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Italian-born Lazare Ponticelli, the last French veteran of World War I, is shown at his 110th birthday on Dec. 16 in Paris.
FRANCOIS MORI: AP file
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LAZARE PONTICELLI, FRANCE’S LAST WWI VETERAN
Associated Press
The last survivor was an unlikely one.
Ponticelli was born Dec. 7, 1897, in Bettola, a town in northern Italy.
To escape a tough childhood, Ponticelli trooped off alone at age 9 to the nearest railway station, 21 miles away in Piacenza, where he took a train to join his brothers in France, eventually becoming a French citizen, according to the veterans’ office in Versailles.
In the French capital, he worked as a chimney sweep and then as a newspaper boy. When the war broke out, he was just 16, so he lied about his age to enlist, the president’s statement said.
Ponticelli decided to fight for France, because it had taken him in.
“It was my way of saying ‘Thank you,” he said in a 2005 interview with the newspaper Le Monde.
Ponticelli joined the Foreign Legion during the war and served in the Argonne region of forest, rivers and lakes in northeast France, digging burial pits and trenches.
“At the beginning, we barely knew how to fight and had hardly any ammunition. Every time that one of us died, we fell silent and waited for our turn,” he said in the 2005 interview.
He also recalled running into no man’s land to save a wounded comrade stuck in barbed wire.
“He was shouting, ‘Come and get me, I’ve severed a leg.’ The stretcher-bearers didn’t dare go out. I couldn’t bear it any longer,” he said.
When Italy entered the war in 1915, Ponticelli was called up to fight with an Italian Alpine regiment. He tried to hide, but was found and sent to fight the Austrian army.
He described moments of fraternity with enemy Austrian soldiers.
“They gave us tobacco, and we gave them loaves of bread. No one was shooting any more. The headquarters found out, and moved us to a tougher zone,” he told Le Monde.
He described the joy in receiving letters from a milkmaid who “adopted” him when he was serving in Italy. He couldn’t read at the time, so comrades read them to him, according to a biography by the Versailles veterans’ office.
The Italian President Giorgio Napolitano expressed condolences “in the name of all Italians” to the veteran’s daughter, Jeannine Desbaucheron.
By fighting first for France and then for Italy, Ponticelli “offered an admirable example of an elevated sense of duty and dedication to both his adoptive country and his country of birth,” Napolitano wrote in a message to her.
Ponticelli returned to France in 1921, and he and his brothers started a company that made factory smokestacks. The company, Ponticelli Freres, grew into a manufacturer of specialized industrial equipment and is still in business.
Ponticelli became a French citizen in 1939, his nephew said.
His family was uncomfortable with the elaborate national funeral ceremony planned. Ponticelli agreed to one before his death, as long as it honored all the poilus and not just himself.
“We are trying to keep this a bit personal. We didn’t want all this ceremony,” said his grandnephew, Daniel Ponticelli.
He will be interred in a family burial plot in Paris.
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Associated Press writers John Leicester and Pauline Freour contributed to this report.
(Article courtesy of the Houston Chronicle: http://www.chron.com )
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GUS GIORDANA, INNOVATOR OF MODERN JAZZ DANCE
He was born in St. Louis and became interested in dance as a child. As a marine in World War II, he was assigned to perform in shows at military bases. He performed on Broadway after the war in musicals including “Paint Your Wagon” and “On the Town.” He moved to Chicago in 1953. In 1980, he won an Emmy for the television special “The Rehearsal.”
In addition to his daughters Nan and Amy, he is survived by two sons, Patrick and Marc, and eight grandchildren, all of Chicago.
(Article courtesy of The New York Times: http://www.nytimes.com )
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JOSEPH WEIZENBAUM, FAMED PROGRAMMER
The cause was complications of cancer, said his daughter Sharon Weizenbaum.
Eliza, written while Mr. Weizenbaum was a professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in 1964 and 1965 and named after Eliza Doolittle, who learned proper English in “Pygmalion” and “My Fair Lady,” was a groundbreaking experiment in the study of human interaction with machines.
