Tuesday, October 11, 2011
As I Remember Him: An Appreciation of Lou Brennan
BIOGRAPHY
Editor's Note: These pages previously recorded the bare bones of Lou
Brennan's biography. It was replete with facts any competent researcher could
uncover in the public record. But no mere biography, however detailed, can
capture the man. This is an attempt to flesh out a portrait of him.
After several
years of living in Turkey Turkey Westchester
I
met Lou Brennan through a book, one he had written. It was No Stone Unturned: An Almanac of
American Pre-history, and it was breathtakingly fascinating.
Here
was scientific information written in prose honed to a dry, hard brilliance.
His style was clear, reasonable, free from flamboyance and unobtrusively
studded with appropriate scientific references.
When
I learned from the book that the author was also a Croton journalist who lived
in Ossining
"You
can't miss him," someone told me. ""Lit or unlit, a pipe is
always in his mouth."
As
in his book, he was in person every bit as delighted to impart his excitement
with prehistory in the same effortless way and to express his sense of wonder
about uncovering the past.
An Arrowhead
Not long afterwards, on Croton Point my son found an Indian
arrowhead, symmetrically beautiful and surprisingly wide--almost an equilateral
triangle. We took it to Lou for his identification."That's a 'Manlius
broad,'" he said. "It's not originally from this area." He went
on to explain how it had been fashioned in the Mohawk Valley
Magically,
he created for us a vibrant picture of Indian life as it must have been along
the Hudson
Lou
Brennan was a born teacher who almost missed his calling. I think his proudest
days came when Briarcliff College Pace University
Unburdened
by the doctrinaire training and authoritarianism of the professional
archaeologist, Lou Brennan was at liberty to speculate and comment in admirably
lucid fashion about the fascinating subject of archaeology.
Lou, the Writer
Lou's writing style had a disarming quality, couched as it was in
simple, clear, everyday English. Yet the subtlety of thought was such that
readers would find themselves reading slowly and luxuriatingly--savoring the
pleasure of a work whose style was polished and whose insights were deep.
In
1975, as a book publisher, I brought out a collection of nonfiction articles about
angling and commissioned Lou Brennan to write a contribution for the volume, The Angler’s Bible.
He titled the piece "How Primitive Man Fished" and began it this way:
"No
human aim or endeavor has so stimulated the mind of man, since man had a mind,
to the heights, and depths, of its cunning as the capture of fish, lots of
fish, a particular species of fish, or even, as with Moby Dick, a special fish.
"Of
course, Moby Dick was a whale, and whales are mammals--but that is a
biologist's point of view. Whatever lives in the waters of the earth and gets
about them by means of fin and tails falls under the jurisdiction of the Guild
of St. Peter, the oldest profession--masculine, that is."
He
went on to introduce a favorite thesis: "The first men to arrive in
American from Asia
It
was vintage Lou Brennan, calling into play his skills as a writer. He captured
the reader's attention with an intriguing “lede”(in the spelling of
journalists) and then tinctured the piece with delightful tidbits from his vast
store of arcane knowledge. He later wrote other pieces for me on how primitive
man hunted and used the atlatl, an ingenious spear-throwing device for a
companion volume on the shooting sports.
Lou, the Archaeologist
Entire books have been written describing the aims and objectives
of archaeology. Lou Brennan dug, of course, as other archaeologists do, because
he was a dedicated scientist. But he also dug out of pity and humility, that
the past might live again and be understood, giving meaning to the present and
offering hope for the future.
Thanks
to Lou Brennan's industry and astute interpretative powers, much that would
have been lost to us in this fast-developing corner of Westchester
Archaeology
was his way of settling the debt that we of the present owe to the unknown
peoples of the past who have gone before and who, by the very fact of being
here, have imperceptibly changed the way of life and environment we know today.
We
of today draw our conclusions from accidentally encountered
artifacts--curiously touching evidence of their presence: a perfectly crafted
arrowhead, pristine as the day it was lost; a child's treasured bright garnet
bead; a well-worn needle of deer bone. We study these and learn much from them;
still we can only wonder about the hopes and dreams of those whose hands
touched them long ago..
Once
there were Indians all over this place. Yet the northeastern United
States
Thanks
to the largely unsung detective work of the Lou Brennans of archaeology, these
shadowy peoples of the past have been given a measure of form and substance for
us. If we glean anything from archaeological research, it is that we are all in
this together.
Lou's
interests were not confined to prehistoric archaeology. At the suggestion of
the Tarrytown Historical Society, he excavated the ruins of the gambrel-roofed
Requa cottage. Located on the property of the General Foods Technical Center Hudson Valley
Lou
managed to bridge the gap between professional, academically trained
archaeologists and avocational archaeologists, and deplored the alienation that
sometimes permeated their relationships. He often pointed out that trained
nonprofessionals did much of the work of digging and made up most of the
membership of state archaeological societies.
