Are there many female jazz musicians? Have there ever been? If not, then how come?” or “Were they just playing Coltrane or modern jazz or Monk or someone else?” She was able to help up to a point, then she and I were in the same boat. I hope we’ll find ourselves in that boat again during my year-long Pfister initiation into the world of jazz.
This pleasant conversation seems like a good starting point for my initiation–that and Ted Gioia’s Jazz Standards, which I had tucked into my bag in case I had time to read while listening to Jamie and Mark. I wouldn’t have time to read, but I would go on that evening to meet several other people who undoubtedly will become some of my jazz mentors this year.
Jamie made sure to introduce me to August (Auggie) Ray, vice president of Jazz Unlimited of Greater Milwaukee, whose mission is “to support the art of jazz in all its forms and encourage local jazz musicians, composers and venues by cultivating an interest in jazz through local live performances, youth scholarship opportunities and community outreach throughout the Greater Milwaukee area.” Auggie sat near the piano and typed prodigiously into his iPhone, posting to Facebook a photo of the Duo, some notes, and the location. He calls The Pfister “one of the best promoters of live music in the city.” With live piano seven days a week, live music in the Mason Street Grill six days, and live music at Blu at least two times a week, I couldn’t argue with him. The Pfister is not alone in promoting live music, especially jazz. Auggie moves from one live music venue to another throughout the week, averaging two a day, although his personal record is six in one day: Amelia’s at 5:00, The Packing House at 6:00, Caroline’s at 8:00 (mostly blues), Mason Street Grill at 9:00, then the Jazz Estate for until 1:00 am (reopening in July!). At each new place, he posts to Facebook. He is a constant presence in the life of jazz and blues in Milwaukee. We only got to chat for a little bit, because he was headed up to Blu, but not before he gave me a Jazz Unlimited newsletter (this is going to be invaluable!) and told me that Dan Albrechtson, who plays piano in The Pfister lobby, has a steady gig–on every second Monday at Hart Park in Wauwatosa, where I live–giving a concert and jazz history lesson with Pete Wood, Bruce Yeo, Don Shesky, and Rob Moore. (I’ll see you there soon, Dan!)
Before the night ended, I joined Mark Davisand his Wisconsin Conservatory of Music colleague, guitaristPaul Silbergleit, at Blu, where, it turns out, Mark Thierfelder had booked The Julie Lyon Quartet from New York City to play a special show with his Mark Thierfelder Trio. (Of course, Auggie was up there already, posting away!) Among other musical combos, Mark also plays with The Jazz Corporation, joined by Greg Marcus and Bill Bonifas. While Julie sang the Ella Fitzgerald/Louis Armstrong version of 1945’s “Frim-Fram Sauce,” popularized by The Nat King Cole Trio, Paul and I discussed my earlier regret, the one I’d shared with Sheryl, about never being able to improvise or jam. In something of a consolation, he assured me that there are musicians who onlyimprovise but who don’t really know music, and that there are musicians who can onlyread music, who know notes on the page and perhaps music theory, but who don’t really feelmusic. He argued for a happy medium. We also talked about how one’s environment can come out in one’s music, just as it can emerge in writing (Paul referenced Hemingway and Key West).
However, as interesting and cerebral as our conversation became, these are things I’ll have to think about later as I try to learn more about jazz, as an art form and as a source of stories here at The Pfister Hotel. Sometimes, at midnight, in a crowded bar with interesting gentlemen and songs about pork chops and bacon, oss-en-fay and shafafa, one just wants to enjoy one’s Old Fashioned, nibble on wasabi peas, tell stories, laugh–and listen.
Everywhere I turn in this cozy room, I encounter a new artist.
Pamela Anderson, The Pfister’s new Artist-in-Residence, is on the west coast during this event, and her fellow artist, Melissa Dorn Richards, has taken up temporary residence in the studio, carving the thick white paint on her square canvases to re-imagine industrial mop heads in surprising ways.
But here, in the former space of the upscale Rogers Stevens menswear store that has been transformed for a United Performing Arts Fund (UPAF) event hosted by the Marcus Corporation’s managers, the unsung artists of The Pfister are emerging.
The bartender, Luther, creates music, mainly percussion, out of anything he can find, having recently elevated a washboard to create a wicked sound and acquired a tuba (I reminisce about my college girlfriend and I foxtrotting to “Moonlight Serenade” played by a Seattle street musician with a tuba). We chat about how he’s seeking new creative ventures for himself, much like I am, adventures that will allow him to create for himself and others, especially after years of raising his children and cleaning their creative peanut butter smears off of sofas.
