Academic literature on the topic 'Blue, Judy 1944'

The article presents a selection of documents from the files of several precincts of the Warsaw ‘blue’ police, which illustrate the involvement of Polish officers in the search for the Jews in hiding, during the 1942–1944 period.

AbstractPrecipitation at 2050 m on Blue Glacier, U.S.A., was measured daily from August 1957 through July 1958. Its correlation with a nearby lowland station with a good, long-term (1914–96) record is used to estimate precipitation on the glacier over that entire period. Average annual precipitation on Blue Glacier is 4500 mm w.e. Snowfall depends on the joint distribution of precipitation and temperature. Over the period 1948–96, for which twice-daily radiosonde observations are available, temperature at any elevation on the glacier is interpolated in the radiosonde profile to partition the precipitation as either rain or snow. Daily partitioning is preferred, especially during spring and autumn storms when averaging over longer periods may substantially under- or overestimate snowfall on the glacier. Prior to 1948, snowfall is estimated from the mean over 1948–96, in a particular month and elevation, of the fraction of the precipitation falling as snow. The standard error in the October–May snowfall at 2100 m is estimated to be 250 mm w.e. during the radiosonde era (1948–96) and 350 mm prior to that. For the first 10 years or so after mass-balance measurements began at Blue Glacier (1957), precipitation increased and winter temperature at 850 mbar (about 1450 m) decreased, but since then the trends have reversed. The combined effect, increasing snowfall until 1965 and decreasing since, closely parallels measured mass changes of Blue Glacier. When the average vertical profile of total annual snowfall is subjected to a hypothetical 1 K warming, the resulting reduction in snowfall is greatest at the glacier terminus and decreases up-glacier; the average over the entire glacier is 300 mm w.e.

Abstract All those who spent our holidays in the countryside to our gradparents or relatives, we heard about the elders’ stories about storms that rained frogs and fish. I also remember such a story that occured in the villages of Covasna river basin in 1970. The elders were speaking about such a heavy rain accompanied by fish that would have occurred due to an overheating of the active surface in July or August 1946 as well as in 1968 (!). Then, out of the blue, out of the forest, from ESE, black clouds accompanied by thunder and lightning occured, while frogs and fish fell among heavy drops of dirty rain.

- Between July and December 1944 the Institute for social research of Columbia University made known the results of a survey on anti-Semitism in the American working class carried out by the Jewish Labor Committee of New York. The results of the research confirmed the rooting of a few stereotypes and prejudices on Jews in some specific segments of the American working world: more widespread among "blue collars" rather than "white collars" and among the white population rather than the black. This form of anti-Semitism involved, paradoxically, also the workers of factories producing weapons to fight against the Third Reich. A form of anti-Semitism which did not stop with the end of World War II but turned, using the same mechanisms analyzed by migrant German sociologists, into a discrimination against communist militants.Parole chiave: Scuola di Francoforte, esilio, classe operaia, antisemitismo, razzismo, comunismo School of Frankfurt, exile, anti-Semitism, working class, racism, communism

The article discusses the role of Polish and Polish diaspora organizations in the USA, and the role of their archives, libraries, and museum deposits in the study of the first years of the independent Polish state. The most important ones, created in the USA in the 19th and the 20th century by Polish immigrants, are the Józef Piłsudski Institute of America (located in New York), the Polish Institute of Arts and Sciences of America (located in New York), the Polish Army Veterans’ Association in America (located in New York), the Polish Museum of America (located in Chicago), the Polish Archive in the Polish Catholic Mission in Orchard Lake near Detroit, and the Polish Music Center in Los Angeles. The key role in the study of the restoration of the Polish state in 1918-1923 plays the Józef Piłsudski Institute of America, established on 4 July 1943 as a descendant of the Institute for Research into the Modern Polish History functioning in Warsaw between 1923 and 1939. The institute holds the so-called Belvedere Archives, saved in 1939 from Warsaw and taken from Europe to New York. It contains the documents of the Adjutancy Commander in Chief from the years 1918-1922, illustrating the struggle for the borders of the restored Polish state; documents of the Ukrainian Military Mission, showing Polish-Ukrainian cooperation in the face of the threat from Bolshevik Russia; documents from three Silesian uprisings, and archives of well-known supporters of Piłsudski, e.g. General Julian Stachiewicz and Marshal Rydz-Śmigły. Other additional sources from the years 1918-1923 are stored by Polish diaspora institutions, including priceless and understudied documents concerning the prominent composer, diplomat, and politician Ignacy Jan Paderewski, as well as unique materials concerning Polish volunteers from the USA fighting along with General Józef Haller’s so-called Blue Army.

