Masters of Craft: A trip to the bar

In today’s new economy—in which “good” jobs are typically knowledge or technology based—many well-educated and culturally savvy young men are instead choosing to pursue traditionally low-status manual labor occupations as careers. Masters of Craft by Richard Ocejo looks at the renaissance of four such trades: bartending, distilling, barbering, and butchering. Check back each week for a post by the author on one of these jobs. First up, learn more about the art of bartending.

OcejoOn a busy Friday night at Death & Co., a well-known cocktail bar in the East Village, Alex, one of tonight’s bartenders, takes the order of a customer sitting at the bar who just finished his second drink.

“Would you like to order something else?” he asks while taking away his empty glass and cocktail napkin.

“Yeah, sure.”

“OK, you just had a Conference, and remind me of your first one?”

“I had a La Vina.”

“Do you want to stick with rye?”

“Yeah.”

“OK, do you want to taste the peppery notes or the whiskey?”

“Um, more of the peppery flavors.”

Alex nods and gets to work on his drink. After a few minutes he finishes and places it in front of the customer on a fresh cocktail napkin.

“Here we have a variation of a Sazerac, with an ounce-and-a-half of Rittenhouse rye and half-ounce of cognac. Enjoy.”

Common to each of the occupations I studied is that these workers elevate the status of very common, or even lowbrow, products, services, and consumption spaces and experiences through the work practices they use to make and provide them and the interactions they have with their customers and clients. They also often lower the status of products that are generally regarded as having high status, or at least put them on the same level as low-status ones. The first two cocktails the customer in the above example had ordered—the La Nina and the Conference—are both cocktails that feature rye (with sherry and amaro and with a mixture of other spirits, respectively). Rye isn’t typically a spirit that conjures luxury, like scotch or cognac do. It’s an obscure spirit, rarely found behind average bars. Ryes usually have strong, sharp flavors, and are rarely consumed on their own (or “neat”).

But bars like Death & Co., where bartenders strive to achieve unique flavors in cocktails by precisely Ocejomixing ingredients, love rye because of all the possibilities it gives them to make interesting drinks. As the customer’s order and Alex’s interaction with him show, rye can be mixed with an array of ingredients to make drinks with new flavors, and bartenders reveal its range of possibilities to their customers, such as by asking customers if they prefer its more “peppery” notes. These bartenders certainly don’t reject sacred spirits like scotch and cognac. They just don’t automatically see them as “the best.” Since their aim is creativity and innovation, they prefer a variety of spirits, especially versatile ones. Taste, then, rather than reputation, is key. They therefore reject the initial lure of popular brands, with their name recognition, advertising, and sleek bottling. What’s inside the bottle is far more important than what’s outside it.

There are parallels in the other jobs I studied. Small-scale craft distillers make many of the unusual products cocktail bartenders use. They often emphasize rare ingredients, such as heirloom grains, and unorthodox production methods, such as barrels of different sizes and wood varieties. Barbers at upscale men’s barbershops consider the simple, straight-to-the-point men’s haircut to be a special, life-enhancing experience, rather than a basic, forgettable necessity. And butchers and counter workers at whole-animal butcher shops laud rare and lowly cuts of meat and meat products, such as the flatiron steak and jerky, for their unique flavors, while downplaying such elite staples like the tenderloin and the filet mignon for their relative blandness.

By making and promoting these distinctions to their customers and clients, these workers engage in what I refer to as “omnivorous cultural production.” With this idea I’m building from a well-known concept in the sociology of culture, namely the “cultural omnivore.” This theory claims that today more and more people are becoming open to consuming cultural products (e.g. music, film, food) from outside of their own social strata. Most commonly, we’re seeing well-to-do folk show interest in and knowledge of so-called “lowbrow” and working-class forms of culture, that had never been considered “good” or “quality” before by well-regarded arbiters of taste. And they do so without compromising their own social standing. So burgers and tacos become the subjects of food trends, while bourbon and rye join the ranks of elite spirits.

A key question is where these tastes come from. How do people learn that a flatiron steak is better than a filet mignon because of its bolder flavor profile? Consumers certainly learn from the media and from their peers and social networks, as much research has shown. But they also learn from the people who work with these products and perform these services on a daily basis in these high-end workplaces. These workers essentially create these tastes through their daily work practices. Taste, then, is not natural, or something that is universal. It’s something that is created, and people learn it in different ways.

OcejoRichard E. Ocejo is associate professor of sociology at John Jay College and the Graduate Center, City University of New York. His books include Upscaling Downtown: From Bowery Saloons to Cocktail Bars in New York City and Masters of Craft: Old Jobs in the New Urban Economy.

Jack Zipes on The Sorcerer’s Apprentice

The Sorcerer’s ApprenticeZipes by Jack Zipes enlightens and entertains with enduring, spellbinding tales of sorcery. The title might conjure up images of Mickey Mouse from the Disney film Fantasia, or of Harry Potter. But as this anthology reveals, “sorcerer’s apprentice” tales—in which a young person rebels against, or complies with, an authority who holds the keys to magical powers—have been told through the centuries, in many languages and cultures, from classical times to today. This unique and beautifully illustrated book brings together more than fifty sorcerer’s apprentice stories by a plethora of writers, including Ovid, Sir Walter Scott, and the Brothers Grimm. Zipes recently took the time to answer a few questions about his latest book.

What prompted you to collect all the different “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” tales?

JZ: We are still living in the Dark Ages, and consequently, five years ago, I wanted to shed some light on what Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer have called the dialectic of the Enlightenment, and why reason has been obfuscated and overshadowed by superstition, religion, government, and corporate powers in so-called modern “enlightened” times. At one point in my research I came across various versions of “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” that contradicted the popular Disney tale with which I was most familiar. These were stories in which the apprentice defeated a sordid, power-hungry sorcerer and which showed how knowledge could be used for emancipation and enlightenment. From that point on, I could not stop collecting similar tales that are included in the present anthology.

Why are these tales so significant?

JZ: The “Sorcerer’s Apprentice” tales are highly significant because they present magic primarily as a stable value of transformation that allows for self-consciousness and self-fashioning. These unusual tales counter the defamation of magic by religion, science, and the state, and raise the question of the master/slave dialectic that challenges elites and the status quo. In this regard, I have framed this anthology of “Sorcerer’s Apprentice” tales to represent the two major strains of “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” tradition and their historical development. It begins with tales of “The Humiliated Apprentice,” followed by “The Rebellious Apprentice” stories and Krabat tales. The majority of the tales stem from “The Rebellious Apprentice” tale type. This larger number, compared to the smaller amount of “The Humiliated Apprentice” tale type, is not due to my prejudices but simply to the fact that I did not find as many “Humiliated Apprentice” tales in my vast research as I did “Rebellious Apprentice” tales. The disparity speaks for itself, for the rebellion of apprentices of all kinds is a constant in all societies and in all ages.

What is at the basis of the conflict between the sorcerer and his apprentice?

JZ: Our knowledge of ourselves and the world is attained through experiencing “slavery” and knowing what being in slavery entails. This means that we are all involved in what the philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, in Phenomenology of Spirit, calls a dialectical bloody battle to death that underlies all types of “Sorcerer’s Apprentice” tales. In most of the oral tales and many of the literary tales about sorcerer’s apprentices, the narrative perspective is what I call the “slave’s perspective,” a voice and view from below, no matter who the collector, mediator, or publisher of the tale may have been. This view is what makes the tales so striking. Though it may be difficult to explore and explain how people, defined and treated as slaves, contributed to the formation of culture from below, it can be done. The renowned American folklorist Richard Dorson drew important historical connections in his collection Negro Folktales in Michigan in dealing with American master/slave tales told by African-Americans. The“Sorcerer’s Apprentice” tales do not provide a solution to the master/slave conflict; they are not prescriptions or formulas for ending this conflict. What I have tried to demonstrate through collecting tales from various periods, and from different European, Asian, African, and American countries, is how these stories play out essential conflicts whose resolutions determine the nature of what it is to be human and humane.

Why do magic and magical transformation matter so much in people’s lives?

JZ: For a variety of reasons throughout the centuries, people have sought knowledge and power through magic. Tales about the desire for magic, which have evolved from words, fragments, and sentences, are not only wish-fulfillment tales but also blunt expressions of emotions that reveal what the people who tell, write, and listen to the tales lack, and what they want. Most people in the world believe in some kind of magic, whether religious or secular, and want to control “magic,” or “mana,” to escape enslavement and determine the path of their lives. According to the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, all people are stamped by what he calls our habitus—the beliefs, values and customs that mark and shape our thoughts, values, and behavior from birth. To know ourselves and to free ourselves, Bourdieu writes, we must continually confront masters, who, if they do not learn from their slaves, will ultimately have to die in order for the slaves to gain release and freedom.

In what way did Walt Disney warp the tradition of the rebellious apprentice?

