Downton Abbey. Why Do I Love It?

I stumbled upon the British production of Downton Abbey about six months ago. Pam and I watched the second episode of season two first and were at first thoroughly confused. Being American, we didn't know the difference between a house maid and a lady's maid, hadn't a clue what a footman was, let alone a valet. Nevertheless we instantly were mesmerized by the stunning beauty and mystery of the estate house, and even more the richness of the story. Before long we were hooked. After the end of season two, I immediately went out and dropped $30 on the complete season one DVD collection with the bonus DVD about the making of Downton Abbey. Season three doesn't air until September so we have been reduced to watching reruns whenever we can. Its been quite awhile since I have been so invested in a television program. So, the question becomes, what's the attraction? Why do we love Downton Abbey so much?

First of all, even though the setting is grand, half of the show is actually filmed on location at the grand house itself, and it's a period piece, taking place in the years leading up to WWI, it is after all a glorified soap-opera. What American show can it be fairly compared with? Well, that's just it. There IS no American equivalent. Our soap-operas are things like Parenthood (very good) and 24 (awesome). But those shows are present day dramas which we can all identify with. Downton Abbey is about a time and place lost in dusty history books. It's pre-war Great Britain at it's peak of power. The Lord of Grantham presides over an inherited estate. He is a member in good standing of the aristocracy. The servants live in the big house but are employees, and in most every way that matters, are second class citizens. But, unlike Hollywood where all rich people are devious and all poor folks are virtuous, Downton Abbey presents all characters in all of their very human dimensions. Some of the "help" are indeed virtuous, but others are back-stabbing opportunists. The Grantham clan has a bit of everything from noble and dignified (Lord Grantham and Matthew Crawley) to petty and vicious (Ethel) to charmingly hilarious (the Dowager Countess). In other words, class and standing offer no guarantee of virtue. The servants in the house also run the gamut from treacherous and conniving( O'Brien and Thomas ) to sweet and noble(Anna) and everything in between. The producers of the show even present a gay character who isn't a 100%, gold-plated saint. In fact, this particular character is one of the biggest jerks in the entire cast, something that never happens in anything produced in Hollywood.

But there's something else. Downton Abbey exists in a time that didn't extend basic human rights to many of it's citizens. Women couldn't vote, workers had few of the protections of the modern welfare state, and the very rich had a far easier time navigating the justice system than did the working classes. I don't wax nostalgic for everything from Britain in 1914 by any means...and yet..There is something about the show that stirs in me a feeling of loss. In that day, there were a great deal of things that both classes shared, primary among them an understanding of the essential value of personal character. One's word, and one's honor were valued beyond price. There were clearly understood rules of conduct that if violated amounted to a indelible stain on one's character. To see such agreement of the importance of character throughout the many varied characters on the show is refreshing. The lack of any such agreement in today's culture is glaring by contrast.

I eagerly await season three and will soon become lost in the twists and turns that will surely buffet the great house. Even though its all about a past that is long gone, it does save me from the present nightmare of Jersey Shore, The Bachelor, and Celebrity Apprentice.

My Ghostly Family Tree

My octogenarian parents no longer drive themselves around much anymore. So, on the weekends we kids try to plan things for them to do. Last night I called my Mom to invite her and Dad over to the house today for an Irish lunch of Soda Bread and Potato Soup. I added that it would give them a chance to see Kaitlin before she heads back to school, and I even offered to come pick them up. No sale. They had plans. Something about a visit from Bobby and Bill, Aunt Pinky's two surviving sons coming over to catch up. Not to be denied, I inquired as to what their plans might be for lunch after church on Sunday. Wouldn't it be nice to go out to O'Charleys with them and Kaitlin? I offered to pick them up and take them back home afterwards. Too late. Apparently, an earlier invitation from Dad's two sisters had been too good to pass up. They would be dining at Debbie's with Emma and Nancy. So much for their empty social calender.


My mother was disappointed that I had no earthly idea who "Bobby and Billy" were. Evidently, both men live here in Richmond and are actively involved in performing music in nursing homes. They called out of the blue the other day and sat a date with Mom and Dad to catch up. "Don't you remember them Douglas?" Mom pleaded."They were your Aunt Pinky's two sons." Ok, first of all, Aunt Pinky was not MY aunt. She was my Grandfather's sister, making her Mom's aunt. The last time I laid eyes on her was probably some time in the late sixties. However, I do remember her. Who could forget Pinky, her of the hot, florid face, wreaking of moth balls, and constantly pinching my cheeks with those white-gloved hands? She was a Dixon, one of many colorful members of that loud and dramatic clan.


