When Mom passed away recently, her niece, my cousin, flew into town for the funeral. Later that evening as we sat around the dinner table, my cousin asked questions about her aunt. Most of the stories that my dad told in response were ones that I had heard many times before. How Mom's and Dad's respective families had fled the communist takeover of mainland China and landed in Taiwan. How some family members on both sides had been left behind as the curtain descended. How they had met each other while working for the Taiwan post office. How they had immigrated to the U.S. as masters students at Brigham Young University. And how I was the first baby born to the community of Chinese students there – quite possibly the first Chinese baby born in Provo, UT.
I immediately understood why. Prior to the passage of the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965, there was a strict quota based on nationality that discriminated blatantly against Chinese and other immigrants of non-Western European origin. U.S. immigration policy sought to "preserve" the county as a "white" nation. The U.S. would not have granted student visas to a Chinese married couple as they would be much more likely to have a child while in the U.S., who would then pave the way to permanent residency and citizenship. I sat there at the dinner table stunned both by the revelation of a family secret that I had never known and also by the lengths to which my parents were willing to go in order to get into the U.S.
As the daughter of immigrants, I have always been sensitive to public anti-immigrant sentiment and its racial overtones. It doesn't matter that public ire is currently directed at immigrants from Mexico and other parts of Latin America. I know that blame was once directed at people who looked like me and could easily be so again – all it takes is a spy plane incident or a weak economy to turn us from "model minority" to "yellow peril" – just as it has been directed at successive waves of people who looked and acted differently.
Anti-Chinese immigrant sentiment culminated in the 1882 "Chinese Exclusion Act," the only law passed by Congress that bars immigration and naturalization based on race. By the 1920's, the Chinese and eventually all Asians except Filipinos (because their homeland had become a U.S. colony) were prohibited from marrying whites, owning property, and/or becoming citizens, and subject to a slew of other degrading and racist laws. While I don't expect things to get quite that bad ever again, the actions of authorities like Sheriff Arpaio make me wonder.
Most people nowadays would argue that the immigration debate isn't about race at all, but the rule of law. "Illegal aliens are criminals because they've broken the law." It may be easier for someone whose family has been in country for generations and is not viewed as "foreigners" – most likely a white family – to say that undocumented workers are "breaking the law." It sounds so objective, unbiased, fair… But that ignores the fact that the law itself is unfair. If the law is written such that it makes it a lot easier for one group to "obey" the law than another, then there is something wrong with the law. My parents did not do anything "illegal" per se but they took drastic steps in order to circumvent the intended purpose of the law at that time… because they knew that the law was discriminatory and unjust. To what extent would someone go who does not have the privilege of applying for student visas?
My parents took the drastic measures that they did so that they could give their future children a better life. And I am not just referring to the divorce. They left their friends and family, their native soil and their culture, all for the sake of their children. Other parents right now are going to even greater extents – braving deserts and vigilantes, breaking the "law" – driven by the same love for their children and a desperation to provide for them what they know they cannot in their homeland. We are all (or nearly all) immigrants or descended from immigrants here, no matter how long your family can trace its roots in the U.S. And all because our ancestors were looking for a better life for their progeny.
Is it moral to exclude people from this country?
Is it moral for a country to defend its borders, and if it is, why is it moral?
This Mother's Day, Rev. Laura Horton-Ludwig of First Unitarian Universalist Church of Stockton, California, preached on the theology of immigration. After sharing a story from her own family's experience and contemplating the theological questions behind how we approach immigration, Laura closed her sermon by explaining HR 182, the Child Citizen Protection Act, and encouraging members of her congregation to fill out postcards to their representative asking them to co-sponsor the Child Citizen Protection Act.
Read Laura's sermon, Family Across Borders, and then send your own message to your representative through our online action campaign.
The Child Citizen Protection Act would allow immigration judges to take into account the well-being of a U.S. citizen child when determining if their non-citizen parent should be forcibly deported. The bill would offer hope to families which include include at least one non-citizen parent and a U.S. citizen child—which make up 15% of all families in the United States.
Today marks the one year anniversary of the raid in Postville, Iowa, where 389 people were arrested. In Postville and in communities across the country, people are standing in solidarity with immigrant workers and families and their friends and loved ones by calling for justice and comprehensive immigration reform.
You can stand in solidarity as well by sending a letter to your representatives through the Interfaith Immigration Coalition's website.
Find a solidarity event in your area at the Interfaith Immigration Coalition's Event Calendar. If an event you're organizing or attending is not listed, please email kherrick@networklobby.org to have the event added.
To learn more about the raid in Postville, watch a short 8 minute film at the website for the forthcoming documentary abUSed: The Postville Raid.
It is a time to pray, not to blame; to send help, not to close borders; to love more fully, not to exclude more effectively. The H1N1 virus threatens our immune systems, but our spirits must repel the equally dangerous contagions of hatred and fear. We must offer an active resistance to bigotry.
There is deep danger in assigning blame for the virus along ethnic lines, as radio talk show host Jay Severin did by calling Mexican immigrants "criminaliens," "primitives," "leeches," and "women with mustaches and VD" on Boston's WTKK-FM last week. This reactionary response to a real public health crisis spread false information and racist language. WTKK-FM has yanked Severin from the air, but the bigotry that inspired his words is being echoed in scape-goating blog posts and cartoons across the United States.
It is imperative that people join together and stand on the side of love. Think of what you can do to be a healing agent in this time of crisis. Writing blog posts and letters to our papers confronting dehumanizing rhetoric is important, but also consider other ways to be in solidarity. A radical ministry at this moment may be as simple as having a joint potluck with a Mexican church. Or, if day laborers congregate in your neighborhood, bring some baked goods or coffee one morning.
We need to come together, even if we are wearing masks and disinfecting our hands every five minutes. We cannot let any virus destroy the fabric of our human family. So next time you are driving by a Mexican restaurant and someone in your car cracks a joke about the swine flu, maybe you ought to pull over and have a delicious dinner of rice, beans, and carnitas.
Unfortunately, I fell asleep before Stephen Colbert interviewed Sheriff Joe Arpaio on The Colbert Report this past Monday night, but Alex and I watched a clip of their conversation online this afternoon.
Over the course of a seven minute exchange in which Colbert did most of the talking, the discussion touched on law enforcement, racial profiling, and the border wall. Sheriff Arpaio responded to Colbert's questions clearly and professionally, and even with a certain measure of grace–especially in light of the fact that a crowd of picketers was outside the building, protesting his treatment of undocumented immigrants.
Watching the interview, it was obvious that Sheriff Arpaio possesses a great deal of knowledge, experience, and passion for law enforcement. But I was troubled by how the pragmatism of his answers glossed over the human costs of his immigration enforcement practices.
For example, when the conversation turned to racial profiling, Arpaio said that identifying undocumented immigrants on sight is "pursuant to [his and his officers'] duties" in enforcing immigration laws. And while that may seem on the surface like a logical answer to the question asked, for me it misses the point.
Arpaio's response, though calm and seemingly logical, left unacknowledged the suffering that his methods have created in immigrant and Latino communities by spreading fear and dividing families.
We need strong law enforcement, but first we need to be sure that the laws that we're enforcing are good–that we have policies that work. Currently, our immigration policy is overwhelmingly broken. Enforcing broken laws is dangerous as well as ineffective.
We need pragmatism in our law enforcement, but our pragmatism absolutely must be anchored in compassion and respect for the inherent worth and dignity of every human being.
Watching the interview reaffirmed my belief in how important it is that Unitarian Universalists practice advocacy. The compassionate perspective is so very important, and that's what we, as people who value both human diversity and interconnectedness, bring to the table on issues of social justice.
What do you think? Please feel free to share your comments and reflections on the video here.
Tonight, this man . . .
. . . will take on this man . . .
on Comedy Central. 11:30 PM/10:30 C.
I might have to stay up past my bedtime.
To participate, send an email to lswanson [at] uua.org. I'll email you the call-in number, access code, and agenda on Tuesday morning.
Photo by Darwin Bell, Creative Commons.
UUA Immigrant Justice takes the internet by storm . . . .
Then there was an email update list.
And now . . . . there's UUA_Immigration Twitter!
. . . And UUA_Immigration on del.icio.us.
–And last but not least, a new Facebook group called Another Unitarian Universalist Acting for Immigrant Justice on May 1, 2009.
Not sure how Twitter, del.icio.us, or Facebook work? Us neither. (Just kidding). (Sort of).
Why are you still reading this post? Go click on the links and explore!