The program made it possible for a person typing in plain English at a computer terminal to interact with a machine in a semblance of a normal conversation. To dispense with the need for a large real-world database of information, the software parodied the part of a Rogerian therapist, frequently reframing a client’s statements as questions.
In fact, the responsiveness of the conversation was an illusion, because Eliza was programmed simply to respond to certain key words and phrases. That would lead to wild non sequiturs and bizarre detours, but Mr. Weizenbaum later said that he was stunned to discover that his students and others became deeply engrossed in conversations with the program, occasionally revealing intimate personal details.
“It was amazing the extent that people did not understand they were talking to a computer,” said Robert Fano, emeritus professor of electrical engineering and computer science at M.I.T. In the wake of the creation of Eliza, which was described in a technical paper in January 1966, a group of M.I.T. scientists, including Claude Shannon, a pioneer in the field of cybernetics, met in Concord, Mass., to discuss the social implications of the phenomenon, Mr. Fano said.
The seductiveness of the conversations alarmed Mr. Weizenbaum, who came to believe that an obsessive reliance on technology was indicative of a moral failing in society, an observation rooted in his experiences as a child growing up in Nazi Germany.
In 1976, he sketched out a humanist critique of computer technology in his book “Computer Power and Human Reason: From Judgment to Calculation.” The book did not argue against the possibility of artificial intelligence but rather was a passionate criticism of systems that substituted automated decision-making for the human mind. In the book, he argued that computing served as a conservative force in society by propping up bureaucracies as well as by redefining the world in a reductionist sense, by restricting the potential of human relationships.
“He raised questions about what kinds of relationships we want to have with machines very early,” said Sherry Turkle, a professor in the program in science, technology and society at M.I.T. who taught courses with Mr. Weizenbaum on the social implications of technology.
Mr. Weizenbaum also believed that there were transcendent qualities in the human experience that could not be duplicated in interactions with machines. He described it in his book as “the wordless glance that a father and mother share over the bed of their sleeping child,” Ms. Turkle said.
The book drove a wedge between Mr. Weizenbaum and other members of the artificial intelligence research community. In his later years he said he came to take pride in his self-described status as a “heretic,” estranged from the insular community of elite computer researchers.
Joseph Weizenbaum was born on Jan. 8, 1923, in Berlin. He was the second son of Jechiel Weizenbaum, a furrier, and his wife, Henrietta. The family was forced to leave Berlin in 1935 when the Nazis enacted anti-Semitic legislation, and they emigrated the next year from Bremen, Germany, to the United States.
He began studies in mathematics at Wayne State University in Detroit in 1941, but left the next year to join the Army Air Corps, in which he served as a meteorologist. After the war he returned to complete his studies at the mathematics department, where he worked on the development and programming of the first large computers.
In 1952, he went into industry, working on an early General Electric computer development project for the Bank of America. In 1962, he was invited to become a visiting professor at M.I.T. and in 1970 became a professor of computer science at the school.
Attracted by his childhood experiences and the German language, Mr. Weizenbaum decided to return to Germany in 1996. His social criticism of computing technology was warmly received by a younger generation there. Much honored in German, he spoke frequently on the political and social consequences of technology.
His marriage to Ruth Manes Weizenbaum ended in divorce. Besides his daughter Sharon, of Amherst, Mass., he is survived by three other daughters: Miriam, of Providence, R.I.; Naomi, of Gröben; and Pm, of Seattle.
(Article courtesy of The New York Times: http://www.nytimes.com )
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HOWARD METZENBAUM, WHO BATTLED BIG BUSINESS AS OHIO SENATOR
Howard M. Metzenbaum, in 1993, was in the Senate 19 years.
Mr. Metzenbaum was a senator for 19 years, retiring in 1995 to become chairman of the Consumer Federation of America. In winning re-election in his last race, in 1988, he scored a wider margin of victory in traditionally Republican Ohio than that of Vice President George Bush, who was the Republican presidential nominee that year.
