Ferrol Sams, Doctor Turned Novelist, Dies at 90


Ferrol Sams, a country doctor who started writing fiction in his late 50s and went on to win critical praise and a devoted readership for his humorous and perceptive novels and stories that drew on his medical practice and his rural Southern roots, died on Tuesday at his home in Lafayette, Ga. He was 90.


The cause, said his son Ferrol Sams III, also a doctor, was that he was “slap wore out.”


“He lived a full life,” his son said. “He didn’t leave anything in the tank.”


Dr. Sams grew up on a farm in the rural Piedmont area of Georgia, seven mud-road miles from the nearest town. He was a boy during the Depression; books meant escape and discovery. He read “Robinson Crusoe,” then Mark Twain and Charles Dickens. One of his English professors at Mercer University, in Macon, suggested he consider a career in writing, but he chose another route to examining the human condition: medical school.


When he was 58 — after he had served in World War II, started a medical practice with his wife, raised his four children and stopped devoting so much of his mornings to preparing lessons for Sunday school at the Methodist church — he began writing “Run With the Horsemen,” a novel based on his youth. It was published in 1982.


“In the beginning was the land,” the book begins. “Shortly thereafter was the father.”


In The New York Times Book Review, the novelist Robert Miner wrote, “Mr. Sams’s approach to his hero’s experiences is nicely signaled in these two opening sentences.”


He added: “I couldn’t help associating the gentility, good-humored common sense and pace of this novel with my image of a country doctor spinning yarns. The writing is elegant, reflective and amused. Mr. Sams is a storyteller sure of his audience, in no particular hurry, and gifted with perfect timing.”


Dr. Sams modeled the lead character in “Run With the Horsemen,” Porter Osborne Jr., on himself, and featured him in two more novels, “The Whisper of the River” and “When All the World Was Young,” which followed him into World War II.


Dr. Sams also wrote thinly disguised stories about his life as a physician. In “Epiphany,” he captures the friendship that develops between a literary-minded doctor frustrated by bureaucracy and a patient angry over past racism and injustice.


Ferrol Sams Jr. was born Sept. 26, 1922, in Woolsey, Ga. He received a bachelor’s degree from Mercer in 1942 and his medical degree from Emory University in 1949. In his addition to his namesake, survivors include his wife, Dr. Helen Fletcher Sams; his sons Jim and Fletcher; a daughter, Ellen Nichol; eight grandchildren; and nine great-grandchildren.


Some critics tired of what they called the “folksiness” in Dr. Sams’s books. But he did not write for the critics, he said. In an interview with the Georgia Writers Hall of Fame, Dr. Sams was asked what audience he wrote for. Himself, he said.


“If you lose your sense of awe, or if you lose your sense of the ridiculous, you’ve fallen into a terrible pit,” he added. “The only thing that’s worse is never to have had either.”


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Media Decoder Blog: In Wake of Restructuring, NBC News President Quits

8:30 p.m. | Updated

The longest-serving president of any of the three network news divisions, Steve Capus of NBC News, stepped down from his position on Friday, six months after Comcast restructured its news units in a way that diminished his authority.

Pat Fili-Krushel, chairwoman of the NBCUniversal News Group, said in a brief telephone interview on Friday that she would “cast a wide net” while searching for a successor to Mr. Capus. In the interim, the leaders of the news division will report directly to her.

Ms. Fili-Krushel became Mr. Capus’s boss last July when Steve Burke, the chief executive of NBCUniversal, consolidated all of NBC’s news units — NBC News, the cable news channels MSNBC and CNBC, and its stake in the Weather Channel — under a new umbrella, the NBCUniversal News Group. Mr. Burke asked Ms. Fili-Krushel, one of his most trusted lieutenants, to run it, while keeping Mr. Capus and the heads of the other units in place.

Ms. Fili-Krushel worked early in her career at HBO and Lifetime. A veteran of the Walt Disney Company, where she helped program ABC, and  Time Warner, where she was an administrator, she is by her own admission not a journalist.  But now she is, by default, the highest-ranking woman in the American television news industry — not just at the moment, but in the history of the medium. The heads of the news divisions at ABC and CBS are men, as are the heads of the Fox News Channel, CNN, and Bloomberg.