JZ: People tend to believe that the ideal, if not definitive, version of “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” is the Disney cinematic and literary tale produced as part of the film Fantasia in 1940. This is a misconception, and our unquestioning acceptance of the Disney version, which reinforces notions of humiliation, has ramifications for the abusive way we treat children. In fact, the transformation of the ancient “Humiliated Apprentice” tales into a “charming” children’s tale is one of the ways in which mass-mediated and commodified children’s literature ideologically warps if not perverts folklore to induct children into authoritarian civilizing processes. On the other hand, the oral traditions of anonymous storytelling that favor the “Rebellious Apprentice” tales oppose the oppression of commodified tales. Stories, storytellers, and writers look for the most fitting and artistic modality they can find to articulate views about life and the world. In the formation of what I call a memetic tradition of folk-tale types and fairy tales, there has always been a communal expression of themes that formed tales relevant to be remembered. Many of the themes are connected to beliefs in magic and magical transformation. Indeed, the pursuit of magic often underlies the patterns of folk and fairy tales. In this regard, the themes found in the “Sorcerer’s Apprentice” tales are organically connected with the customs and beliefs of people who engendered them, and they form never-ending cultural traditions of resistance to the domination of magicians who misuse power. This unique collection of “Sorcerer’s Apprentice” tales sheds light on how young people have rebelled against the oppression and domination of magicians who use magic to control and exploit apprentices. The long history of the“Sorcerer’s Apprentice” tales that date back to Greco-Roman times reflects how rebellion is key to understanding the relevance of the tales which expose the contradictions in the popularity of the Disney commodified version.

Jack Zipes is the editor and translator of The Original Folk and Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm. He is professor emeritus of German and comparative literature at the University of Minnesota. Natalie Frank is an American artist currently living and working in New York City. Her work is held in multiple museum collections, including the Whitney Museum of American Art and the Brooklyn Museum. They are the author and illustrator of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice: An Anthology of Magical Tales.

Kenneth Rogoff: The Compactness of Big Bills

Today in our blog series by Kenneth Rogoff, author of The Curse of Cash:

From Rachel Maddow of MSNBC, comes a video story marvelously explaining why criminals, tax evaders, and corrupt official so love large denomination notes. Here, an apparently corrupt Nigerian official (who pleads innocence) finds $100s very convenient for stashing cash. The story comes at the top of the show.

I am grateful to Larry Kintisch of Blauvelt NY for drawing my attention to this story. Yes, there is a world of difference between a “less-cash society” as my book argues, and a cash-less society that the cash lobby likes to point to as a scare tactic for maintaining the absurd status quo.

The paperback edition of The Curse of Cash: How Large Denomination Bills Aid Tax Evasion and Crime and Constrain Monetary Policy will be coming out early this summer; now with an analysis of Indian demonetization and other issues that have arisen in the past year.

Read other posts in the series here.

Andrew Lo on Adaptive Markets: Financial Evolution at the Speed of Thought

Half of all Americans have money in the stock market, yet economists can’t agree on whether investors and markets are rational and efficient, as modern financial theory assumes, or irrational and inefficient, as behavioral economists believe. In this groundbreaking book, Andrew Lo cuts through this debate with a new framework, the Adaptive Markets Hypothesis, in which rationality and irrationality coexist. Adaptive Markets shows that the theory of market efficiency isn’t wrong but merely incomplete. Lo’s new paradigm explains how financial evolution shapes behavior and markets at the speed of thought. An ambitious new answer to fundamental questions in economics, Adaptive Markets is essential reading for anyone who wants to know how markets really work. We asked him to explain the Adaptive Markets Hypothesis, the strengths and limitations on the current theories, and how this new thinking can be practically applied.

What led you to write this book?

AL: Ever since I was a graduate student in economics, I’ve been struggling with the uncomfortable observation that economic theory doesn’t seem to work in practice. As elegant as this theory is, there are so many examples where the data just don’t support the theory that, after a while, I started wondering just how useful our theories were. For example, stock market prices don’t follow random walks, market prices don’t always seem rational, and people often make poor decisions, especially when it comes to financial matters. But it takes a theory to beat a theory. Rather than just criticizing existing theories, I decided to develop an alternative—this book describes the personal journey I took to arrive at that alternative, which I call the Adaptive Markets Hypothesis.

What’s the Adaptive Markets Hypothesis?

AL: The Adaptive Markets Hypothesis is my solution to the longstanding debate in financial economics between two competing camps. One camp consists of the disciples of the Efficient Markets Hypothesis, who believe that investors are rational decision makers and market prices fully reflect all available information. The opposing camp consists of the psychologists and behavioral economists who believe that investors are irrational and market prices are driven by “animal spirits.” It turns out that both camps have correctly captured certain aspects of human behavior, but neither camp offers a complete picture of how investors and markets behave. The Adaptive Markets Hypothesis fills this gap.

How?

AL: By drawing on recent research in psychology, neuroscience, evolutionary biology, and artificial intelligence, I show that human behavior is the result of several different components of the brain, some of which produce rational behavior while others produce more instinctive emotional behavior. These components often work together, but occasionally they compete with each other. And for obvious evolutionary reasons, rationality can be trumped by emotion and instinct when we’re confronted with extreme circumstances like physical threats—we “freak out.” The problem is that these hardwired responses to physical threats are also triggered by financial threats, and freaking out is generally not the best way to deal with such threats. Therefore, investors and markets have a split personality: sometimes they’re quite rational but every so often, they freak out.

Are you suggesting that the Efficient Markets Hypothesis, which dominates financial thinking today, is wrong?

AL: No! On the contrary, the Efficient Markets Hypothesis is one of the most useful, powerful, and beautiful pieces of economic reasoning that economists have ever proposed. Generations of investors and portfolio managers have been saved from bad investment decisions because of the Efficient Markets Hypothesis, which says that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. The Efficient Markets Hypothesis is not wrong; it’s merely incomplete. Its focus is the behavior of investors and markets in normal business environments, where the “wisdom of crowds” rules the day. What’s missing is the “madness of mobs,” when investors are reacting emotionally and instinctively in response to extreme business environments—good or bad—leading either to irrational exuberance or panic selling. The Adaptive Markets Hypothesis provides a more complete framework in which both types of behaviors are possible. The combination of these behaviors yields a much richer set of implications for price dynamics, investment strategies, risk management, and financial regulation.

Who is the intended audience for this book?

AL: My intention was to write this book for the general reader, but only time will tell whether or not I’ve succeeded. In fact, I’m hoping that there’s something for everyone in this book. For example, readers wondering whether or not it’s possible to beat the stock market using mathematical models will want to read Chapter 2, “If You’re So Smart, Why Aren’t You Rich?” For readers already convinced that it’s possible and want to understand the neuroscientific basis of irrational behavior, they’ll want to read Chapter 3, “If You’re So Rich, Why Aren’t You Smart?” No book on finance would be complete without a discussion of how the recent financial crisis could have happened to us—a country with one of the most sophisticated financial systems in the world—and that’s Chapter 9, “Fear, Greed, and Financial Crisis.” And for readers interested in getting a glimpse of the future of the financial industry and the amazing things that can be accomplished with finance if used properly, there’s Chapter 12, “To Boldly Go Where No Financier Has Gone Before.” Although the book is based on my academic research, I’ve worked hard to translate “academic-speak” into plain English, using simple analogies and real-life examples to make the research come alive. In fact, there’s not a single equation or mathematical formula in the book, which is no easy feat for someone from MIT!

In Adaptive Markets you take an interdisciplinary view of financial markets, bringing in cognitive neuroscience, biology, computer science, and engineering. How did you come to bring all of these seemingly disparate fields together and why is that important?

AL: Although I do enjoy learning new things and have broad-ranging interests, when I started my academic career as a financial economist, I had no interest or intention in doing “interdisciplinary” research. I was perfectly happy spending my days and nights working on traditional neoclassical financial economics—portfolio theory, derivatives pricing models, asset pricing models, financial econometrics, and so on. But the more I tried to fit financial theories to data, the more frustrated I became that these theories performed so poorly. So I started trying to understand why the theories broke down and how they could be fixed. I began by studying behavioral economics and finance, which led me to psychology, which then to the cognitive neurosciences, and so on. I was dragged—sometimes kicking and screaming—from one field of study to the next in my quest to understand why financial markets don’t work the way we think (and want them to). This process ultimately led me to the Adaptive Markets Hypothesis, which is a very satisfying (for me, at least) integration of various disciplines that have something to say about human behavior. I’m especially pleased by the fact that Adaptive Markets reconciles the two competing schools of thought in financial economics, both of which are compelling in their own right even though they’re incomplete.

Why do we need to understand the evolution of finance?