Mr. Metzenbaum, nicknamed Headline Howard for his love of publicity, denounced big oil companies, the insurance industry, savings and loans and the National Rifle Association, among many targets. At the Senate Judiciary Committee’s 1991 hearings on the nomination of Judge Clarence Thomas to the Supreme Court, he hammered Mr. Thomas relentlessly on accusations of sexual harassment. Finally, Judge Thomas responded, “God is my judge, not you, Mr. Metzenbaum.”
Howard Morton Metzenbaum, grandson of an immigrant from Hungary, was born on June 4, 1917, in Cleveland. His father, Charles, eked out a living selling the goods of bankrupt companies.
Howard Metzenbaum ran track at his Cleveland high school and once raced against Jesse Owens, who left him in the dust. He sold magazines and delivered groceries as a teenager. Before he was old enough to drive, he owned a car, which he used to ferry patrons to a race track. He woke up one morning and found the car, a 1926 Essex, gone. His father had sold it to meet a mortgage payment.
At Ohio State University, Mr. Metzenbaum ran a bike rental business, played his trombone for pay and sold chrysanthemums outside the football stadium. After graduating in 1939, he went to the university’s law school, making money by drafting legislation for state lawmakers.
After graduating from law school, he won election in 1942 to the Ohio House, where he served until 1947. He was a state senator from 1947 to 1951, when he retired from politics after losing in a bid to become Senate majority leader. He blamed anti-Semitism for the defeat.
Mr. Metzenbaum had meanwhile started a business with a partner, Alva T. Bonda. They set up one of the first commercial parking lots to be built at an airport, in Cleveland, and quickly expanded nationwide. When the company was bought by ITT, Mr. Metzenbaum received $6 million. The partners also had successful investments in newspapers, banking and 17 Avis rental car franchises, the largest number under a single ownership.
Mr. Metzenbaum once described himself as “born knowing how to make money.”
With financial independence, Mr. Metzenbaum managed two successful campaigns for the United States Senate by Stephen M. Young, a Democrat, in 1958 and 1964. In 1970, Mr. Metzenbaum ran for the Senate himself. He faced Mr. Glenn, an astronaut and national hero, in the primary.
At the campaign’s start, Mr. Metzenbaum was known by 10 percent of Ohioans and Mr. Glenn by 95 percent. Mr. Glenn contended that his millionaire opponent was buying the election with huge expenditures for television advertising.
Mr. Metzenbaum agreed that unequal television exposure was unfair but said Mr. Glenn had enjoyed a tax-supported “$3.5-billion-dollar TV spectacular when he orbited the Earth.” Mr. Metzenbaum won a narrow victory over Mr. Glenn, but lost to Robert Taft Jr. in the general election.
In 1973, President Richard M. Nixon named Senator William B. Saxbe, Republican of Ohio, as his new attorney general. Ohio’s Democratic governor, John J. Gilligan, named Mr. Metzenbaum to the remaining year of Mr. Saxbe’s term.
As an appointed senator, Mr. Metzenbaum said he would be a “quiet voice” and voted the liberal line on issues like energy and gun control. In 1974, he and Mr. Glenn were again pitted against each other in the Democratic primary.
In the campaign, Mr. Metzenbaum said Mr. Glenn had never met a payroll, apparently meaning to suggest that Mr. Glenn had no business experience. But many understood Mr. Metzenbaum to mean that Mr. Glenn had never held a real job.
Mr. Glenn, a career marine, replied of the sacrifices members of the armed service make, referring poignantly to the graves of many of them at Arlington National Cemetery. Mr. Glenn won the primary and the election.
In 1976, Mr. Metzenbaum beat Mr. Taft and became an elected senator. He threw himself into fighting against the deregulation of gas and oil prices, called for tighter regulation of the insurance industry and fought for national health insurance.