Always
questioning and speculating, Lou's enthusiasm to unravel the secrets of the
past were infectious. For his Saturday "digs," he assembled a devoted
band of acolytes of diverse backgrounds to whom he taught the painstaking
techniques of digging, sifting, sorting and interpreting finds. One improbable
but dedicated digger was a steelworker who spent weekdays perilously teetering
on the skeletons of Manhattan
Lou, the Person
Lou was an exceedingly modest human being who considered all human
beings absurd, including himself. As a journalist, he was not above having his
little joke. News items--or even gossip--too hot to handle in traditional
fashion made their way into a highly individualistic column bylined
"Audax." Many readers assumed the name had its roots in audire, the Latin verb
"to hear" or "to listen."
Lou
never explained its derivation, but anyone familiar with Latin would recognize audax as the third declension adjective
meaning "bold, daring, courageous--even reckless or rash." From it,
we get the English words "audacious" and "audacity." And
bold, daring and courageous the column was, often treading on local corns.
It
is interesting to trace the growing presence of Audax on the Croton-Cortlandt News.
A June 20, 1957, article entitled "Factional Fights" was signed with
the cryptic word "Audax," presumably to show that it was opinion and
not reportage. In November, an article was headed, "Audax Explains
All." The next month articles titled "Audax Speaking" appeared.
The last issue in 1957 carried greetings to Audax's sources: "Happy New
Year from Audax to the boys on the corner, the boys in the backroom and the
girls on the backyard fence."
Once
the weekly Croton-Cortlandt News was put to bed, Lou could relax.
Wednesday nights were given over to bridge. Lou and wife Peg and Hamilton Avenue
Lou
was a lover of the works of the Bard of Avon and actively promoted Croton's
annual Shakespeare Festival directed each summer by teacher Fred Blais. That
familiarity with the Bard was once demonstrated for Liz Schatz. Searching for
the source of a Shakespeare quotation, she mentioned a couple of the key words.
"Lou
identified the quotation as being in Act Two Scene One of As You Like It," she told me. "Off the top of his
head, Lou proceeded to recite the entire scene, leading up to the quotation I
was seeking:
"Sweet
are the uses of diversity,
Which, like
the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a
precious jewel in his head;
And this
our life, exempt from pubic haunt,
Finds
tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in
stones, and good in every thing.
I would not
change it."
Lou
not only named the players and the background of the action, he identified the
setting as the Forest of Arden--in reality the same Ardennes forest through
which German troops and tanks came crashing in 1944's Battle of the Bulge.
In
his newspaper editorials and in person, Lou was a fierce, emotional champion of
the causes in which he believed, one of which was education reform. The late
Perry Crawford recalled for me that when he was the head of Croton's Board of
Education, Lou was a frequent visitor to his home to discuss issues.
"He
would always sit in the same armchair in our living room. Occasionally, to make
a point he would vehemently pound on both arms of the chair with clenched
fists. My wife became so concerned about the ability of the chair to withstand
such onslaughts she quietly substituted another chair before his next
visit."
Sally
West, on the staff of the Croton Free Library, recalled Lou's empathy with
children. When she was a Cub Scout den mother, her cub pack became interested
in local Indian lore. A friend suggested Lou Brennan as a source.
"He
was wonderful," Ms. West recollected. He had a vast knowledge and
suggested many sources. The resulting report on Indian sign language was a
great success."
When
Crotonite Evelyn Frankel's son Paul expressed an interest in archaeology, his
father, Robert, arranged for Paul to accompany Lou on a dig in Montrose. The
first Saturday went swimmingly. Paul found some squirrel bones among the refuse
in an Indian kitchen midden and was allowed to keep them.
Now
bitten by the archeology bug, the eager ten-year-old Paul turned up again a
week later. This time he made another find, but Lou had to explain to him that
the objects were valuable.
"They
have to go to the MALFA museum collection."
Paul's
response was final. "Well, if I can't keep what I find," he said, putting
down his trowel, "I'm not going to dig anymore."
I
would occasionally join Lou on a dig--more as an observer than as a participant. One Saturday, hoping to stimulate my
son's interest in archaeology, I brought him to a dig at Twombly's Landing, the
site of the present-day Eagle Bay
Lou
had made an interesting find: tiny flakes of flint no bigger than fingernail
clippings. Apparently these were the byproducts of the making of small arrow
points for shooting birds. He had painstakingly arranged them in a line on a
long two-by-six plank. Just at this moment, my son jumped on the end of the
plank like a circus acrobat. The tiny flakes of sharp stone flew up in the air
in all directions.