I could regale you for hours with the fables of  Dixon family history. First of all, there were the marvelous names, from Aunt Pinky, and Aunt Rosalee to Bubby, Bootsie, Admire and Montague. With names like these, drama was sure to follow. Montague's story was the stuff of legend. He was a lawyer who practised in Charlottesville during the week and returned to his farm in Buckingham on the weekend. Montague had a soft spot for the downtrodden and was always hiring the saddest of his clients to work for him on his farm, until one of them shot him in cold blood upon his return one dark and stormy night. Although his loss caused quite a stir, his contribution to Dixon family lore did not end with his untimely death for it was the ghost of Montague who appeared at my Grandmothers bedside on June 6, 1944 to reassure her that her two sons, Harry and John, both involved in the fighting that day, were in fact alive and well. But this appearance wasn't the first, last, or even most bizarre ghostly tale associated with the Dixons. One day when my mother was very young, all the men in the family were away, leaving only Mom, my Grandmother and Mom's very sick brother Lloyd. As fate would have it, Lloyd passed away and Grandmother was reduced to tears on the steps of the back porch. As she held my mother tightly and let out her tears, suddenly there appeared a small white Scottish Terrier at the bottom of the steps. Then a man with a white suit and a panama boater hat appeared beside him. My mother remembers to this day the gentleness of his eyes as he asked Grandma what was wrong. He stayed and comforted her and then left right before the men returned. None of them recalled seeing any such man or dog before, and no one ever saw him again. Mom has no doubt that he was an angel sent to comfort Grandma in her hour of grief. Just another day in the rich history of the Dixons.


No wonder, I suppose, why Mom seems so put out with me when I don't remember some random distant cousin three times removed. To her, its all part of the wild story of her life. To me its just people with awesome names.

Once Again, Shocked by Washington

I was shocked to learn today that the Congressional Budget Office revised upward the cost projections for ObamaCare. Back when the legislation was passed, the President had assured us that the total cost of the bill would come in under the magic number of 1 trillion dollars. In his State of the Union speech he had told us that the total cost, all in, would be 940 billion over ten years, or about what we had spent fighting Iraq and Afghanistan. The bean-counting, green eye shade, penny pinchers in Congress had accused the administration of accounting gimmicks. They pointed out that the ten year projections conveniently counted only 6 years of actual spending, while counting ten years of tax receipts, made possible by delaying full implementation until 2014. Obama countered that there would be so much savings wrought by the genius of his reforms that any future costs would be offset by the brilliance of his cost reduction strategies. Today, the CBO begs to differ. The revised costs of ObamaCare is now estimated to be 1.74 trillion over the next ten years, or roughly double what we all were led to believe.

Imagine that. A government program coming in severely over budget. I'm stunned. These are, after all, the best and brightest minds that academia has to offer. The president famously stacked his governing team with professors, career government employees, community organizers, and public policy advocates of every size, creed and ethnicity. No more would we be held back by men and women from the fever-swamps of commerce, finance and business, especially businesses that exist to earn evil profits. No, this administration would be manned( and womanned?) with only the best minds in the public sector. Surely, there weren't any problems we faced as a nation that couldn't be solved if only we rid ourselves of the insidious influence of the merchant class.

Actually, who could blame them? The kind of business leaders that have helped shape public policy under previous administrations had been the type who were highly skilled at promoting their own interest instead of the nations' interest. The knuckleheads that gave us subsidies for ethanol, farming, green energy, were all businessmen. Maybe once you're successful enough in business to become interested enough in government, you're already too far gone. The new definition of Crony Capitalist should be any businessman who travels to Washington, without the aid of a subpoena. All the great businessmen I have ever known have never shown the slightest interest in getting tangled up in politics. Even the great Warren Buffet had the wisdom to wait until he had already made his bones before trying to become the Democratic party's favorite billionaire.

