Why Americans Make Such A Fuss About The British Royal Family ?

I want to say at the outset that I am sure all the current “Royals” in Britain are very nice people. I have not met them, and almost certainly never will, but I have absolutely no reason to think that they are not delightful. Having said that, I cannot cease to wonder why Americans make such a fuss about them? When Prince William and his wife, Kate Middleton, Duke and Duchess of Cambridge (a university neither of them attended as students) visited New York, one might have thought that it was the second coming of the Messiah for all the adulation given them.

So let us be realistic; they are the descendants of a warlord. That is their sole claim to fame. Nothing else! Their grandmother, Queen Elizabeth II, is a direct descendant of King Henry VII, formerly Henry Tudor. And he was a warlord. He had no strong claim to the throne and there were many others who had a far greater claim than he. But he had an army and he won the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485, defeating (and killing) the rightful King, Richard III. “Rightful” only in the sense that Richard was the legitimate heir of another warlord, William the Conqueror. Henry Tudor then had the good sense to marry Elizabeth of York who had a far better claim to the throne than he did.

Henry’s army was a result of what has become known as “bastard feudalism.” Basically this meant that a powerful nobleman had indentured servants who, in effect, were mercenary soldiers. Together, noblemen would pool these mini armies to fight the mini armies of other nobles, and, at Bosworth Field, Henry’s mercenaries and those of his allied nobles defeated the King’s army (Richard III) and the mercenaries of his allied nobles-much like what is going on in Libya, Syria, or Yemen today. If that is not “warlordism,” then what is?

I am not saying that Henry was a bad warlord. He seems to have been a highly intelligent and prudent monarch. One of the first things he did was to get rid of “bastard feudalism.” He did not want to face another mercenary army in the future. He also was lucky because his granddaughter (Queen Elizabeth I) had one of the greatest public relations artists in the world who, to help her Tudor cause, wrote about the battle in which her grandfather won the kingdom. The P.R. man was, of course, William Shakespeare, and his play “Richard III” has shaped our view of the struggle between Henry Tudor (good) versus Richard (evil) ever since. Josphine Tey’s wonderful book “Daughter of Time” is worth reading to get a different perspective. But I digress (as I always do).

Warlords give themselves very elaborate titles to ensure that they get some respect, and less carping, about the fact that they are monarchs only because they were successful in battle. In Britain, the title is “Your Majesty” or “Your Royal Highness.” Think about that one carefully. Why high? Do they float?

A more recent warlord was Reza Pahlavi who started off as a gunnery sergeant and rose to be a brigadier in the Cossack Army. With his Cossack brigade he seized power from the last Shah of Persia and called himself the new Shah of Iran. “Shah” means “King of Kings.” He was forced to abdicate by the British in 1941 in favor of his son Mohammad-Ali who ascended to the “Peacock Throne”, and who was ultimately deposed by the Iranian Revolution of 1979. At that time he (Shah II, so to speak) was the richest man in Iran worth several billions. All of his children were called prince or princess and, if you met him, you had to call him “Your Highness” or “Your Majesty.” Sound familiar?

Napoleon, that extremely competent warlord from Corsica, called himself Emperor. Well, why not? If you win at warlording, you can call yourself anything you want; and your children, if you are lucky enough to have heirs that keep reproducing and hanging on to the “empire,” can call themselves anything they want, or, alternatively, have others not call themselves the name those heirs were given. In this way they further distinguish their royal lineage.

In 1948, a communist guerrilla named Kim Song-ju seized power in a Northern part of Korea and renamed himself “Kim ll-sung” which translates to “Became the Sun.” His grandson is the present Supreme Leader of “The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea” (North Korea for the rest of us). By edict of this Supreme Leader in 2014, anyone else in North Korea who had the same name as him (Kim Jong-un) was required to change their name. How many generations before we call his descendants “Your Imperial Majesty” or “Your Highness?”

So I have no illusions about the British Royal Family or how they got to their present position. They are, I repeat, the descendants of warlords. They can give out titles (which require that you swear allegiance to them), they are the wealthiest family in Britain by total assets, and their business does not involve actually doing anything. Yes, they are good ambassadors for the country (but for the perks, would you not be too?). Yes, they do help the economy by contributing to the “theme park” nature of Great Britain. But then, so does Cinderella when she sits on her float every afternoon in the grand parade at the Disneyland theme park. Unfortunately for her, the palace she comes out from is not real.

