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PERSON: MICHAEL BLOOMBERG (94%); JOHN THAIN (53%) LOAD-DATE: July 5, 2008 LANGUAGE: ENGLISH PUBLICATION-TYPE: Newspaper Copyright 2008 The New York Times Company 615 of 1231 DOCUMENTS The New York Times
Correction Appended Late Edition - Final
Such flights of fancy may one day be possible, if the dream of Jean-Marie Massaud, a French architect, comes true. As the cost of fuel soars and the pressure mounts to reduce carbon dioxide emissions, several schemes for a new generation of airship are being considered by governments and private companies. ''It's a romantic project,'' said Mr. Massaud, 45, sitting amid furniture designs in his Paris studio, ''but then look at Jules Verne.'' It has been more than 70 years since the giant Hindenburg zeppelin exploded in a spectacular fireball over Lakehurst, N.J., killing 36 crew members and passengers, abruptly ending an earlier age of airships. But because of new materials and sophisticated means of propulsion, a diverse cast of entrepreneurs is taking another look at the behemoths of the air. Mr. Massaud, a designer of hotels in California and a stadium in Mexico, has not ironed out the technical details, nor has he found financiers or corporate backers for his project -- to create a 690-foot zeppelin shaped like a whale, with a luxury hotel attached, that he has named Manned Cloud. But not all projects are as fanciful as Mr. Massaud's. For example, a French technology start-up, Aerospace Adour Technologies, is working with the French post office to study the feasibility of transporting parcels by dirigible. Also in France, Theolia, a company specializing in renewable energy, is financing a dirigible, and plans a test flight across the Atlantic. In Germany, Deutsche Zeppelin-Reederei, the successor to the operator of the Hindenburg, has had success with a new generation of airship it uses to transport sightseers and scientific payloads. The trend is not entirely new. Zeppelin-Reederei carried 12,000 passengers on sightseeing tours over southern Germany last year. Aerophile, a French company that revived tethered balloons, which compete with dirigibles as carriers of passengers, advertising and scientific instruments, was founded by two young French engineers in 1993. The aircraft industry is not exactly bracing for a dogfight. Mr. Massaud says that Emirates and Air France have expressed interest in Manned Cloud. But with top speeds of around 100 miles an hour and a maximum capacity of several dozen passengers, dirigibles are expected by most aviation experts to remain niche vessels for ferrying tourists, advertising and occasional scientific payloads. ''A dirigible is something magical,'' said Jerome Giacomoni, who was 25 when he founded Aerophile with a friend. ''But most of the ideas are crazy.'' Dirigibles, he said, ''are very sensitive to storms. Their size requires large landing spaces; economically they're not feasible.'' Not yet, say dreamers like Mr. Massaud. But gasoline prices are pushing airlines to reduce the number of flights and retire older, less fuel-efficient aircraft. Aircraft manufacturers like Boeing and Airbus have responded by promising planes that use less fuel and produce less carbon dioxide. Such concerns pushed Mr. Massaud to start thinking about dirigibles. Five years ago he worked on a design for a resort community in Palm Desert, Calif., but the result was so radical, involving tents rather than fixed buildings, that its developers balked. ''They said to me, 'You French, you're all Communists!' '' he said. So Mr. Massaud conceived of Manned Cloud, a helium-filled dirigible shaped like a whale, with a cruising speed of 80 miles an hour and a cabin to accommodate 50 overnight guests and a crew of 25. ''The large whales made a choice in evolution to live in harmony with their environment,'' he said. ''They are symbols of life in harmony with nature.'' Mr. Massaud submitted his design to the French aerospace agency, whose experts suggested he reduce the number of passengers to 15 and made other recommendations, but withheld judgment on his design's feasibility. ''There are niches where dirigibles might still serve,'' said Philippe Guicheteau, special adviser for military aeronautical systems at the agency, which goes by the French acronym Onera. In the United States, research into dirigibles continues, but mainly for military purposes. In 2005, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, or Darpa, briefly explored using airships to transport freight over long distances. Two other