There's someone interesting just around this bend...

“How many more tombs of famous dead guys do we have to see?”

That was asked by one of my kids when I made my family linger at some London memorial while I read yet another inscription.  It was a fair question; not everyone — especially teenagers — shares my fascination with the final resting places of historical figures.

A lot of people do seem drawn to such sites, though; one in Paris, called Cimetière du Père Lachaise, has hundreds of thousands of visitors every year.  It is believed to be the most-visited cemetery in the world (although I’m not sure who is actually keeping track of attendance figures at cemeteries).

Its location in the 20th arrondissement – northeastern Paris — might seem inconvenient, but there are two or three Métro stations within easy walking distance of Père Lachaise.  Well, it’s not as easy a walk as, say, from the living room to the kitchen, but the stations are within a few hundred yards of an entrance to the cemetery.

It’s probably a coincidence that there are flower shops near each entrance.  Most of them sell maps of the cemetery for a few euros, but as I recall, there was one spot just inside the main gate that supplied free maps, which come in handy. 

The tree-lined cobblestone paths go off in many directions, leading you past concrete and marble memorials for many individuals whose names you’d recognize from your school days.  Here is a sampling of some of the famous people who are interred at Père Lachaise:

Artists:   Delacroix, Modigliani, Jacques-Louis David, Seurat, Rosa Bonheur, Géricault, Ingres, René Lalique (the glass designer), Corot, Max Ernst, Pissarro.

Writers and Poets:  Molière, Marcel Proust, Richard Wright (Native Son), Collette,  Balzac.

Performers:  Sarah Bernhardt, Marcel Marceau, Edith Piaf, Maria Callas, Isadora Duncan, Yves Montand, Simone Signoret.

Composers:  Georges Bizet, Paul Dukas, Francis Poulenc, Rossini (he has actually been relocated to Florence, but his crypt is still here).

Of special interest at Père Lachaise are:  The remains of star-crossed lovers Abelard and Heloise, which were transferred here in 1817, several hundred years after they died.  Frederic Chopin‘s tomb stands out because of the many floral tributes and candles left by his legion of admirers.  The great composer’s body is here, but his heart was taken to his native Poland.

The tomb of rock singer Jim Morrison (The Doors) attracts many offerings from his fans, too, but a lot of it looks like debris:  scrawled notes, ticket stubs, photos, articles of clothing and other random items are strewn there.  Gertrude Stein and her partner Alice B. Toklas share the same tombstone; Stein’s name is on the front and Toklas’s is on the back.

The Art Deco monument to Oscar Wilde was regularly “vandalized” with lipstick kisses put on it by visitors, but cemetery officials recently gave it a thorough cleaning and blocked it from potential smoochers with a glass barrier.

Scientists and politicians and philosophers and engineers are buried in Père Lachaise as well, and of course some eminent composers and artists are buried elsewhere in Paris.  If your time in the City of Light is limited, though, Père Lachaise is the best place to go if, like me, you feel compelled to see the tombs of famous dead guys.

This man did not create the Caesar salad (Le Louvre, Paris -- photo by Herve Lewandowski)

For some reason, I was under the impression that salad was a relatively recent development in the history of food.  My assumption was that until the 18th century, what people ate fell into one of three categories:  1) bread, 2) meat, 3) other.  That last category, I thought, included porridge and fingernails and whatever else found its way into one’s mouth.

Then I discovered that Shakespeare made reference to salad way back in 1607:  “My salad days/When I was green in judgment” is a line from Antony and Cleopatra.  Further investigation revealed that not only did salads exist in Shakespeare’s time, his mention of them in this play was not an anachronism, like having a centurion glance at his wristwatch and say “Would you look at the time…”  The ancient Romans, probably including Mark Antony, ate salad.

It is not true, however, that Julius Caesar invented the Caesar salad.  Neither did Augustus or Tiberius or any of the other imperial Caesars.

There are conflicting opinions about who initially threw together romaine lettuce, croutons, parmesan cheese, egg and Worcestershire sauce.  Most salad authorities narrow it down to a restaurant in Tijuana, Mexico, called… go ahead, take a guess.  Right.