Hillary Mantel, the brilliant author of Wolf Hall, was widely criticized for her speech earlier last year when she described Kate Middleton as “basically breeding stock.” Perhaps this is why I love Ms. Mantel’s historical novels. She has captured the very essence of the British Royal Family business: keep the gains of their warlord predecessor intact for the next generation.

But, as I said at the beginning, I am sure they are all very nice people.

Ronald P. Stewart
Headmaster
York Prep

Back Surgery, Steak and Caviar

This may not be an interesting month’s piece for you since I am going to talk about my back surgery and listening to other people talking about their surgeries is something I have always found uninteresting. My surgery came after a long struggle to avoid it. I had back pain extending down my arm to the little finger of my left hand. I saw every doctor except a surgeon since I had been told (quite rightly, I believe) that the day they operate on your back is not a great day in your life, and that you may have consequences that are negative and long-lasting.

But after seeing a psychiatrist for six months on the grounds that the pain may have been psychologically based and who, to be fair, was baffled as to why I was there happily talking about my mother when the discussion was clearly not helping my back, as well as seeing an acupuncturist, an acupressurist, and a chiropractor, I finally turned to a famous back surgeon (They are all famous.) and was scanned and X-rayed. He suggested surgery (surprise!) as soon as possible but warned me that he may have to fuse discs, and that the outcome of success was only about 70%. Yuck!

However, the pain was not getting better, and so surgery it was. I do not need to go into details about the actual event except to say that I woke up in a very nice suite in the hospital feeling terrific. The surgeon soon came to see me with a big smile, and he told me that the surgery was 100% successful because he had found a piece of my body (He described it as “gristle”; yuck again!) positioned precisely on my nerve, and he had removed it.

“Must have hurt like hell,” he said. I agreed. “Well, you can leave,” he told me.

“Hang on,” I replied. “You warned me that I would be in hospital for about four days, and Jayme somehow got me this very fancy room and has booked a private nurse for me. So I am staying the night.” I knew that they were going to charge for the night and the nurse anyway, so why not stay?

I was feeling very comfortable (if a bit groggy) from the anesthetic, when the nurse, a cheerful Irish girl, arrived. The operation had taken place in the morning, and it was now six in the early evening.

“Have you eaten?” was her first question.

“No!”

“Oh, you need protein. You need steak after an operation!”

“Okay,” I said. “Maybe we can ask the hospital if they would serve steak.”

“No, you don’t want hospital food! You need good steak from a good restaurant!”

“Where would you suggest?”

“We’ll order from The Palm restaurant.”

I had heard of The Palm but had never eaten there. It was rumored to be very expensive.

“Do they deliver to a hospital?” I asked.

“They will for me. You will need real protein. I’ll do the ordering and get you a 12-ounce filet steak. And I’ll have the same. And let’s have fried onion rings with that – I really like their fried onion rings – and broccoli as well. How about caviar to begin? Do you like caviar?”

“I haven’t had it very much,” I replied, now with some idea of where this was going.

“It’s great protein so I will order two portions for us. And their crème brûlée is a good desert, so I’ll order two of those. Are you having difficulty going to sleep?”

“Well, it is a strange place, sleeping in a hospital with a nurse around, so I may tonight.”

“Then you’ll have a decaf cappuccino, and I will have a regular one. And you shouldn’t drink, so I think there is a ginger ale in the room, but I will have a whiskey sour with the order. Have you got your credit card handy?”

Within an hour, this sumptuous meal was delivered to our suite, served as though we were on an ocean liner, with silver cutlery and bone china and cloth napkins and all the trimmings (including condiments of every variety). It was a feast. I think I had a fraction of mine, but the same could not be said for the private nurse who clearly enjoyed her meal.

“This must be interesting work,” I said, trying to make conversation.

“Oh yes, I just got back from the Mediterranean. I was on a very big, private yacht.”

“Really, I didn’t know nursing paid so well.” In the re-telling, it sounds like a lame response, but I think that in my post-surgical daze, I was just being honest.

“Oh, I work as a nurse on these yachts.” And she named a few well-known billionaires whose yachts she had been on.

“Do you have a yacht?” she asked hopefully. I assured her I did not. “Maybe a plane?” Once again, I replied in the negative.

“Well, let’s play cards,” she said, totally switching the conversation.

I thought I would sleep but she wanted to play cards, and I was not in a condition to argue.