projects involving high-altitude airships, mainly for communications, continue. France's postal service, La Poste, has civilian uses in mind. Postal officials have long searched for alternatives to trucks and planes, aiming to reduce emissions by 15 percent by 2012. At a strategy meeting last year, officials decided to explore the use of dirigibles on routes between France and Corsica or French territories in the Antilles. ''Dirigibles of the new generation are part of our strategy and represent an area of study for us,'' said Patrick Widloecher, director of sustainable development at La Poste. The postal service is working with Aerospace Adour, he said, to study the use of dirigibles. ''Over the medium term, the post office would like to test some pilot routes by dirigible, once a prototype has been developed and produced,'' Mr. Widloecher said. He said Aerospace Adour was studying a model 420 feet long with a cruising speed of 96 miles an hour. A dirigible, or rigid airship, has a metal frame, these days usually part aluminum, part carbon fiber, covered with a synthetic canvas. A blimp, in contrast, is a big, inflatable balloonlike sack filled with a lifting gas. Blimps are far less maneuverable than dirigibles and can lift less. Today's airships fly with helium, as did the Hindenburg until the United States imposed an embargo on what was then a fairly valuable commodity. Hence, the Hindenburg had to start using inflammable hydrogen on its flights. By the time of the explosion, zeppelins had carried about 405,000 passengers across the Atlantic. Airships still have their skeptics today. In Britain, an effort to revive the airship industry suffered a setback in 2005 when the Advanced Technologies Group, which planned to build airships called SkyCats, with a 22-ton payload, went bankrupt. An investor group has recently sought to revive it. The Cyclocrane, a large semirigid airship, was to be built in Germany by the start-up Cargolifter, but the company ran out of money in 2002 after a huge hangar was built. Thomas Brandt, the chief executive of Zeppelin-Reederei and its parent, ZLT Zeppelin Luftschifftechnik, in Friedrichshafen, Germany, jeers at the notion of airships as hotels or freighters. ''Illusions,'' he said. ''Airships are unstable, they depend on the weather, so we fly today from March to November.'' Mr. Brandt's company succeeded by scaling back its ambitions, ferrying thousands of sightseers and, occasionally, scientific payloads. The company manufactures a zeppelin that costs about $15 million; it just delivered its fourth model, to Airship Ventures, at Moffett Field, near Stanford, Calif. Tickets will cost about $500 for sightseeing trips over the Monterey Bay area. French political leaders are among those who believe the ships can do more than ferry tourists. For two years, Jean-Marc Brule, a Green Party leader and mayor of Cesson, near Paris, has shepherded through budget amendments to finance dirigible research. ''With global warming and the oil crisis,'' he said, ''It's good sense to realize this dream.''
A Zeppelin NT taking on helium in the hangar of Deutsche Zeppelin-Reederei GmbH in Friedrichshafen, Germany. (IMAGES COURTESY OF JEAN-MARIE MASSAUD)(PHOTOGRAPH BY FELIX KAESTLE/ASSOCIATED PRESS)(pg. C4) The view inside the cabin of a Zeppelin NT during a flight over southern Germany. The dirigible can carry 12 sight-seers. (PHOTOGRAPH BY ZLT ZEPPELIN LUFTSCHIFFTECHNIK)(pg. C1) CHART: ''Behemoths in the Air'' The chart shows four different types of zeppelins, with the amount of people each one would hold. (Sources: Boeing, Deutsche Zeppelin-Reederei Goodyear Blimp ''Graf Zeppelin & Hindenburg'' by Harold G. Dick and Douglas H. Robinson, 1985 (Smithsonian Institution Press) ''The Airships: A History'' by Basil Collier, 1974 (G.P. Putnam's Sons). (C1) PUBLICATION-TYPE: Newspaper Copyright 2008 The New York Times Company 616 of 1231 DOCUMENTS The New York Times