AL: Many authors and academics will use evolution as a metaphor when referring to the impact of change. In Adaptive Markets, I use evolution quite literally because financial markets and institutions are nothing short of evolutionary adaptations that Homo sapiens has developed to improve our chances of survival. Therefore, if we really want to understand how the financial system works, how it changes over time and circumstances, and what we can do to improve it, we need to understand the evolution of finance. And unlike animal species, which evolve from one generation to the next, the financial system evolves at the speed of thought.

You argue that economics wishes it were more like the hard science of physics where 99% of all observable phenomena can be explained with three laws. Will we ever have a complete understanding of how financial markets function?

AL: It’s true that most economists—myself included—suffer from a psychological disorder called “physics envy.” We wish we could explain 99% of economic behavior with three laws like the physicists but this is a pipe dream. The great physicist Richard Feynman put it best when he said, “Imagine how much harder physics would be if electrons had feelings!” I tell all my students at the start of the semester that all economic theories are approximations to a much more complex reality, so the key question for investors and portfolio managers is not “is the theory correct?” but rather, “how good is the approximation?” The answer to this question lies largely in the environment, which plays a huge role in evolutionary theories. Whether we’ll ever be able to develop a truly complete theory of human behavior—and, therefore, how financial markets function—is hard to say. But I do believe that we can get much closer to that complete theory through the Adaptive Markets Hypothesis.

How can investors and portfolio managers incorporate the Adaptive Markets Hypothesis into their investment philosophies?

AL: The Adaptive Markets Hypothesis has a relatively straightforward but sweeping implication for all investment philosophies, and that has to do with change. During normal business environments, the principles of Efficient Markets are an excellent approximation to reality. For example, from the 1930s to the early 2000s, a period where the U.S. stock market had relatively consistent average returns and volatility, a long-only passive investment strategy of 60% stocks and 40% bonds produced pretty decent returns, particularly for those who were investing over a 10- or 20-year horizon. The problem is that this approach doesn’t always work. When market conditions change and we experience large macro shocks like the financial crisis of 2008, then simple heuristics like 60/40 no longer work as well because financial markets have changed in their dynamics. Today’s markets are now much more responsive to intervention by governments and their central banks and punctuated by the irregular cycle of fear and greed. So since 2007 and 2008, we’ve seen a very different market dynamic than over the previous six decades. The point of Adaptive Markets is not simply to be wedded to any static theory, but rather to understand how the nature of markets can change. And once it does change, we need to change with it. John Maynard Keynes put it best when, in responding to criticism that he flip-flopped on the gold standard, he said, “When the facts change, sir, I change my mind. What do you do?”

Can you give an example of how change might impact today’s investors?

AL: One important implication of Adaptive Markets for investors and portfolio managers is that passive investing is changing and we have to adapt. John Bogle—the founder of the Vanguard Group and the father of passive investing and index funds—had an incredibly important insight in the 1970s which he calls the “Cost Matters Hypothesis:” reducing trading costs can have a huge impact on wealth accumulation. Bogle has done more for the individual investor than anyone else I can think of; he democratized the investment process. Thanks to technological innovations like automated trading, electronic market-making, and big data analytics, we’re ready to take the next evolutionary step that builds on Bogle’s legacy. For example, like the trend in healthcare towards personalized medicine, we can now create personalized indexes that are passive portfolios designed to achieve specific goals for a given individual. You might be more risk tolerant than your neighbor so your portfolio will have more equities, but because you work in the financial industry and she works in big pharma, your personalized portfolio will have fewer financial stocks and hers will have fewer biopharma stocks. Also, personalized indexes can manage the risk more actively to suit an individual’s threshold of “pain.” Current financial wisdom criticizes investors who don’t invest for the long run, and I’ve always thought such criticism to be terribly unfair. After all, how easy is it for someone to stick with an investment that’s lost 50% of its value over just a few months? Well, that’s exactly what happened between the fourth quarter of 2008 and the first quarter of 2009. Traditional investment advice is a bit like trying to prevent teenage pregnancies by asking teenagers to abstain—it’s not bad advice, but it’s unrealistic. Why not manage the risk of an individual’s portfolio more actively so as to reduce the chances of freaking out?

Finance has developed a bad reputation in the popular press, particularly in the aftermath of the recent financial crisis. Does the Adaptive Markets Hypothesis have anything to say about this and how things can be improved?

AL: Absolutely. At the heart of all bad behavior, regardless of the industry or context, is human nature. Humans are the Curious George of the animal kingdom, but there’s no “man in the yellow hat” to bail us out when we get into trouble. Homo sapiens has evolved in some remarkable ways and we’re capable of extraordinary things, both good and bad. The same social and cultural forces that give rise to wonderful organizations like the Peace Corps, the Red Cross, and Doctors without Borders can sometimes lead to much darker and destructive organizations. The only way for us to deal more effectively with the negative aspects of society is to acknowledge this dual nature of human behavior. Chapter 11 of Adaptive Markets, titled “Fixing Finance,” is devoted entirely to this objective. We have to be careful not to throw out the baby with the bathwater—the financial system definitely can be improved, but we shouldn’t vilify this critically important industry because of a few bad actors.

What are some specific proposals for how to fix finance?

AL: Well, before we can fix finance, we need to understand where financial crises come from, and the Adaptive Markets Hypothesis has a clear answer: crises are the product of human behavior coupled with free enterprise. If you can eliminate one or both of these two components, you can eliminate financial crises. Otherwise, financial crises are an avoidable fact of modern life. Human misbehavior is a force of Nature, not unlike hurricanes, flash floods, or earthquakes, and it’s not possible to legislate away these natural disasters. But this doesn’t mean we can do anything about it—we may not be able to prevent hurricanes from occurring, but we can do a great deal to prepare for them and reduce the damage they do. We can do a lot to prepare for financial crises and reduce the damage they do to those individuals and institutions least able to withstand their devastating consequences. This perspective is important because it goes against the traditional narrative that financial crises are caused by a few greedy unscrupulous financiers and once we put them in jail, we’ve taken care of the problem. The Adaptive Markets perspective suggests something different: the problem is us. Specific proposals for dealing with crises include: using new technologies in data science to measure economic activity and construct early warning indicators of impending crises; studying crises systematically like the way the National Transportation Safety Board studies airplane crashes so we know how to make the financial system safer; creating adaptive regulations that change with the environment, becoming more restrictive during booms and less restrictive during busts; and systematically measuring individual behavior and corporate culture quantitatively so we can engage in “behavioral risk management.”

Now that you’ve written this book, where do you see your research going from here?

AL: Well, this is still early days for the Adaptive Markets Hypothesis. There’s so much left to be done in exploring the implications of the theory and testing the implications empirically and experimentally whenever possible. The Efficient Markets Hypothesis took decades and hundreds of academic studies to get established, and the same will be true of this one. One of my goals in writing this book is to motivate my academic and industry colleagues to start this vetting process. In the same way that Darwin’s theory of evolution had to be tested and challenged from many different perspectives, the Adaptive Markets Hypothesis has to go through the gauntlet of academic scrutiny. One important implication of the Adaptive Markets perspective is that we need to change the way we collect data and test theories in financial economics. For example, traditional tests of financial theories involve collecting stock market prices and analyzing the statistical properties of their risks and returns. Contrast this approach with how an ecologist would study a newly discovered tropical island in an effort to preserve it. He would begin by first cataloguing the flora and fauna, identifying the key species, and measuring their biomasses and behaviors. Next, he would determine the food chain, environmental threats, and predator/prey relationships, and then turn to population dynamics in the context of the changing environment. Ultimately, such a process would lead to a much deeper understanding of the entire ecosystem, allowing ecologists to determine the best way to ensure the long-term health and sustainability of that island. Imagine doing the same thing with the financial industry. We would begin by cataloguing the different types of financial institutions and investors, measuring their financial biomass, and identifying key species—banks, hedge funds, pension funds, retail investors, regulators, etc.—and their behaviors. Then we would determine the various types of business relationships and interdependencies among these species, which are critical for mapping the population dynamics of this financial ecosystem. This approach seems sensible enough, but it’s not yet being done today (except by my collaborators and me!).

How do you continue to evolve your own thinking? What do you do?

AL: Someone very wise once said that the beginning of wisdom is humility, and I’m convinced that this is how we make progress as a civilization. Once we’re convinced that we have all the answers, we stop asking new questions and learning. So I’m continually looking for new ways to understand financial market behavior, and constantly humbled by how little I know compared to how much we have yet to discover. In this respect, I guess I’m an intellectual opportunist—I don’t care where an idea comes from or what academic discipline it belongs to; if it gives me new insight into an existing problem, I’ll use it and build on it. I’m currently working on several applications of the Adaptive Markets Hypothesis to investments, risk management, and financial regulation, and also hoping to test the theory in the context of individual and institutional investment decisions. The initial results are quite promising and show that financial industry participants adapt much more quickly than we thought. These results point to several important unintended consequences that have clear implications for how we should regulate the industry so as to reduce the chances of another financial crisis.

