Social Networking

Social networking is very much in the news today. If Marshall McLuhan were alive today he'd likely have something fairly incomprehensible to say about it. Which come to think about it, is pretty much what a good deal of the people who pretend to know something about this are saying now anyway. I can't understand them either.

At the back of the flower shop we had a desk. It was a fairly giant roll top desk with no roll top. It always reminded my father of another reason he didn't like his oldest brother. It seems Uncle Andy at some point removed the top and just left the rest of the desk. Now, neither man would ever challenge the Keno brothers on Antiques Roadshow on furniture aesthetics, but I did side with my father that if the roll top were there, it would at least be a better desk. I missed it, and never even saw it.

I did my high school homework at this desk. And nearby we had a small bookcase. Mostly in the bookcase were white page telephone directories of the five boroughs, along with the granddaddy of all phone books, the Manhattan Yellow Pages. Some of my school books were shoe-horned in there as well, but phone books dominated. I remember the Manhattan phone book being my booster seat at Easter dinners at my grandparents. I never remember any kind of progression, that as you got bigger you sat on less populated boroughs. I think you were just big enough one year and no longer needed Manhattan.

The phone books were stacked like library books, vertically. I always remember looking at the Manhattan phone book and realizing, one, that all the letters in the word can be formed with straight lines. It might be the longest straight-lined word there is. I've never tried to challenge it. I settled then, and now, that 9 letters is the record.

Secondly, I always looked at the book and realized there were a lot of people in there that I didn't know. Manhattan probably never had less than 2 million people when I was growing up, and here I was, not knowing very many of them.

But I also knew no one knew all the people in the phone book. Not even the phone company. They just listed the names. Meeting them was not required.

And no, I didn't try and get to know all the people in the phone book. That would have been stupid. And I didn't feel bad about it, either. We used the phone books to find telephone numbers of people who we might have to make a delivery to. We checked the address, and sometimes would call to find out if they'd he home at the expected time of delivery. (We never had to call funeral homes. We knew someone would be there.) I never made a delivery to Staten Island, so why we had that book I never knew. Maybe you got a set.

So, when Schuyler Chapin recently passed away I was reminded of all this. I didn't know the man, but I did know of him. I never met him, but I did see him, rather up close, and did hear him speak. And not too long it turns out before he passed away.

There was a fairly recent story about social networking in either the Times or the Journal about how despite the reach of the Internet, etc, Face Book, My Space and "friend" counts that we really don't know many more people than we ever did. I'm not surprised.

It's been studied, even given a name by a famous researcher and their index, that we seem to know maybe 120 people or so. I think that was the gist of it. People are really "broadcasting" on these Web sites, but not really reaching people they know, or ever will know. Sounds about right to me. I knew my "acquaintance" count was significantly lower than the sum of all those names in that Manhattan phone book.

I encountered Schulyer Chapin at a New York Pops concert in 2005, right after Skitch Henderson died. I was with my younger daughter, who had been with me to other concerts and who liked Skitch. She liked that he made fun of late-comers, and just plain liked the shows.

Well, this particular night was a Veteran's Day concert on November 11 and we were in the front row at Carnegie. This isn't always the best place to be, by far. The stage is too high at that point and you can't see the back and who's on it. But you are in the front row.

Well, Skitch had just died earlier that month, but the show goes on. My daughter was disappointed because what better place to be than the front row (on time) when Skitch embarrasses a late-comer?

The Purdue University Glee Club is there. Not that we can actually see them from our vantage point, but we can hear them. They were great. At one point, Walter Cronkite came out, somewhat haltingly to the microphone, but in a voice that never seemed to change, and said some words about his buddy Skitch. Skitch's widow came out as well and said some things. Front row was pretty good then.

Then there's this guy in a wheelchair being brought out, being pushed by someone who has to be his son. The son looks to be in this 50s, and the guy in the wheelchair must be 80 something, I figure. He's introduced as Schuyler Chapin. Means nothing to me, but I figure he's a WWII veteran because he's the right age. Plus, he's in a wheelchair.

He reads something. The glee club sings White Cliffs of Dover. Beautifully. Schuyler is going to continue reading something but breaks away from the paper and offers that what we just heard was a good as he's ever heard the piece sung. And he sounds and looks like he means it. I remember he seemed a little watery-eyed when they were singing, and thought maybe this guy was a pilot or something back then.

I always read the names throughout the program at Carnegie. Well, now the name Schuyler Chapin means a little more to me.

But we're not done yet. In one of those New York Times James Stevenson Lost and Found New York illustrated history lessons he does on the Op-Ed page, Stevenson does a piece titled, The Actress, The Millionaire and the Met. It appeared this year on January 31. The piece is about Eleanor Robson, who became rich and socially famous by marrying August Belmont II. She attended operas. She probably had to.

The illustrated story goes that in the 1930s she invited a friend's teenage son, a lover of opera, to be her escort at the Met. He went to several operas with her, and fondly remembered sitting in Box 4 in the middle of the Diamond Horseshoe. (Good seats, apparently.)

The teenage boy was Schuyler Chapin, who grew up to become a General Manager of the Met. He also flew cargo planes in China-Burma during World War II.

The Times obituary is a great piece, stretching a full 6 columns. How they missed the part, in their own paper, of his teenage association with the Metropolitan and Mrs. Belmont is completely beyond me.

They didn't network.

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