Home Traveling What Can I Take In My Hand Luggage?
There are some restrictions and guidelines that need to be followed when using aircraft in the United Kingdom. Hand luggage is controlled by size and its content with the most restricted item being that of liquids. Any non essential items should be packed into your suitcase to avoid any complications before take -off. If it is unavoidable bringing liquid in your hand luggage then there are some steps that need to be followed before you will be able to fly.
Liquids include drinks, water, soup and syrups and cosmetics such as perfumes, toothpastes and shower gel.The liquid cannot be anymore than 100ml It should be a single, transparent, resealable plastic bag in 1 litre in size and 20cm x 20cm 1 bag is limited per person and must be shown to security at designated points. The only item allowed through security over 100 ml is essential medicine. This must be clearly labelled and be obvious medical matter. The medicine that is present must be for those travelling.
1 lighter per person is prohibited onboard and should be placed inside the clear plastic bag.
Any non essential items should be placed in your suitcase and not carried on the flight. This will save time at security and prevent any need for security teams to search your bags or delay you as you process through security. Please be aware that additional time should be allocated to process this part of the airport which can often become busy and time consuming.
It should be remembered that although liquids are not allowed through security such as water and any soft drinks, it is possible to purchase items beyond security which are allowed onboard. This also includes liquids such as perfume and any toiletries. Many duty free items such as alcohol are placed in airport affiliated carrier bags and are sealed after purchase preventing any tampering or security risk.
What Hand Luggage Bag Should I Use?
There are various different types of hand luggage available to purchase online and in the high street shops. Traditionally these can include a small backpack style, a holdall or duffle bag styles. Each type of bag boasts various different features and advantages depending on the size, organisation and spaced required. Deciding the best hand luggage bag for you allows you to start your holiday stress free and stops long waits before going onboard.
Smart Luggage brings premium luggage to you. Stocking a large range of designer brands including Samsonite and Antler, alongside affordable luggage, it is your one stop shop for anything luggage.


As you know I have been here online for almost a year. I am writing about feelings, love, pain, life, beauty, but maybe what I wrote the most about was solitude.
Being a loner all my life I have great respect for all of you that are loners as well.
Starting from today I will dedicate a section of my blog to all the solitary souls who would like to find a place where to listen some good music, see some beautiful things, read some calm thoughts about this existance. You are all my guests and you are all invited, no matter of religion, country, thoughts or state of mind. Feel free to comment, ask, share thoughts, music, quotes. Feel like home.
If I would have been rich I would have opened a bar, a Club of the Loner. But since the only instrument I have is this blog, I invite you here, in this quiet corner. And know that none of you is really alone, there are many lonely people just like you.
Don't feel strange or like an alien because you are different. You might not be as sociable as others, or maybe you did not find any true friends yet. But remember that you are unique and beautiful.
Don't be scared of life, of the cold anonymous world.
Cut the wires that feed your fears.
Even if everything may crumble around you.
Don't hear the bad words flying around you.
Don't hide from your dark side.
You have yourself and your gentle thought rising above your eyebrows.
Turn your arms towards who you really are and embrace your soul.
You will never feel empty again in your silent corner of the loner.
Take Five…. minutes and relax. Drink a coffe and stop for a chat and contemplate life.
Remember that life is beautiful and so are you.
After a lot of work these days I am back with new energy. It's incredible how much energy we pour sometimes in our work, and also amazing how life feels after we take a break and just contemplate it.
I simply breath and enjoy this moment with all of you. I thank all of you who venture in this lonely corner of mine. It's in lonely corners of this world that sometimes the sun can have the most unexpected colors and the thoughts the most deep shade of blue.
And through solitude one is able to stay silent, and understands that silence is the sleep that nourishes wisdom.
Yes, exactly. Solitude can become a great teacher.
Feel free to post and comment whatever you like, it's everybodies corner.
This is my favorite page. I'll bookmark it. I can always come here and listen to music and read quotes and your poems.
You are most invited and welcome Arjun. It's for you and for all others that need a moment to think and listen to something.
God bless you! Is there your picture here somewhere to see?
There shouldn't be a picture. I am only a soul.
Always nice to dip back here..! http://yourligo.weebly.com/haibun.html if you'd like to …!
Thank you so much for the link, Managua, I have already linked my post for it. I wish you a great day my friend.
I thought I had liked that page. I asked because I wasn't sure if you'd changed your mind.
Thank you my brother. Who knows what life may bring.


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Sensational Wonder Woman #1 Review
Next, On A Very Special Afternoon Episode of Wonder Woman...
Written by: Paula Sevenbergen, Scott, Kolins, Stephanie Phillips
Art by: Paul Pelletier, Norm Rapmund, Scott Kolins, Alitha Martinez, Dexter Vines, Vicente Cifuentes
Colors by: Adriano Lucas, Scott Kolins, Wendy Broome, Carrie Strachan,
Letters by: Pat Brosseau, Ryan Christy, Becca Carey
Cover art by: Belen Ortega (cover A)
Release Date: March 29. 2022
Sensational Wonder Woman #1 delivers three tales of heroics from the world's greatest Amazon as she foils an ice villain attack, battles a threat of Lovecraftian proportions, and gets her version of Freaky Friday.
Was It Good?
I'm going to be generous with this review because I believe most creators behind this book had a sincere intention of collecting stories meant to inspire. If this were any other monthly comic, it would barely pass muster. However, bonus points are earned for sincerity.
Sensational Wonder Woman #1 is a 3-story anthology from many creators. Some you may know, others you may not. We'll cover each story separately and touch on what worked and didn't.
Hell Hath No Flurry
Will, a youngster attending a comic con dressed as Wonder Woman, gets picked on by the local bully for dressing up "like a girl." Suddenly, the entire city is besieged by Blue Snowman, and it's Wonder Woman to the rescue... with a bit of help from Will.
This one reads most like a Very Special Afternoon PSA of the three stories. The entire conflict between Blue Snowman and Wonder Woman, eventually resolved with Will's help, turns into an incredibly heavy-handed statement about trans kids and being who you feel you are on the inside. There's no criticism about the message, but the heavy-handed execution made this story feel like a pamphlet you give out at a social worker's office. Plus, the action elements regularly didn't make sense (When a giant ice wave is heading right for you, why would a girl on a swing argue to keep swinging?!?) On the flip side, the art by Pelletier and Lucas is stellar in this first story.
The Threnn of Doom
A group of research scientists recovers a powerful crystal from the ocean floor. As they study the crystal's magical properties, magically-attuned heroes around the Earth are suddenly assailed by visions of Armageddon. Wonder Woman is called in to save the day with a guest appearance by Dr. Fate.
Of the three stories, this solo outing by Scott Kolins put the most into elevating Wonder Woman as a top-tier hero. The threat is cataclysmic, Wonder Woman's efforts are easily thwarted until a solution can be found, and plenty of creativity went into developing a plot with a twist. Bonus points go to Kolins for solid art.
The dialog was regularly clunky with exclamations from bit characters that added nothing to the story. The second down point is Christy's lettering choice to put the thin yellow font on harsh red backgrounds for most of the captions. It looks cool, but it's horrible to read. An editor should have caught that mistake.
Swapped
A school field trip to the Hall of Justice goes wrong when Circe arrives to steal a dreamstone and uses a Freaky Friday spell to get Wonder Woman out of the way, swapping bodies with one of the teenaged students. It's up to Wonder Woman and a teenager to figure out how to work together, no matter what body they're in, to foil Circe's plans.
Yes, it's Freaky Friday, so there's nothing original about the plot. There are a few amusing moments when student Wonder Woman schools a History teacher on real history, and a dodgeball game is played with Amazonian intensity. However, the plot argues against itself when Wonder Woman harps on the teenagers to get ready for Circe's return, but there's no sense of urgency at all from the supporting characters. Phillips skipped inserting any contrivance that would justify Wonder Woman attending High School in a teenager's body rather than simply calling out sick or calling for help from other magical heroes within the Justice League. In concept, the story is a neat idea. In execution, it's riddled with plot holes.
The art is fairly good in this story, and the action in the dodgeball match alone may be enough to amuse you.
Sensational Wonder Woman #1 projects a sincere attempt at telling stories that inspire hope from Wonder Woman. While the sincerity is ever-present, the execution is frequently clunky or incomplete. Overall, the art is good, so there are plenty of visuals to warrant the cover price if you're a Wonder Woman completest.
Posted by Gabe Hernandez
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redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


Cullen Communications offers personalized marketing assistance, public relations, copywriting, and consulting to the home improvement, home decorating, building, graphic arts, paper, and printing industries, and selected consumer and business-to-business companies. Cheryl Dangel Cullen is the Chicago Home Improvement Examiner for Examiner.com. To read her latest articles, click here.
We are small by choice, taking on selected projects so that we can deliver only the highest quality service.