Andrew W. Lo is the Charles E. and Susan T. Harris Professor at the MIT Sloan School of LoManagement and director of the MIT Laboratory for Financial Engineering. He is the author of Hedge Funds and Adaptive Markets: Financial Evolution at the Speed of Thought. He is also the founder of AlphaSimplex Group, a quantitative investment management company based in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Anurag Agrawal: Monarchs vs. Milkweed

by Anurag Agrawal

Coevolution is a special kind of evolution. And monarchs and milkweeds exemplify this special process. In particular, what makes coevolution special is reciprocity. In other words, coevolution is one species that evolves in response to the other, and the other species evolves in response to the first. Thus, it is a back-and-forth that has the potential to spiral out of control. In some arms races, the two organisms both benefit, such as that between some pollinators and flowering plants. But coevolution is more common among antagonists, like predators and their prey.

When biologists first described coevolution, they likened it to an arms race. An arms race, such as that between political entities, occurs when two nations reciprocally increase their armament in response to each other. So how does an arms race between monarchs and milkweeds, or between cats and mice, or between lions and wildebeest, or between plants and their pathogenic fungi, proceed? When coevolution occurs, it proceeds with “defense” and “counter defense.” And one of the few rules of coevolution is that for every defense that a plant or prey mounts, the predator mounts a counter defense, or an exploitative strategy to overcome the defense.

Once a monarch butterfly lays an egg on a milkweed plant, the natural history of coevolution unfolds. For every defense that the plant mounts, milkweed mounts a counter defense. Once the caterpillar hatches, it must contend with a bed of dense hairs that are a barrier to consumption of the leaf. But monarchs are patient, and have coevolved with the milkweed. So their first strategy is to shave that bed of hairs such that the caterpillar has access to the leaves that lie beneath.

Agrawal

For every defense there’s a counter defense. But next, when the monarch caterpillar sinks its mandibles into the milkweed leaf, it encounters a sticky, poisonous liquid called latex. In this video we will see how the monarch caterpillar deactivates the latex bomb that the milkweed puts forward.

And so the arms race continues, with reciprocal natural selection resulting in coevolution between monarchs and milkweeds. In my book, Monarchs and Milkweed, I outline the third level of defense and counter defense between these two enemies. Milkweed next mounts a remarkable and highly toxic defense chemical called a cardiac glycoside. But, yes, again the Monarch has evolved the means to not only not be poisoned by the cardiac glycoside, but to sequester it away and put it to work in defense of the Monarch itself from its enemies, such as predatory birds. For more on the Monarch – Milkweed arms race see this video, filmed in Ithaca, New York outside of Cornell University where we conduct our research.

AgrawalAnurag Agrawal is a professor in the Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology and the Department of Entomology at Cornell University. He is the author of Monarchs and Milkweed: A Migrating Butterfly, a Poisonous Plant, and Their Remarkable Story of Coevolution.

Joshua Holden: Quantum cryptography is unbreakable. So is human ingenuity

Two basic types of encryption schemes are used on the internet today. One, known as symmetric-key cryptography, follows the same pattern that people have been using to send secret messages for thousands of years. If Alice wants to send Bob a secret message, they start by getting together somewhere they can’t be overheard and agree on a secret key; later, when they are separated, they can use this key to send messages that Eve the eavesdropper can’t understand even if she overhears them. This is the sort of encryption used when you set up an online account with your neighbourhood bank; you and your bank already know private information about each other, and use that information to set up a secret password to protect your messages.

The second scheme is called public-key cryptography, and it was invented only in the 1970s. As the name suggests, these are systems where Alice and Bob agree on their key, or part of it, by exchanging only public information. This is incredibly useful in modern electronic commerce: if you want to send your credit card number safely over the internet to Amazon, for instance, you don’t want to have to drive to their headquarters to have a secret meeting first. Public-key systems rely on the fact that some mathematical processes seem to be easy to do, but difficult to undo. For example, for Alice to take two large whole numbers and multiply them is relatively easy; for Eve to take the result and recover the original numbers seems much harder.

Public-key cryptography was invented by researchers at the Government Communications Headquarters (GCHQ) – the British equivalent (more or less) of the US National Security Agency (NSA) – who wanted to protect communications between a large number of people in a security organisation. Their work was classified, and the British government neither used it nor allowed it to be released to the public. The idea of electronic commerce apparently never occurred to them. A few years later, academic researchers at Stanford and MIT rediscovered public-key systems. This time they were thinking about the benefits that widespread cryptography could bring to everyday people, not least the ability to do business over computers.

Now cryptographers think that a new kind of computer based on quantum physics could make public-key cryptography insecure. Bits in a normal computer are either 0 or 1. Quantum physics allows bits to be in a superposition of 0 and 1, in the same way that Schrödinger’s cat can be in a superposition of alive and dead states. This sometimes lets quantum computers explore possibilities more quickly than normal computers. While no one has yet built a quantum computer capable of solving problems of nontrivial size (unless they kept it secret), over the past 20 years, researchers have started figuring out how to write programs for such computers and predict that, once built, quantum computers will quickly solve ‘hidden subgroup problems’. Since all public-key systems currently rely on variations of these problems, they could, in theory, be broken by a quantum computer.

Cryptographers aren’t just giving up, however. They’re exploring replacements for the current systems, in two principal ways. One deploys quantum-resistant ciphers, which are ways to encrypt messages using current computers but without involving hidden subgroup problems. Thus they seem to be safe against code-breakers using quantum computers. The other idea is to make truly quantum ciphers. These would ‘fight quantum with quantum’, using the same quantum physics that could allow us to build quantum computers to protect against quantum-computational attacks. Progress is being made in both areas, but both require more research, which is currently being done at universities and other institutions around the world.

Yet some government agencies still want to restrict or control research into cryptographic security. They argue that if everyone in the world has strong cryptography, then terrorists, kidnappers and child pornographers will be able to make plans that law enforcement and national security personnel can’t penetrate.

But that’s not really true. What is true is that pretty much anyone can get hold of software that, when used properly, is secure against any publicly known attacks. The key here is ‘when used properly’. In reality, hardly any system is always used properly. And when terrorists or criminals use a system incorrectly even once, that can allow an experienced codebreaker working for the government to read all the messages sent with that system. Law enforcement and national security personnel can put those messages together with information gathered in other ways – surveillance, confidential informants, analysis of metadata and transmission characteristics, etc – and still have a potent tool against wrongdoers.

In his essay ‘A Few Words on Secret Writing’ (1841), Edgar Allan Poe wrote: ‘[I]t may be roundly asserted that human ingenuity cannot concoct a cipher which human ingenuity cannot resolve.’ In theory, he has been proven wrong: when executed properly under the proper conditions, techniques such as quantum cryptography are secure against any possible attack by Eve. In real-life situations, however, Poe was undoubtedly right. Every time an ‘unbreakable’ system has been put into actual use, some sort of unexpected mischance eventually has given Eve an opportunity to break it. Conversely, whenever it has seemed that Eve has irretrievably gained the upper hand, Alice and Bob have found a clever way to get back in the game. I am convinced of one thing: if society does not give ‘human ingenuity’ as much room to flourish as we can manage, we will all be poorer for it.Aeon counter – do not remove

Joshua Holden is professor of mathematics at the Rose-Hulman Institute of Technology and the author of The Mathematics of Secrets.

This article was originally published at Aeon and has been republished under Creative Commons.

Oswald Schmitz: Reflecting on Hope for Life in the Anthropocene

This post by Oswald Schmitz, author of The New Ecology, was originally published on the March for Science blog. On April 22, PUP’s Physical and Computer Sciences editor Eric Henney will be participating in a teach-in the National Mall, focusing on the social value of direct and engaging scientific communication with the public. 

Springtime is a welcome reprieve from a prolonged cold winter. It is a time of reawakening when all kinds of species become impatient to get on with their business of living. We hear the trill of mating frogs, see leaves unfurl from their quiescent buds, and behold forest floors and fields unfold rich color from a dizzying variety of blossoming wildflowers. The energetic pace of life is palpable. It is only fitting, then, that we dedicate one spring day each year – Earth Day – to commemorate the amazing variety of life on this planet, and to take stock of the human enterprise and reflect on how our behavior toward nature is influencing its sustainability.

For many, such reflection breeds anxiety. We are entering a new time in Earth’s history—the Anthropocene—in which humans are transitioning from being one among millions of species to a species that can single-handedly determine the fate of all life on Earth. Many see the Anthropocene as a specter of doom, fraught with widespread species extinctions and loss of global sustainability, and attributable to humankind’s insatiable drive to exploit nature.

This view stems from the conventional idea that all living beings on Earth represent a heritage of slow evolutionary processes that occurred over millennia, culminating in the delicate balance of nature we see today. Many despair that humans are now jeopardizing the balance, as species will necessarily be incapable of coping with the onslaught of ever-new and fast-paced changes.