Ms. Fili-Krushel has kept a low public profile, but has been a forceful presence behind the scenes, recently moving from her office on the 51st floor of 30 Rockefeller Center, near Mr. Burke’s, to a new one on the third floor, where NBC News is based. On Friday, she said she had spent her first six months “learning, listening and getting to know the players here.” She called the News Group an “unbelievably strong organization.”

Though Mr. Capus’s exit saddened many at NBC News on Friday, it came as little surprise. He had previously reported directly to Mr. Burke, but after the restructuring he reported to Ms. Fili-Krushel, and he made no secret of his unhappiness with the change. His contract had a clause that allowed him to leave in the event that he no longer reported to Mr. Burke, according to two people with direct knowledge of the arrangement at NBC, and he decided to exercise that right after months of contemplation. The people insisted on anonymity because they were not authorized by the network to speak publicly.

Mr. Capus told Ms. Fili-Krushel of his intent to leave last Friday. It is likely that he would have left sooner, but a series of major news stories kept him busy late last year — including Hurricane Sandy, the presidential election and the school shooting in Newtown, Conn. Mr. Capus also oversaw the network’s response to the kidnapping of Richard Engel and an NBC News crew in Syria last month.

“It has been a privilege to have spent two decades here, but it is now time to head in a new direction,” he wrote in an e-mail to staff members on Friday afternoon.

Mr. Capus guided NBC through a revolutionary time in news-gathering and distribution. He maintained the news division’s profitability, managed tensions between NBC News and its increasingly liberal cable channel MSNBC, and fostered new business ventures like an in-house production company and an annual education summit. Last year, he unwound an old deal with Microsoft to give the news division complete control over its Web site, now named NBCNews.com, for the first time.

Ms. Fili-Krushel wrote in a separate e-mail to staff members that “NBC News is America’s leading source of television news and Steve has been a big part of that success.”

NBC News is the producer of the most popular evening newscast in the country. But its single biggest source of profits, the morning show “Today,” fell to second place last year, behind ABC’s “Good Morning America,” for the first time since the 1990s. The decline caused widespread anxiety inside the news division and speculation that Mr. Capus would be relieved of his duties.

Inside NBC, both Mr. Capus and the executive producer of “Today,” Jim Bell, received much of the blame for the botched removal of Ann Curry from “Today” last June, which worsened the show’s already tenuous position in the ratings. Ms. Fili-Krushel was put in charge just a few weeks later.

Mr. Bell was replaced at “Today” last fall and is now the executive producer for NBC Olympics. Savannah Guthrie is now the co-host of “Today,” and Ms. Curry is a national and international correspondent for the network, but is rarely seen. Mr. Capus’s exit was seen by some at the network as the last shoe that had to drop.

In his e-mail to staff members, Mr. Capus called it an “extremely difficult decision to walk away,” noting that he started at NBC as a producer 20 years ago this month. He did not make any mention of what he would do next. “Journalism is, indeed, a noble calling, and I have much I hope to accomplish in the next phase of my career,” he wrote.

“Today” continues to lose to ABC’s “Good Morning America” among total viewers, but lately it has won a few weeks in the 25- to 54-year-old demographic that advertisers covet.

“NBC Nightly News” has more successfully fended off ABC’s “World News,” despite an aggressive push by ABC. Mr. Capus said, “NBC News has grown in all key metrics — from ratings and reputation to profitability.”

A version of this article appeared in print on 02/02/2013, on page B2 of the NewYork edition with the headline: In Wake of Restructuring, NBC News President Quits.
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India Ink: Highlights of the India Art Fair

NEW DELHI —All roads in Delhi lead to the Okhla Industrial Estate this weekend, where the India Art Fair opened to the public on Friday.

At a preview on Thursday, a well-heeled crowd took in over 3,000 works of art by 105 exhibitors from 24 countries. Eleven interactive art projects, works on loan from the artists, are also on display, as well as Jitish Kallat’s installation of Mohandas K. Gandhi’s letter to Adolf Hitler advising him against war.

Although there’s plenty of art to take in amid all the air-kissing society folks, be sure to wander past the following booths:

GALLERYSKE: The gallery’s director, Sunitha Kumar Emmart, shows a stellar lineup of contemporary artists, including Sudarshan Shetty, Srinivasa Prasad and Prabhavathi Meppayil. Where: booth C-2.