The heavy-duty segment is packed with pickup trucks with astonishing towing and hauling capabilities. While the smaller trucks can be used for both casual city drive and hauling, the heavy-duty segment is focusing on high performances. One such a model is the upcoming 2019 Ram 4500. This model is a real workhorse that is available in a chassis cab configuration. There is no interior space, premium features, and luxury. The only focus is getting the job done.
The Ram 4500 will compete against Ford F-450/F-550 and Chevy 3500 HD models. All of the models are offering something unique and Ram will look to make a standout in its respective segment. Unlike the models from Chevrolet and Ford, Ram 4500 is easier to customize. This model will ride on a 6.4-liter Hemi V8 powertrain. A diesel engine will probably make the production as well.
The upcoming 2019 Ram 4500 won't largely depart from its smaller sibling Ram 2500. Of course, the main difference is that this is a chassis cab. With that in mind, the biggest difference is between the fenders and bumpers. This pickup is wider and it offers integrated tow hooks. The hood sits higher and it adds more curvy lines.
The crosshair grille will stay intact, but it will hold more chrome trims. Tow mirrors are standard and the rear end will get new frame rails. Generally, the exterior is the same as in the past couple of years and the last redesign was in 2014. Ram continues with the same business as the main focus is on the performance.
Just like the exterior, the interior won't suffer any significant changes. A conventional gear selector remains, just as the rotary dial. The seats are quality and the comfort is great for a heavy-duty pickup truck. The 2019 Ram 4500 can accommodate three persons thanks to the 40/20/40 front bench. However, twin bucket seats are optional and the center console sits between them.
Tech-wise, Ram 4500 will mimic smaller and more modern Ram 1500 model. The design is stylish and the layout is simple. Uconnect system is available and it adds an 8.4-inch touchscreen. Navigation is standard, just as the 12-inch screen in the center console.
The 2019 Ram 4500 will come with a 6.4-liter Hemi V8 powertrain. This 16-valve unit delivers 410 horses and 429 lb-ft of torque. Aisin 6-speed automatic transmission is available and this pickup can tow up to 19,000 pounds.
We still don't have the information if the 6.7-liter Cummins diesel engine will arrive as an option. This engine is offering both 6-speed manual and automatic gearbox. It generates 325 HP and 750 lb-ft of torque. Thanks to those figures, tow rating is set at almost 30,000 pounds.
The pricing is still not available but we can predict the price of around $50,000. This price is in line with the competitors such as Ford F-450. Higher trims such as Laramie will for sure cost significantly more. This heavy-duty pickup truck will hit the dealerships in the coming months.


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Alsace > Rainy Day
Bartholdi Museum (Musée Bartholdi)
The Creator of the Statue of Liberty Everyone knows Lady Liberty who stands in America's New York Harbor, but most folks don't know a lot about the man who created her. The house where Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi was born in 1834 is now a museum. Spend an hour or two ambling through the home's exhibits which include an entire floor dedicated to...
Mulhouse National Car Museum
The National Car Museum or Car City (Cité de l'Automobile) in Mulhouse features more than 500 vehicles, all in working order. The cars are from a collection assembled by Fritz Schlumpf, a Swiss industrialist who spent most of his life in Alsace. He devoted an extraordinary amount of money and energy collecting and repairing antique cars. Some of the most...
Chocolate Museum
Chocolate lovers must make time for this museum, lab, shop, and tearoom. The museum has interactive exhibits devoted to the well-loved Marquise de Sévigné brand, in addition to displays about the history of cocoa in general, and the process of producing chocolate from beans. Visitors also may visit the laboratory where chocolate is made. Museum admission isn't necessary to enjoy...
Museum of Fine Art
This museum gets less attention than the city's car and train museums, but it is well worth a visit, and there is no entrance fee. It's located in the charming Villa Steinbach, built by a manufacturer of art canvas in the 18th century on land previously occupied by the Order of Teutonic Knights. In the 19th century, George Steinbach, a...
Monet and Picasso fans will want to spend an hour or so in this museum, which sits on a beautifully landscaped bank of the River Îll. Serious art lovers should expect to linger 2-3 hours, or more. The building itself is quite stunning. It opened in 1998, and is a striking work of glass, light, and space. The permanent collection...
Museum of Printed Textiles
Mulhouse is known as the birthplace of textile printing in Alsace. The industry began in 1746, when four city residents opened the first shop, and the city became the world-wide leader of textile manufacturing during the Industrial Revolution in the 19th century. The museum is as much a unique art exhibit as a historical museum. Plan to get lost in...
Mulhouse Train Museum
Cité du Train in Mulhouse is the largest railway museum in Europe with more than 1,000 cars,locomotives, and other train memorabilia. It also is very probably the best. The museum first opened in 1964 and reopened in January 2016 after a complete renovation. The expanded exhibition space holds a huge collection of French railway history. The Train Trail takes you on a...


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We bring our full roster of intensive, two-day maintenance courses to Fresno up to three times a year, with convenient, central locations.
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text:
Q: How to render template after getting all the required data from service angular2? I am facing an issue that data is not populating in combo boxes in page load.
My query is that how to render template after getting necessary data in component in angular 2 ?

A: you can reload/rerender template on any event just follow this code
AppComponent.reload.detectChanges();

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


Sure, I say. Because I legitimately want to support, but also because I can't think of a valid story for why I can't. So I make my way over to the dingy little club, the lobby of a once and future theater of productions both avant garde and mediocre, at 10:30 on a school night to see you and your buddies strut your stuff. You didn't tell me there would be a cover. It's fine — I'll pay, and glad tell them I'm hear to see you (that was a homonym typo I don't want to correct, because it might sell as cunning wordplay). I'm just glad I picked up cash earlier in the day.
The floor of the club is dark, the better to focus our attention on the makeshift stage. Unfortunately, the just-as-makeshift lights set up on the side and from the ceiling don't seem to function as intended. Your wide figure stayed swathed in a deep ochre, a bordello bouncer hunched over a droning guitar. Every part of the bassist besides his knees remained in deep shadows. The singer jumped in and out of the lone bright spotlight, her tambourine's jingles lacing it back out through the crowd.
And that crowd…they all showed up, which is nice of them. The band wrings out its songs, the ones you guys slaved over. Chords that were agonizing over chords, lyrics ripped out of the heart. How many band members walked out of the practice space, convinced they would never come back again? And here is your showcase — playing to a half-full room, fifty or sixty people, 90 percent of whom know the first name of at least one of you. None of them connecting to your craft. Half of them don't stop their conversations to applaud, and the other half never look up from their phones, just giving a short "woo" at the end of each song.
And I lean against the back wall, firmly ensconced in the second half of that group, my one sign of respect is turning my phone down to the most dimmed setting. I half listen and focus on taking notes as your keyboard player wails on a trumpet, continuing the pointless ouroboros of creativity looping between you and me.


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May 19 Daily Round-Up: NEC Members Contribute to COVID-19 Crisis Response
As our region and our nation continue to grapple with the Coronavirus Disease (COVID-19) pandemic, The New England Council is using our blog as a platform to highlight some of the incredible work our members have undertaken to respond to the outbreak. Each day, we'll post a round-up of updates on some of the initiatives underway among Council members throughout the region. We are also sharing these updates via our social media, and encourage our members to share with us any information on their efforts so that we can be sure to include them in these daily round-ups.
You can find all the Council's information and resources related to the crisis in the special COVID-19 section of our website. This includes our COVID-19 Virtual Events Calendar, which provides information on upcoming COVID-19 Congressional town halls and webinars presented by NEC members, as well as our newly-released Federal Agency COVID-19 Guidance for Businesses page.
Here is today's (May 19, 2020) roundup:
Medical Response
UMass Memorial Dedicates New Unit to Patients Needing Both COVID-19 and Psychiatric Care –UMass Memorial Medical Center has established a dedicated new unit to treat COVID-19 patients who also require in-patient psychiatric treatment. The Psychiatric Treatment and Recovery Center takes into account the unique needs of these patients to balance safety and compassionate medical care. CBS reports.
Building Trades Unions Donates $3 Million to Stem Cell Therapy – Building Trades Unions (BTU) has committed $3 million to support The Diabetes Research Institute Foundation's research (DRIF) on using stem cells to treat COVID-19 symptoms. To further support the research, BTU will continue to raise money up to the $30 million DRIF requires to provide the therapy to families at no cost. Read more.
Economic/Business Continuity Response
SMCC Offering Free Summer Classes for Maine High School Graduates – All Maine high school graduates will be eligible to take two free online college courses at Southern Maine Community College (SMCC) in a variety of subjects. The program, offered at all seven of the state's community colleges, aims to enable students to advance their higher education while saving money on tuition. Read more in the Bangor Daily News.
CBIA President Featured in Op-Ed on Safely Reopening – Joe Brennan, President of the Connecticut Business & Industry Association (CBIA), wrote an op-ed for the Hartford Business Journal detailing how businesses across Connecticut and the country can resume economic activity while maintaining public health and safety. By following guidelines from all levels of government to keep employees and consumers safe, President Brennan says, business can restart if individuals do their part as well.
American Airlines, Deloitte Deliver 40,000 Pieces of Protective Gear to Healthcare Workers –American Airlines and Deloitte have partnered to provide 40,000 pieces of protective equipment to healthcare workers. Delivered from China, the equipment is part of a larger campaign from the two companies to provide areas of the country most heavily affected by COVID-19 with essential equipment. Read more.
Delta Dental of Massachusetts to Offer Financial Relief to Dentists – Delta Dental of Massachusetts has donated $2 million to relief efforts specifically targeted to aid dentists and community dental offices across the Commonwealth. In addition, Delta Dental has committed to raise $2 million for its own recovery fund. Read more.
Providence Using Art Initiative to Support Artists, Maintain Community – The City of Providence, RI—in place of its famous annual art parade "PVD Fest"—is using art to support artists facing financial strain from the pandemic while celebrating the city's artistic history. RI Arts, launched by Governor Gina Raimondo (D-RI), aims to connect communities through art to provide financial relief to artists. Forbes has more.
Stay tuned for more updates each day, and follow us on Twitter for more frequent updates on how Council members are contributing to the response to this global health crisis.