Late Edition - Final Huddled Statues of Liberty, Working to Be Free BYLINE: By SUSAN DOMINUS. Big City will not be published for the rest of July, while the author is on assignment. It will return in August. SECTION: Section B; Column 0; Metropolitan Desk; BIG CITY; Pg. 3 LENGTH: 836 words Eleven years ago, a woman who had immigrated from South America several years earlier went to Battery Park with her sister to see the Statue of Liberty. At her sister's urging, she brought along a Statue of Liberty costume that she made for the previous Halloween, a papier-mache mask and a canvas sheet she had sprayed green. At the park, her sister took a picture of her fully regaled, and almost immediately, strangers started crowding around. Could she pose for a picture? How about another? Now another? Everyone wanted a photo taken with Miss Liberty, and a lot of them started pressing money on her to say thanks: a dollar here, a quarter there. After a few hours, Miss Liberty had so much cash that she felt less like a symbol of American freedom than a walking piggy bank. So she didn't walk -- she threw off her robe, stuffed it and her wad of cash in a bag, and ran all the way to the subway. She had been working as an illustrator, but the work was irregular and solitary. So Miss Liberty started showing up with her costume at Battery Park during slow spells and collecting money from eager tourists, eventually getting a permit from the city. Miss Liberty made new friends at work--for example, Silver Man, a Battery Park performer who covered himself in silver face makeup and silver garb and moved like a robot for the crowds. Silver Man's doctor didn't like what his job was doing for his skin, so Miss Liberty invited him to join her line of work near Castle Clinton, where tourists get tickets for the ferry to the Statue of Liberty. Over time, the two of them refined their act. ''Business got a lot better when I changed the robe from a matte to something shiny,'' said Miss Liberty, a middle-aged, suntanned woman named Sue who commutes to her job from her home in Westchester County. (Though her job requires her to welcome hundreds of strangers on a good day, she declined to disclose her surname or country of origin.) The former Silver Man -- a Colombian immigrant named Fernando Riano -- innovated by adding sunglasses to their costumes. They make Miss Liberty look a little more down with the people, and protect their eyes and surrounding skin, which peek through the mask, from sunburn. By now, they have developed something of a shtick: they fan themselves with the torch (Miss Liberty, hot and bored), or put their hands on their hips (Miss Liberty, with attitude). After some men pose with Sue and are turning to wave goodbye, she likes to make the symbol for ''Call me.'' Having received much instruction from young people posing with them, they've learned to do those funny things with their green-gloved hands that kids do in their Facebook pictures. (Mr. Riano thought they were different countries' symbols for peace; but mostly they're spoofs of gang signs: Miss Liberty says ''Yo, yo.'') As the years passed, they expanded their numbers. When Victor Vega, an Ecuadorean who had been working for a T-shirt vendor in the same corner of the park, lost his job, they brought him on board with a costume and crown. Sue befriended Pedro Ramirez, a Honduran, who had a young child he never saw because his job required him to drive all over the country; soon he was hamming it up in a crown and robe as well. Miguel Gutierrez, a Colombian friend of some performers in the park lost his job as an airplane mechanic, and now he shows up every sunny day, along with his team, draping the flag around little girls and women, putting the crown atop their heads. It turns out to be a flattering look. Every girl looks like a pageant queen, proud and patriotic and tall, thanks to those seven points atop the crown. Sue thinks Mr. Vega is crazy for going to so much effort, but he's always touching up the pedestals they stand on with sparkly gold paint, or finding a new way to drape a silky flag at its base, adding dangling fake crystals to the torch to please little kids. Mr. Vega can't speak much English, but he could express how he felt about his work. ''I do this job,'' he said, putting his hand across his chest, ''for my heart.'' Playing the Statue of Liberty for eight hours a day, sweating underneath those robes in the glaring sun, makes for classic immigrant labor. It's hot in there, it's physical work, and sometimes, literally, they get pushed around, shoved off the pedestal by a mean-spirited joker or a strong wind. But to each of them, the job has an elevated meaning. They're independent entrepreneurs, after all. ''Nobody tells us what to do,'' said Sue, the first Miss Liberty. Since opening up the business to her colleagues, Sue earns a lot less than she used to, she said. Working in a group makes for an impressive scene and draws a crowd, but of course now she's splitting the profits. Even still, she felt that she had no choice but to expand her crew when people asked to join. What could she do? They were tired. They were poor. And it's not like she could have stopped them anyway. Miss Liberty shrugged. ''It's a free country,'' she said. URL: http://www.nytimes.com SUBJECT: HALLOWEEN (72%) GEOGRAPHIC: SOUTH AMERICA (88%); COLOMBIA (79%); UNITED STATES (79%) LOAD-DATE: July 4, 2008 LANGUAGE: ENGLISH GRAPHIC: PHOTO: Human statues at work in Battery Park, in the shadow of Lady Liberty. (PHOTOGRAPH BY ROBERT CAPLIN FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES) PUBLICATION-TYPE: Newspaper Copyright 2008 The New York Times Company 617 of 1231 DOCUMENTS The New York Times