Also at the bar is James, a rep from Copper & Kings American Brandy stationed in Butchertown, Louisville, Kentucky, who regales me with a language still foreign to me, but one I would willingly learn: non-chill filtered, copper pot-distillation, pure pot-still, full integrity, extraction, palatability (that last one I get!). I enjoy his spirited Absinthe Blanche creation, a double-distilled Muscat brandy with traditional absinthe botanicals, and his company’s neighborhood’s namesake, Butchertown Brandy, described on their website as “bad-ass brandy . . . non-chill filtered without adulteration by boisé (oak flavor or infusion), sugar or caramel color for an uncorrupted natural flavor and natural color.” Of course, I detect all of those characteristics. . . I’m an art connoisseur.
Joe from Milwaukee’s own Great Lakes Distillery shares the new Rehorst Barrel Reserve Gin, oak barrel aged to give it a creaminess that complements the botanicals and a golden to amber palette that delights my palate. I share with him how my friends and I created a couple of summers ago the “Walkers Point Trifecta,” which begins with a tour of the distillery, followed by an affordable meal at Conejito’s Place Mexican Restaurant across the street, and washed down with cocktails at The Yard across the roundabout. Good times.
After a little while, Peter, the Hotel’s food & beverages purchasing manager, is kind enough to introduce himself and engage me about his art: at work, he says, keeping food and beverage costs down is an art, and at home, he claims to “create masterpieces” (out of leftovers, that is). I don’t doubt his culinary skill. He wears it like a badge of honor and gets philosophical with me (I love that), agreeing that any time we take nothing and create something, or take something and transform it, we’re making art.
So why are all these artists gathered among the emptied wooden clothing racks bedecked with hors d’oeuvres and rows of wines for a cork pull and bottles of spirits for silent auction? This May 10th event is one of the many UPAF events that are held at the Hotel throughout the year (and one of many just this month!), a testament to the company’s commitment to the arts and artists. Begun in 1967 to support organizations like the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra, the Milwaukee Repertory Theater, and the Florentine Opera Company that would be performing in the new Performing Arts Center, UPAF has endured to this day, raising in 2014 over $12 million, due in part to co-chair Peggy Williams-Smith, Senior Vice President of Marcus Hotels & Resorts and SafeHouse Restaurants. The Pfister Hotel’s commitment to UPAF ensures that “funds to ensure entertainment excellence” are raised, that the performing arts are a continued “regional asset,” and that donor gifts are “responsibly steward[ed].”
As the Narrator, I have set up a table in the corner with Pfister cocktail napkins and colored Sharpies, with an invitation to join past writers in the esoteric art of napkin brainstorming.
As guests approach my table, I greet them with a series of questions to answer about art, artists, inspiration, and performing. Guests find some of them easy to answer, confident in their support of the arts and their opinions about why they’re important: How do you define art? What inspires you? Other questions stump them, which is my intention. My favorites, and my go-to questions of the evening, are “How are you an artist?” and “What did you create today?” I’ve found throughout the years that if we don’t paint or sculpt or play an instrument, most of us don’t consider ourselves to be “artists.” But, as Peter and I agreed, any time we take nothing and create something, or take something and transform it, we’re making art. We are artists–all of us.
As an English teacher and lover of word origins, I also share with guests that the word art derives from a Latin word meaning “joint” or “to fit together,” that inspire comes from the Latin “to breathe upon,” “to inflame,” or “to put a spirit into,” and that perform hails from the Old French “to provide completely” and the Middle English “to make dreams come true.” For me, knowing the etymologies of short words like these that we take for granted opens up new avenues for understanding. If art is a “joining,” then what is it that it joins? If inspiration means to “breathe upon,” then who or what is breathing, what is being breathed, and upon whom? And if every time we perform we’re “providing” something that “makes dreams come true,” well, how cool is that?
The guests’ napkin responses reveal to them and me new ways of thinking about ourselves:
Before the event comes to a close, I have the pleasure of chatting with Mary and Kathy, guests of Donna, Executive Assistant to the General Manager.
At first mild and reserved, these two handsome women proclaim that neither of them is an artist. However, with a little encouragement and inquiry, Mary tells me that she once took an art class to maintain her teaching certification. “You wouldn’t believe that I made these things,” referring to the art, in different mediums, that she produced. “I kept looking at them and saying, ‘Did I make that?’”
Hearing this, Kathy admits, “I guess deep down there’s something in each of us that’s artistic.” And then she opens up: “A neighbor at my residence invited me to join the drama club. We do little one-act plays mainly.” So you are an artist, Kathy. “Well, not really.” Mary reminds her that she was the narrator for The Wizard of Oz. “Oh, yes. I had to get everyone involved. And we made our own costumes.” So you are an artist! “Well, not really. I did once play a teenager going out on a date–and then my parents interrupt the date. But I’m not an artist or performer.”