tracking the light in Philadelphia

Extraordinary weather. The sun alive.

Here is Philadelphia, toward the end of one recent day. The sky splitting. A million glass panes holding a mirror up to the atmosphere.

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Philadelphia in Pictures: Paine's Park, Boathouse Row, Water Works, Project Flow

I go nowhere without one of my cameras, and so, on Thursday, as I made my way to my morning of chilling with the teen writers of Project Flow, I stopped along the Schuylkill Banks and snapped a few shots. They capture the heat and color of the day.

That's Paine's Park up there, the brand-new skateboard park that sort of blew me away with its size and sweep; that's the Philadelphia Art Museum in the background. My friend Mike rides the curves of this park every weekend morning. I could have sat and watched for hours.

And then the Fairmount Water Works Interpretive Center and then a sneaky shot of Cira Centre. Cira is a Cesar Pelli designed/Brandywine Realty Trust building that marked the start of University City's renaissance. It is also the brain child of Jerry Sweeney, a city visionary whose leadership along the Banks and within the gridded city is largely responsible for changing the way Philadelphians and friends experience the city. I'm proud to count Jerry as a friend.

Next a broader view of the Schuylkill and Boathouse Row.

Next the back face of the museum with its fields of flowers.

Finally a few of the young people I met while talking about rivers and words.

Come to Philadelphia.

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scenes from the (teaching and commuting) day

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An evening with Andrew Bacevich at Villanova University

Yesterday was another day of privileges—a morning spent in a visionary's office reflecting on the fate and future of our city, an evening spent in the company of Villanova University leaders and political commentator/New York Times bestseller Andrew Bacevich (The Limits of Power, Washington Rules) on the occasion of the second Lore Kephart '86 Distinguished Historians Lecture series. 

My father created the series with the hope of generating a sustaining conversation around important issues in our community.  He created the series to honor the memory of my mother.  Last night, again, hundreds of people turned out for the occasion—hundreds—students, faculty, neighboring residents, and long-time family friends.  A year of planning goes into a night like that one, and we Kepharts have a tremendous community at Villanova to thank—a president, Rev. Peter M. Donohue, and a dean, Father Kail Ellis, who spend the evening with us, who charm us; a committee of esteemed historians, including my friend, Paul Steege, who help identify the right lecturer (last year they chose Pulitzer Prize winner Dr. James McPherson); and a staff of individuals who make the evening seamless.

Toward the end of the evening, following a remarkable lecture and passionate Q and A, I received a text message from my son, who is off at school.  His thoughts, he said, were with my mother.  He imagined her looking down in peace.  I did, too.

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Tall Philadelphia and Life in the Thumb

 In Dangerous Neighbors, Katherine is forever climbing towers and hills to get a better view of her city, something I am prone to do today.  I took this shot of my city from the Cira Centre bridge, just across the Schuylkill River, on the west side.  That's the new Comcast building, rising tallest in the center.  Far beyond, to the right, is William Penn balanced on the top of City Hall.  It wasn't all that long ago when no one dared build any higher than Penn's generous bronze hat.  As one who has loved this city all her life, I am astonished, always, by how rapidly things change and disappear.

One thing, however, does not change, and that is my gratitude to those who make the time for books, and then make even more time to articulate their reactions.  Today I thank Life in the Thumb, for her very kind and very wonderfully structured review of Dangerous Neighbors.  It means so much.

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Philadelphia at Dusk

Philadelphia, through the bridge window at Cira Centre.
The lights go on.
The taxis urge toward home.

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Returning to Work

From the train platform at 30th Street Station, I always had this view of Cira Centre—of the offices, in particular, of Brandywine Realty Trust, a once and sometimes client. Waiting for the train on Monday evenings, I'd watch my friends across the way, huddled in meetings or hurrying back and forth, sitting alone with a pen in hand. I'd wonder what they were up to now, how their next buildings would shape the cityscape, what they would think of me if they turned and saw me—a teacher for a spell, not a consultant.

Yesterday I left academia and returned to the world of corporate work. I sat with my good friend (and co-author) Matt Emmens in the offices of Shire. Turned my thoughts toward an annual report and a news magazine. Buckled myself in for the ride. The thing about the life I live is that there are friends at every turn—people I am genuinely eager to see, stories I can thread my way into. Everywhere in this world, people are dreaming. They are putting up buildings and launching new drugs. Sometimes I stand by their side.

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Dr. Constantine Papadakis: A Tribute

I spoke in a recent post of my privileged life—living literature, living community and ideas at the same time. I spoke of how sometimes luck walked me straight through the door of extraordinary people and let me stay awhile.

Dr. Constantine Papadakis, who served for 13 years as the president of Drexel University until his passing yesterday, was one of those big-thinking, renaissance-quality people. He was just 63, and today my city mourns his loss.

I spent time in the company of Dr. Papadakis during my work on a book commemorating the rise of Cira Centre, an historic glass building in West Philadelphia. Not a lot of time—just enough to understand and appreciate how deep a thinker he was. Our conversation was to focus on the emergence of West Philadelphia, on the shifting center of this Quaker City. It quickly spilled over into talk about Anthony Drexel and George Childs, two of my favorite historic Philadelphians. It moved from there into broader philosophical terrain, and when my team arrived a few weeks later to photograph the great doctor in that grand hall of Drexel, he was charismatic and charming all over again—more artifactual stories to tell, that bright smile on his handsome Greek face.

Drexel University is a vastly different place than it once was—anchored in with new architecture (for architecture was a Dr. Papadakis passion) by Michael Graves, I.M. Pei, and others; set off in many new directions. West Philadelphia has changed enormously, too—thanks to him, thanks to my alma mater, the University of Pennsylvania, and thanks to Dr. Papadakis's dear friend, Jerry Sweeney, the visionary CEO of Brandywine Realty Trust, who made certain that Cira rose above an old train yard and who set us free to write a book that led us through the door of souls like Dr. Papadakis.

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The Preemptive Howl

These claims, only, can be made for this day: I gave it over to dreaming. To preparing even more for the young writers' workshop I'll be teaching tomorrow, though my agenda is jammed already—more to do, more to see, more to talk about than the girls and I could possibly squeeze into one day.

And yet, how can we call tomorrow a success if we don't also speak of Rebecca Solnit's way of seeing, for example, the color blue? The world is blue at its edges and in its depths. This blue is the light that got lost. How can we not retrieve Jean-Dominique Bauby from the brink? The last time I saw my father, I shaved him. It was the week of my stroke. How can we talk about beginnings and voice if we do not begin with Ondaatje? Drought since December. How can we claim to move toward the authentic and raw, if we do not tantrum with C.K. Williams, if we do not share his "preemptive howl"? And did you really think it would be possible for me to face a group of aspiring teen writers without reading aloud, with them, from The Book Thief? An original book and a popular book. You see, I'll tell them. It can be done.

And then I'll remind them of what Natalia Ginzburg had to say. I'll warn them, so I can warn myself: There is a danger of cheating with words that don't really come from within, that we have fished up from outside at random and skillfully pieced together, for we do become cunning. There is a danger in becoming cunning, in cheating. It is a very difficult craft, as you can see, but the most wonderful in the world.

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