When Brigadier General Thomas Farrell groped to describe (in an official government report) the subjective effect of the first atomic explosion at Alamogordo, New Mexico, at 5:29:50 A.M. on July 16, 1945, he found himself, like many a would-be writer of the sublime before him, at a loss for adequate terms and tropes – stupefied, dwarfed, reaching for hyperbolic endterms like “doomsday” and “blasphemous” and resorting to spaced-out adjectives such as “tremendous” or “awesome” that 19thcentury Americans had reserved for more manageable spectacles of God's grandeur such as Niagara Falls or the Grand Canyon. Though a military man and no poet, as Farrell registered this history-shattering event in words, he struggled to command some rhetoric of ultimacy before nuclear “effects [that] could well be called unprecedented, magnificent, beautiful, stupendous and terrifying”:No man-made phenomenon of such tremendous power had ever occurred before. The lighting effects beggared description. The whole country was lighted by a searing light with the intensity many times that of the midday sun. It was golden, purple, violet, gray and blue. It lighted every peak, crevasse, and mountain range with a clarity and beauty that cannot be described but must be seen to be imagined. It was the beauty the great poets dream about but describe most poorly and inadequately. Thirty seconds after the explosion came, first the air blast pressing hard against people and things, to be followed almost immediately by the strong, sustained awesome roar which warned of doomsday and made us feel that we puny things were blasphemous to dare tamper with the forces heretofore reserved to The Almighty. Words are inadequate tools for the job of acquainting those not present with the physical, mental, and psychological effects. It had to be witnessed to be realized.

INTRODUCTION Winter snow and ice can have a significant impact on our mobility, whether on foot or by car. Alongside plowing, arguably the greatest tool in combating snow and ice is salt. The most commonly used salt for winter maintenance is Sodium Chloride (NaCl), the same salt used in food and water softeners, is applied to roads, sidewalks, and parking lots as it is an effective deicer when temperatures are between 0°C and −12°C. Studies have shown that deicing with salt reduces accidents by 88% and injuries by 85% (Salt Institute 2017). The effectiveness of road salt, as well as its relative affordability, means that as much as four million tonnes may be applied annually in Canada for deicing (Environment Canada 2012). However, while salt is relatively inexpensive to purchase, there are a number of external costs that are becoming increasingly apparent. These include corrosion of vehicles and infrastructure like concrete, bridges, and water mains; damage and staining to the interior and exterior of buildings; impacts to roadside vegetation and soils; and the contamination of fresh water. In fact, the environmental impacts are such that it prompted Environment Canada to propose that winter salt be considered a toxic substance primarily due to the quantity that is applied annually (Environment Canada 2001). The Lake Simcoe watershed, approximately 3,400km2 in size, is situated just 20km north of Toronto, Ontario, with the southern portion of the watershed being considered part of the Greater Toronto Area (GTA), the most populous metropolitan area in Canada. As part of the GTA, the Lake Simcoe watershed has experienced and continues to experience considerable growth, and with this growth comes an increase in the amount of impervious surfaces requiring winter salting. Indeed, chloride has been showing a strong increasing trend in the urban creeks and in Lake Simcoe itself over the last 30 years. Even rural creeks are showing an increasing trend, albeit not as severe, nor are the concentrations of chloride reaching the same levels (LSRCA 2015). The highest chloride level recorded in a Lake Simcoe tributary was 6,120mg/l in the winter of 2013. Chloride guidelines for the protection of aquatic ecosystems utilize a guideline of 120mg/L for chronic exposure and 640mg/L for acute exposure (CCME 2011). While the high value recorded in the Lake Simcoe tributary greatly exceeds these guidelines, it is still drastically lower than values being recorded in larger, intensively urbanized catchments such as Cooksville Creek in Mississauga, Ontario, which sees concentrations in excess of 20,000 mg/L, the concentration of sea water, nearly every winter (Credit Valley Conservation personal comm). Similarly, in July of 2011 a small population of Atlantic blue crabs, a marine species, was found surviving in Mimico Creek in Toronto (Toronto Star: May 26, 2012). That a marine species was able to survive in this fresh water creek in summer demonstrates that the impacts of winter salt are not just limited to winter but are impacting shallow groundwater and thus summer baseflow, maintaining high chloride concentrations year round. The same is being seen in some urban creeks in the Lake Simcoe watershed, with summer baseflow concentrations exceeding the chronic guideline and trending upwards (LSRCA unpublished). While not yet as extreme as rivers in the more densely urbanized parts of the GTA, these examples foreshadow what is in store for Lake Simcoe rivers if current winter salt practices continue along with the projected urban growth. During the winter of 2012 an estimated 99,300 tonnes of salt was applied in the Lake Simcoe watershed, an amount that equals nearly 250kg of salt per capita, or ~3 times the average person's body weight in salt. This estimate was generated through a survey of local road agencies along with the total area of commercial/institutional parking lots within the watershed. The exercise served to highlight a knowledge gap around application practices and rates in commercial/institutional parking lots. The majority of road agencies were found to record annual volumes, application dates and rates whereas literature values range from 10–40% of the salt applied in a catchment come from commercial/institutional