They Had the Power

Did you ever notice how some things simply change our culture to the nth degree? It seems the older I get the more I realize just how true that is. I was thinking the other day about what sort of things have come into our world since I can remember ... velcro, microwave ovens, home videos, cell phones, personal computers, internet, and a bloggosphere. The list goes on and on. That’s progress, I suppose. And, it’s okay.

Something really weird happened in the 1980s. There was a cultural shift that was the counter-part of everything the 60s and 70s had to offer... and then some. It went beyond the really big hair, fake everything, and supper tight jeans. So many things were changing fast and as a young mother I was on high alert to protect my kids. Of all the things I controlled for my children I have to say the television was most passionately limited. I allowed a half hour of tv entertainment five days a week and the programs offered were Looney Tunes, Muppets, Mr. Rogers, or Sesame Street. We had a few VCR tapes and PBS reception was fine enough for what limited amount was seen.

Atari - a popular game in the 80s

Those darn Mario Bros and Donkey Kong were introduced then, too. I found myself horrified with the many parents who were sitting their children in front of entertainment boxes, letting them play computer games and Atari for hours on end. I personally couldn’t find the benefit of using that sort of day-care for my kids so we instead found ways to use our imagination and simply play in the real world. It seemed everywhere I turned folks were telling me I was depriving my children of progress. Progress ... there’s that word again.

Marketers figured something out in the 80s ... they understood that Baby Boomers still controlled the dollars, and the children of Baby Boomers controlled their parents. It was obvious that whatever toys these kids wanted, they would get – just research the Cabbage Patch Doll, Coleco years, and you’ll see what I mean.

The Cabbage Patch Doll even hit the UK!

So, how does one better market to the children?  Mattel’s Product Development Department had worked up a line of action figures listed under the series called “Masters of the Universe”, and they sold remarkably well. However, sales could be boosted still further with some clever entertainment coordination so the Marketing Department took control. I do believe that Mattel got more than they parleyed for when they approached Filmation Studio and proposed a deal to produce a cartoon show based on the popular action-figures ... He-Man and the Masters of the Universe was born.

Filmation Studio was an impressive power-house at that time. Their seasoned animators produced an extraordinary amount of quality work when they created the first season of He-Man. By painstakingly rotoscoping live action footage, they created a library of stock character movements that were simply superb. The background artists produced dazzling and dream-like settings for the action to play out. Combine all that with haunting and melodious music and this new cartoon had a style and sensibility that was stunningly different from others ever seen.

He-Man’s storylines were not typical either. In the beginning they were  straightforward enough, but a few episodes in to it the scriptwriters took the simply typical characters and began to explore who they were as people. The personalities grew as they struggled with human issues like parental pride, personal usefulness, friendship, adoption, and learning to cope when things seemed frustratingly wrong.

During the first season of He-Man there was a lot of controversy over the series. Many people were more than unhappy once they understood that corporations were marketing directly to children.  Was He-Man nothing more than a salesman directing a half-hour Mattel commercial that was manipulating children for a profitable end? For me, I immediately saw the blurring of that imagined line that defined distinctions between art and commerce. I have never believed in that line. Picture making has always been used for commerce, even Michelangelo and de’ Vinci knew that truth. The question, really, was how inappropriate was it to market to children? As a young mother I set out to truly ponder this concept; to understand how this He-Man character could be thought of as anything different from Santa Clause, Easter Bunny, Smoky Bear, Charlie Brown and his Great Pumpkin, or what ever. Children have been marketed to for a very, very long time and the only unusual thing that happened in the 80s was over-seas cheap mass production of toys and new technological entertainment tools that virtually reached for potential fans (kids). The protest that got me was when Dr. Thomas Radecki, of the National Coalition for Television Violence, insisted that the He-Man series was "a blatant attempt to sell violence to children through the peddling of violent action toys... The brutal barbarian is still held up as a model."

What? I had to ask myself ... where were the parents? Must we depend on a national coalition to tell a business what they can or cannot try to sell because a parent can’t say no? Is that product development team so supreme that they are controlling children by preaching buy, buy, buy while parents are stunned helplessly on the side lines in disbelief? I had to see that power for myself, so I sent my kids to their room every afternoon for a week while I watched He-Man to learn how violent and barbaric this muscle-bound character was. What I learned was that reasoned discussion was ignored while polarizing rhetoric ruled the day. I didn’t just approve of He-Man, I thought it a marvelous and entertaining thing that I could comfortably show my children.  Since we were in Alaska and riding behind times in the lower-48, our first year for He-Man coincided with the first year of She-Ra, so both shows where played back to back each afternoon from 3:00 to 4:00.  My children’s entertainment time instantly doubled to one hour, five days a week.