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Global Gene Corp appoints new chief data and technology officer
Dr Yaron Turpaz also takes up MD of GGC Singapore role
Cambridge, UK-based genomics platform group Global Gene Corp (GGC), has appointed Dr Yaron Turpaz as its new chief data and technology officer, and managing director of the group's Singapore base.
His new role will see him take responsibility for the enhancement and development of the company's global data and technology infrastructure, advance analytics, data sciences and machine learning, as well as the expansion of GGC's Asia operations.
He said: "I am inspired by the vision and mission of GGC and excited to join such a great team of leaders, scientists, engineers, clinicians and healthcare professionals with their expertise and thought leadership in the domain of genomics and precision medicine.
"I look forward to contribute to the success and health of GGC's global customers, and lead a data and technology driven transformation of healthcare."
Turpaz brings over 17 years of experience across bioinformatics, IT, pharmaceuticals, digital health and genomics, most recently serving as chief information officer for Human Longevity (HLI), where he led the development of informatics, analytics and HLI's Health Nucleus Medical Avatar App.
Prior to his time at HLI, he held a vice president, research and development role at AstraZeneca, a director at Eli Lilly role and a senior manager role at Affymetrix.
Sumit Jamuar, CEO of GGC, said: "I am delighted to welcome Dr Turpaz to my leadership team at GGC.
"In addition to his complementary expertise and extensive industry experience, Dr. Turpaz is passionate about our mission and shares the value and ethos that drive us.
"I am looking forward to our journey together to create the defining company in this space operating at the convergence of genomics, artificial intelligence and big data."
Turpaz will be based in Singapore and will report to Jamuar.
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GSK names Emma Walmsley as next CEO
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Home News Local actor on big the screen
Local actor on big the screen
TARA ISAACS
Matthew Baldwin plays the role of a British medical student in the film, Van Der Merwe.
A Plumstead man has a role in Van Der Merwe, which hit the big screen nationwide late last month.
The comedy was shot in Cape Town and is about a bumbling farmer from a traditional farming family. Rob van Vuuren plays the role of Van der Merwe, who battles to hold his family together when his daughter,Marike, returns from a gap year in England with her Rooinek fiancé and his family.
Van's father, Oupa Van, does not sit well with the idea of a British guy marrying his granddaughter and urges Van to put a stop to the relationship.
Matthew Baldwin plays the role of George Stokes, the British medical student who wants to marry Marike.
Matthew is originally from England but moved to South Africa when he was 6 and now lives in Plumstead.
"I wanted to become an actor since I was young," he said. "I think the first time I stepped on stage was when I was about 12 years old and have been doing it since."
He studied theatre-making at UCT and went on to perform in several productions locally and abroad. He said it had been a pleasure working on Van Der Merwe.
"Working with the cast was fantastic. Rob is incredibly funny; it was great to meet people who I had only known by name, for example Barry Hilton."
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Last Post 04/15/2019 04:45 PM by Orange Crush. 3 Replies.
Personally, I'm SHOCKED that a Colombian tested positive for doping....I mean there is nothing unusual at all by how that country's riders are now dominating the GC board at almost every stage race.
Between Columbia and Britain (the latter around and immediately around London Ole games) I have no questions at all. And whatever the Brits have been up to it's my feeling that it is slowly spreading to other teams in the peleton (to my point on Sagan thread).
When was the last time you saw a country's rider begin to dominate the entire peloton....two quick periods off the top of my head - Italy in 94 and the US in the early 00's.
Nope...nothing untoward was going on then!!
You forgot Spain following Barca Olympics. Fuentes was the lead doctor for Olympics team and things ballooned from there.