I
would have forgiven Lou had he exploded. Instead, he just bit down harder on
his pipe. With a pained expression on his face, he began to look for the tiny
flakes all over again.
Final Years
After Croton-Cortlandt News publisher Albert Granovsky fell and
broke a thighbone in 1972, he sold the paper to John Mullen, publisher of the Putnam County Courier.
Lou continued on as editor.
Lou's
last journalistic hurrah, however, came on November 15, 1973. In a note on the
editorial page of the paper, now tabloid sized, at which he had so long
labored, he said farewell "after seventeen tumultuous, eventful, historic
and satisfying years."
He
wrote: "The temptation to grow maudlin about this long association with a
fascinating, unique, attractive and genuinely lovable community should be
resisted. As a reporter and editor I have never been maudlin, because I really
don't know how to be.
"Let
this be said in parting: I never had an enemy I didn't like, and I never had a
friend with whom I did not, on occasion, differ. I have been enormously
enriched by my intimate contacts with a variegated and vital population.
"Memories
will not dim as I go on to what, as everyone must know by now is my first love,
archaeology." Then he added, "But I'll be seeing you."
The Croton-Cortlandt News continued publication until 1984, when
it gave up the ghost. After a two-year gap in locally reported news,
Croton's Charles Nelson began publishing The
Gazette in October of 1986.
A Last Goodbye
I can still see him as he was at our last meeting just before he
died: alive, lusty, vibrant and excited about his teaching career at Pace University Ridge Road East
Africa
We
drank beer and nibbled cheese together while he described his recent
activities. He was excited about the coming of spring, for it meant that
archaeological digging could resume. The book was going well. And he had just
planted peas in his backyard, an annual rite performed by gardeners in the
Northeast around St. Patrick's Day.
As
we talked, I reflected that he was an anachronism in modern garb. His sinewy
frame and Celtic visage called for leather and buckles, a basket-hilted
broadsword at his belt, and a pair of dragoon pistols in his jackboots.
The
board at which we sat was properly bare and brown. But it was a Victorian
cottage pine table in our modest kitchen. It should have been a stout oaken
tavern table washed by the slops from heavy pewter tankards and worn smooth by
muscular sword hands.
There
would have been a huge fireplace and fire over which a dripping roast turned on
a spit. To match his always-spirited conversation, Rabelais and Villon would
have been our tablemates.
Although
neither of us knew it, it would mark our last goodbye. In the final week of his
life, he addressed two historical society meetings in Tarrytown and Ossining Ohio
Charon,
the aged boatman, came for Lou and ferried him across the Stygian river while
he slept that night of March 17, 1983--St. Patrick's Day, of all days. I am
sure Lou was at the bow of the vessel looking for a promontory on which earlier
arrivals must have camped.
A
week after his death a memorial was held at the Briarcliff campus of Pace University Maine Carolinas
No Grave Marker
L. Scott Bailey, publisher and editor of the hard-cover magazine Automobile Quarterly, for whom I once worked, used to call
me "Tombstone
Had
I wanted to begin these reminiscences with a pilgrimage to the grave of Lou
Brennan, however, I would have been disappointed. There is no grave, no marker,
no stone monument. A dedicated scientist and educator to the end, he willed his
body to medical science. It was a characteristic Lou Brennan gesture, and says
almost everything there is to know about this wonderful guy.
It
is now nearly 30 years since Lou Brennan left us, the voice of reason that was
his stilled forever. The sentient humanism of his writing has been sorely
missed, lo these many years. His like will not pass this way again.
I
append a bibliography of Lou Brennan's books. It is my sad duty to report that
although his nonfiction works are widely available, not a single Lou Brennan
novel is to be found in any library in Westchester
The
manuscripts of his novels were donated to the library of Ohio University Portsmouth Seton Hall University Hudson Delaware
It
has not been easy to grow accustomed to Lou Brennan's absence. No synthesizer
has come along in the book world to take his place in communicating the oneness
and uniqueness of human history. It is as if a mighty tree has gone down with a
great shout upon the hills, leaving a lonesome and empty place against the sky.
A Louis A. Brennan Bibliography
NOVELS
Hardcover
These Items of Desire. New
York
Masque of Virtue. New
York
Tree of Arrows. New
York
Original paperbacks
An Affair of Dishonor. New
York
More Than Flesh. New
York
Death at Flood Tide. New
York
The Long Knife. New
York
NONFICTION
Hardcover
No Stone Unturned: An Almanac of American
Pre-history. New
York
The Buried Treasure of Archaeology. New
York
American Dawn: A New Model of American
Prehistory. New
York
Beginner's Guide to Archaeology. Harrisburg Pa.
Artifacts of Prehistoric America Harrisburg Pa.
Labels: Louis A. Brennan