For the record, standards during those years did not allow either He-Man or She-Ra to be violent characters. They could not use their swords as offensive weapons, nor could they directly punch or kick anyone. Only robotic enemies were allowed to be destroyed. When pushed, simple body throws where shown, though most often both He-Man and She-Ra cleverly outsmarted their adversaries. Moral lessons were shown at the end of each episode which promoted good civic behavior on many levels ... no littering, no lying, clean your room, think of the consequences, be respectful, courteous, kind, and forgiving.

Both of my children adored He-Man and She-Ra and for many years their play did reflect those cartoons. They also drew them and, at the end of it all, those heroes played a very big part in my girl’s young lives. I did the unthinkable and purchased He-Man and She-Ra cartoon bed linens for them, and play swords, masks, and shields (I never did buy the action figures though, I’m too practical for that). They never whacked each other with the toy weapons, they only held them high, touching tips as they’d bellow, “For the honour of Grayskull ... I ... HAVE ... THE ... POWER!!”

My children showing how they have the power.

Years passed and my children grew into wonderful young women. I owned and worked a Giclée print shop and one of the artists who used our services was a lady named Karen Grandpre. After a time we were comparing art stories and I was delighted to learn she was an animator for He-Man and She-Ra (specifically responsible for Swift Wind, She-Ra’s horse).

Animation sketch for Swift Wind by Karen (Haus) Grandpre

I was able to thank her for the good influence her work had on my children, and I eagerly questioned her about animation work and process. I learned her masterful hand also animated such notables as Uncle Sam McGoo, Robin Hood (Disney animated movie), The Flintstones, The Jetsons, Scooby Doo, Road Runner, Bugs Bunny, Yosemite Sam, Horton Hears a Who (original), Wonder Woman, Peanuts, Tarzan, Lone Ranger, Zorro, Tom & Jerry, Mighty Mouse, Fritz the Cat, The Archie’s, Fat Albert, and much more. She worked with three of the world’s top animation studios: Walt Disney, Hanna-Barbera, and Filmation. Karen’s credit name is Karen Haus and she is one of the finest draftsmen I know. She can draw a horse from any angle without reference or animal at hand. She knows design and form so well it’s no different than taking a breath. When my grown children heard that I had met that lady who brought She-Ra and He-Man to life they begged that I introduce them. The girls dug out their old pillow-cases and asked Karen to autograph the fading cotton images.  They were still in awe of the lady who made the magic they enjoyed as children.

Working out details of Swift Wind, a flying unicorn horse.
Studio sketch by Karen (Haus) Grandpre

This past week She-Ra turned 25 years old. I found myself thinking about progress ... those microwaves, cell phones, internet, and personal computers ... How they have changed our lives. I also thought a lot about art and creation, heroes and raising children, responsibility and good civic behavior. He-Man and She-Ra were attacked back in the day because they represented a shift in the state of commerce. They were accused of marketing to children simply because a toy came first and the parents couldn’t say no.

A story board for Skeletor.  All story lines were well worked through before the animators took to their tasks and created the cartoons so many children loved. 

I disagreed about the badness of the cartoon back then because I saw that it built it’s own personalities and situations, and those were centered on a good moral base that encouraged children to be the best people they could be. That aspect of this story was very good. The bad aspect was the parents who spoiled the child and paid a thousand dollars for a stupid Cabbage Patch doll ... the ones who let progress babysit while not teaching the wisdom of moderation and good sense. I called  Karen and asked if I could spend a little time with her, hoping to capture a sense of who she is for the tale I wanted to tell about animation. We spent a couple of afternoons talking and going through old sketches and drawings. I asked what she thought about modern animation and she quickly and pointedly stated they are “retarded cartoons with too much agenda” ... from her perspective, progress is destroying her craft ... Progress.

So many episodes ended with Skeletor feeling down in the dumps about the turn of events. 

The story of how He-Man ended sums up the fate of good animation better than I ever could.  He-Man was a victim of his own success because once corporate manufacturers understood his ascendency came about through the merchandising of toy-based cartoons, greed took over and everyone seized the opportunity to profit from an out of control parental base that could not satisfy their whiny children without giving the brats whatever they wanted. Within two years the syndicated cartoon market was saturated and programs began to hopelessly fail while newer and flashier things where constantly introduced. He-Man was one of those casualties.