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Book Zone by Boys' Life
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'The Sunjammer' by Arthur C. Clarke
Since its launch in 1911, Boys' Life magazine has featured some of the most talented authors of all time, including Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, Robert A. Heinlein and Arthur C. Clarke.
While recently combing through the Boy's Life archives, I came across an incredible space story written by Arthur C. Clarke. It's called The Sunjammer, published in the March 1964 issue of Boys' Life. (This issue also gets my vote for coolest BL cover ever.)
At the time, Clarke was among the most famous authors on Earth, recently establishing his career with instant classics like Childhood's End, Fall of Moondust and The City And The Stars.
What we have is a terrific example of early space fiction, written in an era when space travel was still mostly fiction. The Sunjammer is the tale of futuristic spaceship pilot John Merton, his trusty ship Diana, and one epic space race. I've copied it in below, as it was originally published. Hope you enjoy this blast from the past.
The Sunjammer
By Arthur C. Clarke | Illustrations by Robert McCall
"T minus two minutes," said the cabin radio. "Please confirm your readiness."
One by one, the other skippers answered. Merton recognized all the voices—some tense, some calm—for they were the voices of his friends and rivals. On the four inhabited worlds, there were scarcely twenty men who could sail a sun yacht; and they were all here, on the starting line or aboard the escort vessels, orbiting twenty-two thousand miles above the equator.
"Number One, Gossamer—ready to go."
"Number Two, Santa Maria—all O.K."
"Number Three, Sunbeam—O.K."
"Number Four, Woomera—all systems go."
Merton smiled at that last echo from the early, primitive days of astronautics. But it had become part of the tradition of space; and there were times when a man needed to evoke the shades of those who had gone before him to the stars.
"Number Five, Lebedev—we're ready."
"Number Six, Arachne—O.K."
Now it was his turn, at the end of the line; strange to think that the words he was speaking in this tiny cabin were being heard by at least five billion people.
"Number Seven, Diana—ready to start."
"One through Seven acknowledged." The voice from the judge's launch was impersonal. "Now T minus one minute."
Merton scarcely heard it; for the last time, he was checking the tension in the rigging. The needles of all the dynamometers were steady; the immense sail was taut, its mirror surface sparkling and glittering gloriously in the sun.
To Merton, floating weightless at the periscope, it seemed to fill the sky. As it well might—for out there were fifty million square feet of sail, linked to his capsule by almost a hundred miles of rigging. All the canvas of all the tea-clippers that had once raced like clouds across the China seas, sewn into one gigantic sheet, could not match the single sail that Diana had spread beneath the sun. Yet it was little more substantial than a soap bubble; that two square miles of aluminized plastic was only a few millionths of an inch thick.
"T minus ten seconds. All recording cameras on."
Something so huge, yet so frail, was hard for the mind to grasp. And it was harder still to realize that this fragile mirror could tow them free of Earth, merely by the power of the sunlight it would trap.
". . . five, four, three, two, one, cut!"
Seven knife blades sliced through the seven thin lines tethering the yachts to the mother ships that had assembled and serviced them.
Until this moment, all had been circling Earth together in a rigidly held formation, but now the yachts would begin to disperse, like dandelion seeds drifting before the breeze. And the winner would be the one that first drifted past the moon.
Aboard Diana, nothing seemed to be happening. But Merton knew better; though his body would feel no thrust, the instrument board told him he was now accelerating at almost one-thousandth of a gravity. For a rocket, that figure would have been ludicrous—but this was the first time any solar yacht had attained it. Diana's design was sound; the vast sail was living up to his calculations. At this rate, two circuits of Earth would build up his speed to escape velocity—then he would head out for the moon, with the full force of the sun behind him.
The full force of the sun. He smiled wryly, remembering all his attempts to explain solar sailing to those lecture audiences back on Earth. That had been the only way he could raise money, in those early days. He might be Chief Designer of Cosmodyne Corporation, with a whole string of successful spaceships to his credit, but his firm had not been exactly enthusiastic about his hobby.
"Hold your hands out to the sun," he'd said. "What do you feel? Heat, of course. But there's pressure as well—though you've never noticed it, because it's so tiny. Over the area of your hands, it only comes to about a millionth of an ounce.
"But out in space, even a pressure as small as that can be important—for it's acting all the time, hour after hour, day after day. Unlike rocket fuel, it's free and unlimited. If we want to, we can use it; we can build sails to catch the radiation blowing from the sun."
At that point, he would pull out a few square yards of sail material and toss it toward the audience. The silvery film would coil and twist like smoke, then drift slowly to the ceiling in the hot-air currents.
"You can see how light it is," he'd continue. "A square mile weighs only a ton, and can collect five pounds of radiation pressure. So it will start moving—and we can let it tow us along, if we attach rigging to it.
"Of course, its acceleration will be tiny—about a thousandth of a G. That doesn't seem much, but let's see what it means.
"It means that in the first second, we'll move about a fifth of an inch. I suppose a healthy snail could do better than that. But after a minute, we've covered sixty feet, and will be doing just over a mile an hour. That's not bad, for something driven by pure sunlight! After an hour, we're forty miles from our starting point, and will be moving at eighty miles an hour. Please remember that in space there's no friction, so once you start anything moving, it will keep going forever. You'll be surprised when I tell you what our thousandth-of-a-G sailing boat will be doing at the end of a day's run. Almost two thousand miles an hour! If it starts from orbit—as it has to, of course—it can reach escape velocity in a couple of days. And all without burning a single drop of fuel!"
Well, he'd convinced them, and in the end he'd even convinced Cosmodyne. Over the last twenty years, a new sport had come into being. It had been called the sport of billionaires, and that was true—but it was beginning to pay for itself in terms of publicity and television coverage. The prestige of four continents and two worlds was riding on this race, and it had the biggest audience in history.
Diana had made a good start; time to take a look at the opposition. Moving very gently. Though there were shock absorbers between the control capsule and the delicate rigging, he was determined to run no risks. Merton stationed himself at the periscope.
There they were, looking like strange silver flowers planted in the dark fields of space. The nearest, South America's Santa Maria, was only fifty miles away; it bore a resemblance to a boy's kite—but a kite more than a mile on its side. Farther away, the University of Astrograd's Lebedev looked like a Maltese cross; the sails that formed the four arms could apparently be tilted for steering purposes. In contrast, the Federation of Australasia's Woomera was a simple parachute, four miles in circumference. General Spacecraft's Arachne, as its name suggested, looked like a spiderweb—and had been built on the same principles, by robot shuttles spiraling out from a central point. Eurospace Corporation's Gossamer was an identical design, on a slightly smaller scale. And the Republic of Mar's Sunbeam was a flat ring, with a half-mile-wide hole in the center, spinning slowly so that centrifugal force gave it stiffness. That was an old idea, but no one had ever made it work. Merton was fairly sure that the colonials would be in trouble when they started to turn.
That would not be for another six hours, when the yachts had moved along the first quarter of their slow and stately twenty-four-hour orbit. Here at the beginning of the race, they were all heading directly away from the sun—running, as it were, before the solar wind. One had to make the most of this lap, before the boats swung round to the other side of Earth and then started to head back into the sun.
Time for the first check, Merton told himself, while he had no navigational worries. With the periscope, he made a careful examination of the sail, concentrating on the points where the rigging was attached to it. The shroud lines—narrow bands of unsilvered plastic film—would have been completely invisible had they not been coated with fluorescent paint. Now they were taut lines of colored light, dwindling away for hundreds of yards toward that gigantic sail. Each had its own electric windlass, not much bigger than a game fisherman's reel. The little windlasses were continually turning, playing lines in or out, as the autopilot kept the sail trimmed at the correct angle to the sun.
The play of sunlight on the great flexible mirror was beautiful to watch. It was undulating in slow, stately oscillations, sending multiple images of the sun marching across the heavens, until they faded away at the edges of the sail. Such leisurely vibrations were to be expected in this vast and flimsy structure; they were usually quite harmless, but Merton watched them carefully. Sometimes they could build up to the catastrophic undulations known as the wriggles, which could tear a sail to pieces.
When he was satisfied that everything was shipshape, he swept the periscope around the sky, rechecking the positions of his rivals. It was as he had hoped; the weeding-out process had begun, as the less efficient boats fell astern. But the real test would come when they passed into the shadow of Earth; then maneuverability would count as much as speed.
It seemed a strange thing to do, now that the race had just started, but it might be a good idea to get some sleep. The two-man crews on the other boats could take it in turns, but Merton had no one to relieve him. He must rely on his physical resources—like that other solitary seaman Joshua Slocum, in his tiny Spray. The American skipper had sailed Spray single-handed round the world; he could never have dreamed that, two centuries later, a man would be sailing single-handed from Earth to moon—inspired, at least partly, by his example.
Merton snapped the elastic bands of the cabin seat around his waist and legs, then placed the electrodes of the sleep-inducer on his forehead. He set the timer for three hours, and relaxed.
Very gently, hypnotically, the electronic pulses throbbed in the frontal lobes of his brain. Colored spirals of light expanded beneath his closed eyelids, widening outward to infinity. Then—nothing . . .
The brazen clamor of the alarm dragged him back from his dreamless sleep. He was instantly awake, his eyes scanning the instrument panel. Only two hours had passed—but above the accelerometer, a red light was flashing. Thrust was falling; Diana was losing power.
Merton's first thought was that something had happened to the sail; perhaps the anti-spin devices had failed and the rigging had become twisted. Swiftly, he checked the meters that showed the tension in the shroud lines. Strange, on one side of the sail they were reading normally—but on the other, the pull was dropping slowly even as he watched.
In sudden understanding, Merton grabbed the periscope, switched to wide-angle vision, and started to scan the edge of the sail. Yes—there was the trouble, and it could have only one cause.
A huge, sharp-edged shadow had begun to slide across the gleaming silver of the sail. Darkness was falling upon Diana, as if a cloud had passed between her and the sun. And in the dark, robbed of the rays that drove her, she would lose all thrust and drift helplessly through space.
But, of course, there were no clouds here, more than twenty thousand miles above Earth. If there was a shadow, it must be made by man.
Merton grinned as he swung the periscope toward the sun, switching in the filters that would allow him to look full into its blazing face without being blinded.
"Maneuver 4a," he muttered to himself. "We'll see who can play best at that game."
It looked as if a giant planet was crossing the face of the sun. A great black disk had bitten deep into its edge. Twenty miles astern, Gossamer was trying to arrange an artificial eclipse—specially for Diana's benefit.
The maneuver was a perfectly legitimate one; back in the days of ocean racing, skippers had often tried to rob each other of the wind. With any luck, you could leave your rival becalmed, with his sails collapsing around him—and be well ahead before he could undo the damage.
Merton had no intention of being caught so easily. There was plenty of time to take evasive action; things happened very slowly when you were running a solar sailing boat. It would be at least twenty minutes before Gossamer could slide completely across the face of the sun, and leave him in darkness.
Diana's tiny computer—the size of a matchbox, but the equivalent of a thousand human mathematicians—considered the problem for a full second and then flashed the answer. He'd have to open control panels three and four, until the sail had developed an extra twenty degrees of tilt; then the radiation pressure would blow him out of Gossamer's dangerous shadow, back into the full blast of the sun. It was a pity to interfere with the autopilot, which had been carefully programmed to give the fastest possible run—but that, after all, was why he was here. This was what made solar yachting a sport, rather than a battle between computers.
Out went control lines one to six, slowly undulating like sleepy snakes as they momentarily lost their tension. Two miles away, the triangular panels began to open lazily, spilling sunlight through the sail. Yet, for a long time, nothing seemed to happen. It was hard to grow accustomed to this slow-motion world, where it took minutes for the effects of any action to become visible to the eye. Then Merton saw that the sail was indeed tipping toward the sun—and that Gossamer's shadow was sliding harmlessly away, its cone of darkness lost in the deeper night of space.
Long before the shadow had vanished and the disk of the sun had cleared again, he reversed the tilt and brought Diana back on course. Her new momentum would carry her clear of the danger; no need to overdo it, and upset his calculations by side-stepping too far. That was another rule that was hard to learn. The very moment you had started something happening in space, it was already time to think about stopping it.
He reset the alarm, ready for the next natural or man-made emergency; perhaps Gossamer, or one of the other contestants, would try the same trick again. Meanwhile, it was time to eat, though he did not feel particularly hungry. One used little physical energy in space, and it was easy to forget about food. Easy—and dangerous; for when an emergency arose, you might not have the reserves needed to deal with it.
He broke open the first of the meal packets, and inspected it without enthusiasm. The name on the label—spacetasties—was enough to put him off. And he had grave doubts about the promise printed underneath. Guaranteed Crumbless. It had been said that crumbs were a greater danger to space vehicles than meteorites. They could drift into the most unlikely places, causing short circuits, blocking vital jets that were supposed to be hermetically sealed.
Still, the liverwurst went down pleasantly enough; so did the chocolate and the pineapple puree. The plastic coffee bulb was warming on the electric heater when the outside world broke in on his solitude. The radio operator on the Commodore's launch routed a call to him.
"Dr. Merton? If you can spare the time, Jeremy Blair would like a few words with you." Blair was one of the more responsible news commentators, and Merton had been on his program many times. He could refuse to be interviewed, of course, but he liked Blair, and at the moment he could certainly not claim to be too busy. "I'll take it," he answered.
"Hello, Dr. Merton," said the commentator immediately. "Glad you can spare a few minutes. And congratulations—you seem to be ahead of the field."
"Too early in the game to be sure of that," Merton answered cautiously.
"Tell me, doctor—why did you decide to sail Diana yourself? Just because it's never been done before?"
"Well, isn't that a very good reason? But it wasn't the only one, of course." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "You know how critically the performance of a sun yacht depends on its mass. A second man, with all his supplies, would mean another five hundred pounds. That could easily be the difference between winning and losing."
"And you're quite certain that you can handle Diana alone?"
"Reasonably sure, thanks to the automatic controls I've designed. My main job is to supervise and make decisions."
"But—two square miles of sail! It just doesn't seem possible for one man to cope with all that!"
Merton laughed. "Why not? Those two square miles produce a maximum pull of just ten pounds. I can exert more force with my little finger."
"Well, thank you, doctor. And good luck."
As the commentator signed off, Merton felt a little ashamed of himself. For his answer had been only part of the truth; and he was sure that Blair was shrewd enough to know it.
There was just one reason why he was here, alone in space. For almost forty years he had worked with teams of hundreds or even thousands of men, helping to design the most complex vehicles that the world had ever seen. For the last twenty years he had led one of those teams, and watched his creations go soaring to the stars. (But there were failures that he could never forget, even though the fault had not been his.) He was famous, with a successful career behind him. Yet he had never done anything by himself; always he had been one of an army.
This was his very last chance of individual achievement, and he would share it with no one. There would be no more solar yachting for at least five years, as the period of the quiet sun ended and the cycle of bad weather began, with radiation storms bursting through the solar system. When it was safe again for these frail, unshielded craft to venture aloft, he would be too old. If, indeed, he was not too old already . . .
He dropped the empty food containers into the waste disposal, and turned once more to the periscope. At first, he could find only five of the other yachts; there was no sign of Woomera. It took him several minutes to locate her—a dim, star-eclipsing phantom, neatly caught in the shadow of Lebedev. He could imagine the frantic efforts the Australasians were making to extricate themselves, and wondered how they had fallen into the trap. It suggested that Lebedev was unusually maneuverable; she would bear watching, though she was too far away to menace Diana at the moment.
Now Earth had almost vanished. It had waned to a narrow, brilliant bow of light that was moving steadily toward the sun. Dimly outlined within that burning bow was the night side of the planet, with the phosphorescent gleams of great cities showing here and there through gaps in the clouds. The disk of darkness had already blanked out a huge section of the Milky Way; in a few minutes, it would start to encroach upon the sun.
The light was fading. A purple, twilight hue—the glow of many sunsets, thousands of miles below—was falling across the sail, as Diana slipped silently into the shadow of Earth. The sun plummeted below that invisible horizon. Within minutes, it was night.
Merton looked back along the orbit he had traced now a quarter of the way around the world. One by one he saw the brilliant stars of the other yachts wink out, as they joined him in the brief night. It would be an hour before the sun emerged from that enormous black shield, and through all that time they would be completely helpless, coasting without power.
He switched on the external spotlight and started to search the now darkened sail with its beam. Already, the thousands of acres of film were beginning to wrinkle and become flaccid; the shroud lines were slackening, and must be wound in lest they become entangled. But all this was expected; everything was going as planned.
Forty miles astern, Arachne and Santa Maria were not so lucky. Merton learned of their troubles when the radio burst into life on the emergency circuit.
"Number Two, Number Six—this is Control. You are on a collision course. Your orbits will intersect in sixty-five minutes! Do you require assistance?"
There was a long pause while the two skippers digested this bad news. Merton wondered who was to blame; perhaps one yacht had been trying to shadow the other, and had not completed the maneuver before they were both caught in darkness. Now there was nothing that either could do; they were slowly but inexorably converging, unable to change course by a fraction of a degree.
Yet, sixty-five minutes! That would just bring them out into sunlight again, as they emerged from the shadow of Earth. They still had a slim chance, if their sails could snatch enough power to avoid a crash. There must be some frantic calculations going on, aboard Arachne and Santa Maria.
Arachne answered first; her reply was just what Merton had expected.
"Number Six calling Control. We don't need assistance, thank you. We'll work this out for ourselves."
I wonder, thought Merton. But at least it will be interesting to watch. The first real drama of the race was approaching—exactly above the line of midnight on sleeping Earth.
For the next hour, Merton's own sail kept him too busy to worry about Arachne and Santa Maria. It was hard to keep a good watch on that fifty million square feet of dim plastic out there in the darkness, illuminated only by his narrow spotlight and the rays of the still distant moon. From now on, for almost half his orbit around Earth, he must keep the whole of this immense area edge-on to the sun. During the next twelve or fourteen hours, the sail would be a useless encumbrance; for he would be heading into the sun, and its rays could only drive him backward along his orbit. It was a pity that he could not furl the sail completely, until he was ready to use it again. But no one had yet found a practical way of doing this.
Far below, there was the first hint of dawn along the edge of Earth. In ten minutes, the sun would emerge from its eclipse; the coasting yachts would come to life again as the blast of radiation struck their sails. That would be the moment of crisis for Arachne and Santa Maria—and, indeed, for all of them.
Merton swung the periscope until he found the two dark shadows drifting against the stars. They were very close together—perhaps less than three miles apart. They might, he decided, just be able to make it . . .
Dawn flashed like an explosion along the rim of Earth, as the sun rose out of the Pacific. The sail and shroud lines glowed a brief crimson, then gold, then blazed with the pure white light of day. The needles of the dynamometers began to lift from their zeros—but only just. Diana was still almost completely weightless, for with the sail pointing toward the sun, her acceleration was now only a few millionths of a gravity.
But Arachne and Santa Maria were crowding on all the sail they could manage, in their desperate attempt to keep apart. Now, while there was less than two miles between them, their glittering plastic clouds were unfurling and expanding with agonizing slowness, as they felt the first delicate push of the sun's rays. Almost every TV screen on Earth would be mirroring this protracted drama; and even now, at this very last minute, it was impossible to tell what the outcome would be.