It was owned by a restaurateur named Caesar Cardini, who along with his brothers, also owned a place in San Diego.  Caesar’s Restaurant in Tijuana was quite popular with Americans during the 1920s because it was just on the other side of the border — where Prohibition didn’t apply.

According to Mr. Cardini’s daughter, Caesar created his eponymous salad one busy weekend in 1924 when a lot of the Hollywood crowd had come to town.  (As you may have heard, some people in the entertainment industry have been known to drink a little.)  Cardini’s cupboard was getting bare, so he got creative with what he had on hand and Caesar salad was the result.

It was a hit, and its popularity spread back to the U.S. side of the border and eventually worldwide.  As a result, almost everyone who worked in Caesar’s Restaurant during the 1920s later tried to take credit for it, including Caesar’s brother Alex, a couple of cooks, and probably the dishwasher.  The reason that I favor the Caesar Cardini version is that his recipe did not use anchovies.  I hate anchovies.

While we’re clearing up misconceptions about salads, let me mention that coleslaw was not named for Old King Cole.  That cabbage-and-mayonnaise concoction has been around since the 18th century, and is derived from two Dutch words, “kool” and “sla”.  Not surprisingly, “kool” means cabbage, and “sla” means salad.  Seriously.

It had nothing to do with cold slaw or warm slaw, which you sometimes see on menus in the midwestern U.S.  Nope, it’s from the Dutch, and you’ll recall that a lot of Dutch immigrants settled along the Hudson River, where they grew cabbage and made koolsla.

Oh, and I guess I don’t have to tell you — Mr. Potato Head did not invent potato salad.

Tourists visit Akrotiri excavation site -- Santorini, Greece

Nothing will spoil your day like the eruption of a nearby volcano, causing tons of ash and rock to rain down on you.

As you know, the most famous calamity of that sort was at Pompeii, in southern Italy, when Mount Vesuvius blew its top in A.D. 79, killing hundreds almost instantly.  (Ironically, one woman had just said about her neighbor’s attire, “I wouldn’t be caught dead in that outfit.”)

A much more powerful event — perhaps 100 times bigger — happened on the Greek island of Santorini, also known as Thera.  In fact, the island itself was the volcano.  When seen from the air, or from the little town of Fíra perched on top of the island, the caldera is apparent.  It must have been one hellish explosion, and it buried the town of Akrotiri, on the southern end of Santorini, for about 3,500 years.

Akrotiri was a Minoan community — Crete is roughly 70 miles away — and the residents were busy making stuff with their Bronze Age tools when the ground began to rumble and then spewed fire.  Scientists disagree about the date; opinions range from around 1500 B.C. to one guy who insists it was exactly 1646 B.C.  He bases that on ice core dating, and a Members Only jacket found in the rubble.

The site was discovered in the 19th century by workmen who were quarrying pumice to make cement for construction of the Suez Canal.  Systematic excavation by scientists didn’t really get going until 1967, though, and to be honest, “systematic” may be a generous characterization of the process.  When we visited in the 1990s, archaeologists were only able to dig about one month out of the year due to lack of funding.

Still, they have found some fascinating stuff under all that old dirt:  lots of pottery, furniture and walls decorated with beautiful frescoes.  The residents of Akrotiri weren’t living in huts by any means – some of the buildings had multiple stories (see photo).  Our guide got breathless describing the ancient drainage systems discovered there.

Two things that haven’t  been found are 1) gold in any significant quantity, and 2) human remains.  This suggests to scientists that there was a relatively orderly evacuation of Akrotiri prior to the eruption.  The hypothesis is that a series of earthquakes preceded the main event by several months, convincing the residents that it was time to pack up their valuables and get out.  In other words, Akrotiri had been abandoned before it got buried.

Maybe so.  And maybe the fleeing Minoans got just far enough away to be caught in the tsunami waves generated by an explosion estimated to be the equivalent of multiple atomic bombs.