Gallery Espace: Works by Zarina Hashmi, who is currently showing at the Guggenheim Museum in New York, Nilima Sheikh, Rajinder Tikoo and Rina Banerjee. Where: booth B-2.

Samdani Art Foundation: The nonprofit based in Dhaka, Bangladesh, has on display “My Daughter’s Cot,” a baby crib made of stainless steel razor blades, by the artist Tayeba Begum Lipi. Where: booth D-6.

Tasveer: Powerful photography and photo-based art by Maimouna Guerresi, Steve McCurry and Raghu Rai. Where: booth D-9.

Photoink: Great photography, with Vivan Sundaram riffing on the work of his late aunt, Amrita Sher-Gil, and compelling contemporary photos by Dhruv Malhotra. Where: booth F-7.

Seven Art: A must-see is Martand Khosla’s “Site Reconsidered 2,” made of brick dust. Where: Booth C-15.

Scream of London: Pakpoom Silaphan’s “Triple Gandhi on Pepsi” attracted a lot of eyeballs. The gallery’s works have already sold out, according to the fair’s founder, Neha Kirpal. Where: booth A-5.

Imaginart Gallery/Tasneem Gallery: Big-name Spanish artists you don’t typically get to see in India, including works by Salvador Dalí and Pablo Picasso. Where: booth B-9.

TAG Fine Arts: A wall of black butterflies created by Jane Dyer. Where: booth D-5.

Dhoomimal Art Center: A collection of the Indian master Jamini Roy’s works, from the early 1900s to the 1950s. Where: booth J-2.

The Swiss curator Mirjam Varadinis is offering curated walks through the fair.

There are also several don’t-miss Speakers Forum talks:

“Art in the Age of Uprising” includes panelists Ravi Sundaram, a senior fellow at the Center for the Study of Developing Societies; Chus Martínez, chief curator of the El Museo del Barrio in New York, and Juan Gaitán, the curator of the 8th Berlin Biennale for Contemporary Art. Monica Juneja, chairwoman of global art history at Heidelberg University in Germany, moderates. When: Saturday, Feb. 2, noon to 1:30 p.m.

“The Museum of the 21st Century: A Working Model?” includes panelists Barbara London, a curator from New York’s Museum of Modern Art, Liu Yingjiu, from the Rockbund Art Museum in Shanghai, Sandhini Poddar, from the Guggenheim in New York, and Professor Tapati Guha-Thakurta of Kolkata. Professor Kavita Singh of New Delhi’s Jawaharlal Nehru University moderates. When: Sunday, Feb. 3, noon to 1:30 p.m.

There are also various events and in and around Delhi timed to the fair:

This year’s four finalists for the Skoda Prize for Indian Contemporary Art offer something for everyone at the National Gallery of Modern Art. Curated by Girish Shahane, the exhibit includes art by a younger set of contemporary artists, including Shilpa Gupta, L.N. Tallur, Srinivasa Prasad and CAMP. Kids especially will love Mr. Prasad’s “Igloo” and “Rebirth,” both of which involve climbing in and out of structures.

At the Indira Gandhi National Center for the Arts, “Homelands,” a British Council-sponsored exhibit curated by Latika Gupta, explores the idea of nationality, home and identity in 80 works of photography, painting, sculpture and video, many shown for the first time in India.

If you’re an audio buff, don’t miss an “Evening of Sound” on Feb. 2, organized by the artists’ residency Khoj. Arrive at their newly renovated studio, across the street from Select City Walk Mall in Saket at 6 p.m. to hear live performances by Chi-Wei Lin, Rudi Punzo and Robert Millis, then wander to nearby DT Cinemas to hear a sound exhibition curated by Alexis Bhagat and Lauren Rosati. Khoj’s studio is at S-17, Khirkee Extension.

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Gadgetwise Blog: Q&A: Reformatting a Kindle Fire

I want to pass my old Kindle Fire to a friend since I got a new model. How do I make sure all of my personal content is erased before I give the old Kindle away?

The Kindle software includes a setting that wipes the tablet and returns it to the state it was in when you first took it out of the box. Before you start the process, though, check that the Kindle has a good battery charge so it does not conk out in the middle of erasing itself, and make sure you have any personal files you need on the device backed up elsewhere.

Next, tap the gear-shaped icon for the Settings menu. On the Settings menu, tap the More icon, scroll down and then tap Device. At the bottom of the Device screen, tap the option called Reset to Factory Defaults. In the Factory Data Reset box that pops up, tap the Erase Everything button.