We played!

So, my memory of my back operation (highly successful as it was) is primarily of eating a huge steak and playing gin rummy until I fell asleep, having “knocked” for three.

Truly Yours,

Ronald Stewart

Let’s Talk About Toilets

You might have anticipated that my first published “Thoughts” of the New Year would be serious and educational. You would have been wrong.

You probably know that I come from England, where we have a long history of having a fascination with scatology. Put bluntly, that means that we are quite interested in toilets.

My wife and I rate movies, restaurants, gardens, and, yes, even toilets. We may be at a restaurant, or the airport, or virtually anywhere where there are public toilets, and we will come out saying, “Their toilets were amazing/interesting/awful/unusual.”

Of course, travel expands one’s horizons. Toilets in Japan earn a ten out of ten on the “Stewart Golden Flush Scale,” while toilets in China are sometimes not even a one. I cannot tell you of our worst experiences there because words fail to capture what we have seen.

To prove the people’s fascination with this subject in England, I mention that the “Good Loo Guide” was the first publication I know of that rated bathrooms in a city (London). The Savoy Hotel did quite well. I think there is now a similar book rating toilets in virtually every major city, but it is no accident that the English got there first.

The bathrooms on English trains are uniquely interesting. The toilet paper seems to be made of a greased paper similar to that used to wrap smoked salmon at Zabar’s. Stamped on every sheet are the words “Property of H.M. Government.” Yes, “H.M” stands for “Her Majesty’s” and yes, we should all wonder what the Queen would do with the roll?

Above the toilet, and we are still talking about trains here, is a sign that says, “Gentlemen, lift the seat.” I take this as a sign of the class of people using the toilet. Gentlemen should lift the seat but the rest of us peasants likely will not. The other interpretation (using the concept that “lift” in English slang means “steal) is that the nobility are being encouraged to pilfer the seat. You can see how a small sign can produce interesting philosophical discussions.

In America, one of my favorite songs was written by Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas and sung to the tune of Dvorjak’s “Humoresque.” Douglas wrote it on a train (I cannot seem to get away from this train motif) while on the way from New York to Yale, where he was at law school. I will only give you the first stanza because I have heard literally hundreds of different subsequent stanzas from Australia, Canada, and many other parts of the former British Empire:

“Passengers will please refrain
From flushing toilets while the train
Is in the station. Darling, I love you.
We encourage constipation
While the train is in the station.
Moonlight always makes me think of you!”

This is best sung with a ukulele accompaniment (but then again, isn’t everything?). While on the subject of music, I should also refer to Mozart’s—yes, Wolfgang Amadeus—interest in scatological humor. We have songs he wrote which I will not repeat because, though fascinated by toilets, I have far less interest in obscene words.

One of my sisters actually has at her home in England a genuine, original toilet by Thomas Crapper, the firm that first made the modern toilet. I distinctly remember Jayme being more impressed by the toilet than anything else in my sister’s beautiful home. If Jayme could, she would have bought it then and there.

We were once on a very small cruise ship where the lecturer, a professor at the University of Manchester, prepared us for our visit to Ephesus by lecturing on the toilet habits of elite Romans. Until then, I never knew that a slave pre-warmed the chilly marble seats. There were other interesting details, and the majority of passengers were engrossed, perhaps because most of them were English.

This tour of the world brings me back to Japanese toilets, which not only warm the seats but do many other interesting things too. If you find yourself in Japan, I hope you have the opportunity of seeing modern technology in scatological action.

I want a sign over our toilet at home. It would read: “Ladies, return the seat to the raised position when you are finished.” No chance! Ah, a man can but dream.

It really is a fascinating subject, particularly if you are English! And yes, as I hope you have noticed by now, this is not a “serious” piece on education.

Ronald Stewart
York Prep

Thoughts With A Cup of Hot Chocolate

There is a cup of hot chocolate on my desk as I sit down to write this month’s thoughts.

This is the time of the year when we enjoy the holiday season and start thinking of the New Year.  It also seems to be a time to contemplate the fact that we are getting older.

I want to acknowledge that occasionally I reveal that I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, young.  Age and ageing are things that we all have to deal with.  But one thing that does not have to age is the deterioration of ideals and ethical passions.  When you lose your sense of what is right and wrong – when you lose your passion to maintain your integrity – then you have aged, and that applies no matter how many chronological years have passed since you were born.