In any case, the only documented fatality at Akrotiri occurred in 2005.  There is a roof over the archaeological site (see photo again); a portion of it collapsed, killing a British tourist and injuring several others. 

Because of that incident, the site has been closed to visitors, although there is talk that it will reopen “soon”.  As you may have read, however, there is virtually no gold to be found in Greece’s treasury either, so they may keep saying “soon” for a very long time.

J.A.D. Ingres, "The Comtesse d'Haussonville" (Frick Collection, New York)

“No one ever drew and painted nude women better — from the neck down.”  That is art historian Paul Johnson’s assessment of 19th-century French painter Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres.

Johnson is right:  The bodies are exquisite, but the facial expressions of Ingres’s nudes don’t convey amorous intent, or surprise that someone has found them undressed, or even “Wow, it’s cold in here!”  The paintings I’ve seen give the impression that his models were looking forward to quittin’ time.

It’s not that Ingres was incapable of painting good faces; in fact, he is famous for his portraits.  You should see some of the marvelous paintings he did of people with their clothes on.  Let me mention in passing that his name is pronounced “ANG”, with just a hint of “ruh” following; in French, the res isn’t a full-on syllable, it’s almost silent.

Anyway, his talent is so obvious, you might wonder why the faces of the nudes seem so vacant.  Well, here’s one answer:  he meant to do that.  Ingres’s idol was the Renaissance giant Raphael, and what the two painters shared was an appreciation of the classical traditions of Greece and Rome.  In fact, Ingres’s paintings suggest ancient sculpture, with very graceful lines, very smooth surfaces — and faces that often aren’t particularly expressive.

Unlike his archrival Eugène Delacroix, Ingres did many preparatory sketches before committing paint to canvas.  Delacroix plunged right in with his brushes, but Ingres was a draftsman first.  Then he paid so much attention to detail that when you study an Ingres painting up close, you notice that there are no visible brushstrokes.  His paintings are brought to a high finish:  Nothing is left raw, there are no jagged edges.

An Ingres painting I’ve admired many times is part of the Frick Collection in New York.  It’s a portrait of a young woman called the Comtesse d’Haussonville; Ingres painted her in 1845.

There are several things about the painting that are impressive, and one of them is the texture of the fabrics.  The ribbon in her hair appears to be silk, her gown is blue satin, and there is delicate lace on her sleeve.  Even as you lean in for a closer look, you’d swear it’s the real thing.  Painting that perfect is why museums have to hire guards to enforce the “don’t touch” rule.

Another thing you notice immediately about the Comtesse is the delicate hand under her chin, as though she is studying you as you study her.  Light glints off her jewelry… and it’s while you’re looking at those adornments on her right arm that you notice one more striking thing about this painting.

Take a careful look at the position of her arm.  It looks like her right shoulder must be somewhere in the middle of her rib cage, doesn’t it?  It’s not as revolutionary as the work of later artists like Picasso who painted subjects with (for instance) multiple noses, but the Comtesse is not anatomically correct.

Why Ingres chose to paint her that way is the subject of some conjecture, and you’re welcome to your own opinion.  All I know is that Ingres was an extravagantly gifted artist, and since that’s how he painted the Comtesse, he meant to do that.  I also suspect that by now, her shoulder must be killing her.

In the immortal words of George M. Cohan, "Give my regards to Off-Broadway."

A musical called The Fantasticks ran for 42 consecutive years in the same theater, so I have no excuse for not having seen it.  It had 17,162 performances at the Sullivan Street Playhouse in Greenwich Village, making it the longest-running show in history.  It is the classic Off-Broadway production.

For all I know, you may have been in the cast of your high school’s staging of The Fantasticks — it’s still a big favorite — but I’m sorry to say that your show in Burlingame or Bellingham or Bloomington doesn’t really count as “off-Broadway”, even though it was done a very long way from Broadway.

So what is Off-Broadway, exactly?  It has less to do with geography than economics, because… well, maybe it would make sense to back up a little and be sure we’re clear on what defines Broadway.