When you tap Erase Everything, the Kindle does just that — it deregisters the tablet with your Amazon account and deletes any personal files you have copied to it. It also wipes out any movies, books, music, apps and other content you purchased on the device. (Although your personal files are erased, any Amazon purchases you made on the Kindle are backed up to Amazon’s cloud servers and can be used with the new Kindle registered to your account.)

Once the Kindle finishes erasing itself, it should reboot. When the tablet finishes restarting, you should see the Welcome screen that invites you to set up the Kindle Fire as a new device.

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The New Old Age Blog: Caregiving, Laced With Humor

“My grandmother, she’s not a normal person. She’s like a character when she speaks. Every day she’s playing like she’s an actress.”

These are words of love, and they come from Sacha Goldberger, a French photographer who has turned his grandmother, 93-year-old Frederika Goldberger, into a minor European celebrity.

In the photos, you can see the qualities grandson and grandmother have in common: a wicked sense of humor, an utter lack of pretension and a keen taste for theatricality and the absurd.

This isn’t an ordinary caregiving relationship, not by a long shot. But Sacha, 44 years old and unmarried, is deeply devoted to this spirited older relation who has played the role of Mamika (“my little grandmother,” translated from her native Hungarian) in two of his books and a photography exhibition currently underway in Paris.

As for Frederika, “I like everything that my grandson does,” she said in a recent Skype conversation from her apartment, which also serves as Sacha’s office. “I hate not to do anything. Here, with my grandson, I have the feeling I am doing something.”

Their unusual collaboration began after Frederika retired from her career as a textile consultant at age 80 and fell into a funk.

“I was very depressed because I lived for working,” she told me in our Skype conversation.

Sacha had long dreamed of creating what he calls a “Woody Allen-like Web site with a French Jewish humor” and he had an inspiration. What if he took one of the pillars of that type of humor, a French man’s relationship with his mother and grandmother, and asked Frederika to play along with some oddball ideas?

This Budapest-born baroness, whose family had owned the largest textile factory in Hungary before World War II, was a natural in front of the camera, assuming a straight-faced, imperturbable comic attitude whether donning a motorcycle helmet and goggles, polishing her fingernails with a gherkin, wearing giant flippers on the beach, lighting up a banana, or dressed up as a Christmas tree with a golden star on her head. (All these photos and more appear in “Mamika: My Mighty Little Grandmother,” published in the United States last year.)

“It was like a game for us, deciding what crazy thing we were going to do next, how we were going to keep people from being bored,” said Sacha, who traces his close relationship with his grandmother to age 14, when she taught him how to drive and often picked him up at school. “Making pictures was a very good excuse to spend time together.”

“He thought it was very funny to put a costume on me,” said Frederika. “And I liked it.”

People responded enthusiastically, and before long Sacha had cooked up what ended up becoming the most popular character role for Frederika: Super Mamika, outfitted in a body-hugging costume, tights, a motorcycle helmet and a flowing cape.

His grandmother was a super hero of sorts, because she had helped save 10 people from the Nazis during World War II, said Sacha. He also traced inspiration to Stan Lee, a Jewish artist who created the X-Men, The Hulk and the Fantastic Four for Marvel comics. “I wanted to ask what happens to these super heroes when they get old in these photographs with my grandmother.”

Lest this seem a bit trivial to readers of this blog, consider this passage from Sacha’s introduction to “Mamika: My Might Little Grandmother”:

In a society where youth is the supreme value; where wrinkles have to be camouflaged; where old people are hidden as soon as they become cumbersome, where, for lack of time or desire, it is easier to put our elders in hospices rather than take care of them, I wanted to show that happiness in aging was also possible.

In our Skype conversation, Sacha confessed to anxiety about losing his grandmother, and said, “I always was very worried about what would happen if my grandmother disappeared. Because she is exceptional.”

“I am not normal,” Frederika piped up at his side, her face deeply wrinkled, her short hair beautifully coiffed, seemingly very satisfied with herself.

“So, making these pictures to me is the best thing that could happen,” Sacha continued, “because now my grandma is immortal and it seems everyone knows her. I am giving to everybody in the world a bit of my grandma.”

This wonderful expression of caring and creativity has expanded my view of intergenerational relations in this new old age. What about you?