Late Edition - Final Looking for a Job, the Old-Fashioned Way BYLINE: By CYRUS SANATI SECTION: Section C; Column 0; Business/Financial Desk; Pg. 4 LENGTH: 662 words Joshua Persky, an out-of-work investment banker, has been hunting for a job on Wall Street for more than six months. Recently he got so frustrated he decided to get a little creative. Last week, Mr. Persky, 48, stood on Park Avenue, handing out resumes to passers-by and wearing a sandwich board that said, ''Experienced M.I.T. Grad for Hire.'' The sign included his name and contact information. He picked a busy spot, with several hundred people passing him every hour. And he did not look bitter or angry standing in the summer heat. Instead, he was smiling and standing tall, wearing his best suit under the placards. A few looked and snickered when they passed by him, but most paid no attention. Some gave him sympathetic looks. A few even took a resume. But these days, jobs on Wall Street are scarce -- and getting more so. Worldwide, banks and securities firms have cut more than 80,000 jobs. Mr. Persky worked at Houlihan Lokey for two years, but when that firm began to cut back last December, he said, his contract was not renewed. Still, a couple of young brokers who passed Mr. Persky said they thought his unorthodox methods would pay off. One said Mr. Persky had a ''first mover's advantage'' and that ''all this press coverage will probably get him a job.'' His colleague agreed, saying, ''Yeah, there is no question that it is going to work.'' It certainly generated some attention. Mr. Persky was interviewed by many major news outlets and appeared on Fox and MSNBC. His story went global -- ''I get e-mails saying I am famous in Korea,'' he said. He recently did a radio program that aired in Bogota, Colombia, and even appeared on the cover of a financial magazine in Greece. ''It was an amazing experience'' Mr. Persky said this week. ''I went to the corner of 50th and Park Avenue to hand out some resumes, and overnight I became world-famous.'' ''The outpouring of interest and support was overwhelming -- but I still need a job,'' he said. Mr. Persky has had some luck on that front. He recently had one interview with a boutique investment bank and has another one lined up at a hedge fund. M.I.T. alumni have contacted Mr. Persky and have tried to help him in his job search. One alumnus said that if he would move to Denver that he could probably find a place for him. So things are looking a bit brighter for Mr. Persky -- but nothing solid yet. Nevertheless, he has received hundreds of e-mail messages and phone calls from well-wishers and companies wanting to find out more about him, which puts him in a better position than where he started. It hasn't been all roses, though. By broadcasting his phone number and contact information around the world he has drawn attention from some nasty people. ''I got some late-night phone calls from some young, probably investment banking analysts or associates, probably drunk, screaming obscenities and telling me to give my degree back,'' Mr. Persky said. ''There were probably several dozen of those.'' ''The only seriously negative one was a fellow who walked up to me in the street and said, 'There are people at M.I.T. that don't like what you are doing -- they don't like the fact that M.I.T. is on your sign.' '' It was not clear if the man was a fellow M.I.T. alumnus. Mr. Persky says he has not received any negative e-mail or phone calls from MIT alumni; rather, he says, ''it is quite the opposite.'' In fact, he just received a phone call from the institute's entrepreneurs club to speak to the group about his experience. But time is ticking down for Mr. Persky. He said last week that if he did not find a job within a month he would pack up and move to his wife's hometown, Omaha, to ''start a new life.'' His wife, Cynthia, left last week with their two children, leaving Mr. Persky in New York to interview, while he stays with a friend. ''If I don't have anything by early August,'' he said, ''I guess I will have to book a ticket to Omaha.''