Besides being one of the major roads of Manhattan, it is also the name associated with the theater district in New York City.  There are only a few dozen theaters that are considered Broadway venues, and of those, only a handful are actually on Broadway (the road).  The rest are in a corridor between Sixth and Eighth Avenues that extends from Times Square on the south to roughly 54th Street on the north.  Times Square, by the way, is where Broadway angles across Seventh Avenue (between 42nd and 43rd Streets).

That’s their geographical location, but what really makes them Broadway theaters has to do with their contractual arrangement with Actors Equity, the labor union that represents stage actors.  Venues in New York City that have a seating capacity of over 500 are considered Broadway theaters, although most have well over 1,000 seats.  It’s worth mentioning that the rest rooms in Broadway theaters comfortably accomodate 6-8 people at a time.

OK, so let’s return now to Off-Broadway (and thank you for your patience).  Off-Broadway, according to the Equity contract with the League of Off-Broadway Theatres and Producers, are venues in New York City with 100-499 seats.  As it happens, there are some “Off-Broadway” theaters located within the geographical Broadway theater district I described above.  Most, however, tend to be in Greenwich Village or the Gramercy neighborhood.

Once in a while an Off-Broadway show does so well that one of the big theaters takes it on.  Among the success stories of Off-Broadway shows that had subsequent Broadway runs are A Chorus Line, Godspell and Avenue Q.  Because of Equity contracts, a move like that means a nice pay increase for an actor.  In fact, an actor in a relatively small role who is making the contract minimum would see his salary almost double with a move from “Off” to “On” Broadway.

It turns out that I still have a chance to see an Off-Broadway production of The Fantasticks:  In 2006 a revival opened at a different theater and is still going.  The Sullivan Street Playhouse was not so fortunate.  After the show finally closed in 2002, the theater was turned into condominiums.  I’ll bet the building now has more toilets than it did when it was a theater.

Now all we need is food.

One of the jobs I don’t usually list on my résumé is “busboy”.  For some reason, it doesn’t seem to impress anyone that while I was in college, I spent a summer working in the dining room of a resort hotel.  Trust me, I’ve had worse jobs — “elf” at an amusement park, for instance — and being a busboy was very educational.

Because my job responsibilities included setting tables for banquets, I learned how utensils and glassware are supposed to be placed for formal dining.  That knowledge comes in handy every once in a while, like when I’m at a wedding reception or retirement party or — well, any event where a table that would comfortably seat six people is set for eight.

You’ve been in those situations, right?  There are so many plates and glasses on the table, it’s hard to know which are supposed to be yours.  So let me pass along some of my busboy wisdom…

If you look at the photo above, you can see that the soup bowl is on the dinner plate, the bread plate is to the left of the dinner plate, and the water glass is to the right of the dinner plate.  Some people use the mnemonic BMW to remember what goes where.  In this case, BMW doesn’t stand for Bavarian Motor Works; it stands for Bread-Meal-Water.  From left to right, that’s your place setting:  the Bread plate, then the Meal in the center, and the Water glass on the right.  Oh, and your wine glasses are over there on the water side, too.

So what’s the deal with all the silverware?  There’s a reason it’s placed as it is — basically you start on the outside and work your way in.  For instance, the soup spoon is outside right; after you have finished your soup, some extremely attentive young busboy will clear away that spoon along with the bowl.

The salad fork is usually on the outside left, but once in a while you’ll see it inboard of the dinner fork.  That probably means that the salad will be served after the main dish, European style.

The cutlery above your plate is for dessert.  Sometimes there will just be a dessert fork, and sometimes there will just be a spoon.  But when I see both, I’m thinking, “OK, dessert is gonna be big!”

Oh, here’s something worth knowing about your bread plate:  it’s not just for bread.  It can also be used as sort of the trash bin for your meal.  That’s where you discreetly put olive pits or stray fish bones or other inedible things, instead of spitting them on the floor.

My tenure as a busboy was brief; I was “promoted” to bellboy, providing room service to the hotel’s guests.  The things I learned in that job weren’t as useful in later life.  For one thing, I learned that occupants of the bridal suite — honeymooners, in other words — were terrible tippers.

