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Monday 31 December 2012

Forgetting the Words


Housing and back porches in the inner city of Uptown Chicago, Illinois, a neighborhood of poor white Southerners: photo by Danny Lyon, August 1974 

The purpose of words is to convey ideas. When the ideas are grasped, the words are forgotten.

Where can I find a man who has forgotten words? He is the one I would like to talk to.

Chuang Tzu: from Means and Ends (xxvi. II) in The Way of Chuang Tzu, translated by Thomas Merton, 1965

Two youths in Uptown, Chicago, Illinois: photo by Danny Lyon, August 1974

Abandoned house on the North Side of Chicago, Illinois: photo by Danny Lyon, August 1974

House in the inner city of Chicago, Illinois. The inner city today Is an absolute contradiction to the mainstream America of gas stations, expressways, shopping centers and tract homes. It is populated by blacks, Latins and the white poor. Some of the best American architecture survives in her "worst" neighborhoods, only because it hasn't [yet] been demolished: photo by Danny Lyon, August 1974

Photos by Danny Lyon (b. 1942) from the DOCUMERICA series, an Environmental Protection Agency program to photographically document subjects of environmental concern, compiled 1972-1977 (U.S. National Archives)

Sunday 30 December 2012

Henry Carey: Namby-Pamby


The Visit to the Nursery: Jean-Honoré Fragonard, c. 1775, oil on canvas, 73 x 92 cm (National Gallery of Art, Washington)
.....Nauty Pauty Jack-a-Dandy
.....Stole a Piece of Sugar-Candy,
.....From the Grocer's Shoppy-shop,
.....And away did hoppy-hop.

All ye Poets of the Age!
All ye Witlings of the Stage!
Learn your Jingles to reform!
Crop your Numbers and Conform:
Let your little Verses flow
Gently, Sweetly, Row by Row:
Let the Verse the Subject fit;
Little Subject, Little Wit.
Namby-Pamby is your Guide;
Albion's Joy, Hibernia's Pride.
Namby-Pamby Pilly-piss,
Rhimy-pim'd on Missy-Miss;
Tartaretta Tartaree,
From the Navel to the Knee;
That her Father's Gracy-Grace
Might give him a Placy-Place.

...He no longer writes of Mammy
Andromache, and her Lammy,
Hanging panging, at the Breast
Of a Matron most distrest.
Now the venal Poet sings
Baby Clouts, and Baby Things;
Baby Dolls, and Baby Houses,
Little Misses, Little Spouses;
Little Play-Things, little Toys,
Little Girls, and little Boys.
As an Actor does his Part,
So the Nurses get by Heart
Namby Pamby's Little Rhimes,
Little Jingle, Little Chimes,
To repeat to Little Miss,
Piddling Ponds of Pissy-Piss;
Cacking-packing like a Lady
Or Bye-byeing in the Crady.
Namby Pamby ne'er will die
While the Nurse sings Lullabye.
Namby Pamby's doubly mild,
Once a Man, and twice a Child;
To his Hanging-Sleeves restor'd;
Now he foots it like a Lord;
Now he pumps his little Wits;
Shitting Writes and Writing Shits,
All by little tiny Bits.
Now methinks I hear him say,
Boys and Girls come out to Play!
Moon do's shine as bright as Day.
Now my Namby Pamby's found
Sitting on the Friar's Ground,
Picking Silver, Picking Gold,
Namby Pamby's never old.
Bally-Cally they begin,
Namby Pamby still keeps in.
Namby Pamby is no Clown,
London-Bridge is broken down:
Now he courts the gay Ladee,
Dancing o'er the Lady-Lee.
Now he sings of Lick-spit Lyar
Burning in the Brimstone Fire;
Lyar, Lyar! Lick-spit, lick,
Turn abut the Candlestick!
Now he sings of Jacky Horner,
Sitting in the Chimney-Corner,
Eating of a Christmas-Pie,
Putting in his Thumb, Oh, fie!
Putting in, Oh, fie! his Thumb,
Pulling out, Oh, strange! a Plumb.
Now he plays at Stee, Staw, Stud,
Sticking Apples in the Mud:
When 'tis turn'd to Stee, Staw, Stire,
Now he acts the Grenadier,
Calling for a Pot of Beer;
Where's his Money? He's forgot:
Get him gone, a Drunken Sot.
Now on Cock-Horse does he ride;
And anon on Timber stride,
See-and-Saw, and Sacch'ry down,
London is a gallant Town!
Now he gathers Riches in,
Thicker, faster, Pin by Pin:
Pins a-piece to see his Show,
Boys and Girls flock Row by Row;
From their Cloaths the Pins they take,
Risque a Whipping for his sake;
From their Frocks the Pins they pull,
To fill Namby's Cushion full.
So much Wit at such an Age,
Does a Genius great presage,
Second Childhood gone and past,
Shou'd he prove a Man at last!
What must second Manhood be,
In a Child so bright as he?