parking lots (Perera et al, 2009; Trowbridge et al, 2010; Lake Simcoe Region Conservation Authority, 2015), and a survey of winter maintenance contractors cite an average value of approximately 58g/m2/application (Fu et al, 2013) ( Figure 1 ). [Figure: see text] While these values were used in the estimation as they were the best available, observational data suggested these may be on the conservative side ( Figure 2 ). [Figure: see text] Therefore, monitoring of a 14 ha commercial lot was undertaken for the winters of 2014/15, 2015/16, and 2016/17 to better quantify the amount of salt coming from this type of land use. The winters of 2014/15 and 2016/17 saw similar applications of 1,067 and 1,010 tonnes applied respectively, while the mild winter of 2015/16 saw 556 tonnes applied. While the amounts varied somewhat each winter, the impacts downstream were consistent. Maximum concentrations recorded in the melt water reached 3.5 to 4 times the salt concentration of sea water every winter, equating to chloride concentrations of 70,000mg/L to 85,000mg/L; two orders of magnitude above the water quality guideline. As with most parking lots constructed in the last two decades, the runoff from this parking lot is captured in a stormwater pond prior to entering the receiving watercourse. Interestingly, the winter salt also caused persistent chemical stratification in the permanent pool of the pond. The pond was monitored with continuous monitors for the ice free period of 2015 and 2016 (April to December) during which the bottom water chloride concentration remained distinct from the surface chloride concentration, indicating stratification ( Figure 3 ). This has two significant implications; first of which is that this pond, and therefore many other ponds like it, may not be functioning as designed which is leading to diminished performance (McEnroe 2012, Marsalek 2003). Second is that ponds are acting as salt reservoirs, slowly releasing salt year round and contributing to river chloride concentrations that continually exceed the chronic exposure guideline and thereby exposing aquatic life to harmful concentrations during sensitive life cycle stages. [Figure: see text] To determine the extent to which the catchment land use type impacts stormwater ponds, chemical profiles were measured on three ponds in February 2017. The catchments included the 24.6 ha commercial catchment with 14 ha of salt application surface, an institutional catchment (14.3 ha) with 6 ha of salt application area that includes parking lots and roads, and a 16.4 ha residential catchment with 3 ha of salt application area comprised of tertiary municipal roads. Interestingly, all three ponds showed chemical stratification, with the severity of the stratification and highest chloride concentrations relating to the amount of salt application area in the catchment. The residential pond yielded a maximum chloride concentration of 3,115mg/L in the bottom waters, the institutional yielded 16,144mg/L, and the commercial yielded 25,530 mg/L with chloride concentrations in the bottom 0.5m of the pond exceeding that of sea water. The maximum chloride concentration recorded in the receiving watercourse downstream of the commercial lot was measured at 5,406 mg/L, well in excess of the acute guideline of 640 mg/L. These results highlight that commercial parking lots are not only receiving a significant volume of salt but are also having the most dramatic impacts on receiving stormwater infrastructure and watercourses.

Ray Beverton was born on the 29 August 1922, the only child of Edgar John Beverton and Dorothy Sybil Mary Beverton. His father was a commercial artist and his mother, too, came from an artistic family; indeed an ancestor was Sir Thomas Heaphy, a portrait painter and official war artist at Waterloo. Another forebear won the V.C. As a young child Ray acquired enthusiasms for music, fishing and football, activities which were dear to him throughout his life; in later years he became very fond of sailing. He was a regular supporter of West Ham United - the Hammers - until he moved to Swindon. When eight years old he entered his first angling competition and in later life he rarely took a holiday or trip abroad without his fishing rods. He went to school at the Forest School, Snaresbrook and then to Downing College, Cambridge (1940-42), where he read physics, chemistry and mathematics in Part I of the Natural Sciences Tripos. Between 1942 and 1945 he worked at the Operational Research Group developing polystyrene and latex for the insulation of coaxial cables for radar. During this time he retained his links with Cambridge and when in 1945, Michael Graham, the newly appointed Director of Fisheries Research, asked his former tutor, Sir James Gray, F.R.S, for an able young graduate to extend his studies on the exploitation of the North Sea cod (Graham 1935, 1938 a ), Ray was introduced to him. Ray wrote ‘I first met Michael Graham in the late summer of 1945 in a small space carved out of the racks of dusty files in St Stephen’s House. He gave me a copy of his book, The Fish Gate (Graham 1943). Within a month he took me with him on a Grimsby trawler to the Barents Sea fishing grounds’ (1)*. Ray suffered badly from sea sickness and wrote three letters of resignation, which fortunately he did not send. He spent a year in Lowestoft from 1945-46. During this time he wrote the first chapter of Graham’s Buckland lecture (2), one of a series which are given from time to time by scientists to audiences of fishermen; both Ray and Michael used the English language well, if differently. The amalgam is a delightful study of Frank Buckland, one of the ancestors of fisheries research. In 1946, Ray returned to Cambridge to read zoology in Part II of the Tripos and he gained the top first class degree in his year and the Smart Prize for zoology; he also won a Blue for soccer. He returned to Lowestoft in 1947 and married Kathleen Edith Marner the same year. They had three daughters, Susan, Valerie and Julia. *Numbers in this form refer to the bibliography at the end of the text.