Mr. Metzenbaum and Mr. Glenn reconciled in 1984 when Mr. Metzenbaum helped Mr. Glenn’s presidential campaign. In 1988, Mr. Glenn helped Mr. Metzenbaum’s re-election effort, including recording a commercial rebuttal of Republican accusations that Mr. Metzenbaum was soft on child pornography.
For all his public fierceness, Mr. Metzenbaum was known for personal touches like his huge bulletin board with photographs of friends and colleagues. Each year he would take each of his four daughters on a business trip.
Besides his daughter Shelley, of Concord, Mass., his survivors include his wife, the former Shirley Turoff; three other daughters, Barbara J. Metzenbaum of Topanga, Calif.; Susan M. Hyatt of Atherton, Calif., and Amy B. Metzenbaum of Mill Valley, Calif.; and nine grandchildren.
After the Democrats won a Senate majority in the 1986 election, Mr. Metzenbaum was glad to be more than “Senator No” to Republican initiatives. He had several legislative victories, including a law requiring companies to give voters 60 days’ notice of a plant shutdown.
In the 1994 interview with The Columbus Dispatch, he said, “I’ve proven that one person who is resolute in his or her positions can make a difference in this body, and that you don’t have to go along to get along.”
(Article courtesy of The New York Times: http://www.nytimes.com )
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The Chemical Heritage Foundation presented Chao an award in 2005.
FAMILY PHOTO
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TING TSUNG CHAO, 60-YEAR CAREER INVOLVED DEALS ON 2 CONTINENTS
Born in China, Ting Tsung Chao moved to Houston and created a petrochemical company
Copyright 2008 Houston Chronicle
Born in Suzhou, China, Chao was the son of an employee of the American Tobacco Co. After studying railway management at what is now Shanghai University, Chao worked for a government-operated railroad.
In 1946, during the civil war in China, Chao moved to Taiwan, where he encountered a flourishing economy, said David R. Hansen, vice president for administration of Westlake Chemical.
“Chao excelled in joint ventures with Gulf Oil, Mitsubishi, Sumitomo and Mattel Inc.,” Hansen said. “His strong entrepreneurial drive and command of Japanese and English were strong suits in building international business relations.”
When Chao came to the United States, he acquired a polyethylene plant in Lake Charles, La., and established his headquarters in Houston because of the city’s eminence in the petrochemical industry, Hansen said.
In 1992, Chao returned to his homeland and invested in PVC resin and polymer plants in Suzhou, his birthplace.
Chao’s personal interests included golf. He had club memberships in several nations.
In Houston, Chao established at Rice University the Ting Tsung and Wei Fong Chao Center for Asian Studies. He also benefited Baylor College of Medicine, The Methodist Hospital and St. John’s School, Hansen said.
In 2005, the Chemical Heritage Foundation presented Chao with the Petrochemical Heritage Award in recognition of his contributions to the industry.
Chao died March 7 in The Methodist Hospital.
Survivors include his wife of 64 years; a daughter, Dorothy Jenkins of Lakeland, Fla.; and two sons, James Chao and Albert Chao, both of Houston and executives of Westlake Chemical.
A memorial service is scheduled for 10 a.m. April 26 at Fo Guang Shan Chung Mei Buddhist Temple, 12550 Jebbia Lane in Stafford.
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PEARL CORNIOLEY, RESISTANCE FIGHTER WHO OPPOSED THE NAZIS
Her death, at a hospital, was confirmed to The Associated Press by Caroline Cottard, the secretary of the retirement home where Ms. Cornioley lived.
Ms. Cornioley, who was 29 when she was sent to France in 1943, commanded troops who killed 1,000 German soldiers and wounded many more — while suffering only a tiny number of casualties themselves. She presided over the surrender of 18,000 German troops.
Her unit interrupted a railway line that connected the south of France to Normandy more than 800 times in June 1944, the month of D-Day. It also regularly attacked German convoys.
Sometimes carrying a case of cosmetics to pose as a traveling saleswoman, she had many brushes with danger. She hid in a cornfield as German troops fired random shots into the field. She was almost killed by a resistance leader who doubted her identity. The Germans offered a million-franc reward for her capture.