...Guard him, ye poetic Powers!
Watch his Minutes, watch his Hours:
Let your Tuneful Nine inspire him;
Let poetic Fury fire him:
Let the Poets, one and all,
To his Genius Victims fall.

Henry Carey (1687?-1743): Namby-Pamby. A Panegyric on the New Versification. Addressed to A--- P---, Esq. (1725)

Saturday 29 December 2012

An Amour: from Boswell's London Journal, 1762-1763


The Orgy: William Hogarth, c. 1735, oil on canvas, 62.5 x 75 cm (Sir John Soane's Museum, London)



It is very curious to think that I have now been in London several weeks without ever enjoying the delightful sex, although I am surrounded with numbers of free-hearted ladies of all kinds: from the splendid Madam at fifty guineas a night, down to the civil nymph with white-thread stockings who tramps along the Strand and will resign her engaging person to your honour for a pint of wine and a shilling. Manifold are the reasons for this my present wonderful continence. I am upon a plan of economy, and therefore cannot be at the expense of first-rate dames. I have suffered severely from the loathsome distemper, and therefore shudder at the thoughts of running any risk of having it again. Besides, the surgeons' fees in this city come very high. But the greatest reason of all is that fortune, or rather benignant Venus, has smiled upon me and favoured me so far that I have had the most delicious intrigues with women of beauty, sentiment, and spirit, perfectly suited to my romantic genius.

Indeed, in my mind, there cannot be higher felicity on earth enjoyed by man than the participation of genuine reciprocal amorous affection with an amiable woman. There he has a full indulgence of all the delicate feelings and pleasures both of body and mind, while at the same time in this enchanting union he exults with a consciousness that he is the superior person. The dignity of his sex is kept up. These paradisial scenes of gallantry have exalted my ideas and refined my taste, so that I really cannot think of stooping so far as to make a most intimate companion of a groveling-minded, ill-bred, worthless creature, nor can my delicacy be pleased with the gross voluptuousness of the stews. I am therefore walking about with a healthful stout body and a cheerful mind, in search of a woman worthy of my love, and who thinks me worthy of hers, without any interested views, which is the only sure way to find out if a woman really loves a man. If I should be a single man for the whole winter, I will be satisfied. I have had as much elegant pleasure as I could have expected would come to my share in many years.

However, I hope to be more successful. In this view, I had now called several times for a handsome actress of Covent Garden Theatre, whom I was a little acquainted with, and whom I shall distinguish in this my journal by the name of LOUISA. This lady had been indisposed and saw no company, but today I was admitted. She was in a pleasing undress and looked very pretty. She received me with great politeness. We chatted on the common topics. We were not easy — there was a constraint upon us — we did not sit right on our chairs, and we were unwilling to look at one another. I talked to her on the advantage of having an agreeable acquaintance, and hoped I might see her now and then. She desired me to call in whenever I came that way, without ceremony. "And pray," said she, "when shall I have the pleasure of your company at tea?" I fixed Thursday, and left her, very well satisfied with my first visit.

The Woman Taking Coffee: Louis-Marin Bonnet (1736-1793), 1774, pastel manner intaglio color print, 31.5 x 23.4 cm (Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum)