It occurs to me that the one era in American history that produced the greatest economic growth happens to be the era from which no one can name a President. Here's a quiz. Without resorting to Google, name any three Presidents from the period between 1870 and 1900. (Jeopardy music playing). Hint, there were a total of 7 and one of them actually got elected despite tipping the scales at a robust 310 pounds..clearly before television. ( More Jeopardy music). Times up. Yeah, I thought so. You know the reason you don't know those guys? Because back then all of the smartest, most gifted and capable men went into business, not politics. Ever heard of Andrew Carnigie? You know, the guy who started as an immigrant with less than nothing and became the richest man in the world since Solomon, then spent the last half of his life giving it all away, building not only the finest concert hall in the country but over 1400 libraries in city after city across the country...THAT Andrew Carnigie. He was the brightest light this coutry produced during those years, and I dare say, we as a nation are better for it.

I  am not distressed at the lack of great men and women in politics. I rather long for the day when great men and women are not required to be in politics. Sure, there are times when we need greatness, but most of the time we need mere competence, let the greats go elsewhere. We will all be better off when they do.

The Education of Andrew Hemby

Your Honor, I would like to submit as Exhibit A in my case against public education in the United States, Mr. Andrew Hemby. Andrew is a fine young man, bright, eager and capable, but has somehow managed to graduate from Virginia Tech with an appalling lack of even entry level knowledge of the history of his country. However, what young Hemby lacks in knowledge, he makes up for in energy and a keen desire to learn. Inasmuch, he has asked me to prepare a reading list for him to introduce him to the grand story of this great Republic. I submit the following list as Exhibit B. It is not meant to be a comprehensive, complete survey of all of our history, just the basics, to give him just enough information so that he can hold forth intelligently when in a crowd of his peers.( I believe he wants to enter politics. )

1. Founding Brothers by Joseph Ellis                                     Revolutionary Period

2. American Lion, A Bigraphy of Andrew Jackson               Early 1800's


3.The Civil War: A Narrative by Shelby Foote                      Civil War

4. American Colossus by HW Brands                                     End of Civil War to 1900

5.The Forgotten Man by Amity Shales                                    Great Depression

6.The Gathering Storm by Winston Churchill                         1930's, leading up to beginning of WWII

7. Rise and Fall of the Third Reich by William Shirer                                              "

8.Franklin & Winston by Jon Meacham                                  World War II to FDR's death

9 Witness by Whitaker Chambers                                             1950's and the Cold War


It is my hope that Mr. Hemby will actually read these books, not merely Google their reviews. I am confident that he will avail himself of this opportunity at self-improvement, and ultimately may one day mention me as a mentor in his first inaugural address.

A Great Party

Patrick is heading back to Nashville this morning after a successful recital and graduation party. The recital program went very well, but then the audience demanded an encore and Patrick made the critical error of not having anything prepared. But after an awkward pause he sat down at the $150,000, 9 foot grand piano and started to play an old jazz standard,"If I Had You", singing the lyrics with the help of his smart phone, and the entire atmosphere of the hall was transformed. Patrick's soft touch and unique flair was in sharp contrast to the highly technical, pounding style of his hired accompanist, and suddenly he had the whole room in the palm of his hand. Unfortunately, Patrick doesn't have a repertoire of such songs readily available for performance. If he had, we all would have set there, mesmerized for another hour. Great stuff.

Then everyone came over to the house for the party that Pam had planned. There was a Chick-fila party platter of nuggets and scores of homemade pies and desserts. Soon the place was filled with family and friends eating and laughing and enjoying the occasion. There's a sound that fills the place when friends are gathered to celebrate. It's a unique sort of hum, much like music, that communicates something profound. It's the sound of comfort, the sound of life well-lived. In between serving coffee, and picking up half-empty paper cups, I would hear familiar laughs from other rooms and think of how many years now I have heard those voices. These are the sounds that life long friends make, sounds that are irreplaceable.

My parents were there. It's a labor for them to be a part of a night like this one anymore. It takes Bill and Linda to pick them up, accommodations to be made for their seating and care, but there they were on the front row soaking everything in. What thoughts must go through their heads watching their Grandson, in a tuxedo singing songs in French and German? What a life to have lived that has taken them from the tobacco farms of Buckingham county to a house filled with their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, in the most uppity suburb of the state capital? I can't imagine what they must think of it all, but I suspect it's something between pride and astonishment, with a little exhaustion thrown in for good measure.