The two skippers were stubborn men. Either could have cut his sail, and fallen back to give the other a chance; but neither would do so. Too much prestige, too many millions, too many reputations were at stake. And so, silently and softly as snowflakes falling on a winter night, Arachne and Santa Maria collided.
The square kite crawled almost imperceptibly into the circular spider's web; the long ribbons of the shroud lines twisted and tangled together with dreamlike slowness. Even aboard Diana, busy with his own rigging, Merton could scarcely tear his eyes away from this silent, long-drawn-out disaster.
For more than ten minutes the billowing, shining clouds continued to merge into one inextricable mass. Then the crew capsules tore loose and went their separate ways, missing each other by hundreds of yards. With a flare of rockets, the safety launches hurried to pick them up.
That leaves five of us, thought Merton. He felt sorry for the skippers who had so thoroughly eliminated each other, only a few hours after the start of the race; but they were young men, and would have another chance.
Within minutes, the five had dropped to four. From the very beginning, Merton had had doubts about the slowly rotating Sunbeam. Now he saw them justified.
The Martian ship had failed to tack properly; her spin had given her too much stability. Her great ring of a sail was turning to face the sun, instead of being edge-on to it. She was being blown back along her course at almost her maximum acceleration.
That was about the most maddening thing that could happen to a skipper—worse even than a collision, for he could blame only himself. But no one would feel much sympathy for the frustrated colonials, as they dwindled slowly astern. They had made too many brash boasts before the race, and what had happened to them was poetic justice.
Yet it would not do to write off Sunbeam completely. With almost half a million miles still to go, she might still pull ahead. Indeed, if there were a few more casualties, she might be the only one to complete the race. It had happened before.
However, the next twelve hours were uneventful, as Earth waxed in the sky from new to full. There was little to do while the fleet drifted around the unpowered half of its orbit, but Merton did not find the time hanging heavily on his hands. He caught a few hours' sleep, ate two meals, wrote up his log, and became involved in several more radio interviews. Sometimes, though rarely, he talked to the other skippers, exchanging greetings and friendly taunts. But most of the time he was content to float in weightless relaxation, beyond all the cares of Earth, happier than he had been for many years. He was—as far as any man could be in space—master of his own fate, sailing the ship upon which he had lavished so much skill, so much love, that she had become part of his very being.
The next casualty came when they were passing the line between Earth and sun, and were just beginning the powered half of the orbit. Aboard Diana, Merton saw the great sail stiffen as it tilted to catch the rays that drove it. The acceleration began to climb up from the microgravities, though it would be hours yet before it would reach its maximum value.
It would never reach it for Gossamer. The moment when power came on again was always critical, and she failed to survive it.
Blair's radio commentary, which Merton had left running at low volume, alerted him with the news: "Hello, Gossamer has the wriggles!" He hurried to the periscope, but at first could see nothing wrong with the great circular disk of Gossamer's sail. It was difficult to study it, as it was almost edge-on to him and so appeared as a thin ellipse; but presently he saw that it was twisting back and forth in slow, irresistible oscillations. Unless the crew could damp out these waves, by properly timed but gentle tugs on the shroud lines, the sail would tear itself to pieces.
They did their best, and after twenty minutes it seemed that they had succeeded. Then, somewhere near the center of the sail, the plastic film began to rip. It was slowly driven outward by the radiation pressure like smoke coiling upward from a fire. Within a quarter of an hour, nothing was left but the delicate tracery of the radial spars that had supported the great web. Once again there was a flare of rockets, as a launch moved in to retrieve the Gossamer's capsule and her dejected crew.
"Getting rather lonely up here, isn't it?" said a conversational voice over the ship-to-ship radio.
"Not for you, Dimitri," retorted Merton. "You've still got company back there at the end of the field. I'm the one who's lonely, up here in front." It was not an idle boast. By this time Diana was three hundred miles ahead of the next competitor, and his lead should increase still more rapidly in the hours to come.
Aboard Lebedev, Dimitri Markoff gave a good-natured chuckle. He did not sound, Merton thought, at all like a man who had resigned himself to defeat.
"Remember the legend of the tortoise and the hare," answered the Russian. "A lot can happen in the next quarter-million miles."
It happened much sooner than that, when they had completed their first orbit of Earth and were passing the starting line again—though thousands of miles higher, thanks to the extra energy the sun's rays had given them. Merton had taken careful sights on the other yachts, and had fed the figures into the computer. The answer it gave for Woomera was so absurd that he immediately did a recheck.
There was no doubt of it—the Australasians were catching up at a fantastic rate. No solar yacht could possibly have such an acceleration, unless—
A swift look through the periscope gave the answer. Woomera's rigging, pared back to the very minimum of mass, had given way. It was her sail alone, still maintaining its shape, that was racing up behind him like a handkerchief blown before the wind. Two hours later it fluttered past, less than twenty miles away. But long before that, the Australasians had joined the growing crowd aboard the Commodore's launch.
So now it was a straight fight between Diana and Lebedev—for though the Martians had not given up, they were a thousand miles astern and no longer counted as a serious threat. For that matter, it was hard to see what Lebedev could do to overtake Diana's lead. But all the way around the second lap—through eclipse again, and the long, slow drift against the sun—Merton felt a growing unease.
He knew the Russian pilots and designers. They had been trying to win this race for twenty years, and after all, it was only fair that they should, for had not Pyotr Nikolayevich Lebedev been the first man to detect the pressure of sunlight, back at the very beginning of the twentieth century? But they had never succeeded.
And they would never stop trying. Dimitri was up to something—and it would be spectacular.
Aboard the official launch, a thousand miles behind the racing yachts, Commodore van Stratten looked at the radiogram with angry dismay. It had traveled more than a hundred million miles, from the chain of solar observatories swinging high above the blazing surface of the sun, and it brought the worst possible news.
The Commodore—his title, of course, was purely honorary; back on Earth he was Professor of Astrophysics at Harvard—had been half-expecting it. Never before had the race been arranged so late in the season; there had been many delays, they had gambled, and now it seemed they might all lose.
Deep beneath the surface of the sun, enormous forces were gathering. At any moment, the energies of a million hydrogen bombs might burst forth in the awesome explosion known as a solar flare. Climbing at millions of miles an hour, an invisible fireball many times the size of Earth would leap from the sun and head out across space.
The cloud of electrified gas would probably miss Earth completely. But if it did not, it would arrive in just over a day. Spaceships could protect themselves, with their shielding and their powerful magnetic screen. But the lightly built solar yachts, with their paper-thin walls, were defenseless against such a menace. The crews would have to be taken off, and the race abandoned.
John Merton still knew nothing of this as he brought Diana around Earth for the second time. If all went well, this would be the last circuit, both for him and for the Russians. They had spiraled upward by thousands of miles, gaining energy from the sun's rays. On this lap, they should escape from Earth completely—and head outward on the long run to the moon. It was a straight race now. Sunbeam's crew had finally withdrawn, exhausted, after battling valiantly with their spinning sail for more than a hundred thousand miles.
Merton did not feel tired; he had eaten and slept well, and Diana was behaving herself admirably. The autopilot, tensioning the rigging like a busy little spider, kept the great sail trimmed to the sun more accurately than any human skipper. Though by this time the two square miles of plastic sheet must have been riddled by hundreds of micrometeorites, the pin-head-sized punctures had produced no falling off to thrust.
He had only two worries. The first was shroud line number eight, which could no longer be adjusted properly. Without any warning, the reel had jammed; even after all these years of astronautical engineering, bearings sometimes seized up in vacuum. He could neither lengthen nor shorten the line, and would have to navigate as best he could with the others. Luckily, the most difficult maneuvers were over. From now on, Diana would have the sun behind her as she sailed straight down the solar wind. And as the old-time sailors often said, it was easy to handle a boat when the wind was blowing over your shoulder.
His other worry was Lebedev, still dogging his heels three hundred miles astern. The Russian yacht had shown remarkable maneuverability thanks to the four great panels that could be tilted around the central sail. All her flip-overs as she rounded Earth had been carried out with superb precision; but to gain maneuverability she must have sacrificed speed. You could not have it both ways. In the long, straight haul ahead, Merton should be able to hold his own. Yet he could not be certain of victory until, three or four days from now, Diana went flashing past the far side of the moon.
And then, in the fiftieth hour of the race, near the end of the second orbit around Earth, Markoff sprang his little surprise.
"Hello, John," he said casually, over the ship-to-ship circuit. "I'd like you to watch this. It should be interesting."
Merton drew himself across to the periscope and turned up the magnification to the limit. There in the field of view, a most improbable sight against the background of the stars, was the glittering Maltese cross of Lebedev, very small but very clear. And then, as he watched, the four arms of the cross slowly detached themselves from the central square and went drifting away, with all their spars and rigging, into space.
Markoff had jettisoned all unnecessary mass, now that he was coming up to escape velocity and need no longer plod patiently around Earth, gaining momentum on each circuit. From now on, Lebedev would be almost unsteerable—but that did not matter. All the tricky navigation lay behind her. It was as if an old-time yachtsman had deliberately thrown away his rudder and heavy keel—knowing that the rest of the race would be straight downwind over a calm sea.
"Congratulations, Dimitri," Merton radioed. "It's a neat trick. But it's not good enough—you can't catch up now."
"I've not finished yet," the Russian answered. "There's an old winter's tale in my country, about a sleigh being chased by wolves. To save himself, the driver has to throw off the passengers one by one. Do you see the analogy?"
Merton did, all too well. On this final lap, Dimitri no longer needed his co-pilot. Lebedev could really be stripped down for action.
"Alexis won't be very happy about this," Merton replied. "Besides, it's against the rules."
"Alexis isn't happy, but I'm the captain. He'll just have to wait around for ten minutes until the Commodore picks him up. And the regulations say nothing about the size of the crew—you should know that."
Merton did not answer. He was too busy doing some hurried calculations, based on what he knew of Lebedev's design. By the time he had finished, he knew that the race was still in doubt. Lebedev would be catching up with him at just about the time he hoped to pass the moon.
But the outcome of the race was already being decided, ninety-two million miles away.
On Solar Observatory Three, far inside the orbit of Mercury, the automatic instruments recorded the whole history of the flare. A hundred million square miles of the sun's surface suddenly exploded in such blue-white fury that, by comparison, the rest of the disk paled to a dull glow. Out of that seething inferno, twisting and turning like a living creature, in the magnetic fields of its own creation, soared the electrified plasma of the great flare. Ahead of it, moving at the speed of light, went the warning flash of ultraviolet and x-rays. That would reach Earth in eight minutes, and was relatively harmless. Not so the charged atoms that were following behind at their leisurely four million miles an hour—and which, in just over a day, would engulf Diana, Lebedev, and their accompanying little fleet in a cloud of lethal radiation.
The Commodore left his decision to the last possible minute. Even when the jet of plasma had been tracked past the orbit of Venus, there was a chance that it might miss Earth. But when it was less than four hours away, and had already been picked up by the moon-based radar network, he knew that there was no hope. All solar sailing was over for the next five or six years until the sun was quiet again.
A great sigh of disappointment swept across the solar system. Diana and Lebedev were halfway between Earth and moon, running neck and neck—and now no one would ever know which was the better boat. The enthusiasts would argue the result for years; history would merely record: race cancelled owing to solar storm.
When John Merton received the order, he felt a bitterness he had not known since childhood. Across the years, sharp and clear, came the memory of his tenth birthday. He had been promised an exact scale model of the famous spaceship Morning Star, and for weeks had been planning how he would assemble it, where he would hang it up in his bedroom. And then, at the last moment, his father had broken the news. "I'm sorry, John—it costs too much money. Maybe next year . . ."
Half a century and a successful lifetime later, he was a heartbroken boy again.
For a moment, he thought of disobeying the Commodore. Suppose he sailed on, ignoring the warning? Even if the race were abandoned, he could make a crossing to the moon that would stand in the record books for generations.
But that would be worse than stupidity. It would be suicide—and a very unpleasant form of suicide. He had seen men die of radiation poisoning, when the magnetic shielding of their ships had failed in deep space. No—nothing was worth that . . .
He felt as sorry for Dimitri Markoff as for himself; they both deserved to win, and now victory would go to neither. No man could argue with the sun in one of its rages, even though he might ride upon its beams to the edge of space.
Only fifty miles astern now, the Commodore's launch was drawing alongside Lebedev, preparing to take off her skipper. There went the silver sail, as Dimitri—with feeling that he would share—cut the rigging. The tiny capsule would be taken back to Earth, perhaps to be used again—but a sail was spread for one voyage only.
He could press the jettison button now, and save his rescuers a few minutes of time. But he could not do so. He wanted to stay aboard to the very end, on the little boat that had been for so long a part of his dreams and his life. The great sail was spread now at right angles to the sun, exerting its utmost thrust. Long ago it had torn him clear of Earth—and Diana was still gaining speed.
Then, out of nowhere, beyond all doubt or hesitation, he knew what must be done. For the last time, he sat down before the computer that had navigated him halfway to the moon.
When he had finished, he packed the log and his few personal belongings. Clumsily—for he was out of practice, and it was not an easy job to do by oneself—he climbed into the emergency survival suit.
He was just sealing the helmet when the Commodore's voice called over the radio. "We'll be alongside in five minutes, Captain. Please cut your sail so we won't foul it."
John Merton, first and last skipper of the sun yacht Diana, hesitated for a moment. He looked for the last time around the tiny cabin, with its shining instruments and its neatly arranged controls, now all locked in their final positions. Then he said to the microphone: "I'm abandoning ship. Take your time to pick me up. Diana can look after herself."
There was no reply from the Commodore, and for that he was grateful. Professor van Stratten would have guessed what was happening—and would know that, in these final moments, he wished to be left alone.
He did not bother to exhaust the airlock, and the rush of escaping gas blew him gently out into space; the thrust he gave her then was his last gift to Diana. She dwindled away from him, sail glittering splendidly in the sunlight that would be hers for centuries to come. Two days from now she would flash past the moon; but the moon, like Earth, could never catch her. Without his mass to slow her down, she would gain two thousand miles an hour in every day of sailing. In a month, she would be traveling faster than any ship that man had ever built.
As the sun's rays weakened with distance, so her acceleration would fall. But even at the orbit of Mars, she would be gaining a thousand miles an hour in every day. Long before then, she would be moving too swiftly for the sun itself to hold her. Faster than any comet that had ever streaked in from the stars, she would be heading out into the abyss.
The glare of rockets, only a few miles away, caught Merton's eye. The launch was approaching to pick him up at thousands of times the acceleration that Diana could ever attain. But engines could burn for a few minutes only, before they exhausted their fuel—while Diana would still be gaining speed, driven outward by the sun's eternal fires, for ages yet to come.
"Goodbye, little ship," said John Merton. "I wonder what eyes will see you next, how many thousand years from now."
At last he felt at peace, as the blunt torpedo of the launch nosed up beside him. He would never win the race to the moon; but his would be the first of all man's ships to set sail on the long journey to the stars.
This entry was posted in Fiction and tagged spotlight on May 29, 2015 by .
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12 thoughts on "'The Sunjammer' by Arthur C. Clarke"
Paul Blanchard December 6, 2021 at 11:09 am
I read this as a 14 year-old when it appeared in Boys' Life. Recently I told my grandchildren about this amazing story as closely as I could remember it. What a fun surprise to actually find it online- even the memorable illustrations were included! Thank you so much for reviving a great memory!
Étienne July 12, 2021 at 8:34 am
Wonderful story. Never read it yet. Makes you feel the excitement of childhood again, when I discovered the novels of Arthur Clarke!
BSA Troop 76 April 9, 2019 at 6:20 pm
I remember this story vividly from 1964 . ACC allways an inspiration. Thank you for posting!
ShadowBritt September 19, 2017 at 1:17 pm
I read this first as a small boy when it was new, now as an old man I look back on those days of wonder and hope.
EagleTroop393 July 26, 2017 at 9:56 am
Like the scout who posted this, I always remember the story and the cover (from my age 10). I didn't keep all my Boy's Life mags, but this one did survive in that drawer, until my father sold the house a few years back. I have not seen the story included in any of ACC's anthologies, and I'm very happy to be able to read it again
dcp April 4, 2017 at 8:05 am
Thank you for posting this. I read it when it was new. So was I; I was 8. It's wonderful to re-read this gem so many years later. Much has changed since then. The romance of exploration remains.
SM October 18, 2016 at 11:50 pm
Thanks for this. I was reading this in a short story collection and the last page is missing! (The last text I have is "Then, out of nowhere, beyond all doubt or hesitation, he knew what must be done. For the last time, he sat down")
Very glad to be able to read the ending here!
Jim August 28, 2016 at 6:01 am
I was 11 and receiving Boys life. I remember this story! I lived in Orlando with all the excitement of the space race this article made it made it all feel very real
Dave March 8, 2016 at 9:54 pm
I always remembered this story in Boys Life but did not know when I read it (age 12) who Arthur C Clarke was … just thought it was cool (illustrations, too). Now have taken up reading Clarke's novels and when I discovered he was the author of Sunjammer … well … 2001 etc and Rama etc were very fine indeed but now he truly is in my pantheon.
Icarus7z7 September 13, 2016 at 12:51 am
Time – feels like an eternity ago and yet it feels like it was just last year when we were first introduced to the great writers and artists that always gave us something to look forward to. If not for them, where would our minds have gone?
EagleTroop393 July 26, 2017 at 10:01 am
Yeah. I got a collection called "Space Space Space" for Christmas around this time, which included an Arthur Clark short story "Hide and Seek" that remains one of my favorites. The book includes a lot of classics including "Dear Devil" and can be recommended for those who continue to obey the Scout Law (which does not include anything about, cards, drinking, or booing political figures).
BruceMac February 4, 2016 at 3:08 pm
Wow, I remember reading this story from my brothers copy in 1964 when I was seven. And now NASA is finally launching a solar sail powered probe!
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Research has shown a strong correlation between divorce and other social problems such as child abuse, youth crime and even elderly neglect.
These manifestations of unsociable behaviour often stem from problems faced by the adult in managing his or her own relationships, and emotional deficiencies in the child which result from a missing parent.
The Family Justice Court's statistics reveal that over half of youth delinquency cases stem from broken families.
Research on the inter-generational transmission of divorce has demonstrated that, compared with the offspring of non-divorced parents, those of divorced parents have more negative attitudes towards marriage and are less optimistic about the feasibility of a long-lasting, healthy marriage.
Women are particularly affected, potentially raising their risk for divorce.
As a developed society with increasingly complex familial dynamics, it is crucial for Singapore's family justice and social support systems to consider ways to detect families-at-risk, proactively intervene and provide support for families in distress.
To this end, the goal should always be to promote and encourage strong marriages and families.
Besides upstream measures to support strong families, more research and intervention work should be done by the Family Courts and related agencies to stem inter-generational family conflict.
In the Family Courts, more attention should be given to divorce and family violence cases where one or both parties have a history of family conflict, to render increased support and curb abuse.
Children affected by divorce should be better monitored via a social support system to ensure their well-being and healthy development.
Holistic intervention should be undertaken in dealing with young offenders or delinquent youth - by taking into account family background and involving family members in rehabilitation.
Divorces and family conflict affect not just individuals, but also the extended family and society, often across generations.
By investing to strengthen families and mend relationships, we are investing in Singapore's future which will reap benefits for generations to come.


