Remembering Jimmy Carter

building homes for the poor with Habitat for Humanity (Dith Pran/The New York Times)

President Jimmy Carter passed away on Sunday. He ran for a second term during the first Presidential Election in which I could vote, but I did not vote for him. I had canvassed for Ted Kennedy, against the President, while I was still a high school student in New Hampshire. My main (but not only) objection to his policies involved his stance on China and Taiwan. In any case, I voted in Rhode Island, where I went to college in the fall, but I think my vote was counted in West Virginia, where my parents lived. Either way, Carter won both Rhode Island and West Virginia, so my 'protest vote' had negligible effect. So much for my first election.

While teaching in Oakland in the aughts, we took our students on community service field trips in the local area – I believe it was around MLK Day. My group went to a Habitat for Humanity site in Oakland (East Oakland?), an organization championed by the President. It was an exciting and inspiring project, and I returned to the site on my own for a few days as well.

So much of the conversation I'm hearing around Carter's legacy falls under the trope: awful President, but great former President. I'm not sure I'd say 'awful'; I didn't support him, but I didn't want Reagan to win – not a fan of his work either. I would have voted Democrat if I thought it mattered. Like every President, there was some good and there was some not so good.

I always thought of him as sincere, generous as a humanitarian, and principled to a fault – which may be the fault of losing the election. But, he accepted blame for his errors; something that's just not done – then or now.

As you know, there is a growing disrespect for government and for churches and for schools, the news media, and other institutions. This is not a message of happiness or reassurance, but it is the truth and it is a warning.

[ … ]

I got a lot of personal advice. Let me quote a few of the typical comments that I wrote down. This from a southern governor: "Mr. President, you are not leading this nation -- you're just managing the government."

"You don't see the people enough any more."

"Some of your Cabinet members don't seem loyal. There is not enough discipline among your disciples."

"Don't talk to us about politics or the mechanics of government, but about an understanding of our common good."

(Pres Jimmy Carter, "Crisis of Confidence" [aka The Malaise Speech], July 15, 1979)

In the darker recesses and in the shadow of our most recent election, I've been mulling the contradiction that we say we want virtuous leaders, but virtuous candidates inevitably lose elections. We want them to be transparent and honest. President Carter was punished for that.

He did manage to win a term, in large part because his opponent, or his opponent's party, carried blame for Vietnam and Watergate. We should thank President Carter for helping the country recover from those national lows. However, given the massively 'un-virtuous' context, we cannot say this shines a positive light on the American voter – having elected someone like Nixon in the first place.

The nation's decency is reflected in their choice, no matter their stated intention. I'm reminded that this contradiction came from an interview I saw with Stephen Colbert:

Colbert: Were you too nice to be President because people criticized you for your demeanor and you might say the energy that was brought to the job. Does America want kind of a jerk as President?

Carter: Apparently from the recent election, yes. I never knew it before.

Colbert: What do you think it takes to be president? What's the one quality that it requires to be the president?

Carter: I used to think it was to tell the truth. But I've changed my mind lately.

Italia '24 – Torre dell'Orologio

Our plan for the end of our stay in Bologna (pop 390,850 in 2024) parallels our time in Firenze. On that day, we climbed the Campanile di Giotto; on this day, we plan to climb the Torre dell'Orologio ('Torre Accursi', 15th century). This tower is 42.6 meters tall (vs Campanile at 84.7 meters tall), but still affords a big view of the city, before we dive into the sites and streets.

With this view, and yesterdays' guided tour, we hope to have both a broad and a ground-level sense of this wonderful city. We return to the Piazza Maggiore and the Palazzo d'Accursio ('Palazzo Comunale', 14th century). We ascend the 'Scalone Bramantesco', the long shallow stairways designed for arrival by horse, to the second floor and the Sala Farnese (15th century). This an enormous formal vestibule for the adjoining chapel. The stair hall for the Torre is at the far-right corner.

On the way up, there are small exhibits in the rooms of the landings. The history of the Torre is long and complicated. Originally part of Accursio's house (c1250), the building is sold to the town after his death in 1287. The town demolishes the house but retains the Torre. The structure is expanded upward, and the first clock is mounted in 1451, which includes automata that move around the clock. The Torre catches fire and is rebuilt in 1493 with the octagonal lantern and telescoping belfry.