He may be unemployed, but Joshua Persky wears a suit under his signboard and a hopeful smile. (PHOTOGRAPHS BY SPENCER PLATT/GETTY IMAGES) PUBLICATION-TYPE: Newspaper Copyright 2008 The New York Times Company 618 of 1231 DOCUMENTS The New York Times
Late Edition - Final Storm-Tossed Visionary of Light BYLINE: By ROBERTA SMITH SECTION: Section E; Column 0; Movies, Performing Arts/Weekend Desk; ART REVIEW; Pg. 23 LENGTH: 1344 words The Metropolitan Museum of Art's ''J. M. W. Turner'' is a beast of a show. With nearly 150 works in oil and watercolor spanning more than half a century, it will either win you over or wear you out. Or it will alternate, gallery by gallery, or wall by wall, as the art swings between overblown and moving, inspired and mechanical. Hard to believe, but this show, which has been organized by the National Gallery of Art in Washington, the Dallas Museum of Art and the Met in association with the Tate, is the first major retrospective in this country devoted to Joseph Mallord William Turner. In the history of Western painting, Turner looms large as a prodigiously gifted, productive and innovative figure. His complex legacy reflects his interests not only as an artist but also as a poet, naturalist, philosopher and lover of music and theater. His paintings of storms at sea or Alpine plunges are early examples of the natural sublime; his squalls of paint presage the Romantics, the Realists, the Impressionists and even the Abstract Expressionists. He built luminosity into his canvases by painting on white grounds (rather than the traditional black), and he used color as color and paint as paint more directly than anyone before him. His works pop out when seen one at a time in a museum collection. How could anyone paint so abstractly so early? Victoria was barely on the throne! Seeing Turner's work in bulk is another matter. His innovations can be dulled by its repetitiveness and unvarying skill. His squalls of paint were usually intended as quite realistic pictures of heavy weather, as signaled by the fussily accurate bits of ship wreckage drifting by. And anyway, innovation, influence and precedence don't necessarily make a work compelling when you're standing before it. In the present Turner's achievement still seems to be up for grabs, something to fight about, which adds excitement to the ups and downs of the Met show. There may be fights about which are which. Turner (1775-1851) rode the cusp of art history as if it were a great wave crashing through one of his seascapes, and this show rides it with him. Overseen by Gary Tinterow, curator in charge, and Kathryn Calley Galitz, assistant curator, both in the department of 19th-century, modern and contemporary art, it begins with a view of the ivy-fringed ruin of Tintern Abbey. This watercolor was made after one of his first sketching trips in 1794, when he was 19 and even then something of a veteran. Born and raised in Covent Garden in London, not far from the hustle and bustle of the Thames, Turner was sketching incessantly at 10. Soon his father, a successful barber and wig maker, was displaying his son's work in his shop, to be seen and possibly bought by wealthy clients. Turner was already honing his stupendous skills as a watercolorist, when, at 14 (in 1789), he was admitted to the schools of the Royal Academy. He exhibited a watercolor at the academy the following year, and thereafter his work appeared in its annual exhibitions every year but three until he died. The academy was the center of his life; his common-law wife, mistress and two daughters are barely mentioned in James Hamilton's recent, exceedingly thorough biography. In 1798, when Lord Elgin invited him on a voyage to Greece to record the ruins, he declined. The money wasn't good enough, and anyway he was in the middle of an aggressive campaign for election as an associate to the academy. He succeeded in 1799 and became a full member in 1802 when he was only 26. Almost from the beginning, Turner's work was both admired and disparaged, as several labels in the exhibition attest. John Ruskin, by far his greatest admirer, often ran out of superlatives. Yet by 1801 one critic was already complaining about illegibility and ''an affectation of carelessness.'' During Turner's long career