Site 41CE291 was visited by H. Perry Newell and A. T. Jackson in March 1940, and they made a small surface collection of artifacts at that time; the surface-collected artifacts are in the collections of the Texas Archeological Research Laboratory at The University of Texas at Austin (TARL). The site is on a large terrace of the Neches River, about 0.4 km east of the George C. Davis site (41CE19); the two sites are divided by a small valley of a southward-flowing spring-fed tributary of the Neches River; Forman Branch flows along the east side of this terrace. Newell noted about the site that “A. T. Jackson and I found some fragments of what may possibly be Spanish bricks in a heavily wooded area near a spring, about a mile east of the mound,” the mound namely being Mound A at the George C. Davis site. Notes by Newell in the site file for 41CE291 provide more detail about the finds there, which he suggests are from a Spanish mission, namely Mission Nuestra Padre San Francisco de Tejas or San Francisco de los Nechas, occupied by Spanish missionaries from 1716-1719 and then again from 1721-1730. Mission site on hill adjacent to spring (N) and prehistoric village to S of Branch. Mission site contains Spanish sherds and fragments of Spanish brick with a few flint artifacts. Old village some 200 yds. (S) shows no evidence of white contacts but has Indian potsherds and artifacts. Newell further indicated that there was a shack standing on the mission site, and he provided a more detailed inventory of what he and Jackson noted or collected from the site. This included a few animal bones on the old Indian village site, as well as one end scraper, one side scraper, four projectile points, two plain rim sherds, two gouges, one punctated sherd, 28 combed [brushed] sherds, two Spanish sherds, nine incised sherds, four Spanish bricks, and 30 plain sherds. In July 1969, George Kegley and Dan Witter surveyed the site while looking for other Caddo settlements that may be associated with the ca. A.D. 900-1300 occupation at the George C. Davis mound center. They noted that there was a stone marker on the terrace marking the site as the location of Mission San Francisco de Tejas or de los Nechas, but the collection of artifacts they gathered from the terrace (which was recorded at the time as 41CE54) did not contain any European artifacts, only Caddo sherds, Late Archaic to Woodland period dart points, lithic flakes, and ground stone tools. Given that the location of Mission San Francisco de Tejas or de los Nechas has not been definitively located by archaeologists, I wanted to examine the collections gathered by Newell and Jackson in 1940 to determine what evidence they had found of Spanish use of 41CE291. If there were Spanish artifacts from 41CE291, their discovery may be the first real indication that the mission was on this Neches River terrace. At the same time, early 18th century Spanish ceramics (ca. 20 sherds from Puebla Blue on white majolica sherds from several vessels) and lead balls and lead shot have recently been rediscovered in the collections from the George C. Davis site from a place several hundred meters south of Mound A at the site, and this area may also be considered a possible location of Mission San Francisco de Tejas.