I rose very disconsolate, having rested very ill by the poisonous infection raging in my veins and anxiety and vexation boiling in my breast. I could scarcely credit my own senses. What! thought I, can this beautiful, this sensible, and this agreeable woman be so sadly defiled? Can corruption lodge beneath so fair a form? Can she who professed delicacy of sentiment and sincere regard for me, use me so very basely and so very cruelly? No, it is impossible. I have just got a gleet by irritating the parts too much with excessive venery. And yet these damned twinges, that scalding heat, and that deep-tinged loathsome matter are the strongest proofs of an infection. But she certainly must think that I would soon discover her falsehood. But perhaps she was ignorant of her being ill. A pretty conjecture indeed! No, she could not be ignorant. Yes, yes, she intended to make the most of me. And now I recollect that the day we went to Hayward's, she showed me a bill of thirty shillings about which she was in some uneasiness, and no doubt expected that I would pay it. But I was too cautious, and she had not effrontery enough to try my generosity in direct terms so soon after my letting her have two guineas. And am I then taken in? Am I, who have had safe and elegant intrigues with fine women, become the dupe of a strumpet? Am I now to be laid up for many weeks to suffer extreme pain and full confinement, and to be debarred all the comforts and pleasures of life? And then must I have my poor pocket drained by the unavoidable expense of it? And shall I no more (for a long time at least) take my walk, healthful and spirited, round the Park before breakfast, view the brilliant Guards on the Parade, and enjoy all my pleasing amusements? And then am I prevented from making love to Lady Mirabel, or any other woman of fashion? O dear, O dear! What a cursed thing this is! What a miserable creature am I!

In this woeful manner did I melancholy ruminate. I thought of applying to a quack who would cure me quickly and cheaply. But then the horrors of being imperfectly cured and having the distemper thrown into my blood terrified me exceedingly. I therefore pursued my resolution of last night to go to my friend Douglas, whom I knew to be skillful and careful; and although it should cost me more, yet to get sound health was a matter of great importance, and I might save upon other articles. I accordingly went and breakfasted with him. . . .

After breakfast Mrs. Douglas withdrew, and I opened my sad case to Douglas, who upon examining the parts, declared I had got an evident infection and that the woman who gave it me could not but know of it. I joked with my friend about the expense, asked him if he would take a draught on my arrears, and bid him visit me seldom that I might have the less to pay. To these jokes he seemed to give little heed, but talked seriously in the way of his business. And here let me make a just and true observation, which is that the same man as a friend and as a surgeon exhibits two very opposite characters. Douglas as a friend is most kind, most anxious for my interest, made me live ten days in his house, and suggested every plan of economy. But Douglas as a surgeon will be as ready to keep me long under his hands, and as desirous to lay hold of my money, as any man. In short, his views alter quite. I have to do not with him but his profession.

As Lady Northumberland was to have a great rout next day, I delayed beginning my course of medicine till Friday night. Enraged at the perfidy of Louisa, I resolved to go and upbraid her most severely; but this I thought was not acting with dignity enough. So I would talk to her coolly and make her feel her own unworthiness. But hearing the Duke of Queensberry was in town, I thought I would go and have one more brush at him and hear what he had to say. . . .

I then went to Louisa. With excellent address did I carry on this interview, as the following scene, I trust, will make appear.

LOUISA. My dear Sir! I hope you are well today.
BOSWELL. Excessively well, I thank you. I hope I find you so.
LOUISA. No, really, Sir. I am distressed with a thousand things. (Cunning jade, her circumstances!) I really don't know what to do.
BOSWELL. Do you know that I have been very unhappy since I saw you?
LOUISA. How so, Sir?
BOSWELL. Why, I am afraid that you don't love me so well, nor have not such a regard for me, as I thought you had.
LOUISA. Nay, dear Sir! (Seeming unconcerned.)
BOSWELL. Pray, Madam, have I no reason?
LOUISA. No, indeed, Sir, you have not.
BOSWELL. Have I no reason, Madam? Pray think.
BOSWELL. Pray, Madam, in what state of health have you been in for some time?
LOUISA. Sir, you amaze me.
BOSWELL. I have but too strong, too plain reason to doubt of your regard. I have for some days observed the symptoms of disease, but was unwilling to believe you so very ungenerous. But now, Madam, I am thoroughly convinced.
LOUISA. Sir, you have terrified me. I protest I know nothing of the matter.
BOSWELL. Madam, I have had no connection with any woman but you these two months. I was with my surgeon this morning, who declared I had got a strong infection, and that she from whom I had it could not be ignorant of it. Madam, such a thing in this case is worse than from a woman of the town, as from her you may expect it. You have used me very ill. I did not deserve it. You know you said where there was no confidence, there was no breach of trust. But surely I placed some confidence in you. I am sorry that I was mistaken.
LOUISA. Sir, I will confess to you that about three years ago I was very bad. But for these fifteen months I have been quite well. I appeal to GOD Almighty that I am speaking true; and for these six months I have had to do with no man but yourself.
BOSWELL. But by G-D, Madam, I have been with none but you, and here am I very bad.
LOUISA. Well, Sir, by the same solemn oath I protest that I was ignorant of it.
BOSWELL. Madam, I wish much to believe you. But I own I cannot upon this occasion believe a miracle.
LOUISA. Sir, I cannot say more to you. But you will leave me in the greatest misery. I shall lose your esteem. I shall be hurt in the opinion of everybody, and in my circumstances.
BOSWELL (to himself). What the devil does the confounded jilt mean by being hurt in her circumstances? This is the grossest cunning. But I won't take notice of that at all. — Madam, as to the opinion of everybody, you need not be afraid. I was going to joke and say that I never boast of a lady's favours. But I give you my word of honour that you shall not be discovered.
LOUISA. Sir, this is being more generous than I could expect.
BOSWELL. I hope, Madam, you will own that since I have been with you I have always behaved like a man of honour.
LOUISA. You have indeed, Sir.
BOSWELL (rising). Madam, your most obedient servant.