The first stop of our climb is the parapet of the Palazzo, ie 'cornice-level'. Looking over the Piazza, we can hear and watch the activity but are just high enough to be apart from it. Except for the towers that extend beyond the rooflines, we can only see the Piazza, the Fontana di Nettuno (Laureti & Giambologna, 16th century) and the Basilica di San Petronio (14th century). We are not 'above the trees; this is the urban canopy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As we climb the rickety wooden stair, the history of restorations and repairs reveals itself in the intersecting brick arches and the system of iron ties. At the next landing we sign a book releasing the town (?) from liability. And here we find the mechanism of the historical clock (16th century).

An orologio solare (sundial) sits in the windowsill; in the past, this allowed daily time synchronization. Until 1796, the clock displayed 'Italian time', a system born around the 13th century, which constantly made the 24 hours coincide with the sunset. After Napoleon, the Senate of Bologna adopted the 'French time'; the design of the present orologio solare dates to this era (reconstruction by Giovanni Paltrinieri). This is calibrated to La Meridiana di Cassini in the Basilica, which we saw yesterday.

Thus, we discover an unusual three-way relationship between the Torre, the Basilica, and il sole – a relationship which is, obviously, French.

 

 

 

 

 

So, what's at the top of the Torre? the smoke detector (top image).

Stepping out from the lantern, we get a view north and east over the Piazza. The Campanile della Cattedrale (12th century), the Torre degli Azzoguidi (12th century), and the Torre dei Prediparte (12th century) create a trio on the left.

Below, the Fontana forms a fold, a joint between the Piazza del Nettuno and the Piazza Maggiore. The pattern of the pavers in the larger Piazza is now clear, connecting the Palazzo Re Enzo (13th century) to the broad platform and the incomplete facade of the Basilica. The result appears nearly risqué, like a white drape slipping onto the floor.

Above the Palazzo dei Banchi (16th century), the Due Torri (both, 12th century) waver like weary warriors.

To the south, over the Basilica and past its Campanile, the Apennines are mere shadows in the morning mist. To the west, at the top of the Chiesa del Santissimo Salvatore (17th century); its glass skylight provides a faint sparkle, while the statue of Christ blesses the horizon. And further west, the two torri and the flying buttresses of the Convento e Basilica di San Francesco (13th century).

 

 

 

 

 

Back in the Sala Farnese, we peek into the Cappella del Legato ('Cappella Farnese', 1454). In this chapel, on February 22, 1530, Pope Clement VII crowns Charles V King of Italy; two days later, in San Petronio, the ceremony repeats for the Holy Roman Emperor – another connection but involving a Pope and an Emperor. We cannot enter the Capella, but we can look inside; here we discover colorful frescos, including the Assunzione di Maria on the far wall (Prospero Fontana, c1562).

We descend the 'Scalone Bramantesco', whose long treads make the journey like a procession, not to be hurried.

In the Piazza del Nettuno, the water in Fontana is flowing (it was off yesterday). The basin in front of the Fontana is where one can refill a water bottle. Plus, we want to take a closer look at the Biblioteca Salaborsa and the Sacrario dei Caduti della Resistenza. The faces march on and on; there are thousands. Below the photographs line up like the predella of an altarpiece and illustrate the activities of La Resistenza during the War and include images of the Liberation of Bologna.

Bologna 8 settembre 1943 - 25 aprile 1945

Caduti della Resistenza per la libertà e la giustizia, per l’onore e l’indipendenza della Patria

[Bologna September 8, 1943 - April 25, 1945

The Fallen of the Resistance for freedom and justice, for the honor and independence of the Homeland]

 

 

 

 

Before leaving the area of the Piazza, we walk north one block to the Cattedrale di San Pietro (16th-17th century); we can take a longer look today (there were services last time). It is a richly ornamented Baroque structure but lacks the scale of San Petronio; it's about half the length. The Cappella di Santa Anna (Davide Venturi, 1906; frescos by Cesare Mauro Trebbi) is the second in the right aisle and employs a false perspective to add depth around the reliquary.