Read More..

The New Old Age Blog: Caregiving, Laced With Humor

“My grandmother, she’s not a normal person. She’s like a character when she speaks. Every day she’s playing like she’s an actress.”

These are words of love, and they come from Sacha Goldberger, a French photographer who has turned his grandmother, 93-year-old Frederika Goldberger, into a minor European celebrity.

In the photos, you can see the qualities grandson and grandmother have in common: a wicked sense of humor, an utter lack of pretension and a keen taste for theatricality and the absurd.

This isn’t an ordinary caregiving relationship, not by a long shot. But Sacha, 44 years old and unmarried, is deeply devoted to this spirited older relation who has played the role of Mamika (“my little grandmother,” translated from her native Hungarian) in two of his books and a photography exhibition currently underway in Paris.

As for Frederika, “I like everything that my grandson does,” she said in a recent Skype conversation from her apartment, which also serves as Sacha’s office. “I hate not to do anything. Here, with my grandson, I have the feeling I am doing something.”

Their unusual collaboration began after Frederika retired from her career as a textile consultant at age 80 and fell into a funk.

“I was very depressed because I lived for working,” she told me in our Skype conversation.

Sacha had long dreamed of creating what he calls a “Woody Allen-like Web site with a French Jewish humor” and he had an inspiration. What if he took one of the pillars of that type of humor, a French man’s relationship with his mother and grandmother, and asked Frederika to play along with some oddball ideas?

This Budapest-born baroness, whose family had owned the largest textile factory in Hungary before World War II, was a natural in front of the camera, assuming a straight-faced, imperturbable comic attitude whether donning a motorcycle helmet and goggles, polishing her fingernails with a gherkin, wearing giant flippers on the beach, lighting up a banana, or dressed up as a Christmas tree with a golden star on her head. (All these photos and more appear in “Mamika: My Mighty Little Grandmother,” published in the United States last year.)

“It was like a game for us, deciding what crazy thing we were going to do next, how we were going to keep people from being bored,” said Sacha, who traces his close relationship with his grandmother to age 14, when she taught him how to drive and often picked him up at school. “Making pictures was a very good excuse to spend time together.”

“He thought it was very funny to put a costume on me,” said Frederika. “And I liked it.”

People responded enthusiastically, and before long Sacha had cooked up what ended up becoming the most popular character role for Frederika: Super Mamika, outfitted in a body-hugging costume, tights, a motorcycle helmet and a flowing cape.

His grandmother was a super hero of sorts, because she had helped save 10 people from the Nazis during World War II, said Sacha. He also traced inspiration to Stan Lee, a Jewish artist who created the X-Men, The Hulk and the Fantastic Four for Marvel comics. “I wanted to ask what happens to these super heroes when they get old in these photographs with my grandmother.”

Lest this seem a bit trivial to readers of this blog, consider this passage from Sacha’s introduction to “Mamika: My Might Little Grandmother”:

In a society where youth is the supreme value; where wrinkles have to be camouflaged; where old people are hidden as soon as they become cumbersome, where, for lack of time or desire, it is easier to put our elders in hospices rather than take care of them, I wanted to show that happiness in aging was also possible.

In our Skype conversation, Sacha confessed to anxiety about losing his grandmother, and said, “I always was very worried about what would happen if my grandmother disappeared. Because she is exceptional.”

“I am not normal,” Frederika piped up at his side, her face deeply wrinkled, her short hair beautifully coiffed, seemingly very satisfied with herself.

“So, making these pictures to me is the best thing that could happen,” Sacha continued, “because now my grandma is immortal and it seems everyone knows her. I am giving to everybody in the world a bit of my grandma.”

This wonderful expression of caring and creativity has expanded my view of intergenerational relations in this new old age. What about you?

Read More..

DealBook: Morgan Stanley's Chief Gets a Base Salary Raise

James P. Gorman, the chief executive of Morgan Stanley, will receive a huge raise in his base salary this year, but his overall pay package for 2012 was down from 2011, according to a filing Thursday with the Securities and Exchange Commission.

Mr. Gorman made $9.75 million in 2012, down 7 percent from 2011. The firm had previously disclosed pieces of Mr. Gorman’s pay, like some incentive bonuses, but on Thursday, the firm revealed the value of his entire package. He was also granted performance-based stock compensation valued at almost $3.75 million in 2012.