Iguana

An Aegean Wall Lizard, so named because of its evolved habit to live and hunt in rock walls constructed around crop fields in Greece. Individuals living on the walls have different limb morphology and mobility than counterparts of their species that are found within their original sandy habitats, demonstrating their capacity to adapt and thrive in human developed landscapes. Photo courtesy of Colin Donihue.

As an ecologist, I am torn by the changes I see. I have a deep and abiding respect for the amazing diversity of living organisms, their habits and their habitats. This ethic was shaped during my childhood when I was free to wander the natural environs of my hometown. I could go to those places any time of day, during any season: breathing, smelling, listening, observing, touching and tasting to discover nature’s wonders. That sense of wonder has endured. It’s what keeps me asking the probing questions that let me learn scientifically how species fit together to build up and sustain nature. It thus saddens—sometimes even maddens—me to see nature’s transformation in the name of human “progress.”

But as a scientist, I must admit that these changes are also fascinating. It turns out that rapid human-caused changes present much opportunity for new scientific discoveries. They force me to see and appreciate the dynamism of nature from fundamentally new vantage points. I find that nature can be more resilient than we often give it credit for, a fact that should inspire hope for a bright, sustainable environmental future in the Anthropocene.

Changing the mindset from despair to hope requires letting go of a deeply held notion that nature exists in a fragile balance, and that humankind has a persistent habit of disrupting that balance. Nature is perpetually changeable, with or without human presence. Life’s energetic pace, and the primal drive of all organisms to survive and reproduce, is what builds resilience in the face of change. We are learning how nutrients are perpetually transformed and redistributed by plant and animal species to sustain myriad ecological functions. These functions ensure that we have ample clean and fresh water, deep and fertile soils, genetic variety to produce hardy crops, the means to pollinate those crops, and the capacity to mitigate impacts of gaseous emissions, among numerous other services that humans rely on to sustain their health and livelihoods. Many species also can rapidly acclimate and even evolve within a mere span of a couple of human generations to cope with significant and rapid environmental change. Such adaptability allows many ecological systems to recover from human-caused disturbances and damages within the short time span of a human lifetime, no less.

This capacity for resilience is perhaps our most important evolutionary heritage. It is what gives hope for a sustainable future. The challenge of sustainability, then, is to engage with nature without eroding this capacity. The emerging science-based ethic of earth environmental stewardship can help on this front. It sees humans and nature entwined, where humans have obligations to one another mediated through their mutual relationships with nature.

Earth environmental stewardship strives to sustain nature’s resilience by protecting the evolutionary and ecological interdependence of all living beings and the physical environment. It strives for continuous improvement of environmental performance and human wellbeing through a commitment to use nature’s resources wisely and efficiently as dividends of resilient ecosystem functions. This means protecting entire ecosystems, not just their parts, and ensuring the development of sensible environmental policies and regulations to ensure that ecosystem services benefit all living beings now and in the future.

Effective earth environmental stewardship requires that we take deliberate interest in becoming scientifically informed about how our needs and wants are linked to our local environment and the larger world beyond. So on this Earth Day, it is perhaps fitting to reflect on and celebrate our amazing scientific achievements to understand the durability of nature and the wealth of opportunity it offers for a sustainable future in the Anthropocene.

Oswald J. Schmitz is the Oastler Professor of Population and Community Ecology in the School of Forestry and Environmental Studies at Yale University. His books include Resolving Ecosystem Complexity and The New Ecology: Rethinking a Science for the Anthropocene.

Richard Ocejo on Masters of Craft: Old Jobs in the New Urban Economy

Ocejo

In today’s new economy—in which “good” jobs are typically knowledge or technology based—many well-educated and culturally savvy young men are instead choosing to pursue traditionally low-status manual labor occupations as careers. Masters of Craft by Richard Ocejo looks at the renaissance of four such trades: bartending, distilling, barbering, and butchering. Read on for insight on what led Ocejo to write the book, his research process, and why these jobs have become popular.

What led you to study and write a book about cocktail bartenders, craft distillers, upscale men’s barbers, and whole animal butchers?

RO: Like with the project for my previous book, this project started because I walked into a bar. I was studying the impact of downtown nightlife scenes on neighborhood and community life in New York City, and some of the bars I went to were specialized, speakeasy-style cocktail bars that had opened up. They had hidden doors, were filled with remarkable aromas, and offered unique cocktails with unusual ingredients. Most importantly, the bartenders, who wore uniforms of shirts and ties, vests, and even arm garters, used very precise techniques to make these drinks, were very knowledgeable about what they were serving, and clearly loved what they did. I learned that these bars were anchors for a global community of cocktail professionals and enthusiasts, and cocktail bartenders were among the main participants. They were dedicated to making cocktails the way they were made in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Furthermore, I loved the drinks. I was hooked.

After studying this community for a couple of years, I became curious about the craft distilling industry. Cocktail bartenders are always searching for new flavors to use in their recipes. Over the past two decades many small distilleries have opened up throughout the country and introduced a broad array of new products to the market. Cocktail bartenders were snatching them up and using them. I decided to become an intern at a craft distillery just north of New York City. During my time there I became very interested in the actual distillers and why they chose this job. Around then I also realized that out of everyone in the cocktail world, it was the bartenders—people who were committed to bartending and cocktails—who fascinated me the most. After a few years of collecting data without much of a focus, I decided to make the project a study about people who are transforming common service and manual labor occupations into “cool” jobs. After some thinking, I rounded out my cases with upscale men’s barbers and whole animal butchers. They both met the criteria I had established, and gave me new industries to study.

So, I never intended to write about these folks, what they do, and why they do it. A series of happy accidents and following my own curiosity led me to them all. Plus, along with yielding important insights about the nature of work today, the research was a lot of fun.

How are these jobs different from the more common versions everyone knows?

RO: They differ from them in a few key ways. First, they all require these workers to regularly perform technical skills based on a sense of craft, to understand and communicate the culture their work is based on, and to have a philosophy about what is “right” and “wrong” in what they do. That’s a little vague, so let me give some examples. Cocktail bartenders, for instance, practice mixology, a classic approach to making drinks that entails precise measurements and specific ingredients, like large chunks of ice and freshly-squeezed juices. The aim is to achieve balance in cocktails, or to have every ingredient work in harmony, and drinks that do not reach that goal fall outside of their definition of what is the “right” way to make cocktails. They then use specific techniques to carry it out. Similarly, butchers in artisanal shops hold a meat philosophy toward what is and is not “good” meat, which includes how the animal was raised and slaughtered and how far it travels to get to the shop. And they also use specific butchery techniques to break down whole animals, trying to use every piece of meat, fat, and bone. One need not know anything about the wide range of flavor profiles in rye or how long to shake a drink to achieve the right level of dilution to be a common bartender at most bars, just like one need not know how to break down a whole animal or talk to customers about rare cuts of meat to be a butcher at a supermarket or even at most neighborhood butcher shops.

Second, these workers all work in businesses that promote their craft and give them the resources they need to perform. These work performances are not accidents. People design these businesses so that workers can make and provide special products and services for consumers. A barber at a neighborhood shop, for instance, can’t work on the fine details in a haircut that give it style if they only have ten minutes to work on it. That’s why the shops I studied provide at least a half an hour for haircuts. And these shops won’t get the clientele they want—professional, creative, culturally savvy—if they don’t promote themselves as places where men can get the style they need in a place that doesn’t threaten their manhood, like a women’s salon does.

Obviously some workers in more common versions of these jobs perform the same technical skills, are very knowledgeable about their work and products and share this knowledge with consumers, and have a sense of “right” and “wrong” in their work. But the combination of these technical and communication skills, sets of knowledge, and philosophy do not define them, nor do they usually work in places devoted to these special crafts or do they get recognized as cultural producers or innovators.

Who decides to pursue these jobs?

RO: That’s what fascinated me the most from the start of my project. It’s mostly people who have other work options who choose to pursue these jobs as careers. I started with the cocktail bartenders. In New York City, the big question bartenders and other people in the service industry often get is: what do you really do? It’s common for students, actors, musicians, artists, and folks who are pursuing some other career to bartender or wait tables until they “make it.” But what I learned early on with the cocktail bartenders was that they wanted to bartend. They were pursuing it as a career in itself. They were mostly college graduates, or they attended college and/or were working in a different career, and they had a lot of cultural capital. These patterns repeated throughout my research with people in the other jobs.

These jobs provided these workers with feelings they either weren’t getting or didn’t think they would get from other types of work: meaningfulness and satisfaction, specifically in a job that required learning a craft, being creative, pursuing passions, sharing knowledge, and being respected. Furthermore, in the new versions of these common occupations these workers saw opportunities for flexibility. In other words, being a butcher means you cut meat. But being a butcher at a whole animal butcher shop also means you teach classes and give demonstrations on butchery, work at special food events, and consult for major chefs and restaurant groups. You also get exposed to the food world and build social networks within the industry in a way you wouldn’t if you worked at a supermarket. The other jobs offer similar opportunities. Young people destined for college and college students learn that work should be meaningful and fulfilling and allow you to be creative, and that you must cultivate marketable skills and be flexible in your choices. The jobs I studied meet these criteria.