And I learned that the best tippers were guys who called down for a bottle of champagne and two glasses — they were usually with someone they wanted to impress.  They weren’t on a family vacation, if you get my drift, and they were always in a hurry to get me out the door.  Their loss — I could have told them a thing or two about how to set a banquet table!

"Yes, we have to be dry-cleaned. We're wool, you know."

When you gather with friends and family for the holidays, you have a pretty good idea of what conversational pitfalls to avoid.  By now you know which family member believes aliens are real, or which friend thinks the solution to the current political situation is to nuke Massachusetts.

You know not to let Aunt Cynthia see you eating a cracker. (“Those things are laced with preservatives — you might as well eat poison.”)  You are careful to stay away from topics that ultimately make your loved ones storm out and slam doors.

When you’re at a social gathering of people with whom you are only slightly acquainted, though, it’s more challenging to avoid a) tension or b) boredom.  After you and the guest seated next to you have agreed that it certainly is unusual weather for this time of year, where do you risk going next?

Sometimes you don’t get a choice in the matter, because that stranger with whom you have been thrown together is a windbag.  Several years ago, Sally and I were at a banquet table; our dinner companions included a man who grew up in North Dakota.  He thought we would all be fascinated by stories from his youth, mostly concerning livestock.  He shared anecdotes about a calf that didn’t have a penis, about castrating cattle, about techniques of artificial insemination.  These were not stories, really, because they never went anywhere — it was just a jumble of ruminations involving things that shouldn’t be discussed at mealtime.

In circumstances like that, or when attempts at conversation have lapsed into awkward silence, obviously someone needs to change the subject –  but to what?  In the situation described above, it wouldn’t improve things much to talk instead about that fake doctor in Florida who was doing cosmetic surgery with cement, mineral oil, and flat-tire sealant.

The list of hot-button topics goes beyond the merely revolting to politics, religion, ethnicity, favorite sports teams, celebrity divorces, and the questionable military strategy of King Harold at the Battle of Hastings in 1066.

So here’s one approach to changing the subject that should be relatively safe:  bring up an Imponderable.  You may not know them by that name, but they have certainly popped into your head from time to time.  It’s stuff for which there seems to be no simple explanation. 

For example, why does “homely” have an unpleasant connotation?  I think of home as a good thing.  Or here’s another one:  When something is described as “foolproof”, who did they test it on?

There are lots of Imponderables floating around the internet, like “What does cheese say when it has its picture taken?”  There’s also “What was the best thing before sliced bread?”  Did you ever stop to wonder why sheep don’t shrink when it rains?  One that just occurred to me is why we call them Imponderables — we’re pondering them right now, aren’t we?

Anyway, when you find yourself in a situation that requires a change of subject, bringing up one or more of the Imponderables could do the trick.  Before you know it, you just might be standing at that punch bowl all by yourself!

There are 35 games, which means that 70 teams will participate;  demand for good teams far exceeds supply.  Thirteen teams with break-even records — 6 wins, 6 losses — got bowl bids, and one (UCLA) actually had a losing record.  This will make for some ugly games, I’m afraid.

Florida and Ohio State faced each other in the 2007 BCS Championship game, but this year they both limp into the Gator Bowl with 6-6 records.  The Meineke Car Care Bowl matches Northwestern (6-6), a school that hasn’t won a bowl game since 1949, against Texas A&M (6-6), which fired coach Mike Sherman at the end of the season.

Mississippi State (6-6) and Wake Forest (6-6) square off in the Music City Bowl.  The Bulldogs are 73rd in the country in scoring; the Demon Deacons are 75th in total defense, so a resistible force struggles against a movable object.

Arizona State fired its coach, Dennis Erickson, and then accepted an invitation to get stomped in the MAACO Bowl.  Its opponent, Boise State, would be playing in a BCS bowl if their kicker hadn’t pushed the potential game winning field goal wide right against TCU.  The Broncos will take out their frustration on the Sun Devils, who are mainly known for amassing penalties.