The Cappella Maggiore is a fascinating mix of ages and styles. The altar holds a twelfth century Crocifissione with Maria Maddalena and San Giovanni Evangelista. Cristo che Consegna le Simboliche Chiavi a San Pietro ('delivery of keys' (Giovanni Battista Fiorini & Cesare Aretusi, c1600) is in the quarter dome, and L'Annunciazione di Maria (Ludovico Carracci, 1619) is in the lunette. L'Eterno Padre (Prospero Fontana, 1579) is in center octagon of the upper vault.

 

 

 

We cross the Piazza Maggiore and revisit the Basilica di San Petronio (14th century); yesterday's guided tour was a useful introduction, but did not provide our customary time for photos and 'lingering'. Upon entering, we find the dedication plaque for the Early Christian 'Le Quattro Croci' and the Croce dei Martiri ('Martyrs' Cross', 11th or 12th century), with the Agnus Dei in the center.

Next to this is the Cappella di Santa Brigida which contains a beautiful Late Gothic altarpiece (Tommaso Garelli, 1477), with the bust of Santa Brigida at the top. Wonderful frescos are intact on either side: on the right is La Vergine e il Bambino in Trono, with a truly ambitious throne; and on the left is San Petronio holding the Basilica and the teetering Due Torri (which were never plumb).

In the Cappella di Sant'Antonio, we get a better look at the paintings on the walls depicting the Miracoli del Sant'Antonio (Girolamo da Treviso, 1524-26).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Behind the chancel to the left, a small Museo preserves Le Formelle for the Porta Magna (Jacopo della Quercia, 15th century). The Museo arranges the 'Antico Testamento' squares horizontally on the left and right, but they are vertical in the actual Porta. These are extremely reminiscent of the 'Esagoni' (Andrea Pisano e Bottega, 14th century) from the Campanile di Giotto. The squares begin with the Creazione di Adamo and the Creazione di Eva, and the next two panels are the Peccato Originale and the Cacciata dal Paradiso Terrestre.

The five 'Nuovo Testamento' panels are from the lintel of the Porta. The Natività should be at the left but is on display in the middle. The Adorazione dei Magi and the Presentazione al Tempio are on the left, and the Strage degli Innocenti and the Fuga in Egitto are on the right.

The panels on the right continue the 'Antico Testamento' and include (left to right; reverse the vertical order) the Sacrificio di Isacco and the Ebbrezza di Noè, as well as the Uccisione di Abele and the Sacrificio di Caino e Abele.

All these panels are splendid, with enough relief to make dark shadows and enough dynamism to keep your eyes moving. They are even easier to read in this room and in this horizontal layout.

 

 

 

We walk outside to look at the Porta Magna in situ. Unfortunately, the days here in Bologna are very grey – lots of pollution and bad air quality. As the Porta faces north, it never gets direct light. Certainly, Le Formelle look amazing in their place, but they don't 'pop' like the Esagoni in Firenze. It's such a shame the facade did not get further after such a tantalizing start.

We also return to the exterior of the apse to try to determine the scale of the full project. Currently, the Basilica is 132 of the planned 224 meters. That length encompasses the entire Piazza Galvani and may cross the street. We may never know the answer to the question: how much is 'enough' church for Bologna?

 

 

Also yesterday, we passed the Galleria Cavour and want to take a look at the Christmas decorations. This is a high-end shopping mall next to the Quadrilatero (L'Antico Mercato). There are no big anchor stores, just lots of super expensive boutiques, able to absorb the expense of the decorations, and conveniently located for a warming indoor stroll before lunch.

 

 

 

We spend the afternoon in the Basilica di Santo Stefano ('Sette Chiese', 4th-12th centuries). We want to revisit these churches with better light and explore the ones we missed.