During all this conversation I really behaved with a manly composure and polite dignity that could not fail to inspire an awe, and she was pale as ashes and trembled and faltered. Thrice did she insist on my staying a little longer, as it was probably the last time that I should be with her. She could say nothing to the purpose. And I sat silent. As I was going, said she, "I hope, Sir, you will give me leave to inquire after your health." "Madam,"  said I, archly, "I fancy it will be needless for some weeks." She again renewed her request. But unwilling to be plagued any more with her, I put her off by saying I might perhaps go to the country, and left her. I was really confounded at her behaviour. There is scarcely a possibility that she could be innocent of the crime of horrid imposition. And yet her positive asseverations really stunned me. She is in all probability a most consummate dissembling whore.

Thus ended my intrigue with the fair Louisa, which I flattered myself so much with, and from which I expected at least a winter's safe copulation. It is indeed very hard. I cannot say, like young fellows who get themselves clapped in a bawdy-house, that I will take better care again. For I really did take care. However, since I am fairly trapped, let me make the best of it. I have not got it from imprudence. It is merely the chance of war.

James Boswell (1740-1795): from Boswell's London Journal, 1762-1763, ed. Frederick A. Pottle, 1950


Before the Seduction: William Hogarth, c. 1730-1731, oil on canvas, 15 1/4 x 13 1/4 ins (J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles)

After the Seduction: William Hogarth, c. 1730-1731, oil on canvas, 15 1/4 x 13 1/4 ins (J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles)

James Boswell
: George Willison, 1765, oil on canvas, 135.20 x 96.50 cm (National Galleries of Scotland)

James Boswell with his wife, Margaret Montgomery, and three of their children (probably Veronica, James and six-year-old Elizabeth): Henry Singleton, c. 1786, oil on canvas, 104.1 x 125.1 cm (National Galleries of Scotland)

Friday 28 December 2012

Samuel Johnson: The Uses of Forgetfulness


The Alley at Middelhamis
: Meyndaert Hobbema, 1689, oil on canvas, 103.5 x 141 cm (National Gallery, London)

Men complain of nothing more frequently than of deficient Memory; and indeed, every one finds that many of the ideas which he desired to retain have slipped irretrievably away; that the acquisitions of the mind are sometimes equally fugitive with the gifts of fortune; and that a short intermission of attention more certainly lessens knowledge than impairs an estate.

To assist this weakness of our nature many methods have been proposed, all of which may be justly suspected of being ineffectual; for no art of memory, however its effects have been boasted or admired, has been ever adopted into general use, nor have those who possessed it, appeared to excel others in readiness of recollection or multiplicity of attainments.

There is another art of which all have felt the want, tho' Themistocles only confessed it. We suffer equal pain from the pertinacious adhesion of unwelcome images, as from the evanescence of those which are pleasing and useful; and it may be doubted whether we should be more benefited by the art of Memory or the art of Forgetfulness.

Forgetfulness is necessary to Remembrance. Ideas are retained by renovation of that impression which time is always wearing away, and which new images are striving to obliterate. If useless thoughts could be expelled from the mind, all the valuable parts of our knowledge would more frequently recur, and every recurrence would reinstate them in their former place.