Filmation sold it’s animation studio to a French cosmetic company, L'Oreal. This cosmetic firm wasn’t interested in actually doing any new animation, they simply wanted the European rights to past-productions. In one day L’Oreal cut off Filmation’s future by firing the entire production staff. On a Friday afternoon all of the artists were told to put down their pencils and leave. The doors were closed and production was silenced on February 3, 1989. Two hundred and thirty employees (mostly animators) were cast out without warning and the end of an era was at hand.

This animation sequence is for Bo's (She-Ra's friend) horse running.
Karen (Haus) Grandpre was the master horse animator for many years.

When I think of progress, I often think of greed. He-Man or She-Ra would have done a moral of the story about this, if they were only given the chance. Instead, films like Avitar neglect traditional production processes and let computers build a sterilized and perfect world where the agenda rules supreme. Ironically, this old gal thinks a big-budget CGI movie can't stand in comparison to the low-budget animated TV series which spawned it all.  Now that is something worth thinking about.

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*The drawings included in this blog have never been shown public before. They are but a very few of the collection that Karen keeps at her home today. I had the great privilege of scanning nearly 100 of them, as well as enjoying seeing hundreds more when I recently spent a day with Karen. Not only He-Man and She-Ra sketches are there, but so were Fat Albert, Daffy Duck, Charlie the Tuna, The Archies, and more horse sketches than I thought possible for one artist ... the list goes on and on. Honestly, a good animator is truly a champion draftsman. Thank you Karen, for sharing your creations with me, and allowing me to post a few for my friends who enjoy this blog and good creativity. You are simply the best.

The Arabian horse was the breed for Swift Wind. Karen's knowledge of horse anatomy is very evident in her study works for full blown animation.

On the left, He-Man is running into the frame - his figure is  more refined than the  next entry animation (right), which is shown in an early stage of working out details.

I remember this episode!  Vines just about took He-Man out!

But he kept on struggling ....

and struggling.

It's Not Easy Being Green

I saw something very strange the other day ... it made me stop and stare in a way that I knew was impolite, but I couldn’t help myself. Walking along the sidewalk was a young man, somewhere between the age of 15 and 22 (It’s hard to tell these days). He was very skinny and looked like he’d never had a healthy meal in his life. The pants he wore were baggy-assed jeans, where the crotch came in at the knees and boxer-shorts stuck out the top (still showing butt-crack, go figure). His body looked twice as long as it should have been, and his legs appeared stunted (reminding me of Dorf, that very funny character Tim Conway used to perform back when). I wasn’t sure if his slouchy posture had to do with simple laziness, or if it were an effect caused by trying to keep his pants up (either way, when that kid gets old he’ll be shaped like a letter ‘c’, no doubt). Adding to the silly effect of body proportionment, he walked with his legs spread as far apart as possible (which wasn’t that far - his crotch was at his knees, for cripe’s sake), not bending his  knees at all ... just a waddle, like a penguin out of water. I actually laughed out loud for a moment.

As I watched him I thought, “How strange. Is that good looking today? Does he gaze in a full length mirror in the morning before he goes out and say ... damn .... I’m hot?” And then I wondered, “What is wrong with young people today?” That frightened me because suddenly I sounded just like the old people did when I was a teenage girl. Crap.

As usual, one little visual like that can make my mind ponder and cogitate so many different things. No matter what angle I thought about, things always came back to a notable point. I was trying to figure out exactly when it was that our sense of good taste collapsed.

Good taste is relevant, I know. So are good art, good movies, good books, good music, and anything else made from a creative mind. I had this debate in collage years ago, where an art history professor tried to convince me that the isms of our times were brilliantly conceived by exceedingly enlightened individuals. I thought not then, I think not now.

But, let’s think about this kid for a moment. Let’s average what I thought and say he’s 19 years old.  What was it like for him to grow up? He would have been born in 1991. He would have been terrified at the year 2000. (Y2K, remember?) He would have grown up with computers and 180 or so channels on his tv. In school he would have sat at round tables with 8 other kids and the smart one would earn the grade for them all (this kid wasn’t the smart one, I could tell - and yes, I’m profiling - that’s ok, too). Political correctness would rule his day and dooms-day prophecy regarding earth and warming and destruction would all pick at his little brain. The only presidents he would have known were named Clinton or Bush. His early years were much different than the early years I experienced.