Why have jobs like these become popular, and why now?

RO: These particular jobs all happen to be in industries—nightlife, beverage production, men’s grooming and style, and food—that have become very popular in today’s city. These businesses are all key attractions for young, well-educated urbanites with disposable income. Today’s urban economy is based on knowledge, culture, and a wide array of services. These jobs interestingly offer all three. They have emerged to provide very specialized products and services for people in search of unique consumption experiences.

Another big reason why they’ve become popular now is because of changes in how many people in our society consume, how they see themselves as consumers, and the important role consumption plays in their lives and in the life of the city. An important concept over the last twenty years or so among many sociologists who study culture has been the idea of “cultural omnivorousness,” or the idea that today people with highbrow tastes consume, rather than shun, low- and middlebrow forms of culture without compromising their status. But they usually only consume these lower forms of culture when they can intellectualize them in some way and distance them from their lowbrow roots. These workers play a key role for these types of consumers and for urban culture. They basically help to construct and distribute the ideas behind the lowbrow products and services. To give an example, a hot dog is a pretty commonplace, not very distinguished, food. But when it has been filled with local, ethical, and sustainable meat that has been butchered with artisanal techniques as part of a philosophy of using the whole animal, and when it gets topped with a homemade kimchi relish, it becomes a “good” food that gets discussed in the city’s elite foodie circles.

Finally, I would say these jobs also allow people to work with their head and hands as well as interact with others in a public setting. In other words, they get recognized for the work they do, by their peers, consumers, and the media. Electricians and plumbers, for instance, who also use specialized knowledge and a sense of craft and work with their hands, do not work in front of an audience. I think that’s a key difference.

What did you do to write this book?

RO: Like I said before, the research was a lot of fun. I primarily use ethnography in my research, which basically means I hang out with the people I’m studying in their own settings to learn how they see their world by analyzing their interactions, behaviors, and attitudes. Researchers who use this method try to spend a lot of time with the people in these settings to really discover patterns of meaning. They observe, and even participate in whatever activities are happening there to better understand them. So to study these folks I got to do and learn a lot of cool activities.

For the cocktail bars and upscale men’s barbershops I was simply a regular. I went to them very often, sat in places where I could observe the most action, got to know their employees well, and wrote down notes about countless interactions and conversations I saw and had. The bartenders gave me drinks to try, and answered my questions about their creative process, and the barbers let me stand next to and even photograph them as they worked, and also answered my questions about cutting hair. I didn’t become a bartender or barber, or work in these places in some other capacity, for a few reasons. These businesses would only hire people with experience, and I had none. And doing so would’ve distracted me from my data collection anyway. Bars and barbershops are also social places, where people regularly go to hang out and talk. What I was doing is therefore normal.

Studying the craft distillers and whole animal butchers was a different story. Distilleries and butcher shops really aren’t social places where people go to hang out. There is no equivalent of a bar to sit at or a waiting area. But they are both businesses with a lot of little tasks that have to get done, and it’s common for these businesses to hire interns to help out in exchange for learning how these places run (and for discounted meat and the occasional free bottle). So I became an intern at a craft distillery and a whole animal butcher shop, working alongside the distillers and butchers. Those experiences were great not just because I got to learn the basics of a craft, but also because they informed me about what it means to actually do these jobs.

Along with being informative, the people I met and activities I did were just a treat. I’ll admit, I was emotional when the project ended.

OcejoRichard E. Ocejo is associate professor of sociology at John Jay College of Criminal Justice, City University of New York. His books include Upscaling Downtown: From Bowery Saloons to Cocktail Bars in New York City and Masters of Craft: Old Jobs in the New Urban Economy.

Jerald Podair on the building of Dodger Stadium

PodairThis April marks the 55th anniversary of Dodger Stadium’s grand opening. The stadium is well-known in the world of professional sports for its beauty as well as its history, but when Walter O’Malley moved his Brooklyn Dodgers to Los Angeles in 1957 with plans to construct a new ballpark next to downtown, he ignited a bitter argument over the future of a rapidly changing city. For the first time, City of Dreams by Jerald Podair tells the full story of the controversial building of Dodger Stadium—and how it helped create modern Los Angeles by transforming its downtown into a vibrant cultural and entertainment center. Podair recently took some time to answer a few questions about the book, and how Dodger Stadium came to serve as the field of battle between two visions of Los Angeles’s future.

What drew you to Los Angeles as a historical subject?

JP: I’ve always had the native New Yorker’s outsized pride in his home city, but if New York was America’s city of the twentieth century, Los Angeles may well be its city of the twenty-first. Our national multicultural experiment—one the rest of the world is watching closely—will, for better or worse, play out in Los Angeles. So I became fascinated by the ways in which Los Angeles grew and developed during the twentieth century, especially during the years following World War II, when it began to turn outward toward the nation and world.

I also came to study Los Angeles through the equally fascinating historical figure of Walter O’Malley, who altered the historical trajectories of America’s two most important cities when he moved his Brooklyn Dodgers west in 1957. The New York portion of O’Malley’s story is well documented, the Los Angeles period much less so. O’Malley was strikingly unfamiliar with Los Angeles when he moved there—his total time spent in the city amounted to less than ten days—and he had not anticipated the serious obstacles he would face in building his new stadium. There is a myth, especially prevalent in New York, that O’Malley enjoyed smooth sailing once he arrived in Los Angeles and that the road to Dodger Stadium was an easy one. This, as I discovered, was emphatically not the case. I was drawn to writing about O’Malley and his struggles in Los Angeles as a way to understand the larger story of that city’s journey to power and status in postwar America.

And why Dodger Stadium?

JP: No American sports venue epitomizes its home city as does Dodger Stadium. It would be out of place anywhere else. Dodger Stadium serves as a form of civic glue for a fractured, transient city. The people of Los Angeles disagree about many things, but not about Dodger Stadium. To them, it is an object of pride and fascination. So it seemed to me that Dodger Stadium would be the perfect vehicle through which to tell the story of the emergence of Los Angeles as a modern city through its signature sports venue. I’m always telling my students at Lawrence University to take a smaller (but not small) story and use it to tell a larger one.  This book is an instance of taking my own advice.

You argue in your book that the battle over building Dodger Stadium was really a battle over the modern identity of Los Angeles. What do you mean by that?

JP: The battle over Dodger Stadium divided the city of Los Angeles in half. Two clashing visions of the city’s future lay at stake. A revitalized downtown—which Dodger Stadium would anchor—was essential to the first of those visions, championed by business interests such as the Chandler family, publishers of the Los Angeles Times, and political elites led by Mayor Norris Poulson. Their Los Angeles was an ambitious city of “no little plans,” with civic institutions that matched its growing economic and cultural power. They wanted a downtown comparable to those in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles’s rival to the north, San Francisco.

But Los Angeles was also a city of what the historian Kenneth Starr has called the “Folks,” white middle class property owners with Midwestern roots who had settled in peripheral areas and who felt little connection to downtown and what it represented. To them, Dodger Stadium was a diversion of taxpayer resources—and the Folks identified very strongly as “taxpayers”—from the basic, everyday functions of government in their neighborhoods: schools, roads, policing, and sanitation. So their more circumscribed understanding of what Los Angeles should be and the purposes it should serve clashed with the vision of those who were identified, both geographically and philosophically, with downtown.

Between 1957 and 1962, Dodger Stadium served as the field of battle between these two visions of Los Angeles’s future. We know of course that the stadium was built, so the advocates of “no little plans” won that round. But even today, the argument over the city’s identity continues. Downtown Los Angeles is a much more vibrant place than it was when the Dodgers arrived in 1957, if you measure by institutions and edifices—museums, concert halls, sports arenas, restaurants, high-end apartments, and office towers—but it still lacks the coherency and depth, the soul, if you will, of more historically established downtowns. It remains a work in progress. And there are still those who, like the Folks who opposed Dodger Stadium in the 1950s and 1960s, view downtown as a drain of resources from their own communities. In many ways, they continue to see downtown Los Angeles as irrelevant to their lives. So in that sense, the argument over Dodger Stadium and the city’s modern identity continues today.

In your book, you discuss the political cultures of New York and Los Angeles in the years following World War II. How did they differ?

