Ralph Guldahl never really had a tremendous desire to win. So despite being born within a year of Ben Hogan, Byron Nelson and Sam Snead, and being equally talented, he is not a household word in golf circles as the others are.

He joined the PGA Tour in 1932, and nearly won the 1933 U.S. Open. From 1937 to 1939, Guldahl won 3 majors: 2 U.S. Opens ('37 and '38) and the '39 Masters. He won three straight Western Opens (1936-38) at a time when the Western Open was considered by tour players to be a major. In his brief PGA Tour career, Guldahl won 16 tournaments and finished second 19 times.

He quit the Tour in 1942, returning only briefly in 1949. He was not a technician but instead had an unusual swing that really worked for him. He was said to be calm, deliberate, and stoic on the course.

The towering, 6 ' 2" Texan Guldahl focused on his game rather than his showmanship, though many commented on his habit of combing his hair before executing a shot. Ralph simply stated: "it checks my pace and helps me to retain a confident composure."

He wrote the 1937 book "From Tee to Cup: By The Four Masters," bringing in the Masters: "Woods" by Gene Sarazen; "Long Irons" by Denny Shute; "Short Irons" by himself; "Scoring Zone" by Johnny Revolta; and "Putting and Puzzle Shots", with tips from all four.

Having analyzed golf swings in the book, and then never re-entering tournament play again, he caused some fans to speculate a case of "Paralysis by Analysis."

His own explanation is that he was not that much into winning. From 1959 to 1987 is was Director of Golf at Braemar Country Club in Tarzana, California, and his signature sandwich is still on the Guldahl Grill Room menu.

And, for your golf-swing-analyzing friend who has everything, consider a gift of one of the few remaining original 1937 editions of From Tee to Cup, signed by Guldaul himself.

On Sept. 9, 1954, a young rockabilly singer played at the grand opening of a shopping center; he was paid $10 to perform on a flat-bed truck parked in front of the Katz Drug Store. The next day he began a long session of recording at a local studio. He worked for hours on several song covers which were never released.

Finally things fell into place while he and the studio group were covering the 1948 r&b hit "Good Rockin' Tonight." Later that day, or maybe the next day, he recorded a pop tune he had heard in a movie, "I don't care if the sun don't shine."
These two sides became Sun 210, released on Sept. 25, 1954.
That night, Elvis appeared at the Eagle's Nest Club with the Tiny Dixon Band. The single record release, Elvis' second, would not hit big. But artistically, this Sun single represents one of the best performances of Elvis' career.

This is the original Sun 210 single. There's something special about owning it.
As life neatly arranges itself into archives with the help of computers, this unmistakable artifact reminds us of the mechanical and agricultural age when popular music started to rock and roll, as if creating a vulgar secular church.
Condition of the grooves in this Sun rarity is very good, and both sides play through nicely, with all the excitement of early Elvis on wax.
The label has some ring wear but no markings. There's a slight smudge on the author credit of "Good Rockin' Tonight"-- the word "Brown" can be read but not the word "Roy." (Both Roy Brown and Wynonie Harris had previous hits with this song). The artist credit is Elvis Presley Scotty and Bill.
Details suggesting an authentic original are the round punch marks on the label, for juke boxes, which usually distinguish originals. Previous ownership cannot be determined though it seems to have arrived previously undetected in a batch of beat-up old Frankie Avalons, Cadillacs, etc. Trail-off numbers in the deadwax are U-130-45-72. The record is in a plain white sleeve. It is worth well over a thousand dollars.

It's the first snowstorm of the year in Northern New England. Here's the view from the office. And here are some titles from the store with "snow" in them. After that, I write in the style of the New York Times columnist who I find so epigraphic, Verlyn Klingenborg.

merv griffin i never has seen snow

The Angels: Snowflakes and Teardrops

Snowflakes are Dancing by Tomita

Kenny and Corky: Nuttin' for Christmas and Suzy Snowflake

1907 book Delilah of the Snows

Snow White Rock Christmas by the Vibra Corporation


Anyone who can think about snow at the same time that it is snowing is in privileged company, clinging to the whim of weather however precariously.
Will it reach a half a foot high? A foot? More? There's nothing to do but watch or check back later.
Unless you're driving a salt truck or a snow plow. You could do the same thing over again several times today.
Is it going to affect business? Is the power going to be out? Is the furnace on its last legs? Got some wood and a kerosene heater handy? Got some fruitful indoor work to do? Want to go out snowshoeing?
Should I start shoveling snow? Crank up the snowblower? Nothing like a snowblower blowing snow back on you.
Can we still sell something today?
Perhaps, because we have customers where it isn't snowing.