The firm also said that his base salary in 2013 would double to $1.5 million, or $28,846.15 a week. The firm’s board said in the filing that Mr. Gorman’s base salary was raised to bring it in line with the salaries of other bank chiefs. The chief executive of Goldman Sachs, Lloyd C. Blankfein, for instance, makes a base salary of $2 million.

Base salaries across Wall Street rose sharply after the financial crisis. Traders and bankers have historically been paid a relatively small base salary and a big one-time bonus based on their financial performance. Regulators, however, have argued that this type of pay system gives employees incentives to take unnecessary risks and have pushed banks to increase the amount of fixed compensation.

Still, Mr. Gorman’s overall pay in 2012 was down, partly because of the firm’s challenges. C. Robert Kidder, the board’s lead independent director, said in the filing that “2012 was a transition year for Morgan Stanley, and management along with much of the organization saw reduced compensation.” Still, he said the board was “confident” in Mr. Gorman’s strategic plan.

Morgan Stanley was badly bruised during the financial crisis. Mr. Gorman, who took over as chief executive in 2010, had been working hard to reduce the firm’s risk profile, slimming down divisions like fixed income and expanding steadier units like wealth management. The firm’s stock was up more than 25 percent in 2012.

The board also increased the base salaries of Mr. Gorman’s top deputies. Gregory J. Fleming, who leads the firm’s wealth management division, and Colm Kelleher, who runs institutional securities, will now make a base salary of $1 million, or $19,230.77 a week, as do all members of the firm’s operating committee. Last year the two made a base of roughly $750,000 each.

So far the company has disclosed compensation for these two men valued at $6.4 million. It is expected that they will also be awarded deferred cash. The total value of their compensation won’t be known until later this year, but it will be lower than last year, according to a person briefed on the matter who spoke on condition of anonymity.

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IHT Rendezvous: The Indian State is a Coward

NEW DELHI – When the Indian state wants to laugh it probably reads Hegel’s hypothesis, “The state is the actuality of the ethical Idea.” The language of the Indian state is often sentimental, but in reality it is a practical corporation that tries to appease in the easiest ways possible its most valued consumers. Which is not a bad thing. But, like most practical people, the state is a coward. It wants to completely eliminate imaginary risks to its survival and is willing to do even stupid things that have no meaning to achieve that. That is the reason why there is no substantial free speech in India. The state sides with those who are offended even if their claim is farcical. This is the subject of my latest Letter from India.

At the Jaipur Literature Festival last week, the sociologist Ashis Nandy said that most of India’s corrupt people were from the backward castes. Some listeners claimed to be offended, and the police brought charges against him, including one under a very stringent act meant to protect the backward castes from “atrocities.” The annual festival attracts some of the best writers and academics in the world and hundreds of thousands of people are in attendance over five days. But if the lesson now is that speakers have to be cautious, the festival will find it hard to attract some of the world’s most interesting writers and intellectuals.

Page Two

Posts written by the IHT’s Page Two columnists.

Last year, Salman Rushdie was to attend the festival but had to cancel after some Muslim groups objected and the Indian government and the government of Rajasthan (the state of which Jaipur is the capital) said they could not guarantee his physical safety. A few days later he appeared at a conclave in New Delhi and there were no protests at all. He even taunted the Indian government for the uneventfulness of his appearance in India. He has since visited India at least once. The protest against his planned attendance at the Jaipur festival and the government’s reaction were a part of the same imbecilic farce that often collides with artistic and intellectual freedom in India. There is nothing valiant about the loss of the freedom of expression in India, as it often happens for no good reason at all. Just a small bunch of thugs or fools can influence the state to take their side.

The release of a Tamil-language film, which also has or will soon have versions in other Indian languages, has been blocked in several parts of southern India by some Muslim groups whose leaders have not even seen it. The film’s director, co-producer and lead actor, Kamal Haasan, had faced a similar problem a few years ago from many quarters, particularly Hindu groups, before the release of a film about a man who sets out to assassinate Gandhi. A Hindu nationalistic group said it was offended by its portrayal of historical figures. And, once again, the politicians took the side of the fanatics. Mr. Haasan went around for days in a green shirt and green trousers to irritate Hindu groups with the color of Islam. During the controversy he told me in an interview that he was very surprised that nobody had yet objected to the fact that the film depicted Gandhi as being shot and killed.