JP: I think the very different political cultures of New York and Los Angeles determined that Walter O’Malley would get what he needed—affordable land on which to build his privately financed ballpark—from one city but not from the other. New York’s municipal politics in the 1950s featured a strong orientation toward the public sector and organized labor that, while not necessarily anti-capitalist in nature, did not offer an entrepreneur like O’Malley a particularly sympathetic atmosphere.  This meant that when he asked for assistance from New York City officials in acquiring land parcels in Brooklyn that were beyond his individual financial means in order to construct a stadium with his own funds, he was branded—unfairly, in my view—as seeking a “giveaway.” But in Los Angeles, publicly owned land at Chavez Ravine overlooking downtown was made available to O’Malley in exchange for property he owned elsewhere in the city. Los Angeles officials were thus willing to do what their counterparts in New York were not.

In my view, this was because the political culture of Los Angeles—where the statist reforms of the New Deal had less staying power than in New York—was more hospitable to businessmen, especially one like O’Malley whose private undertaking promised to advance the public good. In New York, the focus was almost obsessively on O’Malley’s profits; that the city would benefit from a new Dodger ballpark was deemed of lesser importance. In Los Angeles, the weight accorded these considerations was reversed. In deciding a taxpayer suit seeking to void the Dodger Stadium contract in favor of O’Malley, the California Supreme Court said as much. The Dodgers were permitted to make money on the deal, the court ruled in 1959, as long as there were tangible benefits accruing to the people of Los Angeles. Those benefits—a world-class stadium, not to mention millions of dollars in property taxes paid by the privately held stadium—were enough to justify state assistance to a private entrepreneur. O’Malley moved to Los Angeles for this very reason. Although O’Malley was a businessman and not a philosopher and probably would not have used the term “political culture” to explain his decision to leave New York, this is clearly what he had in mind. Had New York’s political culture been different, he undoubtedly would have remained there. And that would have been Los Angeles’s loss, since along with Walter’s son and successor Peter, the O’Malleys are widely regarded as the best sports ownership group in the city’s history.

Why are Los Angeles politics so difficult to untangle?

JP: One my previous books examined the byzantine politics of New York City, but I can tell you, my hometown has nothing on Los Angeles. For one thing, New York has party identifications. Los Angeles’s nonpartisan system makes it difficult to identify who belongs where. Yes, I knew that say, Mayor Norris Poulson was a Republican (he had served as a GOP congressman) and that Edward Roybal, a Mexican American city councilman who opposed the Dodger Stadium contract, was a Democrat, but there was nonetheless a disorienting quality to the political landscape that made it hard to follow.

Also unlike New York, there were few ethnoreligious identifying markers to guide me. Los Angeles had racial divides, of course, but during the 1950s it was a largely white Protestant city that lacked the deep-seated tribalism of New York. Beyond the Melting Pot, the classic book about the resilience of ethnic and racial politics in New York, could not have been written about Los Angeles. Los Angeles did not have a political machine like New York’s Tammany Hall or even a “power broker” like Robert Moses, who determined what got built in New York during the postwar years. I’m not saying that bosses and dictatorial bureaucrats are good things, of course, but they certainly make a city’s political terrain easier to “read.” Los Angeles’s politics were also relatively decentered, with media taking the place of strong party organizations and referenda (such as the 1958 vote on the Dodger Stadium contract that determined its fate) devolving power to the grassroots.

Approaching Los Angeles, I felt a bit like Walter O’Malley himself, who stepped off the plane from New York in October 1957 to encounter a Los Angeles political landscape with no parties, no machines, no power brokers, no white ethnics, and no center. Disconcerting, to say the least. But like O’Malley, once I got my bearings, I found Los Angeles a fascinating place to be. I feel that the surface of this city’s history has barely been scratched.

How does your book speak to current issues involving public financing for stadiums and arenas in cities seeking to attract or retain sports teams?

JP: When it was completed in 1962, Dodger Stadium was the first privately funded sports venue since Yankee Stadium forty years earlier. Over the past half-century, it has earned a great deal of money for both Dodger ownership and—since it is on the tax rolls—the city and county of Los Angeles. In contrast, municipally financed stadiums invariably fail to recoup their costs in line with their projected timetables. San Francisco’s city-built Candlestick Park, which when it opened in 1960 was compared favorably with the yet-to-be-completed Dodger Stadium, took over 30 years to pay itself off, far longer than expected.

While the costs of private stadium construction are almost prohibitively high today, Dodger Stadium offers a lesson for cities seeking to build sports arenas without saddling themselves with debt or blowing up their budgets: get as much private money as you can. That is easier said than done, of course, because the threat of ownership to leave town or to reject an offer from a suitor city is omnipresent. But private financing beats public spending every time. Walter O’Malley had a personal stake in making Dodger Stadium the cleanest, most welcoming, most efficiently run and most attractive sports venue in America, because it belonged to him. He was responsible for it, good or bad. Around the same time Dodger Stadium went up, the municipally owned Shea Stadium opened in New York to house the National League’s new franchise, the Mets. Arriving well over budget, Shea Stadium was charmless and hulking, with dirty corridors and bathrooms and surly employees. The city of New York maintained it poorly. Unlike Dodger Stadium, no single individual was accountable when things went wrong at Shea Stadium, as they often did. The contrast between private and public ownership could not have been starker.

Another lesson of the Dodger Stadium story is one that many sports economists will dispute, but which I hold to nonetheless: these teams are worth keeping. Something goes out of a city’s soul when a sports franchise leaves. Certainly that was the case in New York, where aging Brooklyn Dodger fans still lament their team’s departure. For all the brave talk about “not needing” a team, after it goes there is an emptiness that even improved municipal bottom lines cannot fill. This is a distinctly non-empirical view I’m propounding, and I’m sure that “the numbers” argue against me, but to cite one example, the last time I was in Seattle I saw “bring back the Sonics” signs in windows, years after their NBA team left for Oklahoma City. Ask Seattle fans—and the city ardently pursued a replacement team a while back—how the money they saved when the Sonics left town feels jingling around in their pockets. It’s cold comfort. They want their team back. Similarly, ask Brooklyn fans what they’d do if they could do it all over again in 1957. The “let them leave” bravado would vanish. They’d want their Dodgers back. They’re baseball fans, not accountants.

Are you a Dodgers fan?

JP: No, I’m actually a lifelong (and long-suffering) fan of the New York Mets, who are the spiritual successors of the Brooklyn Dodgers, a team I am too young to remember personally. But studying and writing about Dodger Stadium—for my money, America’s most beautiful ballpark—has certainly pulled me in the direction of its featured attraction. When you’re sitting in the upper deck at Dodger Stadium at dusk on a summer night in LA with the organ music playing and the San Gabriel Mountains beckoning in the distance, it’s hard not to root for the home team.

Jerald Podair is professor of history and the Robert S. French Professor of American Studies at Lawrence University in Appleton, Wisconsin. He is the author of The Strike That Changed New York and Bayard Rustin: American Dreamer and City of Dreams: Dodger Stadium and the Birth of Modern Los Angeles.

Wright on Exhibit: Frank Lloyd Wright’s Architectural Exhibitions

More than one hundred exhibitions of Frank Lloyd Wright’s work were mounted between 1894 and his death in 1959. Wright organized the majority of these exhibitions himself and viewed them as important to his self-presentation as his extensive writings. He used them to introduce his new work, appeal to a wide audience, and persuade his detractors. Wright on Exhibit presents the first history of this neglected aspect of the architect’s influential career.

Drawing extensively from Wright’s unpublished correspondence, Kathryn Smith challenges the preconceived notion of Wright as a self-promoter who displayed his work in search of money, clients, and fame. She shows how he was an artist-architect projecting an avant-garde program, an innovator who expanded the palette of installation design as technology evolved, and a social activist driven to revolutionize society through design. While Wright’s earliest exhibitions were largely for other architects, by the 1930s he was creating public installations intended to inspire debate and change public perceptions about architecture. The nature of his exhibitions expanded with the times beyond models, drawings, and photographs to include more immersive tools such as slides, film, and even a full-scale structure built especially for his 1953 retrospective at the Guggenheim Museum. Placing Wright’s exhibitions side by side with his writings, Smith shows how integral these exhibitions were to his vision.

Photograph by Pedro E. Guerrero

Q: What is different about Wright on Exhibit than other books you have written about Wright?

Kathryn Smith: I chose his architectural exhibitions during his lifetime because it was a finite subject that had real clarity and purpose. It provided a great framework to view how Wright favored his own work, how he prepared it in drawings and models, and how he dealt with the press, museums, the public, and contemporary architects. I live in Los Angeles, the location of the Getty Research Library, where Wright’s correspondence of 103,000 letters and documents are on deposit on microfiche. By 2016, I would say that I had read about 15,000 pieces of this correspondence. I knew his voice and his moods. I wanted that to come through to the reader by quoting the correspondence. It was one of my main purposes: to put the reader as much as possible into the moment.

Q: How many exhibitions are in your final count?

KS: My total is 124 exhibitions. There is a gap between 1915 and 1929. But from 1930 forward, there were at least one or more exhibitions–one man shows or surveys–every year until his death where my book stops.
I created two appendices: the list of all of the exhibitions and an illustrated catalogue raisonné of all known models, extant or lost. Even the list of models is staggering. There are 57.