The Kraft Fight Hunger Bowl presents two schools that must be starved for attention – why else would they risk more public humiliation?  As noted above, UCLA had a losing record (6-7) but petitioned the NCAA for permission to play in Kraft’s cheesy bowl.  Illinois (6-6) does have one player who is quite good; the aptly named defensive end Whitney Mercilus led the nation in sacks.  He will probably  be merciless against the Bruins’ offensive line, which yielded 24 sacks.  This game has already set one record that will never be broken:  Both coaches (Ron Zook and Rick Neuheisel) have already been fired.

Now, here are a few thoughts about the games you’ll want to see:

•  Fiesta Bowl          Stanford (11-1) vs. Oklahoma State (11-1)

Both teams feature excellent QBs in Andrew Luck and Brandon Weeden.  Both teams have shaky pass defenses.  The Cowboys have a slight edge because of All-American wide receiver Justin Blackmon.

•  Cotton Bowl          Arkansas (10-2) vs. Kansas State (10-2)

Eight of Kansas State’s wins were by 7 points or less.  They’ll have trouble staying close to high-scoring Arkansas.

•  Rose Bowl          Oregon (11-2) vs. Wisconsin (11-2)

The Ducks averaged 46.2 points per game, third best in the country.  Wisconsin was fourth with 44.6 ppg.  Wisconsin plays solid defense too, but they haven’t faced the kind of speed that Oregon possesses.

•  Sugar Bowl          Virginia Tech (11-2) vs. Michigan (10-2)

Both of Virginia Tech’s losses were to the same team – Clemson.  The Hokies’ defense is solid, but they’ll have to be spectacular against Michigan QB Denard Robinson.  He threw for over 2,000 yards and ran for over 1,000.  This will be close, but the edge goes to Michigan.

•  BCS National Championship Game        LSU (13-0) vs. Alabama (11-1)

Louisiana State allowed only 10.5 points per game, second best in the country.  You know who was best, right?  Yes, Alabama — 8.8 points per game.  I’m thinking the Crimson Tide won’t miss four field goals again as they did against LSU on November 5.  Alabama wins the rematch.

All that's left of the Temple of Zeus

The other day I saw some attraction characterized as the Eighth Wonder of the World.  It was a Las Vegas casino or a minature golf course or something, I can’t remember.  It occurred to me that either some people are easily impressed, or standards for the seven wonders that rank above it must have been lowered.

Long ago — two millennia ago — the original Seven Wonders were a sort of bucket list for travelers in the area of the Mediterranean.  They were man-made marvels extolled by poets and historians; the list was sort of the official version of your present-day acquaintance who says, “Oh, you’re going to England?  You MUST see Stonehenge.”

Unfortunately, it’s hard to know how wonderful the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World were, because all but one of them are gone.  The Great Pyramid of Cheops at Giza (Egypt) is still standing, and held the record of tallest structure for over 4,000 years.  The Hanging Gardens of Babylon (Iraq) no longer exist, if they ever did.  Many modern scholars think they were just a legend, the invention of poets.

The Mausoleum of Halicarnassus (Turkey) was a massive tomb built for a ruler named Mausolus, who died in 353 B.C.  It was a tribute from his wife and sister, who happened to be the same person.  Bits of it are now on display in London’s British Museum.  (When you’re in England, you MUST go there.)

Earthquakes destroyed The Lighthouse of Alexandria (Egypt), also known as the Pharos.  Standing near the mouth of the Nile, the lighthouse was about 380 feet tall, and its light was said to be visible from 30 or 40 miles away.

I have been to the sites of the other three ancient wonders, and can report that they aren’t much to look at anymore.  The Temple of Artemis at Ephesus (Turkey), once considered the most spectacular of all seven, is now some scatttered stones covered with weeds.  There is also a nearby museum that has artifacts found at the site.  One that I recall was a statue of Artemis that depicted her as having several dozen breasts.  (It would have been impossible for her to find a bra that fit comfortably.)