Conurbation [f. CON- + L. urb- and urbs city + -ation] An aggregation of urban areas. (OED) Beyond the urban, further and lower even than the suburban, lies the con-urban. The conurban: with the urban, partaking of the urbane, lying against but also perhaps pushing against or being contra the urban. Conurbations stretch littorally from Australian cities, along coastlines to other cities, joining cities through the passage of previously outlying rural areas. Joining the dots between cities, towns, and villages. Providing corridors between the city and what lies outside. The conurban is an accretion, an aggregation, a piling up, or superfluity of the city: Greater London, for instance. It is the urban plus, filling the gaps between cities, as Los Angeles oozing urbanity does for the dry, desert areas abutting it (Davis 1990; Soja 1996). I wish to propose that the conurban imaginary is a different space from its suburban counterpart. The suburban has provided a binary opposition to what is not the city, what lies beneath its feet, outside its ken. Yet it is also what is greater than the urban, what exceeds it. In modernism, the city and its denizens define themselves outside what is arrayed around the centre, ringing it in concentric circles. In stark relief to the modernist lines of the skyscraper, contrasting with the central business district, central art galleries and museums, is to be found the masses in the suburbs. The suburban as a maligned yet enabling trope of modernism has been long revalued, in the art of Howard Arkeley, and in photography of suburban Gothic. It comes as no surprise to read a favourable newspaper article on the Liverpool Regional Art Gallery, in Sydney's Western Suburbs, with its exhibition on local chicken empires, Liverpool sheds, or gay and lesbians living on the city fringe. Nor to hear in the third way posturing of Australian Labor Party parliamentarian Mark Latham, the suburbs rhetorically wielded, like a Victa lawn mover, to cut down to size his chardonnay-set inner-city policy adversaries. The politics of suburbia subtends urban revisionism, reformism, revanchism, and recidivism. Yet there is another less exhausted, and perhaps exhaustible, way of playing the urban, of studying the metropolis, of punning on the city's proper name: the con-urban. World cities, as Saskia Sassen has taught us, have peculiar features: the juxtaposition of high finance and high technology alongside subaltern, feminized, informal economy (Sassen 1998). The Australian city proudly declared to be a world city is, of course, Sydney while a long way from the world's largest city by population, it is believed to be the largest in area. A recent newspaper article on Brisbane's real estate boom, drew comparisons with Sydney only to dismiss them, according to one quoted commentator, because as a world city, Sydney was sui generis in Australia, fairly requiring comparison with other world cities. One form of conurbanity, I would suggest, is the desire of other settled areas to be with the world city. Consider in this regard, the fate of Byron Bay a fate which lies very much in the balance. Byron Bay is sign that circulates in the field of the conurban. Craig MacGregor has claimed Byron as the first real urban culture outside an Australian city (MacGregor 1995). Local residents hope to keep the alternative cultural feel of Byron, but to provide it with a more buoyant economic outlook. The traditional pastoral, fishing, and whaling industries are well displaced by niche handicrafts, niche arts and craft, niche food and vegetables, a flourishing mind, body and spirit industry, and a booming film industry. Creative arts and cultural industries are blurring into creative industries. The Byron Bay area at the opening of the twenty-first century is attracting many people fugitive from the city who wish not to drop out exactly; rather to be contra wishes rather to be gently contrary marked as distinct from the city, enjoying a wonderful lifestyle, but able to persist with the civilizing values of an urban culture. The contemporary figure of Byron Bay, if such a hybrid chimera may be represented, wishes for a conurbanity. Citizens relocate from Melbourne, Canberra, and Sydney, seeking an alternative country and coastal lifestyle and, if at all possible, a city job (though without stress) (on internal migration in Australia see Kijas 2002): Hippies and hip rub shoulders as a sleepy town awakes (Still Wild About Byron, (Sydney Morning Herald, 1 January 2002). Forerunners of Byron's conurbanity leave, while others take their place: A sprawling $6.5 million Byron Bay mansion could be the ultimate piece of memorabilia for a wealthy fan of larrikin Australian actor Paul Hogan (Hoges to sell up at Byron Bay, Illawarra Mercury, 14 February 2002). The ABC series Seachange is one key text of conurbanity: Laura Gibson has something of a city job she can ply the tools of her trade as a magistrate while living in an idyllic rural location, a nice spot for a theme park of contemporary Australian manners and nostalgia for community (on Sea Change see Murphy 2002). Conurban designates a desire to have it both ways: cityscape and pastoral mode. Worth noting is that the Byron Shire has its own independent, vibrant media public sphere, as symbolized by the Byron Shire Echo founded in 1986, one of the great newspapers outside a capital city (Martin & Ellis 2002): <http://www.echo.net.au>. Yet the textual repository in city-based