I was born the year the Berlin Wall was erected. I was terrified of the Russian communists and the cold war kept our bomb shelters fully stocked and loaded. Computers were a fantasy that blinked and blipped on Star Trek; and I typed on an IBM monster of a machine learning finger positions and speed without errors (I could compose and type a formal business letter before I hit puberty). Television, on a good day, gave us 3 fuzzy channels and programs made family friendly the only game in town. In school we sat at single-student desks, in neat alphabetically ordered rows. I even had to take etiquette classes where I learned table manners and how to eat soup without slurping. Polock and Irish jokes were heard daily and dooms-day prophecy regarding earth and cooling and destruction would all pick at my little brain. The presidents I knew were Nixon, Carter, and Reagan (kind of a conservative, liberal, conservative treat; where Carter was the gooey center between a couple of really tough cookies). But, there was something else about my childhood that is missing for people like that 19 year old I saw wabbling down the sidewalk.

When I was in third grade a visitor came to our school and performed a puppet show for us kids. It was a charming presentation; funny, thoughtful, and held my attention better than most things could. The puppeteer’s name was Jim and he was promoting a new show that would begin airing on television soon. He wanted us to tell our parents about it, and hoped we would watch. After his performance we were allowed to go speak with him if we wished; ask questions and look closely at his puppets. He sat on a folding chair near the middle of a large gym. Most kids sprang off the bleachers and headed for the playground, running widely around the fellow who just spent a good while entertaining them.

I was very curious about the puppets and shyly walked over to the bearded man. “Hi.” he said as he smiled at me. “Hello.” I awkwardly replied, very quietly. I wasn't comfortable talking with a strange bearded man and he could tell. So, he switched his voice to the puppet’s on his right hand, and the imagined creature with his happy-go-lucky attitude spoke directly to my face. “What’s your name?” the frog asked me. I blushed and tried to stare at my feet as they shuffled. But, I couldn’t help but look at the puppet. It was making faces at me … cocking it’s head and puckering and crunching it’s nose. “I’m Kermit. Did you like our show?” I shook my head yes and found myself really rather amused by this ... sock of a thing that somehow seemed alive.

My shyness was lessening as I leaned in and tried to see how it was made. The frog leaned into me and began checking out my head. Startled, I jerked back and shot a quick glance at the puppeteer. He was pretending not to see me and I was getting a bit annoyed by it all. I did not like being teased, so I glared at him, furrowing my brows to really let him know I didn’t like him after all. The puppet raised his voice a little, “Hey! Can I ask you something?”  I looked back at the frog who appeared to be staring at me, tilting his head a little while he waited for me to answer. After a moment, I nodded a little yes, feeling more embarrassed and hoping none of my school friends were seeing this. “Why’d the elephant sit on the marshmallow?” he asked. Paleeeze … I thought … that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I pursed my lips and stared at the puppet, not saying a word. “Huuuummm....?” the frog urged me on. “I don’t know.” I finally whispered. “So he wouldn’t fall in the hot chocolate!!” Kermit joked, then he laughed and laughed, mouth open wide as he bounced, his arms flying about. It was infectious, and before I knew it I was giggling with the frog.

When he calmed from his own self-amusement, he began chatting with me in a rather adult way. “What do you like to do,” he asked? “I like to draw pictures.” The conversation went on as I explained how I found master paintings, and how I liked to copy them. And I wanted to grow up and be a master painter, too ... even though I was a girl and everyone says girls can’t do that. We actually dialogued as the puppet flowed with expression and questions for me. Kermit gave me some really good advice. He told me, “Do what your heart wants you to do. No matter what anybody says, your dreams are yours and if you think you can do it, then you can do it; even if you are different from other people who paint. That’s ok. Look at me. I’m green and you still talk to me.”

Somewhere during our conversation I ended up on the puppeteer’s lap and became so engrossed in my moment with a very grown-up cloth-frog that I didn’t notice anyone else in the gym. Something snapped me back to reality and I looked around, suddenly realizing that very few people were there. I was the only kid left. The puppeteer was smiling with the kindest of eyes as I timidly said to him, “It’s just a ... puppet.” And Jim said, “A puppet that tells the truth.” I hoped off his lap and said goodbye to the frog, promising them I’d always remember and follow my dream. And Jim Henson rubbed the top of my head and encouraged me to keep practicing my drawings so I would become the painter I wanted to be. And I did practice harder because I believed them … the frog, and the man that could make it talk.