For the next week we will have Kaitlin home for spring break. Jon will be here with her. We will watch season two of Downton Abbey with them and Jessica and Katy. It will be great fun. Then spring break will be over and Kaitlin will head back to Wake, and Pam and I will resume our other life. That's the life that we live on the installment plan, two, three, four weeks without our kids. It's actually a great life. Just about the time I'm getting on Pam's last nerve, one of the kids comes home for a visit. Then, after a weekend of doing their laundry, cooking for them, and essentially waiting on them hand and foot, they leave, and we relax back into being with each other, astonished that we ever had the energy to be full-time parents. "Really?? We actually had two kids, full-time for twenty years??", we think as we collapse on the sofa.

We glance at the calender and notice that Easter is only four weeks away. Better buy Patch his plane ticket now before they get too expensive. We're already psyched.

Me, Molly, and Timing

Timing is everything. Bad timing is even more than everything, like when you were ten and caught a stomach virus on Christmas Eve. Bad timing is where bad luck becomes mysteriously connected with cosmic justice, like when you skip church to play golf only to throw out your back putting the clubs in the trunk.

So yesterday my kids are all home and everybody is getting all excited for the big wedding of a friend last night. Kaitlin is one of the bridesmaids and Patrick is singing a duet. All of our dearest friends will be there. We're all dressed up. Can't wait! Then on the way to the church I am visited by the same intestinal issue that has plagued me for months now, like that annoying person who always shows up at your door wanting to talk at the worst possible time. As we get closer and closer to the church it becomes clear that I will have to miss the festivities...no way I can sit in a pew for an hour in my rapidly deteriorating condition. So I drop off the family at the blessed event and drive back home for a night of misery. Its ok though, Patrick's duet was captured on video by Pam's cell phone. Patrick was amazing, and I got to see Kaitlin in her beautiful dress and up-do in the background of the video. She was about a quarter of an inch tall and looked stunning.

This morning I feel better. Tonight Patrick performs his senior recital at Richmond Piano for family and friends and then his belated graduation party follows back at the house. As if on cue, Molly jumps up on our bed at 2:30 in the morning, then immediately jumps down and throws up the only food that she has put in her stomach for the last 24 hours. She is not well, won't eat, can hardly navigate the stairs, and has laid around completely listless for the past two days. So, this morning I will take her to the vet to see what's wrong. Many scenarios run through my mind. Everything from, she just has a bug and will be fine in a day or so, to maybe she has some sort of intestinal blockage that is life threatening unless we spend $2,000 for immediate, emergency surgery, payment required in cash, upfront. Timing.

Kids coming home and a new hire at Grove

I will be enjoying a full house this weekend. Tomorrow my son will be arriving, along with my daughter and her boyfriend. There will be a wedding to attend, and Patrick will recreate his senior recital for family and friends at Richmond Piano. Then there will be the graduation party he never had back in December. With all the blur of activity, there won't be much time to just crash on the sofa and chat for a few hours, which is really what I'd rather do. Nevertheless, it will be wonderful to have the whole family sleeping under the same roof for the first time this year.


Strange, unsettling news received last night. After the spring preview concert at Godwin, Sherri Matthews informed the audiance that this will be her last year as the choral director of the most decorated music program in the State of Virginia, perhaps on the east coast for all I know. It seems that God has called her to become the Music Ministry coordinator or some such thing at Grove Avenue Baptist Church, which happens to be the church I attend. Within minutes of her announcement, Facebook was abuzz with the news, and I got a breathless call from my sister who was at the concert and witnessed the whole thing. Honestly, the first thing that raced through my mind was...the only profession with more back-biting, small-mindedness and Glee-like drama than public education is church work!! Poor Sherri is going from the frying pan to the fire, I thought. Then a flood of emotions hit me, feelings of loss and regret. Sherri had such a profound impact on Kaitlin and Patrick, and countless other kids who have been in her choirs over the years. She taught them not only to appreciate fine music and to perfect the craft of singing, but she also taught them the greater lesson of the joy of striving to be the best, of not settling for good enough. All that will end for future students at Godwin and for a moment, sadness came over me. Then I thought of the impact she will have a chance to have on the members of Grove Avenue. All of us could benefit from lifting our sights a bit when it comes to worship. An infusion of the manifold talents of Sherri Matthews on the music program of any church could have an incalcuable impact. If, in fact, she feels called by God to make this move, who am I to disagree? Who knows, maybe the big shots at Grove will put her in charge of the Christmas Eve service. God knows that trainwreck could use a dose of excellence!


Change, all around me. Nothing is forever. But change can sometimes bring energy and excitement, and in this case I think it will. Actually looking forward to hearing what Ken and Sherri have planned Sunday.