text:
Are asthma medicines unofficial performance enhancing drugs?
Do airway-widening drugs enhance performance, asks George Winter
Cycling Fitness January 5, 2016 10:09 am
Only 17 per cent of the cyclists who competed in the 2008 Olympics were registered as asthmatic, but these athletes won 29 per cent of the individual medals. Could there be a connection to asthma medication?
>>> Everything you need to know about Chris Froome's salbutamol case
>>> The truth about cycling and asthma
Exercise-induced asthma (EIA) is a temporary narrowing of the airways during or after exercise, causing coughing and shortness of breath.
EIA can be relieved by using inhaled beta-2 agonists (IBA) such as salbutamol — the active ingredient in Ventolin inhalers which relaxes the smooth muscle cells surrounding airways, for easier breathing.
Even though IBAs are on the World Anti-Doping Agency's (WADA) list of prohibited substances, asthmatic cyclists are permitted by the International Olympic Committee to take inhaled IBAs such as salbutamol up to a maximum of 1600μg/day (micrograms a day) — i.e. without requiring a therapeutic use exemption (TUE).
It has been shown that orally ingested beta-2 agonists can increase exercise performance, but what about the inhaled forms?
A recent study investigated whether inhaling 1600μg of salbutamol would improve time trial performance in 20 trained male cyclists, with and without asthma. Since IBA doses are not calculated according to body weight, it was assumed that lighter cyclists would benefit more than heavier ones.
The researchers found that inhaling WADA's maximum permitted dose of salbutamol allowed the cyclists to breathe more easily, yet their performance did not improve, perhaps owing to side effects of the drug.
Further research under way aims to determine whether the same effects are found in female cyclists.
This article was modified on January 6 to clarify that no TUE is required for salbutamol below a dosage of 1,600 micrograms.
Expect more attacks from Landa and Movistar (Photo: Pool / AFP / SUNADA)
'We have to attack': Expect aggressive riding from Mikel Landa at the Tour de France after stage six failed attempt
Lizzy Banks wins stage eight of the Giro Rosa 2019 (Photo by Luc Claessen/Getty Images)
Lizzy Banks takes first professional victory after late solo attack on stage eight of the Giro Rosa 2019
(Team Ineos/Coreen Mazzocchi/Twitter)
Tweets of the week: Bradley Wiggins, Team Ineos, the never-ending handshake and more