media of such exilic narratives is the supplement to the Saturday broadsheet papers. A case in point is journalist Ruth Ostrow, who lives in hills in the Byron Shire, and provides a weekly column in the Saturday Australian newspaper, its style gently evocative of just one degree of separation from a self-parody of New Age mores: Having permanently relocated to the hills behind Byron Bay from Sydney, it's interesting for me to watch friends who come up here on holiday over Christmas… (Ostrow 2002). The Sydney Morning Herald regards Byron Bay as another one of its Northern beaches, conceptually somewhere between Palm Beach and Pearl Beach, or should one say Pearl Bay. The Herald's fascination for Byron Bay real estate is coeval with its obsession with Sydney's rising prices: Byron Bay's hefty price tags haven't deterred beach-lovin' boomers (East Enders, Sydney Morning Herald 17 January 2002). The Australian is not immune from this either, evidence 'Boom Times in Byron', special advertising report, Weekend Australia, Saturday 2 March 2002. And plaudits from The Financial Review confirm it: Prices for seafront spots in the enclave on the NSW north coast are red hot (Smart Property, The Financial Review, 19 January 2002). Wacky North Coast customs are regularly covered by capital city press, the region functioning as a metonym for drugs. This is so with Nimbin especially, with regular coverage of the Nimbin Mardi Grass: Mardi Grass 2001, Nimbin's famous cannabis festival, began, as they say, in high spirits in perfect autumn weather on Saturday (Oh, how they danced a high old time was had by all at the Dope Pickers' Ball, Sydney Morning Herald, 7 May 2001). See too coverage of protests over sniffer dogs in Byron Bay in Easter 2001 showed (Peatling 2001). Byron's agony over its identity attracts wider audiences, as with its quest to differentiate itself from the ordinariness of Ballina as a typical Aussie seaside town (Buttrose 2000). There are national metropolitan audiences for Byron stories, readers who are familiar with the Shire's places and habits: Lismore-reared Emma Tom's 2002 piece on the politics of perving at King's beach north of Byron occasioned quite some debate from readers arguing the toss over whether wanking on the beach was perverse or par for the course: Public masturbation is a funny old thing. On one hand, it's ace that some blokes feel sexually liberated enough to slap the salami any old time… (Tom 2002). Brisbane, of course, has its own designs upon Byron, from across the state border. Brisbane has perhaps the best-known conurbation: its northern reaches bleed into the Sunshine Coast, while its southern ones salute the skyscrapers of Australia's fourth largest city, the Gold Coast (on Gold Coast and hinterland see Griffin 2002). And then the conburbating continues unabated, as settlement stretches across the state divide to the Tweed Coast, with its mimicking of Sanctuary Cove, down to the coastal towns of Ocean Shores, Brunswick Heads, Byron, and through to Ballina. Here another type of infrastructure is key: the road. Once the road has massively overcome the topography of rainforest and mountain, there will be freeway conditions from Byron to Brisbane, accelerating conurbanity. The caf is often the short-hand signifier of the urban, but in Byron Bay, it is film that gives the urban flavour. Byron Bay has its own International Film Festival (held in the near-by boutique town of Bangalow, itself conurban with Byron.), and a new triple screen complex in Byron: Up north, film buffs Geraldine Hilton and Pete Castaldi have been busy. Last month, the pair announced a joint venture with Dendy to build a three-screen cinema in the heart of Byron Bay, scheduled to open mid-2002. Meanwhile, Hilton and Castaldi have been busy organising the second Byron All Screen Celebration Film Festival (BASC), after last year's inaugural event drew 4000 visitors to more than 50 sessions, seminars and workshops. Set in Bangalow (10 minutes from Byron by car, less if you astral travel)… (Cape Crusaders, Sydney Morning Herald, 15 February 2002). The film industry is growing steadily, and claims to be the largest concentration of film-makers outside of an Australian capital city (Henkel 2000 & 2002). With its intimate relationship with the modern city, film in its Byron incarnation from high art to short video, from IMAX to multimedia may be seen as the harbinger of the conurban. If the case of Byron has something further to tell us about the transformation of the urban, we might consider the twenty-first century links between digital communications networks and conurbanity. It might be proposed that telecommunications networks make it very difficult to tell where the city starts and ends; as they interactively disperse information and entertainment formerly associated with the cultural institutions of the metropolis (though this digitization of urbanity is more complex than hyping the virtual suggest; see Graham & Marvin 1996). The bureau comes not just to the 'burbs, but to the backblocks as government offices are closed in country towns, to be replaced by online access. The cinema is distributed across computer networks, with video-on-demand soon to become a reality. Film as a cultural form in the process of being reconceived with broadband culture (Jacka 2001). Global movements of music flow as media through the North Coast, with dance music culture and the doof (Gibson 2002). Culture and identity becomes