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Well: Waiting for Alzheimer's to Begin

My gray matter might be waning. Then again, it might not be. But I swear that I can feel memories — as I’m making them — slide off a neuron and into a tangle of plaque. I steel myself for those moments to come when I won’t remember what just went into my head.

I’m not losing track of my car keys, which is pretty standard in aging minds. Nor have I ever forgotten to turn off the oven after use, common in menopausal women. I can always find my car in the parking lot, although lots of “normal” folk can’t.

Rather, I suddenly can’t remember the name of someone with whom I’ve worked for years. I cover by saying “sir” or “madam” like the Southerner I am, even though I live in Vermont and grown people here don’t use such terms. Better to think I’m quirky than losing my faculties. Sometimes I’ll send myself an e-mail to-do reminder and then, seconds later, find myself thrilled to see a new entry pop into my inbox. Oops, it’s from me. Worse yet, a massage therapist kicked me out of her practice for missing three appointments. I didn’t recall making any of them. There must another Nancy.

Am I losing track of me?

Equally worrisome are the memories increasingly coming to the fore. Magically, these random recollections manage to circumnavigate my imagined build-up of beta-amyloid en route to delivering vivid images of my father’s first steps down his path of forgetting. He was the same age I am now, which is 46.

“How old are you?” I recall him asking me back then. Some years later, he began calling me every Dec. 28 to say, “Happy birthday,” instead of on the correct date, Dec. 27. The 28th had been his grandmother’s birthday.

The chasms were small at first. Explainable. Dismissible. When he crossed the street without looking both ways, we chalked it up to his well-cultivated, absent-minded professor persona. But the chasms grew into sinkholes, and eventually quicksand. When we took him to get new pants one day, he kept trying on the same ones he wore to the store.

“I like these slacks,” he’d say, over and over again, as he repeatedly pulled his pair up and down.

My dad died of Alzheimer’s last April at age 73 — the same age at which his father succumbed to the same disease. My dad ended up choosing neurology as his profession after witnessing the very beginning of his own dad’s forgetting.

Decades later, grandfather’s atrophied brain found its way into a jar on my father’s office desk. Was it meant to be an ever-present reminder of Alzheimer’s effect? Or was it a crystal ball sent to warn of genetic fate? My father the doctor never said, nor did he ever mention, that it was his father’s gray matter floating in that pool of formaldehyde.

Using the jarred brain as a teaching tool, my dad showed my 8-year-old self the difference between frontal and temporal lobes. He also pointed out how brains with Alzheimer’s disease become smaller, and how wide grooves develop in the cerebral cortex. But only after his death — and my mother’s confession about whose brain occupied that jar — did I figure out that my father was quite literally demonstrating how this disease runs through our heads.

Has my forgetting begun?

I called my dad’s neurologist. To find out if I was in the earliest stages of Alzheimer’s, he would have to look for proteins in my blood or spinal fluid and employ expensive neuroimaging tests. If he found any indication of onset, the only option would be experimental trials.

But documented confirmation of a diseased brain would break my still hopeful heart. I’d walk around with the scarlet letter “A” etched on the inside of my forehead — obstructing how I view every situation instead of the intermittent clouding I currently experience.

“You’re still grieving your father,” the doctor said at the end of our call. “Sadness and depression affect the memory, too. Let’s wait and see.”

It certainly didn’t help matters that two people at my father’s funeral made some insensitive remarks.

“Nancy, you must be scared to death.”

“Is it hard knowing the same thing probably will happen to you?”

Maybe the real question is what to do when the forgetting begins. My dad started taking 70 supplements a day in hopes of saving his mind. He begged me to kill him if he wound up like his father. He retired from his practice and spent all day in a chair doing puzzles. He stopped making new memories in an all-out effort to preserve the ones he already had.

Maybe his approach wasn’t the answer.

Just before his death — his brain a fraction of its former self — my father managed to offer up a final lesson. I was visiting him in the memory-care center when he got a strange look on his face. I figured it was gas. But then his eyes lit up and a big grin overtook him, and he looked right at me and said, “Funny how things turn out.”

An unforgettable moment?

I can only hope.



Nancy Stearns Bercaw is a writer in Vermont. Her book, “Brain in a Jar: A Daughter’s Journey Through Her Father’s Memory,” will be published in April 2013 by Broadstone.