I watched the first episode of Sesame Street because Jim would be performing Kermit and I loved to watch the magic of a new way of puppeteering, not to mention I felt like they were my friends. I saw every show I could, and was delighted to share them with my children when they were small. Grover taught us all so much, and Grouch and Cookie Monster were simply delightful. We ended up watching full featured muppet movies and a prime-time adult comedy show. The success of the muppets was historic and astounding, and it proved to me that every word Mr. Henson shared with a little 8 year old was true.  He became the greatest and most well known puppeteer in the history of the world … because he lived what he preached.

And then, in 1990 at the age of 53 ... he died unexpectedly. I was stunned. I couldn’t imagine life without Kermit and I spent some time reflecting on why I was so incredibly sad. I was lucky to have met them when I was young, and I felt a certain pride in all the successes that Mr. Henson found. He wasn’t family, but he sure felt like a friend.

My kids were young enough to still appreciate his company’s work and I tried to remain open to the idea that another voice was playing Kermit. I’d have to bite my tongue when the frog appeared. It wasn’t my frog anymore. This one would belong to a new generation of people, not mine.

Sometime later I saw Kermit being interviewed by several people, among them was Jay Leno. I don’t like Leno, I find his humour sexist and crude and, frankly, I can live without it. Not surprisingly, he could bring out the worst in the new Kermit. Sex jokes and nudity humour was unbecoming for the frog and I’d get angrier each time I saw stuff like that. I stopped watching anything Kermit or the muppets a few years after Henson died, and I’ve never regretted it. I rather like the frog and man I met when I was a kid and I prefer to remember them that way.

How does all this relate to the 19 year old and what he never experienced as a kid? It’s really simple, in a complicated way.  Our culture has become such an ‘anything goes’ place that dress or hair or tattoo, or whatever, can’t shock the meekest of us any more. Sex has infected every aspect from movies to videos  and books, and even children’s show characters. People are the complete opposite of beautiful, in looks and behavior. It’s like we’ve given up sensuality for dirty nudity and it’s come to the point of ‘who cares?’ anymore. They’ve made viagra for men to get them excited, and now they’re developing it for women, who need the sensuality more than ever in this very crude society. The fix isn’t drugs or pills or dirty naked people. The 19 year old may never figure this out, because all he’s ever seen is this modern side of chaos. That’s too bad for him. It’s pretty nice strolling on the beach, holding hands, talking sunsets with a person you love.

There was a time when clever words or general appearance invited appreciation and respect. And, those of us being inspired had a better life because our heroes cared about us and taught us well. I would bet dimes to dollars that the 19 year old’s heroes only care about themselves, or their own fame and how much money they can make from absolutely no talent. I hate to sound like the old people of my youth, but I’m saddened by what I see out there.  Kids, like the 19 year old, who have very little respect for themselves, spend most of their time with a ‘bud’ in their ear, a video on their ‘pod’, and talk only about winning a never ending virtual game of fantasy war. Their world is violet and ugly, in an imaginary way, and that sort of creativity is destructive as hell. It certainly doesn't help it's students become the very best that they can be and with those thoughts I say thank you, Jim Henson, for inspiring so many little ones while you were here.

Extraordinarily Ordinary

There are names that always stir the imagination. Zorro brings visions of a black mask, cape, horse, and dashing sword-play. Neil Armstrong perpetually gives us one giant leap for mankind, and Kermit keeps insisting that it’s not easy being green. For me, there are dozens and dozens of names that trigger cogitation on a wide variety of subjects, revolving around a broad collection of people who inspired a little girl from the west. When a name from my inspiration-list appears anywhere, I stop and read or look and learn some more. Recently, the name Amelia has come two fold.

We all know who Amelia Earhart was; the female champion who flew far and wide to show the world that girls could tame distance just as well as the boys. Her story is the legendary tale of record breaking, cutting edge technology, tough as nails and still as pretty, love and dreams and tragedy kind of thing. I ate that up as a little girl. I wanted to be Amelia. Well, I didn’t want to fly, but I wanted the courage to do what I dreamed of doing; to go beyond being just a girl; to find the bravery to look a challenge in the eye and spit on it.

