In the obits I find one Roland Cornelson, who died in Kansas at the age of 87. That’s a classical name, Roland. Roland is the hero of a French epic poem from the twelfth century, titled “The Song of Roland,” which is a much better title than “The Song of Bob” or “The Song of Stu.”
Roland was a knight of Charlemagne who led his troops into battle at Roncevaux Pass, against the Basques. There he made his stand, blowing his Olifant (a medieval horn) before he was taken out. The poem celebrates values such as chivalry, courage, honor, and sacrifice. For that reason it is no longer taught in our schools.
The Basque reference reminds me of a bon mot (which is French for “a really good mot”) supposedly uttered by Dorothy Parker, who was known for uttering many a mot while in her cups at the Algonquin Round Table. There was a news story about a fire in a Basque theater, and only one door was open for escape, resulting in several deaths by stampede. To which Parker said, “Never put all your Basques in one exit.”
Among movie Rolands were Gilbert Roland and Roland Young. Gilbert Roland was a handsome Mexican actor who made female hearts flutter from the 1930s all the way to the 80s.
Roland Young, on the other hand, usually played befuddled old men, like Cosmo Topper in the 1937 movie about a befuddled old man who is haunted by the ghosts of a wild, fun-loving couple—George and Marion Kerby (Cary Grant and Constance Bennett). If you’re going to be haunted, you’d want Cary Grant and Constance Bennett to do it.
I’ve known one Roland, but it was the Latinized name Rolando. His nickname was Rolo, which was one of my favorite sweets as a kid, with chocolate outside and caramel inside.
And then there’s Rollo Tomassi, the secret name uttered by Kevin Spacey in the movie L.A. Confidential, which just goes to show that everything, even an old French poem, eventually connects to something in Los Angeles.
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Blanca Lidia Lopez De Ramirez died at the age of 76, and that is a fine name, a name that rolls off the tongue, a name like you’d find in old Los Angeles, which was covered with rancheros before the boom of the 1880s when easterners rode the train out west to find oranges and sunshine in the City of Angels.
Which meant that all these people needed water, and the hordes that followed would need water, lots of it, but where was L.A. going to get it? There was a river running through town, but it wasn’t a mighty one like the Mississippi, the Ohio, or the Monongahela.
So the city fathers sent out a man named William Mulholland to find a water source, and he found it all right, up in the central valley of California were all these lush farms were growing asparagus, artichokes, lettuce, tomatoes; and where cattle ranchers watered their beef. Mulholland got the idea that L.A. could build an aqueduct, like the Romans, and divert water from the Owens Valley all the way down to the city. And by golly, he did it, they did it, we who call ourselves Angelenos did it, but the farmers and ranchers of the Owens Valley were not happy about suddenly becoming parched, and that bitterness has lasted from 1913 to today.
“All happy families are alike,” wrote Tolstoy in the opening line of Anna Karenina.
“Each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” Mrs. Tolstoy, Sonya, was happy bearing him a son named Sergei, but after child number 13 she probably said, “Enough already! And would it kill you to shave?”
Family Item: The Fairbank family was proud of their traditions. Their ancestors had come to America on the Mayflower. Their relatives included senators, oil magnates, and Wall Street wizards.
They decided to compile a family history, a legacy for their children and grandchildren, and hired a fine author to do the writing. There was, however, one “black sheep” in the family to deal with, Manfred, who was executed in the electric chair at the state prison, for murder. The confident author assured the family he could handle the story tactfully.
When the book appeared it had the following item: “Great-uncle Manfred occupied a chair of applied electronics at an important government institution. He was attached to his position by the strongest of ties, and his death came as a great shock.”
Owens Valley plays host to a complex of radio astronomy telescopes, courtesy of our friends at CalTech. To be effective the surrounding area is best vacant and barren to keep the airwaves quiet. Had Mulholland not created the diversion and subsequent dearth of water and arable land, we might not have the Owens Valley radio telescopes. So science has Mr. Mulholland to thank. :-)
"The poem celebrates values such as chivalry, courage, honor, and sacrifice. For that reason it is no longer taught in our schools." Love your subtlety, Jim!
And I might've gone to school with one of those Manfred-types. Not sure if he's experienced the applied "current" event, though. Have a good one!