It is impossible to consider, without some regret, how much might have been learned, or how much might have been invented by a rational and vigorous application of time, uselessly or painfully passed in the revocation of events, which have left neither good nor evil behind them, in grief for misfortunes either repaired or irreparable, in resentment of injuries known only to ourselves, of which death has put the authors beyond our power.

Philosophy has accumulated precept upon precept, to warn us against the anticipation of future calamities. All useless misery is certainly folly, and he that feels evils before they come may be deservedly censured; yet surely to dread the future is more reasonable than to lament the past. The business of life is to go forwards; he who sees evil in prospect meets it in his way, but he who catches it by retrospection turns back to find it. That which is feared may sometimes be avoided, but that which is regretted to-day may be regretted again tomorrow.

Regret is indeed useful and virtuous, and not only allowable but necessary, when it tends to the amendment of life, or to admonition of error which we may be again in danger of committing. But a very small part of the moments spent in meditation on the past, produce any reasonable caution or salutary sorrow. Most of the mortifications that we have suffered, arose from the concurrence of local and temporary circumstances, which can never meet again; and most of our disappointments have succeeded those expectations, which life allows not to be formed a second time.

It would add much to human happiness, if an art could be taught of forgetting all of which the remembrance is at once useless and afflictive, if that pain which never can end in pleasure could be driven totally away, that the mind might perform its functions without encumbrance, and the past might no longer encroach upon the present.

Little can be done well to which the whole mind is not applied; the business of every day calls for the day to which it is assigned; and he will have no leisure to regret yesterday's vexations who resolves not to have a new subject of regret tomorrow. 

But to forget or to remember at pleasure, are equally beyond the power of man. Yet as memory may be assisted by method, and the decays of knowledge repaired by stated times of recollection, so the power of forgetting is capable of improvement. Reason will, by a resolute contest, prevail over imagination, and the power may be obtained of transferring the attention as judgment shall direct.

The incursions of troublesome thoughts are often violent and importunate; and it is not easy to a mind accustomed to their inroads to expel them immediately by putting better images into motion; but this enemy of quiet is above all others weakened by every defeat; the reflection which has been once overpowered and ejected, seldom returns with any formidable vehemence.

Employment is the great instrument of intellectual dominion. The mind cannot retire from its enemy into total vacancy, or turn aside from one object but by passing to another. The gloomy and the resentful are always found among those who have nothing to do, or who do nothing. We must be busy about good or evil, and he to whom the present offers nothing will often be looking backward on the past.

Samuel Johnson: The Idler no. 72, Saturday, 1st September 1759

A Watermill: Meyndaert Hobbema, c. 1666, oil on panel, 61 x 85 cm (Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam)

A Watermill: Meyndaert Hobbema, c. 1664, oil on panel, 62 x 86 cm (Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam)

Thursday 27 December 2012

America the Beautiful: Crossing the Painted Road


The George Washington Bridge, New York City, in heavy smog. View toward the New Jersey side of the Hudson River: photo by Chester Higgins, May 1973

Jet zooms over southwestern side of Neptune Road, East Boston, Massachusetts: photo by Michael Philip Manheim, May 1973

Approaching Logan Airport, East Boston, Massachusetts: photo by Michael Philip Manheim, May 1973

Burning discarded automobile batteries, Houston, Texas: photo by Marc St. Gil, August 1972

Interior of graffiti-marked subway car, New York City
: photo by Erik Calonius, May 1973

Subway car, New York City
: photo by Erik Calonius, May 1973

Movie theatre, Berlin, New Hampshire: photo by Charles Steinhacker, June 1973

Snack bar in summer community of Broad Channel on Jamaica Bay, Queens, New York. Bay clams are the specialty of the house: photo by Arthur Tress, May 1973

Abandoned car in Jamaica Bay, Inwood, New York: photo by Arthur Tress, June 1973

Loaded coal cars sit in the rail yards at Danville, West Virginia, near Charleston, awaiting shipment to customers. It is one of the largest transshipment points for coal in the world. A constant stream of rail cars is moved in and out of the small town: photo by Jack Corn, April 1974

Coal City Club in Coal City, West Virginia, a part of Beckley. All of the men are coal miners. Note that some of them are "hunkering down" rather than sitting. This Is a familiar stance to all miners who use this posture in the mine shafts which have low ceilings: photo by Jack Corn, June 1974

