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| "Physiologie du Flaneur," by Louis Huart (Metropolitan Museum of Art) |
I try not to admire Lee Bey too much. Out loud, in public, that is. Because the Sun-Times architecture critic is a modest man, and it's unseemly to have a colleague, particularly one as sketchy as myself, always gushing on about you.
Beside, the truth is obvious, and I try not to traffick in the obvious — Lee embroiders and enlivens the paper with an endless stream of fascinating columns about the rich architectural heritage of Chicago. Someone should give him a Pulitzer Prize, right away, and the fact they haven't yet, is one of the many indictments of that particular award (or heck, maybe I blame them unfairly. Maybe he's never been submitted — he is, as I said, humble. I've never submitted my stuff, because my time is precious, and chasing awards is not worth it. I wouldn't be surprised if Lee feels the same).
Privately admiration is another matter. I regularly look up from one of his columns, briskly gesture to it with a snap of the hand, and mentally address an unseen audience: "This! This is how you do it!"
I can't recall ever abandoning a Lee Bey column halfway — he grabs you by the nose, drags you through whatever subject is at hand, even if its some obscure building you never previously heard of or could imagine yourself caring about until you hit that first sentence.
Last week Lee did something which is, well, very rare, at least for me. He was writing about a massive, Frank Gehry-designed desk in the lobby of the Inland Steel Building that is going up for auction. And he unleashes this. See if what stopped me will stop you too:
Privately admiration is another matter. I regularly look up from one of his columns, briskly gesture to it with a snap of the hand, and mentally address an unseen audience: "This! This is how you do it!"
I can't recall ever abandoning a Lee Bey column halfway — he grabs you by the nose, drags you through whatever subject is at hand, even if its some obscure building you never previously heard of or could imagine yourself caring about until you hit that first sentence.
Last week Lee did something which is, well, very rare, at least for me. He was writing about a massive, Frank Gehry-designed desk in the lobby of the Inland Steel Building that is going up for auction. And he unleashes this. See if what stopped me will stop you too:
"Widely read Chicago flâneur and architecture-watcher Lynn Becker brought attention to the auction last week on social media.""Flâneur"? I'd never read that word in my life. I sometimes deploy words that puzzle readers, but rarely encounter one that puzzles me. It's a treat.
See, this is the bond Lee and I have — we are not only interested in a wide variety of stuff, but we assume our readers are also interested in a wide variety of stuff and, in addition, are not stupid. (When stupid people do write in, violently objecting to some piece of sense I've presented, I sometimes reply, with genuine astonishment, "But I didn't write it for you...")
So Lee can deploy flâneur and assume that either readers already know it or if they don't, can quickly look it the fuck up. Which I did: "A flâneur (from the French verb flâner, meaning to stroll or saunter) is a 19th-century French term for an urban wanderer who casually explores a city without a set destination, observing society with a detached but deeply engaged eye."
At the risk of putting on airs: that's me. Well, not the "without a set destination" part. Typically I'm heading to some restaurant for lunch, or up to the Newberry Library to raid their stacks. But I give myself plenty of time, and walk, mentally twirling a cane and assessing the landscape. You can't imagine how many columns I've found that way.
It's not an obscure term. Baudelaire waxes poetic about what he called the "passionate spectator."
I was curious as to where Lee picked up " flâneur" so decided to do that reportorial trick and ask.
"That's a great word," said Lee. "I think I learned it my first go round as architecture critic," (Lee left the paper for a while, to our horror, to work for Skidmore, Owings and Merrill and help Richard Daley's administration not mess up architecture as badly as they messed up everything else, as well as teach and half a dozen other projects before returning, thank merciful God, to us). "I can't remember where I picked it up, some odd place like Mad magazine or National Lampoon. I thought, 'I like that word.'"
So Lee can deploy flâneur and assume that either readers already know it or if they don't, can quickly look it the fuck up. Which I did: "A flâneur (from the French verb flâner, meaning to stroll or saunter) is a 19th-century French term for an urban wanderer who casually explores a city without a set destination, observing society with a detached but deeply engaged eye."
At the risk of putting on airs: that's me. Well, not the "without a set destination" part. Typically I'm heading to some restaurant for lunch, or up to the Newberry Library to raid their stacks. But I give myself plenty of time, and walk, mentally twirling a cane and assessing the landscape. You can't imagine how many columns I've found that way.
It's not an obscure term. Baudelaire waxes poetic about what he called the "passionate spectator."
I was curious as to where Lee picked up " flâneur" so decided to do that reportorial trick and ask.
"That's a great word," said Lee. "I think I learned it my first go round as architecture critic," (Lee left the paper for a while, to our horror, to work for Skidmore, Owings and Merrill and help Richard Daley's administration not mess up architecture as badly as they messed up everything else, as well as teach and half a dozen other projects before returning, thank merciful God, to us). "I can't remember where I picked it up, some odd place like Mad magazine or National Lampoon. I thought, 'I like that word.'"
