Louisville Trip

This year, 2009, the year that was supposed to be an economic disaster to most and, by extension, a personal challenge to all, has turned out to be among the best years in my life. One of the reasons is that, at 57, with health and mind fairly intact, I can apply my learning and desire for knowledge to an ever-widening scope of activities. In addition, because I have now lived longer than most people on the planet and can easily spot screw-ups and false steps that most people make, I am useful as a counselor, planner and insight-giver to those who have ears to hear. My life is largely taken up with four kinds of activities now: (1) some consulting work; (2) writing a book on the Biblical Book of Proverbs; (3) investigating subjects in depth from architectural terms/styles to names of plants, flowers and trees; and (4) spending a lot of time helping my girlfriend get settled into her photography career.

One joy that entered my life this year was an invitation to be a judge for the Grawemeyer Prize in religion. This prize, administered jointly by the University of Louisville and the Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, is a big one (in the six figures) and is awarded annually to a person who has written the most significant book in religion in the past few years. There are criteria for the award, to be sure (such as the need for the book to have an appeal beyond a narrow range of specialists), and the three judges, of which I was one, were to narrow down the list of selected books from about eight to three or four. That is, there is a committee that narrows down all the selections to a group of 8-12 books and then the external judges come in to narrow down the selections even more. We then turn the selected books back over to the University/Seminary leadership for them to choose the winner. Here is a page introducing the award, in case you were thinking of submitting your own entry.

In order to be a good judge, I had the delight (mostly) of reading a bunch of new books on religion in the past four months and then travelling to Louisville at the end of June to meet with the Grawemeyer committee and the other judges. It was, in fact, a great time. Louisville Seminary hosted the event, in the person of Dr. Susan Garrett, Professor of New Testament, an exceptionally efficient, friendly and knowledgeable host. We gathered on the campus on Alta Vista Road on June 28-29. The campus sits astride two of the Frederick Law Olmstead-designed parks of the city (Cherokee, Seneca), and is situated in one of Louisville's wealthiest neighborhoods. It is located on the former Norton estate. Though the seminary hasn't always owned the home on the property, now it owns the 1906 Beaux Art mansion of the Norton family, Gardencourt, where we enjoyed our final dinner with the host committee on Monday evening. I almost wanted a descriptive architectural tour of the house more than the delicious dinner we enjoyed that evening.

Travelling and the Practice of Learning

My official task, as mentioned, was simply to come in and, with the other two judges, select the three or four "finalist" books. I think I discharged my task honorably. But I enjoy extending a business trip, whenever I can, into a learning experience. Since this desire so vital for understanding me and the way I learn, I will share how I do this in the rest of the essay and in the following essays.

My girlfriend and I decided to make a week of it. Three nights in Louisville were necessary (Sat., June 27-Mon., June 29); this left us four days to explore beyond Louisville. Since my brother and his family had just moved to Nashville, about 160 miles south of Louisville, we decided to stop in on them for two days. Thus, the trip was taking shape. June 27-29 in Louisville, Tuesday night June 30 would either be spent in Frankfort or Lexington KY, July 1 and 2 in Nashville and Friday, July 3 would be spent near Cincinnati (our airport). Now the fun began. How do you maximize learning in Louisville and other places?

The first principle of learning is that you prepare by "studying up" on the region before you go. The second is to be aware of life around you. The third is that you need not take in the sites and do the tours that everyone else says you should do if you don't feel like doing them. The fourth is to take extensive notes along the way. The fifth is to research the notes in a much more detailed fashion when returning, so that you can frame your own approach to the things learned. Then, I write things up in a number of essays, because this seals the learning in me.

My process of learning, and information storage and retrieval, can be likened to storing things in a large and cavernous facility with a huge reception room. Ramifying from that reception room are a number of halls, off of which are humongous rooms stocked with enormous file cabinets. Each cabinet itself contains many drawers, and each drawer is many feet long. My process of learning is immediately to usher into the reception room all the new knowledge that I have gained and then "earmark" it for storage in one of the vast cavernous spaces near the reception area. Most people's approach to knowledge is to let it "pile up" in the reception area. Thus, only a few things are readily available to people, and most of life is lived in confusion.

Some Topics

Many things catch my eye along the way, and almost all of them call for further examination. For example, on Interstate 71 between Cincinnati and Louisville, in rural Carroll County, is a sign saying that this was the location of a fatal bush crash on May 14, 1988. I made a note of that, realizing that such a crash must still reverberate through the hearts and minds of many Kentuckians. I had to make sense of it--after I returned.

We arrived and set up on the Seminary campus. It was still Saturday afternoon June 27, and so we had time to explore. What to do? Well, I had done some preliminary research on "Old Louisville," a section of town South of downtown and north of the University of Louisville. This area has the largest collection of Victorian mansions of any such area in the US. Certainly, I thought, there was much to learn there. The terminology of architecture is very useful to know, and the array of styles adopted in the US from about 1850-1920 is vast; care must be taken to sort out the language of architecture so that you know the difference between rusticated banding and pressed bricks and cornice returns and embossed wainscoting and so many other things that open that world to you. I have discovered over the years that if you have names for things, you tend to notice them; if they are just "houses," you don't see the distinctive and brilliant things about them as easily.

In addition, once you begin to notice the houses, you want to know about the periods in which they were built. You then want to learn about the people who lived in them, the way the city evolved and the fortunes of the houses over the years. You might even begin to develop an interest in the gardens surrounding the houses, the trees that shade the neighborhood and the "feel" of it all. Then, you want to know all the trees, and all the flowers, and all the exemplars of these styles wherever you go. And, friends, you need a sorting, storage and retrieval system to make sure you have all this knowledge at your fingertips whenever you want.

Conclusion

Well, I am just getting started; the next essay will continue these reflections.

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