Young women today may not really comprehend how significant those rebellious thoughts of mine were. Just consider, for a moment, that when Amelia was hired to be the first woman to ‘fly’ across the Atlantic in 1928, she was not allowed to control the plane. She sat in the back and looked out the window. Though she had her pilot’s license, the idea of a female having the stamina to perform a trans-Atlantic flight was incomprehensible. Amelia was distressed by the attention she got for just sitting there:

"I was a passenger on the journey...just a passenger. Everything that was done to bring us across was done by Wilmer Stultz and Slim Gordon. Any praise I can give them they ought to have...I do not believe that women lack the stamina to do a solo trip across the Atlantic, but it would be a matter of learning the arts of flying by instruments only, an art which few men pilots know perfectly now..."

Do you hear that?  She believed a woman could learn the art of flying better than few men pilots knew how. When I was a little girl women still had very few opportunities to pursue any dream that existed outside of the prescribed idea of the perfect woman’s world. She was the first person who helped me understand that in order to play with the boys I would have to be many times better just to receive half the recognition. And, living like that as a girl was possible to achieve.

When I first heard her name she’d been missing for 30 or so years and was still very much an enigma. I loved her ... her tomboyishness, her fashion sense, the truth that she was as ordinary looking as anyone else in the world. And, I loved the idea that she found a man who supported her ambition and was seemingly fine living in her shadow of fame and popularity. Yes, Amelia gave hope to little girls who would rather play with a frog than a doll.

So, as I grew I always acknowledged any new information about Amelia. We all know her Electra disappeared as she attempted to fly more than 7,000 miles across the Pacific Ocean. She had already flown 22,000 miles and this part of the journey would take her to Hawaii, and then to California where she would be praised for two major firsts...she would be the first woman, and she would travel the longest possible distance, circumnavigating the globe at its waist.

But, she never landed for refuel on Howland Island. The world has since asked, “Amelia, where are you?” Several theories continue to circulate:

• Amelia was on a spy mission for President Roosevelt, was captured by the Japanese and forced to broadcast to American GI’s as “Tokyo Rose” during World War II.

• She purposely drove her plane into the Pacific.

• She lived for years on an island in the South Pacific with a native fisherman.

• In 1961 it was thought that the bones of Amelia and her navigator had been found in Saipan, but the bones turned out to be those of Saipan natives.

• Amelia secretly finished the mission then moved to New Jersey, assumed a new name, married a different fellow, and lived out her life.

• And, the most exhaustive inquiry into Earhart’s fate since the US Navy’s 1937 original search has been (and is continuing to be) by The International Group for Historic Aircraft Recovery (TIGHAR), who are attempting to conclusively solve the mystery of Amelia Earhart’s disappearance with investigation procedures that employ rigorous standards of evidence and documented facts. They are focusing on a remote, uninhabited Pacific atoll of Nikumaroro (formerly Gardner Island, which is where garbled transmissions believed to be from the electra happened for 4 days after she failed to find Howland Island) and have recovered physical evidence that suggests the Earhart flight may have landed there on July 2, 1937. In 1940 a partial skeleton and an old fashioned sextant box were found under a tree on the island’s southeast corner. The skeleton was eventually lost in Fiji sometime after 1941, but detailed measurements of the bones indicate that they belonged to a “tall white female of European ancestry”. Other artifacts include improvised tools, an aluminum panel (possibly from and Electra), an oddly cut piece of clear Plexiglas which is the exact thickness and curvature of an Electra window, and a size 9 Cat’s Paw heel dating from the 1930’s, which resembles Earhart’s footwear in world flight photos.  In 2007 TIGHAR performed another high-profile expedition where they were reported to have found additional artifacts, including bronze bearings which may have belonged to the aircraft, and a zipper pull which might have come from her flight suit. All this evidence is circumstantial, but quite interesting when you consider the island is uninhabited.

Today, there is continuing promise with TIGHAR’s research.  That is part one of the two fold that I mentioned at the beginning of this post. TIGHAR’s team will be on the island until June 14, 2010 and they are releasing new finds continually. I encourage you to follow TIGHAR’s 2010: Niku VI Expedition updates, and to read this Discovery News article that was released on June 3, 2010.

New hard truths about the real Amelia continue to tickle our hopes that someday, and maybe soon, we'll know for sure if she was a castaway on Gardner Island. This moment reminds me of the days right before they found the remains of the Titanic ...

(Part two, of my two fold story, will be coming next posting)