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Well: Waiting for Alzheimer's to Begin

My gray matter might be waning. Then again, it might not be. But I swear that I can feel memories — as I’m making them — slide off a neuron and into a tangle of plaque. I steel myself for those moments to come when I won’t remember what just went into my head.

I’m not losing track of my car keys, which is pretty standard in aging minds. Nor have I ever forgotten to turn off the oven after use, common in menopausal women. I can always find my car in the parking lot, although lots of “normal” folk can’t.

Rather, I suddenly can’t remember the name of someone with whom I’ve worked for years. I cover by saying “sir” or “madam” like the Southerner I am, even though I live in Vermont and grown people here don’t use such terms. Better to think I’m quirky than losing my faculties. Sometimes I’ll send myself an e-mail to-do reminder and then, seconds later, find myself thrilled to see a new entry pop into my inbox. Oops, it’s from me. Worse yet, a massage therapist kicked me out of her practice for missing three appointments. I didn’t recall making any of them. There must another Nancy.

Am I losing track of me?

Equally worrisome are the memories increasingly coming to the fore. Magically, these random recollections manage to circumnavigate my imagined build-up of beta-amyloid en route to delivering vivid images of my father’s first steps down his path of forgetting. He was the same age I am now, which is 46.

“How old are you?” I recall him asking me back then. Some years later, he began calling me every Dec. 28 to say, “Happy birthday,” instead of on the correct date, Dec. 27. The 28th had been his grandmother’s birthday.

The chasms were small at first. Explainable. Dismissible. When he crossed the street without looking both ways, we chalked it up to his well-cultivated, absent-minded professor persona. But the chasms grew into sinkholes, and eventually quicksand. When we took him to get new pants one day, he kept trying on the same ones he wore to the store.

“I like these slacks,” he’d say, over and over again, as he repeatedly pulled his pair up and down.

My dad died of Alzheimer’s last April at age 73 — the same age at which his father succumbed to the same disease. My dad ended up choosing neurology as his profession after witnessing the very beginning of his own dad’s forgetting.

Decades later, grandfather’s atrophied brain found its way into a jar on my father’s office desk. Was it meant to be an ever-present reminder of Alzheimer’s effect? Or was it a crystal ball sent to warn of genetic fate? My father the doctor never said, nor did he ever mention, that it was his father’s gray matter floating in that pool of formaldehyde.

Using the jarred brain as a teaching tool, my dad showed my 8-year-old self the difference between frontal and temporal lobes. He also pointed out how brains with Alzheimer’s disease become smaller, and how wide grooves develop in the cerebral cortex. But only after his death — and my mother’s confession about whose brain occupied that jar — did I figure out that my father was quite literally demonstrating how this disease runs through our heads.

Has my forgetting begun?

I called my dad’s neurologist. To find out if I was in the earliest stages of Alzheimer’s, he would have to look for proteins in my blood or spinal fluid and employ expensive neuroimaging tests. If he found any indication of onset, the only option would be experimental trials.

But documented confirmation of a diseased brain would break my still hopeful heart. I’d walk around with the scarlet letter “A” etched on the inside of my forehead — obstructing how I view every situation instead of the intermittent clouding I currently experience.

“You’re still grieving your father,” the doctor said at the end of our call. “Sadness and depression affect the memory, too. Let’s wait and see.”

It certainly didn’t help matters that two people at my father’s funeral made some insensitive remarks.

“Nancy, you must be scared to death.”

“Is it hard knowing the same thing probably will happen to you?”

Maybe the real question is what to do when the forgetting begins. My dad started taking 70 supplements a day in hopes of saving his mind. He begged me to kill him if he wound up like his father. He retired from his practice and spent all day in a chair doing puzzles. He stopped making new memories in an all-out effort to preserve the ones he already had.

Maybe his approach wasn’t the answer.

Just before his death — his brain a fraction of its former self — my father managed to offer up a final lesson. I was visiting him in the memory-care center when he got a strange look on his face. I figured it was gas. But then his eyes lit up and a big grin overtook him, and he looked right at me and said, “Funny how things turn out.”

An unforgettable moment?

I can only hope.



Nancy Stearns Bercaw is a writer in Vermont. Her book, “Brain in a Jar: A Daughter’s Journey Through Her Father’s Memory,” will be published in April 2013 by Broadstone.

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