The Chiesa del Crocifisso (8th century) is the most 'forward' and the largest of the 'seven churches'. The design features an elevated chancel, above a half-buried Cripta, and facing a sizable, open worship space. On the left is the melodramatic Compianto sul Cristo Morto ('Pietà', polychromatic papier maché, Angelo Gabriello Piò, 18th century). On the right is the Martirio di Santo Stefano (Pier Francesco Cittadini, 17th century), which recounts the saint's stoning (as we learned in Salamanca).

We try to number the Crucifixes and lose count; the Chiesa lives up to its name. The substantial, late-Gothic Crocifisso at the altar by Simone di Filippo 'dei Crocifissi' is the highlight  (c1380).

 

 

On the left (Evangelist) side the floor steps down and provides access to the Cripta. There are tombs and artworks, and more marvelous masonry. We cannot enter, but we can see the reliquary; it appears to have two 'drawers' to hold the remains of San Vitale and Sant'Agricola, martyred in Bologna in the early fourth century.

 

 

 

We now return to the Basilica del Santo Sepolcro (5th-11th centuries), the oldest part of the complex, with its intriguing play of light and combinations of stonework. The geometry of this 'almost' octagonal Basilica is inspiring, made to reflect the shape of the 'Rotonda' (Anastasis) in Jerusalem, which contained Christ's tomb.

The relief sculptures (13th century) in the trefoil of the edicola explain the event: on the left, the Three Marys witness Christ's burial, in the center is the Angel of the Resurrection, while on the right, the soldiers sleep.

 

 

We continue through to the Basilica dei Protomartiri San Vitale e Sant'Agricola (5th century). The the sarcophagi of the 'protomartyrs' are at the ends of each side aisle, San Vitale on the left (peacocks) and Sant'Agricola (ldeer & lion) on the right – these were used to transfer and retain the relics at the end of the fourth century (393).

The altar inhabits tall, semi-circular apse with a suspended Crocifisso. The small, darker cross recalls the crucifixion of Sant'Agricola. The rest of the Basilica occupies the gap between architecture and archeology, with fragments of faded art in the ancient archways and stone columns bound with iron straps.

 

 

 

 

 

In the Cortile di Pilato (8th century), we can enjoy the colors and patterns and the sunlight touches the masonry. As the 'Rotunda' is the Sepolcro in miniature, so San Petronio's design for this Cortile is a representation of the 'Lithostrotos' – the place of Christ's trial.

Here we find the Gallo di San Pietro (14th century), meant to evoke the saint's 'denial of Christ'. Through the neighboring archway is the Cappella della Consolazione (Bartolomeo Cesi, 16th century). Gorgeous, but it's too small to be a whole 'church'. We wonder if there are seven.

We recall the Martyrium (Chiesa della Trinità, 4th-5th centuries) from two days ago, it must be one of the 'Sette Chiese'. We may appreciate the altar and Crocifisso in the daylight, though the vault walls and mosaic floor are missing their patina.

With the Chiesa della Benda (cappella and museo, 16th century), that makes five. The others must have got lost in time.

 

 

 

 

We leave the Cortile for the brightened Il Chiostro Medievale (12th century). Like yesterday, there are faces in the capitals and cornices; maybe the idea starts here.

Before we leave, we look for the last two 'chiese'. We find several charming cappellas between the cloisters and the walls, but nothing considerable enough to be a church; maybe the two courtyards are the other two.

In the last chapel there are earthenware models of the three main 'chiese' as offerings at the altar.

 

 

 

 

We have time before dinner to do a lap or two outside and investigate the architectural detailing. The exterior pulpit uses some lovely stone brackets and conical vaulting; underneath the stone scupper appears to be the tiny head of a pig. 

The facade of the 'Rotonda' employs marble flourishes and striping in the lower arches, and an intricate cornice of interlaced semi-circles.

The last Basilica also features blocks of various tones as well as astonishing sculpted reliefs in the capitals and the arches. Over the door a small but remarkable panel shows the two 'Protomartiri' in the company of Christ.

 

 

 

 

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UPDATE (November 20th): On the way to the train station to catch the Marconi Express (airport monorail), we stop at the Mercato delle Erbe (20th century) to grab some piadinas. The Mercato is large, lively, and full of vibrant produce. The piadinas are fantastic – our last taste of Bologna.