PayPal is a fast and safe way to make online payments. players can send money without sharing their financial information.
Depending on the country of residence, players may be able to add funds from your bank account, accept credit card funded payments, and request money online. players can view the Worldwide page for more information.


text:
Q: I am trying to open an img in a tkinter window, but the pillow library is giving my an error I am trying to insert a photo in tkinter window python.
I am using the library PIL (pillow)
but it gives my an error
code:
from PIL import ImageTk, Image

my_img = ImageTk.PhotoImage(Image.open(link))
my_label = Label(window, image=my_img)
my_label.place(x=x,y=y)

Error:
Traceback (most recent call last):
  File "C:\Users\LitterHelper\main.py", line 86, in <module>
    i._img(window, 50, 150, "C:\\img\\Fries.gif")
  File "C:\Users\LitterHelper\main.py", line 5, in _img
    my_img = ImageTk.PhotoImage(Image.open(f))
                                ^^^^^^^^^^
AttributeError: type object 'Image' has no attribute 'open'

I want the image to open in the tkinter window

A: Something else in your code is overwriting Image with the Image class inside the Image module.  The result of doing:
from PIL import Image

print(type(Image))

should result in module being printed.  I get your error if after doing the above import I do:
Image.Image.open('foo.bar')

which prints your error:

AttributeError: type object 'Image' has no attribute 'open'

Somewhere else in your code you might be doing:
from PIL.Image import Image

or maybe you're assigning something to Image.


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