We have a cute 6th grader who is temporarily in a wheelchair.  As she is pushed down the hallway (sometimes by the Dean of the Lower School, Ms Perley) it is noticeable how considerate the other students are as they smile at her or ask her how she is doing.  Those moments, when you see students display empathetic warmth, continue to give me pleasure and energy, and also pride in our student body

If the above thoughts and feelings seem heavily reliant on ethics, then I merely ask that you remember that Ethics is the subject I teach to the 12th Grade.  Our present senior class is an outstanding group of ethical and kind, young people.  I have actually told them this.  Ask them!  They are a delight to teach, they are a community among themselves. They are never unkind, and they are always supportive of each other.

I write these “thoughts” for them, although probably very few if any of them, delightful as the class is, will read these musings.  That is their privilege, and I do not require them to read what I write.  I just hope that if they read this, (“hope springs…”  and all that.) they will realize that they have already given me enormous pleasure and pride in the way they act. They have never lacked respect for each other or for me, and they couple that courtesy with humor.  I feel younger after a class with them.  Who could ask more of one’s students?

So, since this is the time of the year when we start thinking of resolutions and wishes, I wish for all of our students that they stay forever young in their ideals, forever young in their humor, and forever young in their joy of community.  Certainly somewhat different from the ending of Dr. Ruth’s speech at one of our graduation exercises when she closed her speech to the graduating class with the words; “I wish for you great sex!”  At that point I realized how youthful her heart was and how irrelevant chronological years are.

Now that I have written this, I think I will have that cup of hot chocolate and take a nap.

Ronald P. Stewart.
Headmaster
York Prep

I do not carry a cell phone

I do not carry a cell phone. Sometimes I think I am the only person in the School not to do so.

What is it about those gadgets that are so critical?  We allow students to use them only in the main lobby, and they do. They use them too much; they sometimes text their friends across the hall. I prefer to look at people when I talk to them.  I must be old fashioned.

I know that studies have shown that students working on a math problem they can solve sitting together in 10 minutes, take 30 minutes to solve via “Skype” over the computer with the same group of students. I believe that, but then you and I know you can find a “study” that shows anything. When I was young, they told us that “studies” showed that drinking coffee stunted your growth. Now “studies” say that a cup of coffee a day is good for you. I am terrible at “Skyping.” It sounded like a good way of keeping in touch with my grandchildren. Unfortunately, I loom across the screen because I cannot get used to trying to focus on the children’s faces while simultaneously seeing an image of myself idiotically grinning in a small window of the screen. Frankly, I think my grandchildren think their grandfather is reasonably normal in real life and a bizarre character when he “Skypes.”

What I certainly do know is that this generation of students is accustomed to using the Internet for gossiping, shopping and playing. When I told the sixth grade they could go out for lunch and one angelic little girl asked me if she could also go shopping at that time, the surprise from the others was not that she had the discretionary income to actually think that way (I suspect I was the only one in the room who had that thought), but that she did not shop online. If you arrive to school early in the morning, you will find some students discussing their life and homework with their friends, and other students glued to the screens of their phones. I have no idea what they are doing. I mean their friends are there, next to them, why go on the phone?

We gave every teacher a laptop this year (a good computer—a Dell, advertised to have a battery charge life of 18 hours) except one teacher: me – I did not take one. I like to carry my notes for my classes (typed or hand written) in a small briefcase and I never use power point presentations. I want my Ethics students to talk to me and interact, rather than focus on bullet points on a screen. I like to teach because I like to find out the opinions of students and debate with them, not send them mass e-mails.

Of course, technology is terrific for a school. After all, you are getting this on our website (if anyone is still there?). Edline is not only a communications tool, but students can send in their homework on it. We use technology all the time. But I do not look forward to the day when learning becomes a matter of sitting at a screen and debating with a computer. Where would the joy and compassion and humor of education be in that?

I hope you have noticed that when you telephone York Prep, one of our nice reception people will politely answer the phone and give their name. We may be one of very few schools not to give you a menu from which to select the party you are trying to reach. Heaven knows how much I hate those menus with their “your call is important to us” messages while they keep you on hold. If you deem the call so important, why not have a person answer first before you go into a series of computerized questions to eventually get you to an operator who calls himself Bill and is somewhere on the continent of Asia? (That, by the way, was a run-on sentence, and I don’t care!)