content for the information age (Castells 1996-1998; Cunningham & Hartley 2001; OECD 1998; Trotter 2001). On e-mail, no-one knows, as the conceit of internet theory goes, where you work or live; the proverbial refashioning of subjectivity by the internet affords a conurbanity all of its own, a city of bits wherever one resides (Mitchell 1995). To render the digital conurban possible, Byron dreams of broadband. In one of those bizarre yet recurring twists of Australian media policy, large Australian cities are replete with broadband infrastructure, even if by 2002 city-dwellers are not rushing to take up the services. Telstra's Foxtel and Optus's Optus Vision raced each other down streets of large Australian cities in the mid-1990s to lay fibre-coaxial cable to provide fast data (broadband) capacity. Cable modems and quick downloading of video, graphics, and large files have been a reality for some years. Now the Asymmetrical Digital Subscriber Line (ADSL) technology is allowing people in densely populated areas close to their telephone exchanges to also avail themselves of broadband Australia. In rural Australia, broadband has not been delivered to most areas, much to the frustration of the conurbanites. Byron Bay holds an important place in the history of the internet in Australia, because it was there that one of Australia's earliest and most important internet service providers, Pegasus Network, was established in the late 1980s. Yet Pegasus relocated to Brisbane in 1993, because of poor quality telecommunications networks (Peters 1998). As we rethink the urban in the shadow of modernity, we can no longer ignore or recuse ourselves from reflecting upon its para-urban modes. As we deconstruct the urban, showing how the formerly pejorative margins actually define the centre the suburban for instance being more citified than the grand arcades, plazas, piazzas, or malls; we may find that it is the conurban that provides the cultural imaginary for the urban of the present century. Work remains to be done on the specific modalities of the conurban. The conurban has distinct temporal and spatial coordinates: citizens of Sydney fled to Manly earlier in the twentieth century, as they do to Byron at the beginning of the twenty-first. With its resistance to the transnational commercialization and mass culture that Club Med, McDonalds, and tall buildings represent, and with its strict environment planning regulation which produce a litigious reaction (and an editorial rebuke from the Sydney Morning Herald [SMH 2002]), Byron recuperates the counter-cultural as counterpoint to the Gold Coast. Subtle differences may be discerned too between Byron and, say, Nimbin and Maleny (in Queensland), with the two latter communities promoting self-sufficient hippy community infused by new agricultural classes still connected to the city, but pushing the boundaries of conurbanity by more forceful rejection of the urban. Through such mapping we may discover the endless attenuation of the urban in front and beyond our very eyes; the virtual replication and invocation of the urban around the circuits of contemporary communications networks; the refiguring of the urban in popular and elite culture, along littoral lines of flight, further domesticating the country; the road movies of twenty-first century freeways; the perpetuation and worsening of inequality and democracy (Stilwell 1992) through the action of the conurban. Cities without bounds: is the conurban one of the faces of the postmetropolis (Soja 2000), the urban without end, with no possibility for or need of closure? My thinking on Byron Bay, and the Rainbow Region in which it is situated, has been shaped by a number of people with whom I had many conversations during my four years living there in 1998-2001. My friends in the School of Humanities, Media, and Cultural Studies, Southern Cross University, Lismore, provided focus for theorizing our ex-centric place, of whom I owe particular debts of gratitude to Baden Offord (Offord 2002), who commented upon this piece, and Helen Wilson (Wilson 2002). Thanks also to an anonymous referee for helpful comments. References Buttrose, L. (2000). Betray Byron at Your Peril. Sydney Morning Herald 7 September 2000. Castells, M. (1996-98). The Information Age. 3 vols. Blackwell, Oxford. Cunningham, S., & Hartley, J. (2001). Creative Industries from Blue Poles to Fat Pipes. Address to the National Humanities and Social Sciences Summit, National Museum of Canberra. July 2001. Davis, M. (1990). City of Quartz: Excavating the Future in Los Angeles. Verso, London. Gibson, C. (2002). Migration, Music and Social Relations on the NSW Far North Coast. Transformations, no. 2. <http://www.ahs.cqu.edu.au/transformation...>. Graham, S., and Marvin, S. (1996). Telecommunications and the City: Electronic Spaces, Urban Places. Routledge, London & New York. Griffin, Graham. (2002). Where Green Turns to Gold: Strip Cultivation and the Gold Coast Hinterland. Transformations, no. 2. <http://www.ahs.cqu.edu.au/transformation...> Henkel, C. (2002). Development of Audiovisual Industries in the Northern Rivers Region of NSW. Master thesis. Queensland University of Technology. . (2000). Imagining the Future: Strategies for the Development of 'Creative Industries' in the Northern Rivers Region of NSW. Northern Rivers Regional Development Board in association with the Northern Rivers Area Consultative Committee, Lismore, NSW. Jacka, M. (2001). Broadband Media in Australia Tales from the Frontier, Australian Film Commission, Sydney. Kijas, J. (2002). A place at the coast: Internal migration and the shift to the coastal-countryside. Transformations, no. 2. <http://www.ahs.cqu.edu.au/transformation...