Pearl Witherington, as she was known at the time of her wartime exploits, was British by birth and French by upbringing. Her code name was Wrestler, her nom de guerre was Pauline, and in wireless transmissions to Britain, she was “Marie.”
Ms. Cornioley was an operative of the Special Operations Executive, which the British formed to support and coordinate resistance in the occupied countries of Europe. Agents from many walks of life, from business to journalism to academia, joined what was essentially a by-invitation-only club. Women were welcome because they might be viewed as less suspicious, and many proved to be excellent agents.
‘The girls who served as secret agents in Churchill’s Special Operations Executive were young, beautiful and brave,” Marcus Binney wrote in his book “The Women Who Lived for Danger: The Agents of the Special Operations Executive” (2002).
“At a time when women in the armed forces were restricted to a strictly noncombatant role in warfare, the women of S.O.E. trained and served alongside the men,” he continued. “They fought not in the front line but well behind it.”
Ms. Cornioley stood out. In his book “Set Europe Ablaze” (1966), E. H. Cookridge called her “one of the main pillars of the network” of the S.O.E. and the resistance fighters they supported. She was the only woman to become a network leader.
Cecile Pearl Witherington was born in Paris on June 24, 1914. A great-grandfather was a chemist who introduced the recipe for Worcestershire sauce to Lea & Perrins, and a grandfather was an architect in London, according to Mr. Binney. Her father traveled the world for a Swedish company that supplied paper for banknotes.
Her father’s heavy drinking and spendthrift habits shattered the family, obituaries in British newspapers said. As the eldest of four daughters, Ms. Cornioley started working at 17 as a secretary and made extra money by teaching English at night.
When the Germans invaded France in 1940, she was working for the air attaché at the British Embassy. The family left Paris in December and followed a circuitous route to London. There, Ms. Cornioley got a job at the Air Ministry.
But she burned with anger over France’s defeat and began searching for a way to fight back. Luckily, her French was superb.
“And anyway I didn’t like the Germans,” she was quoted as saying in an obituary in The Independent. “Never did. I’m a baby of the 1914-18 war.”
Through an acquaintance, she found her way to the S.O.E., which she joined on June 8, 1943. In training, she was recognized as the best shot, male or female, the service had seen. The commander wrote, “Very capable, completely brave.”
On the night of Sept. 22-23, she parachuted into France, near Châteauroux. Her two suitcases landed in a lake, where they were lost. Within hours, she was reunited with her French fiancé, Henri Cornioley, who had escaped from a German prison camp and joined the resistance. The two then worked closely.
This mix of love and war has caused many to see Ms. Cornioley as the inspiration for Sebastian Faulks’s popular 1998 novel, “Charlotte Gray.” In 2001, the book was made into a movie of the same name, directed by Gillian Armstrong and starring Cate Blanchett.
Ms. Cornioley insisted that romance was not her motivation for going to war. In an interview with The Telegraph in 2002, she said: “There was a job to be done. I didn’t put my life at risk just so I could be with Henri.”
But in October 1944, after being separated and almost killed, the couple made it to London, where they married. They moved to Paris, where Mr. Cornioley worked as a pharmacist and Ms. Cornioley as a secretary for the World Bank.
He died in 1999. Ms. Cornioley is survived by their daughter, Claire.
In 1995, Ms. Cornioley published her memoirs, which she wrote with Hervé Larroque. One tale concerned a “really cute” rabbit she took everywhere with her. The rabbit was oblivious to machine-gun fire.
Ms. Cornioley received many honors, but the one that stuck in her mind was the one she turned down. That was Member of the British Empire, or M.B.E. She had been offered the civil version, not the military one.
She sent an icy note saying she had had done nothing remotely “civil.”
(Article courtesy of The New York Times: http://www.nytimes.com )
FROM THE ARCHIVES (COURTESY OF THE NEW YORK TIMES:)
Walter White, Civil Rights Leader, Dies at 61
(March 21, 1955)