See? Before I let this go, I have to point out the comfortable-in-one's-skin quality reflected in Lee's speculating on where he got the word. Mad magazine. Or National Lampoon. Not exactly Architecture Digest or Domus or any of those high hat trade publications. I can't imagine Paul Goldberger saying, "Yeah, it's something I glommed from a Bugs Bunny cartoon..." One of the many benefits of being a Chicago journalist working for a Chicago publication with Chicago colleagues for Chicago readers in Chicago. We get to be both flâneurs, when we choose, and normal people too.
love this -- a perfect start to the morning
ReplyDeleteReading your column is always an education. Even at 75 I learn something new everyday.
ReplyDeleteNew word I can throw into conversations make my day! Thanks Neil and Lee!!
ReplyDeleteCouldn't agree more re the worth of Lee Bey, if I can put it that way, to the Sun-Times. The paper has lost columnists right and left, of course and sadly, but Bey's pieces are a reason to subscribe. When it was announced that Bey would be a regular columnist, I kind of wondered, how's he going to write a few times a week just about architecture? Little did I know. Wish I still lived in Chicago--I want to see that desk!
ReplyDeleteIt's so nice to reading a piece you can't put down about another journalist whose work you can't put down. Adding flâneur to my vocabulary is a nice bonus.
ReplyDeleteThe word you get from a Bus Bunny cartoon is “Nimrod.”
ReplyDeleteI bet, now that you’ve discovered “flaneur”, that it will be one of those words that keep popping up. Dunno if it’s to your taste, but it regularly appears in period, particularly British murder mysteries.
The Nimrods is the mascot name for the Watersmeet, MI. school sports teams. Drive past the school and you'll see big block letters proclaiming, "HOME OF THE NIMRODS"
Delete"Nimrod" is biblical - Genesis somewhere, great-grandson of Noah, and "a mighty hunter before the LORD". So, Bugs' description of Elmer Fudd as "what a Nimrod" was sarcastic. Of course, we all glommed onto it meaning "inept hunter", because, well, Elmer Fudd.
Deletebeat me to the punch by a few hours. Somewhere I knew that Nimrod came from the bible. Still had to google it.
DeleteBeat to the punch
DeleteWhat a great EGD post. Thanks for the happy stream of consciousness and fun information.
ReplyDeleteThis is quite wild for me to read this morning. I too am an avid Lee Bey fan boy, and like you I always read everything he writes all the way to the end. I remember how excited I was when he returned to the paper. But this week when I started reading the above mentioned article in my news feed, which doesn't display the by-line, I stopped at the word "flâneur" and thought, oh this must by a Steinberg piece not a Lee Bey piece. I had to click through to find out that it was indeed Mr. Bey, and then of course I had to look up that word! Then I finished reading the article. I concurr with his hope that the Art Institute will purchase the glass desk.
ReplyDeleteBravo
ReplyDeleteGreat column
ReplyDeleteI only subscribe to the CST for writers like you and Lee...Hang in there please....
ReplyDeleteApart from your own aside regarding the honorable Richard M. Daley,
ReplyDeleteI enthusiastically agree with your column. As both Chicago newspapers raced to the bottom, shedding columnists ranging from expert critics of automotive matters to zoology, Lee Bey is a refreshing breath of air.
Perhaps the nickel-squeezers will read this and wise up.
I knew the word and admired it when I came across it in Bey's story. He is, indeed, a local and national treasure.
ReplyDeleteHow cool is this? Thanks Neil!
ReplyDeleteThat desk is marvelous. We got to visit the also marvelous Inland Steel Building as part of the Architecture Center's "Open House Chicago" some years back and it was a treat to see it up close. I always took a moment to gaze at it from outside when just happening by on the sidewalk. Either the drapery wasn't always there, or I could see through it.
ReplyDeleteIt's always a pleasure to read Lee Bey's work, and the fact that he's writing in the Sun-Times, given the diminished media landscape confronting us, is much appreciated. "But the auction house’s listing for Icehenge — as effusively written as the text from a J. Peterman catalog — details the desk’s history and inspiration." A wonderful line.
Can't argue with Mr. Becker's suggestion that the desk might be purchased by the Art Institute: "As a reception desk to bring back some life and sense of fun to the pompous empty wasteland they’ve made the Michigan Avenue entrance lobby."
I believe my primary introduction to the word flâneur, or at least the first time I saw someone use it referring to himself, was on Robert Loerzel's Twitter account quite a while ago. I think he's pretty much moved on to Bluesky at this point, but he uses the same thumbnail bio:
"Chicagoan, journalist, photographer, author, copy editor, flâneur."
He puts up a very interesting, largely Chicago-focused, stream of posts about all manner of things that have always been compelling. (I recall our genial host once describing him as "peripatetic," since today's topic is vocabulary.)
https://bsky.app/profile/robertloerzel.bsky.social
Bugs Bunny was my entrance to classical music.
ReplyDeleteFor me too! And for many kids-who had no idea it was 'classical' music.
DeleteWell, I dodged a bullet - I was going to say shouldn't it be flaneuse, but stopped myself in time and looked up Mr. Becker, who is indeed a male.
ReplyDeleteGreat column. Always read Lee when he's in the Sun-Times. Being a Lee Bay groupie is good thing.
ReplyDeleteI looked it up before scrolling down to see that you defined it a paragraph or two later. After reading the definition, my mind glommed on to the late Jospeh Kromelis, AKA the walking man and/or 'Mark Twain'
ReplyDelete