>. MacGregor, Craig. (1995). The Feral Signifier and the North Coast. In The Abundant Culture: Meaning And Significance in Everyday Australia, ed. Donald Horne & Jill Hooten. Allen and Unwin, Sydney. Martin, F., & Ellis, R. (2002). Dropping in, not out: the evolution of the alternative press in Byron Shire 1970-2001. Transformations, no. 2. <http://www.ahs.cqu.edu.au/transformation...>. Mitchell, W.J. (1995). City of Bits: Space, Place, and the Infobahn. MIT Press, Cambridge, Mass. Molnar, Helen. (1998). 'National Convergence or Localism?: Rural and Remote Communications.' Media International Australia 88: 5-9. Moyal, A. (1984). Clear Across Australia: A History of Telecommunications. Thomas Nelson, Melbourne. Murphy, P. (2002). Sea Change: Re-Inventing Rural and Regional Australia. Transformations, no. 2. <http://www.ahs.cqu.edu.au/transformation...>. Offord, B. (2002). Mapping the Rainbow Region: Fields of belonging and sites of confluence. Transformations, no. 2. <http://www.ahs.cqu.edu.au/transformation...>. Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD). (1998). Content as a New Growth Industry: Working Party for the Information Economy. OECD, Paris. Ostrow, R. (2002). Joyous Days, Childish Ways. The Australian, 9 February. Peatling, S. (2001). Keep Off Our Grass: Byron stirs the pot over sniffer dogs. Sydney Morning Herald. 16 April. <http://www.smh.com.au/news/0104/14/natio...> Peters, I. (1998). Ian Peter's History of the Internet. Lecture at Southern Cross University, Lismore. CD-ROM. Produced by Christina Spurgeon. Faculty of Creative Industries, Queensland University of Technology, Brisbane. Productivity Commission. (2000). Broadcasting Inquiry: Final Report, Melbourne, Productivity Commission. Sassen, S. (1998). Globalisation and its Contents: Essays on the New Mobility of People and Money. New Press, New York. Soja, E. (2000). Postmetropolis: critical studies of cities and regions. Blackwell, Oxford. . (1996). Thirdspace: journeys to Los Angeles and other real-and-imagined places. Blackwell, Cambridge, Mass. Stilwell, F. (1992). Understanding Cities and Regions: Spatial Political Economy. Pluto Press, Sydney. Sydney Morning Herald (SMH). (2002). Byron Should Fix its own Money Mess. Editorial. 5 April. Tom, E. (2002). Flashing a Problem at Hand. The Weekend Australian, Saturday 12 January. Trotter, R. (2001). Regions, Regionalism and Cultural Development. Culture in Australia: Policies, Publics and Programs. Ed. Tony Bennett and David Carter. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. 334-355. Wilson, H., ed. (2002). Fleeing the City. Special Issue of Transformations journal, no. 2. < http://www.ahs.cqu.edu.au/transformation...>. Links http://www.echo.net.au http://www.smh.com.au/news/0104/14/national/national3.html http://www.ahs.cqu.edu.au/transformations/journal/issue2/issue.htm Citation reference for this article MLA Style Goggin, Gerard. "Conurban" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.2 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/conurban.php>. Chicago Style Goggin, Gerard, "Conurban" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 2 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/conurban.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Goggin, Gerard. (2002) Conurban. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(2). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/conurban.php> ([your date of access]).

Indiana University-Purdue University Indianapolis (IUPUI)
By start of the 1920s, the United States had seen nearly forty years of vast accumulations of wealth by a small group of people, substantial financial speculation and a mass change in the economic base from agricultural to industrial. All of this ended in 1929 in a crushing depression that spread not only across the country, but also around the world. Hard-Boiled detective fiction first reached the reading public early in the decade initially as adventure stories, but quickly became a way for authors to express the stresses these changes were causing on people and society. The detective is the center of the story with the task of reestablishing a certain degree of order or redemption. An important character hallmark of this genre is that he is seldom able to do this, or that the cost is so high a terrible burden remains. His decisions and judgments in this attempt are formed by his relationship with the people or community around him. The goal of this thesis is to look at the issues raised in the context of how the detective relates to a person or community in the story. For analysis, six books were chosen arranged from least level of personal relationship by the detective to the most intimate. The books are Red Harvest, by Dashiell Hammett, The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler, The Galton Case, by Ross MacDonald, Cotton Comes to Harlem, by Chester Himes, Devil in a Blue Dress, by Walter Mosley, and I, the Jury, by Mickey Spillane. In the study of these books, a wide range of topics are presented including political ideologies, corruption, racial discrimination and family strife. Each book provided a wealth of views on these and other subjects that are as relevant today as when they were written.