David Shanklin, 19, lives in a coal company town near Sunbright, West Virginia, and graduated from Logan County High School. His girlfriend, Janet Edwards, 17, still attends high school in Logan. David's father was killed in the mines in 1954 by a roof fall and he wants to be a miner, but his mother doesn't want him to. The youth has a brother working in the mines. Notice the out houses in front of the homes
: photo by Jack Corn, April 1974

Mary Workman of Steubenvile, Ohio holds a jar of undrinkable water that comes from her well. She has filed a damage suit against the Hanna Coal Company. She has to transport water from a well many miles away. Although the coal company owns all the land around her, and many roads are closed, she refuses to sell: photo by Erik Calonius, October 1973 

The Atlas Chemical Company belches smoke across pasture land in foreground, Marshall, Texas. The plant Is referred to as "Old Darky" in the community because black soot from the plant covers everything near-by. One farmer claims he lost several cows due to soot and chemicals from Atlas: photo by Marc St. Gil, June 1972

Smokestacks of chemical plant, Corpus Christi, Texas: photo by Marc St. Gil, November 1972

Sunset over Olin-Mathieson Plant, Lake Charles, Louisiana: photo by Marc St. Gil, June 1972

Downtown parking Lot, Cincinnati, Ohio: photo by Tom Hubbard, August 1973

Caribou trot across the tundra near Prudhoe Bay, where the Trans-Alaska oil pipeline will start: photo by Dennis Cowals, August 1973

A young female fox near Galbraith Lake Camp, along the planned route of the Trans-Alaska oil pipeline: photo by Dennis Cowals, August 1973

Day's work done, the Parka Squirrel stands on the bank and surveys its domain, with Franklin Bluffs in background, along the planned route of the Trans-Alaska oil pipeline: photo by Dennis Cowals, August 1973

View east along Glen Highway toward Mount Drum (elevation 12,002 Feet) and intersection of road and Trans-Alaska pipeline. The 48-inch diameter pipeline will cross the roadway between the two vehicles. The exact point Is marked by a pair of wooden stakes along the right shoulder. Mile 673, Trans-Alaska pipeline route: photo by Dennis Cowals, August 1974

Recreational development of Lake Travis, Travis County, Texas: photo by Bill Reaves, c. 1972

Lake Lyndon Johnson, Travis County, Texas: photo by Bill Reaves, c. 1972

Public playground on the Charles River, near Soldiers Field Road, Boston, Massachusetts: photo by Ernst Halberstadt, June 1973

Wool mill in City Mills, one of thirty-five manufacturing towns along the eighty-mile Charles River, Massachusetts: photo by Ernst Halberstadt, June 1973

Old bridge on Northern Avenue, Boston: photo by Ernst Halberstadt, May 1973

Children play in yard of Ruston, Washington home, while Tacoma Smelter stack showers area with arsenic and lead residue: photo by Gene Daniels, August 1972

Trash and old tires litter the shore at the Middle Branch of Baltimore Harbor: photo by Jim Pickerell, January 1973

Aeration tanks at the Blue Plains sewage treatment plant on the Anacostia River, Washington, D.C. More tanks are being added to meet needs of ever-expanding suburbs: photo by Dick Swanson, April 1973

The Georgetown Gap, through which raw sewage flows into the Potomac River, Washington, D.C. Watergate complex in the rear: photo by John Neubauer, April 1973

Illegal dumping area off the New Jersey Turnpike, facing Manhattan across the Hudson River. Nearby, to the South, Is the landfill area of the proposed Liberty State Park
: photo by Gary Miller, March 1973

 Morning rush hour traffic on H-1 freeway approaching Honolulu from the west. Commuters come from such fast growing areas as Pearl City and Mililani town: photo by Charles O'Rear, October 1973

Clark Avenue and Clark Avenue Bridge, looking East from West 13th Street, are obscured by smoke from heavy industry, Cleveland, Ohio: photo by Frank J. Aleksandrowicz, July 1973

Residents take part in organized daily exercises in one of the public pools at Century Village retirement community, West Palm Beach, Florida: photo by Flip Schulke, c. 1975

Visual pollution along Interstate 24, South Pittsburg, Tennessee: photo by William Strode, September 1972

Crossing the painted road which extends east from the Philadelphia Museum of Art: photo by Dick Swanson, August 1973

All photos from the DOCUMERICA series, an Environmental Protection Agency program to photographically document subjects of environmental concern, compiled 1972-1977 (U.S. National Archives)