Browsing in the Harlan Wolfe's Music record store in Conway, New Hampshire, I heard a comment from a shopper who walked in and confronted all the 1960's, 1970's, and 1980's vinyl records and said, "Too much past all at once."
It was a feeling I often have when looking through vinyl record accumulations to buy. It clouds the mind, this rush of visual and audio references from long ago.
And it was a feeling that came up while listening to a record that arrived in a recently acquired collection. The record label says, "Office of Civil Defense, 'Stars for Defense,' with Vaughn Monroe, Jay Jackson and Ray Bloch and his Orchestra, Program No. 332, Do not play before Feb. 10, 1963."
Since it is well after that date, I did not think I would be prosecuted for playing this record. Typically, a product like this would be supplied to radio station turntables for the weekly 15-minute program in which listeners could learn what a good job the Office of Civil Defense was doing. Much of their task was to make Americans comfortable with buying canned and dry goods, and rotating them in and out of their fallout shelters.
Never heard of a fallout shelter?
That was the homeland security bonanza of the 1950s and 1960s, which we would construct in our suburban cellars and schools, and where we were all supposed to go in the event of an "irrational attack" or "enemy miscalculation." Those are the phrases used on the recording.
There is no mention on the vinyl of who the supposed enemy might be, but the context of the Cold War made it perfectly clear.
And what constituted an "irrational attack," or "enemy miscalculation," was not left to chance. The words "Hiroshima" or "Nagasaki" are not mentioned. But, the general idea of buying canned goods, radiometers, and geiger counters, was to survive in your own, or the community's, fallout shelter, while the holocaust of a nuclear blast played itself out on the erstwhile homeland.
The kernel of our patriotic duty in a time of nuclear tragedy, circa Feb. 10, 1963, was apparently to die slowly, underground, surrounded by empty cans and water jugs.
This is where our well-meaning (I guess) government was leading us on the preparation front.
In this unsteady light-- as I mentioned above, "too much past all at once" can cloud your thinking-- I will quote the lyrics of the song Vaughn Monroe proceeds to warble on this record, in the holiday spirit of the month that begins tomorrow:

"Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful,
and since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow.
Oh it doesn't show signs of stopping, and I've got some corn for popping,
and the lights are turned way down low, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
When we finally kiss goodnight, how I hate going out in the storm,
But if you really hold me tight, all the way home I'll be warm.
The fire is slowly dying, and my dear, we're still goodbying,
But as long as you love me so, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."

Surely no irony was intended. I was also struck by the seeming influence of Vaughn Monroe on
Leon Redbone.

Not that long ago I had the privilege of seeing a performance by Alfred J. Gallodoro at the Sego Cafe in Oneonta, New York. He is a 94-year old saxophone and clarinet virtuoso, once the widely acknowledged master of double- and triple- tonguing, who still sells off the bandstand a CD transcription of his 1951 Columbia album Saxophone Contrasts.
His improvising is pre-bebop-- even pre-jazz, and he has been acknowledged as a master of the instrument by Paquito D'Rivera, Benny Golson, Buddy DeFranco and Eddie Daniels. Jimmy Dorsey called him "the greatest saxophone player that ever lived."
So you say, "I never heard of him." Accomplishments of many woodwind artists in the past half century have virtually wiped his name off the map. And, in reality, as a studio sideman mainstay he virtually assured himself a decent living at the expense of fame.
Yet it causes one to reflect at what price the preservation of tradition sincerely felt. (As opposed to the 'dixieland' style of slogging away ignorantly at a stylized gig).
Bringing to mind a jazz singer I once met, who left her home town of New Orleans, got some lucky breaks, and was soon playing Carnegie Hall and all the great New York jazz rooms.
At first, people readily accepted that she preferred to sing the old standards-- All The Things You Are by Jerome Kern, I love you by Cole Porter, Someone to Watch Over Me, by Gershwin.
After awhile, praise grew less, and faults were found: she doesn't compose her own songs, she sticks to much to the older stuff, depending too much on them.
Still she kept singing You'd be so nice to come home to, Lush Life, You do something to me. Every now then a newer tune perhaps-- What a Wonderful World, One Note Samba, something from a musical or a movie on the hit parade.
The critics and audiences loved her as long as she seemed new. But eventually, in every place where the economic ecosystem worships new ideas, new songs, and fresh faces, her star faded. She knew in her heart that her style would not help her career.
Her gigs became less desirable. Smaller rooms, less pay, noisier audiences. Still, she kept singing the same old songs.
Finally the jazz singer was lucky enough to get a gig playing a show in Las Vegas. It was steady work, six nights a week, to the tinkle of slot machines and the chatter of gamblers. She was considered a musician's musician, and many of her famous friends thought her time would come again. But there was no mistaking the fact that she had fallen far. Once a critic's darling, playing the very best of showcases, considered to be an up-and-coming star. Now, barely a has-been. One of her admirers, a famous musician in his own right, took her aside once and said as gently as he could, "You passed up your chance to be a popular success. You have spent too much time singing the songs made famous by others."
"I know," she replied. "People think I threw away my career, just for the sake of some old songs. It probably seems as though I've spent too much time with too few melodies. Perhaps I should have moved beyond these songs many years ago. But I am perfectly content. These are the songs I sing for one reason and one reason only: so I won't forget them."