I have to confess that I do own a cell phone. I can give you the number because I never carry it. I have used it rarely, just to e-mail when I am on vacation and cannot access a computer, and then it corrects my spelling incorrectly. The simple question “How do you feel?” becomes transformed through the idiosyncrasy of spelling software, into “how do you peel?” Actually, sometimes it even drops off the last letter of the question making me look as though I have an interest in urinary tracts.

We older folks who grew up with a technology that has now produced antiques such as gramophone records, dial telephones and black and white televisions, have rediscovered our youth through the show “Mad Men.”  I know the characters smoke and drink all the time, that both sexes wear hats that make me smile and that the men are universally chauvinistic; but where else can one see furniture that your parents had, or a life without e-mails? The women have strangely pointed figures and the men wear shoes that they have polished every day. Ah, nostalgia!  Richard Nixon may have been president, but there is always a silver lining … no cell phones. Like me!

Which, I think, is where I came in.

Ronald P. Stewart
Headmaster
York Prep

Why cannot wait until the next “Reacher” thriller comes out.

I cannot wait until the next “Reacher” thriller comes out.  “Personal” by Lee Childs has reached the #1 position on the New York Times Best Seller Fiction list in September.  I actually met Lee Childs, the author of the series, at a book signing at the sorely missed Barnes and Noble store near Lincoln Center, and he seemed a very personable man who signed my book with graciousness and a smile.  I have read every one of his books. They are great!  One problem is that I cannot remember which is which.  Give me the title, and I cannot recall the story.  In fact, I really cannot remember any of the stories except that, in the end, Reacher wins and his adversaries lose.  Fun to read, predictable endings!

On the other hand, I can quote “Alice in Wonderland” with ease.  Well, that may be unfair because it is my favorite book, but I can also remember the story line of many of the books I read as a child – the really good books, that is. That list includes books like “Winnie the Pooh,” “Charlotte’s Web,” “Wind in the Willows,” “The Tale of Peter Rabbit,” “The Little Prince,” “Gulliver’s Travels,” “20,000 Leagues under the Sea,” “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” and quite a few more.  I remember them vividly because they created treasured memories.

I am still a compulsive reader.  I cannot count all the titles that I have downloaded onto my iPad from the Amazon Kindle App.  Some are serious non-fiction works, but most are best sellers like those of Mr. Childs.  Enormously enjoyable to read but, within a week, virtually forgotten as to actual story line!

So what happened?   Why this loss of memory of the crime thriller plots while recall of books I read so long ago?  I think I have to admit that many great children’s books have been made into movies and referred to by other authors, so repetition must cement one’s memories.   Classic children’s books become part of our cultural landscape so seamlessly that we hardly notice their existence when they resurface again and again in different ways.  Certainly, when I read “Robinson Crusoe,” I had not read as many books as I have now.  But I think that what made such books great was that I could not anticipate how they ended.  When Charlotte the spider died, I was genuinely upset.  I had not seen that coming when I was age eight. (Sorry if I should have given you a “spoiler alert”!)  There is no formula to the “Alice” Books; Lewis Carroll (or, if you prefer real names, Charles Dodgson) thought “outside of the box” before the phrase was invented.

I remember that in an interview with “Game of Thrones” author George R.R. Martin, he said that he regularly tried to surprise his audience.  If Tom Cruise appears at the beginning of a movie, he said, you can bet that Tom Cruise is not going to be killed off.  He is too big a star and there are such things as “sequels”.  Charlotte did not have a sequel; she wove her web and died.  To George R.R. Martin’s credit, (why the R.R. business?) he does have a tendency to kill off his characters just when you really feel emotionally invested in them.

Movies used to be considered the enemy of books.  “Read, don’t watch!” we were told.  I am not sure that advice still stands.  Many children read the” Harry Potter” books (truly wonderful as they are) after seeing the movies. The “Hunger Games” books similarly were more widely read after the movie came out.  Also, to be fair to Mr. Childs and all his fellow authors, maybe they are not writing their books to be recorded in history as classics. They are making a lot of money doing something they enjoy, and good for them, the libertarian within me says.

Still, in “The Wind in the Willows”, Ratty says, and I quote this from memory – “There is absolutely nothing, half as much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.”  As a person who has had the good fortune of being able to “mess about” in boats over the years, I remember that sentiment as if I read it yesterday.  I do not think I have read the book in over 50 years.

Who can explain all this? Not I!  In the meantime, I cannot wait until the next Reacher book comes out.