A Saddle on a Cat

The hokey pokey, ancient labor negotiations, flimsy history and the reception desk at a multinational bank.

When I was young, the world seemed very old. In that oldness resided wisdom and power. I grew up in Massachusetts, where America keeps its deep history. That history is about four or so human lifetimes stretched end to end.

Like many cities, Worcester makes its claim as an heir to a far deeper history. There’s an intersection where you can stand and see all three major types of Greek capitals. First and most imposing are the Doric pillars looming atop the stairs of the now-empty Worcester Memorial Auditorium. Ionic pilasters mark the high brick walls of the former Worcester Voke, vocational high school. Finally, Corinthian pillars line the exterior of the nearby courthouse.

Roman armor

Classical architecture has always given me a charge. Even as a teenager, I’d linger over the classical flourishes in American cities. The first time I went to Europe - Paris - it was like being plugged into a wall outlet.

I was wild-eyed at its statues, fountains and carved facades. But there was something off-key, as well. In the center of the city, one popular sculptural motif on the cornices of buildings was the empty breastplate and helmet of a Roman infantryman from 2,000 years before. In Rome, it was the Egyptian obelisks all over town. At the time, it all knocked me out.

But over time, it chafed. It seemed like the city fathers were trying a little too hard.