The Greek island of Rhodes is a fascinating destination because of all the layers of history there; for a brief time it was famous for The Colossus of Rhodes.  A statue representing the sun god Helios, the Colossus is sometimes pictured as straddling the entrance to the harbor — but it didn’t.  It was a, uh, colossal statue by ancient standards, standing a little over 100 feet high.  (To give you an idea, the Statue of Liberty in New York is about 150 feet, not counting the pedestal.)  Currently the entrance to Rhodes features two columns that are maybe 30 feet high.  Each has a statue of a deer on it, and let me anticipate your question:  I have no idea why.

Finally, The Statue of Zeus at Olympia (Greece) sat in a temple for 800 years or so, serving as a gathering place during the Olympic games.  The statue, made of ivory and gold-plated bronze, was destroyed by fire in A.D. 462.  What’s left of the temple looks a lot like the Temple of Artemis:  rubble and weeds.  The area is very scenic, though, with a couple of small rivers nearby and mountains in the distance.

So… if you were to compile a list of current wonders of the world, what would you include?  You don’t have to name seven, necessarily; I’m just wondering what you think are the wonders of our time.

How many times in your life do you suppose you have sung it?

The words and melody are so simple, it might not have occurred to you that somebody actually wrote them.  At some birthday parties, it doesn’t occur to celebrants that the simple melody would sound better if everyone sang it in the same key.  The fact is, what is probably the best-known song in the English-speaking world was not only written, it is still under copyright.

“Happy Birthday to You” had its own birthday back in 1893, but it began life as “Good Morning to All”.  Sisters Patty and Mildred J. Hill composed it as a start-the-school-day song for kindergartners.  (Patty worked at a school; Mildred was a pianist.)

Within a few years, the now-familiar “Happy Birthday” lyrics had been applied to the Hill sisters’ tune.  Professor Robert Brauneis of George Washington University Law School has investigated copyright issues related to the song and found sheet music for it that dates to 1912.  Paul Collins, writing for Slate.com, discovered it in print with “happy birthday” words even earlier than that.

What no one seems to know for sure is how “Happy Birthday to You” became so popular, but by the 1930s it was part of the culture.  It was broadcast by radio stations, Western Union used it as a singing telegram, it was appearing in Broadway shows.  That’s when a third Hill sister, Jessica, took legal action.

She had been administering the copyright of “Good Morning to All” for her family, and in 1934 she managed to get a court to see the similarity between that song and “Happy Birthday to You”.  Take a moment to imagine a judge listening over and over to the complexities of those six notes just to be sure he ruled correctly.

The Hills were granted the copyright to “Happy Birthday to You” and split profits with a publishing partner, the Summy Company.  The publishing rights are currently owned by Warner Music Group.  OK, so how much do you think “Happy Birthday to You” is worth?  No — more.  It generates approximately $2 million a year in royalties!

How is that possible, you may wonder, and the answer is that whenever it is publicly performed, someone owes Warner, which splits profits with the Hill Foundation.  Does that mean that you’ll be led away in handcuffs if they catch you singing it to Uncle Tony in your living room?  No, that’s not considered public performance.

However, Marilyn Monroe’s hormonal tribute to President Kennedy probably violated copyright laws.  Even if she got away with not paying back then, any filmmaker who shows footage of it now certainly has to ante up.  If it’s used in a television show or at a concert or in a commercial — if it’s the soundtrack for one of those musical greeting cards — those all require royalty payments.

The copyright laws have changed a couple of times since 1935, resulting in an extended life for the original copyright.  Warner Music can keep collecting until the song becomes “public domain” — in 2030!

There are those, including Professor Brauneis,who believe the copyright is no longer legally valid, but rather than go to the time and expense of challenging it in court, companies that want to publicly use “Happy Birthday to You” just cough up the $5-10 thousand that Warner Music charges for its use.

By the way, I didn’t do extensive research on this little detail, but as far as I can tell, no copyright has been granted for the “and many more!” part.  I know what you’re thinking, and I say go for it — it could be worth a bundle if you can prove you created it.