European society segued from the agrarian to the industrial. Turner himself veered between history painting and reportage, between DeMillean scenes of antiquity and more austere renderings of modern steamboats. He recorded contemporary events like the battle between the British and French fleets at Trafalgar (which he did not see) and the burning of the Houses of Parliament (which he did). But he gave equal space to Hannibal crossing the Alps and the biblical deluge. He looked back to classically inspired painters like Poussin and Claude, who sprinkled their landscapes with temples and people in togas and yet, like Courbet, he used paint in a new, daringly physical way. ''The Houses of Parliament on Fire'' might almost have been painted by Monet with a little input from Philip Guston. Actually most of it was painted during the varnishing days at the Royal Academy prior to the opening of the 1835 annual exhibition. Turner was famous for using this time, reserved for finishing touches, for doing quite a bit of work, often with an eye to outshining his paintings' neighbors. But this work is more the exception than the rule. Often there's a slickness to Turner's work that is more Paul Jenkins than Guston. He just seems to be in production, churning out oceangoing turmoil and vortices of water, air and sunlight and then locking them in focus with little figures -- the victims of bad weather or biblical wrath -- struggling at the bottom. But the Rhine or an avalanche would do just as well. So would a vertiginous view of the Alps, where nothing moved except more tiny figures, struggling up a narrow trail. Turner roamed incessantly throughout Britain and across Europe, always sketching, always on the lookout for topographical drama. But he was equally drawn to ruined castles and fortresses high on hills above seas or rivers and he was never immune to the growing phenomenon of tourist attractions. Instinctively entrepreneurial, he parlayed these images into engravings that made his name something of a household word. In 1832 he published an album of images of the Loire Valley, ''Turner's Annual Tour.'' He hoped to make it an annual event but mustered only two more. Again, the labels give evidence of his many other projects. Turner's best work lies somewhere in between tumultuous and placid. In ''Peace -- Burial at Sea'' the sharp black silhouettes of the sails of a burning ship anchor the quavering depictions of sea, air, fire and smoke. In ''Raby Castle, the Seat of the Earl of Darlington,'' from 1818, the velvety sweep of green hills provide the anchor. Above them an amazing raft of clouds surges upward; across them, a pack of fox hounds slide like a bit of wave on sand. In ''Mortlake Terrace, the Seat of William Moffatt, Esq.; Summer's Evening'' the main action is the sun, sending its golden light shimmering across the Thames to give a row of trees long fingerlike shadows, while a spry little black dog (painted on paper stuck to the surface) barks at the passing boats. In the tiny watercolor ''Shields, on the River Tyne,'' workers load coal from a ship into smaller boats by the yellow light of torches; the rest of the river, shrouded in blue and overseen by a silvery moon, seems to be another world altogether. Turner never lost his connection to reality. One of the last, semiabstract paintings in the show's final gallery is a sunrise view of Norham Castle, which is the subject of a Claudian watercolor in the first gallery. Amid its gorgeous smudges of blue castle, yellow sun and pale ochre shores are two cows, faint but definite, who have come for their morning drink. This show may be wearying because there is something imperious and impersonal about the sheer force of Turner's ambition. It is almost as if his drive to capturenature or history in motion was so intense that it didn't leave room for anyone else, including the viewer. Maybe that's why despite all his hard work and even the majesty of his vision, you can emerge from this exhibition impressed but oddly untouched, even chilled. '''J. M. W. Turner'' continues through Sept. 21 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art; (212) 535-7710, metmuseum.org. Download 5,58 Mb. Do'stlaringiz bilan baham:
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