Now that I've received invitations to join "LinkedIn" by several mailing lists (I almost said "people" but it's their email lists which really issue the invitation) it's cause to meditate on that thing I'm terrible at: networking.

I define it here as a concentrated activity geared solely toward increasing your connections. Some people do this naturally, others have to work at it. In some recently published audio interviews, Kurt Vonnegut called it "making friends." And, I really think he intended no irony.

Connections are important to people, and important connections are even more important. Growing up Catholic, one became aware of the Ascension of Christ, as he was drawn up into heaven when His post-Resurrection networking days were over. Needless to say, fortunes have been built and wars have been fought over this one proto-important networking event.

Then there are the fringe exploitations of connections, tied into the pathologies of relationships. Crime which occurs in immediate families. Stalking famous people. Being drawn to absolute strangers. Celebrity sightings.

The student-run newspaper of the University of New Hampshire reports a celebrity visitor to the UNH vs. Boston College hockey game on Nov. 10. "Game-goers who saw McCain reported that he was seated on the side of the Whittemore Arena and up in the box seats, high above the stands. 'He was right over there on the side. I saw him. It was pretty cool,' said Allyson Bergendahl, a UNH pep band sousaphone player."

Pretty cool, seeing a political opportunist from a distance. For more on this type of phenomenon, read Verlyn Klingenborg's column in the Nov. 28 New York Times.

There used to be (and probably still is) a fringe network of people who think they are related to Elvis, Jesus, or Robert E. Lee. Is Obama a distant relation of Cheney? Are there six degrees of separation between everyone, or just between you and Kevin Bacon?

Other than relationships with family, people attach a high value to the structured connections of work. Business is a predominant force in any society because it regulates the economic life of that society. Business can also be full of bad relationships. In forming relationships for material purposes (networking?), it's easy to make that a surrogate for a relationship with mankind in general ("I love mankind, it's people I can't stand"), loving one another and trying to bring goodness into the world (most religions), helping to maintain the essential goodness of nature. It's no wonder we often feel unloved in the process of business networking and conducting business. Your value is based on enterprise.

Much of our work is demeaned by the rule of authority, by stripping individuals of power to affect their destiny. To preserve the general populace when relationships go awry, we have the rule of law, which kicks in when relationships break down. In my rental business, I tell tenants when they sign the lease that if things go well, we will never again have to look at this lease.

It's little wonder then, that law and authority produce alienation in the process of trying to alleviate its bad affects. So we seek more connections hoping against hope the next one will be the ticket to something. What looked like a global village from a distance becomes a chance to feel alone in the universe.

In the Landesmuseum in Trier, Germany, I saw an interesting 1545 painting by Peter van Alst, called "Ascension of Christ." The bottom of the painting shows people reaching their arms into the sky. The top half of the painting shows two feet and the hem of a robe sticking out of the clouds. In the middle is open sky. It reminded me of the scene in Wizard of Oz where the balloon heads back to Kansas with Dorothy in it. "I can't stop, I can't stop," yells the Wizard as the munchkins wave their arms in the air.

As I look back at this verbal ramble, I am struck by the number of visual images that come to mind when discussing networking. Relationships are defined by the space between them and America is a big country. If you sleep with 20 other people in the same room or even on the same floor, I doubt that the issue of networking comes up. But without this basic human desire, would there be a YouTube?

It's never really happened before-- here at moneyblows books & music, Christmas music stampeding out the door to customers all over the world. In recognition of the season, here are links to some of the items we still have left...!

• With Perry Como on the cover, the sheet music of "There is no Christmas like a Home Christmas."
• The sheet music of "White Christmas" arranged for organ by Rudolph Schramm.
• The rare Bobby Darin 45 rpm single, "Christmas Auld Lang Syne", from 1960.
• 45 rpm single of Charles Brown, the definitive "Merry Christmas Baby" from 1962.
• From 1977, with the original sleeve, The Kinks' 45 rpm single "Father Christmas." It contains the immortal refrain, "Father Christmas, give us some money."
• The little known 45 rpm Christmas classic "Barnyard Christmas" by Spike Jones and his City Slickers featuring the Bell Sisters.
• Again from 1977, The Vibra Corporation doing "Snow White Rock Christmas" on stereo 45 rpm. Perfect deejay item.
• I may be in the minority, but to me, the 4 Seasons Christmas Album is one of the best ever.
• Well, the Beach Boys Christmas album isn't bad either.
• This 1980 album from the Chipmunks-- whose first hit was a Christmas novelty-- is called "The Twelve Days of Christmas."
• We have several of Elvis Presley's Christmas albums, but this one is the prize.
• This extremely rare Christmas album from Venezuela features Freddy Leon, Angel Chirinos, Jose Quintero and others. It's called Navidad Venezolana.
• The Jackson 5 Christmas album from 1970 is a little hard to find now.
• Leon Redbone even got in the act with this 1988 album Christmas Island. And, it wouldn't be a country Christmas without Tammy Wynette or Willie Nelson.

We also have plenty of delightful, collectible Christmas-related gift books, so stop by Moneyblows Books & Music for a look.