Q: The excerpts from letters are vivid, but how did you illustrate the book?

KS: I was lucky because Wright clearly wanted to document his career. Beginning in 1907, he hired professionals to photograph his installations. I accumulated a good representation of black and white images of all the major exhibitions. But I learned that the shows themselves were rich in color. It was imperative to communicate this richness to the reader. The book has 57 color illustrations, primarily of drawings, and 188 half tones.

Q: Did you make any discoveries that surprised you?

KS: Yes, quite a few. I would say that there is a very vague outline in the mind of many people who have heard of the major exhibitions. They conjure up basically either positive or negative impressions. But that changes dramatically when the factual history is traced. For instance, “Sixty Years of Living Architecture” was conceived in Florence, Italy in 1948 and went through the most torturous three-year period of failed international diplomatic planning. Wright was completely ignorant of this activity. Yet, it finally opened due to the determination, the effort, and the financial support of a few individuals, American and Italian. It is a very compelling story, complete with cliffhangers. Almost all the major exhibitions I wrote about were dramatic with Wright threatening to pull out at the last minute.

 

Sixty Years of Living Architecture, poster, 1952 (Private collection)

Broadacre City exhibition, New York, 1935 (Scott Architectural Archive)

Q: What was the most memorable thing you learned about Wright?

KS: After the openings came the reviews. In some years, especially, before 1948, when there were a number of mixed or negative assessments, he felt downhearted and baffled. In truth, he had a rather thin skin. His most characteristic response was to turn to writing: he lashed out in anger at the critics. What I was struck by was Wright’s vulnerability. There were quite a few instances of negative criticism when he seemed to stand aside, like an outsider, not comprehending why the American people did not embrace him as their champion as he intended. It is true, he became a “starchitect,” in the parlance of our day; but he was looking for recognition of greater depth.

 

Favorite Lines: Troy Jollimore

In honor of National Poetry Month, we’ve asked some of the poets who have published in the Princeton Series of Contemporary Poets to highlight and discuss a single line in their poetry that has special significance. Today Troy Jollimore, author of Syllabus of Errors, talks about inspiration while writing “My Book” (Syllabus of Errors, 29). 

Jollimore“I bought a copy, but it wasn’t mine.” This is the opening line of “My Book,” a poem in my third book, Syllabus of Errors. The line introduces what I take to be the main theme of that poem, the question that animates it, which is: what does it mean to say that something—in particular, a work of art—is “mine”? That is, what is the nature of property, especially when it comes to art? Our society is largely built on notions of property; indeed, property is crucial to the way people in the modern Western world think about rights and other ethical matters. And yet property is a complex and elusive concept, much more so, I think, than we commonly pretend.

“My Book” plays on ambiguities between the everyday meaning of my (in which to own a book is simply to possess a copy of a book, a physical object that one might treat and dispose of as one pleases) and the special meaning of my that attaches not to material ownership but to authorship (which is itself, it seems to me, a kind of ownership, but one that attaches to something other than a particular material object). But just what is this special sense? Authors are often imagined as bearing an especially intimate relationship to their works and, perhaps as a result of this, a special responsibility for their works. They are, to some degree, identified with their works. One feels, in reading the writers one loves, as if one comes to know them. Their thoughts, their minds, the very essence of their lives is there on the page, for all to see. The cliché “my life is an open book” alludes, in part, to this.

My own relationships with “my” books, though—and with my own individual poems as well—has not been so straightforward. I seem to find them as mysterious as do other people, and often wonder just what they are trying to get at. I don’t really know where they have come from; I don’t really understand the process by which they were written; and I am not confident in my ability to repeat that process in the future. The poems seem to have an existence that is largely and indeed fundamentally independent of me, and the prospect of being identified with them, or even being held responsible for them, feels troubling.

For the most part, when I hold one of “my” books in my hand, what I feel is not intimacy but strangeness. The person who has written the poems seems foreign and mostly unknown; as foreign and unknown, perhaps, as any former version of oneself. What do these poems say about me? What do they say to me? What if I decide I am unsatisfied with them, or no longer believe (if I ever did) the ideas they express—do I have, in that case, the right to revise them? Or would this amount to a kind of vandalism, a violation of the rights of their actual author, who is no longer around to assert those rights or complain about their being disrespected? What kind of special authority may I presume, when I am asked, as I was for this blog post, to write about one of “my” works, as if to explain it to the world? If I read Derrida again, or Barthes, would that help me answer these questions?

Perhaps one day I will write a book that really feels like it is mine, and I will be able to hold a copy of that book in my hands without being troubled by these questions. Maybe I’ll call it My Book, and I’ll make “My Book” the first poem in it. For the time being I feel happy with that poem; I like what it seems to say and enjoy how it says it. The thoughts it expresses are thoughts I myself seem to have had. It’s almost as if I wrote it.

My Book

JollimoreTroy Jollimore is the author of two previous collections of poetry, At Lake Scugog (Princeton) and Tom Thomson in Purgatory, which won the National Book Critics Circle Award. His poems have appeared in the New Yorker,McSweeney’s, the Believer, and other publications. He is a professor of philosophy at California State University, Chico.

Anurag Agrawal: The oldest butterflies?

by Anurag Agrawal

It’s unclear when humans became humans. Presumably it was a gradual growth of our consciousness over the eons. There are some things, however, that appear to distinguish us from most other animals. For example, our artistic depictions. From the deepest, darkest caves have emerged pictures of humanity from thousands of years ago. And in an Egyptian tomb, that of Nebamun, on a painting called “Fowling in the marshes” (from around 1350 BCE) comes one of the oldest human depictions of butterflies. It happens to be of the African Monarch, Danaus chrysippus, sometimes called the plain tiger, a close relative of our beloved North American Monarch butterfly, Danaus plexippus.

Agrawal
I stumbled on this lovely scrap of history when a friend and colleague, Harry Greene, gifted me a book: Nabokov’s Butterflies (2000), a collection of unpublished and uncollected writings. Some explanation is in order. Harry is an extraordinary naturalist and big thinker in ecology and evolution. Like many senior scholars, his predicament was the lack of shelf-space in his office. And so I was the beneficiary of Nabokov’s Butterflies. Vladimir Nabokov, a Russian-American author, and noted entomologist, was most famous for his writings, for example, Lolita, and his celebrated translation of Pushkin’s novel in verse, Eugene Onegin. His ideas about biology were diverse, he was a passionate lepidopterist, and he often intermixed his literary writing and entomological excursions. Lolita is said to have been written primarily on butterfly collecting trips in the American west. Nonetheless, Nabokov also clung on to other ideas that held little merit in the scientific sphere. Most prominently, Nabokov rejected evolution by natural selection as a driver of certain organismal traits that he deemed ‘coincidental, miraculous, or too luxurious.’

Agrawal

Nabokov was a professor at my own Cornell University in the decade following WWII. Although he taught literature and had well-known students at Cornell (including U.S. supreme court justice, Ruth Bader Ginsburg), his entomological interests continued. In fact, after he retired from Cornell in the mid-1960s, Nabokov had sketched out an outline of a book: The Butterflies of Europe. And although the book never came to be, the outline was recapitulated in Nabokov’s Butterflies. Flipping through the book, I stumbled on his entry for Danaus in which he wrote, “This butterfly has the distinction of being the oldest known to have been represented by man. Seven specimens of it (with typical white-dotted Danaus body but somewhat Vanessa cardui like wingtips) are shown flitting over the papyrus swamp…” (page 603).

Agrawal
I later asked another friend, Harvard’s Lepidopterist, Naomi Pierce: did Nabokov have it right? On the money, she independently pointed to the similarity of Danaus chrysippus and the painted lady, Vanessa cardui, wondering if the butterflies on this three thousand year old tomb painting were Danaus or Vanessa. She concluded, as did Nabokov, that the African Monarch ruled. Detailed assessment of the color patterns on the wings were informative to both entomologists. The oldest human depiction of a butterfly? Perhaps not. Naomi mentioned some evidence of butterflies in Minoan artifacts from Crete, a thousand years earlier than Nebamun, and likely in Pyrenees cave paintings, some 10-30 thousand years earlier!

Of course, there is nothing special about being the oldest depiction of a butterfly by Homo sapiens. But suffice it to say, butterflies, metamorphosis, wing patterning, and the beauty of nature have been on our minds for a very long time. Thanks Harry and Naomi! And thanks Nabokov. Who knows what becomes of those side hobbies and obsessions we all hold.

Nabokov

AgrawalAnurag Agrawal is a professor in the Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology and the Department of Entomology at Cornell University. He is the author of Monarchs and Milkweed: A Migrating Butterfly, a Poisonous Plant, and Their Remarkable Story of Coevolution.