Luigi was born in Bari, Italy on December 1, 1901. Luigi was in the middle of some 15 or so children. Whenever his children tried to find out the precise number by asking Aunts or Uncles they never seemed to nail down a fixed figure. Luigi grew up in a happy but strict Italian family. Luigi's father was a shoemaker, not a shoe repairer but one who made shoes. Luigi's mother used to bake bread for the Nuns that lived nearby. Luigi's family lived in a suburb of Bari called Casamasama. This was a poor town and business for new shoes wasn't a thriving one. The Mother kept the finances between bearing all those children. Two years separated the kids since she nursed and managed to get pregnant when she stopped. Catholics take note, better than the rhythm method. Luigi seemed to grow up happily enjoying Football (Soccer), Opera and loved to sing and eat although he always was very thin. Yet he never wanted to become a shoemaker like his father and a few of his brothers so he did odd jobs. Luigi shared with his son many years later that each town's square had a shell for musicians that would tour and play Operas. God forbid if they made a mistake. The people knew each Opera, note for note and if badly played they would throw tomatoes and rocks at the musicians.
Around 18 Luigi became restless and saw very little future for him at home. A few of his siblings had immigrated to the United States and encouraged him in letters to join them. When he was 19 he boarded a ship and set sail for Waterbury, Conn. with first stopping at Ellis Island, New York. Now he could only afford the cheapest so he sailed on the lowest deck and ate very little since he was seasick most of the way.
Luigi arrived in New York harbor barely a man, unable to speak the language knowing very little of the customs. He must of been very afraid yet his Italian pride would show none of that. He got through customs and was met by family members and headed for Waterbury. I guess you could say he settled in a ghetto which was good not bad. The Italian part of town gave him a feeling of belonging, of home. It was near the Polish part of town. He got a job in a factory that was staffed at his level with Polish and Italian workers. The Polish guys were big brawny guys and Luigi was wiry but thin. In those days eating was a sign of manliness. The Italians knew about Luigi's eating prowess but the Polish guys didn't. They would be suckered into a bet choosing the favourite as to who could eat the most, not the fastest but the most, quantity not speed. When the Polish guys saw skinny Luigi the betting went up. Luigi insisted on the menu which consisted of the most filling Italian cheeses and salamis. He easily beat them. The Italians collected the money from the bets and went home for lunch, including Luigi.
A little later Luigi's family moved to New York where he picked up the trade of Furniture (Re)Finisher in which he excelled because of his ability to color and match colors. He met a young Italian-American girl and they married. For a while he fractured the English language but when two young girls in a bakery made fun of him and he didn't know why until he asked his wife he became so angry that on his own he studied and in his later years had a refined accent. I guess you could take the boy out of Italy but you could never take Italy out of the boy. He had friends that migrated from Italy also. Many a night they would listen to records of great Operas and cry at the beauty. This was never understood by Luigi's children until they got older. Baseball was foreign to Luigi but Soccer was not popular here. Yet he tried to understand the game as his children were really into it. Little by little he became Americanized. His name became Louis. He became a naturalized citizen. He was very proud of this. He worked hard, supported his family, loved his wife and kids yet never got too sentimental in showing this.
Luigi now Louis died at age 69 and his children have never forgot what courage this young guy of 19 showed by coming over here to make this strange country his very own. How he managed to be a good husband, always loyal showing respect to his wife's family as if they were his own blood. Even trying to understand his children who at times were too American for an Italian guy to understand, yet try he did. In a way Louis epitomizes what makes this country great, built by humble people with great strength and courage.
Happy Birthday, Pop.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
Those Were The Days My Friend
A recent HBO special called "Public Speaking" Directed by Martin Scorsese which had Fran Lebowitz spouting all sorts of answers to all sorts of questions for about an hour and fifteen minutes sparked memories of when my friends and I used to sit in the local Bar, I'd call it a Pub but that would make us sound British, and talk and argue for hours over everything. Remember this old song?
Mary Hopkin lyrics - Those Were The Days
Those Were The Days
(Gene Raskin / Russian Traditional)
Once upon a time, there was a tavern
Where we used to raise a glass or two.
Remember how we laughed away the hours,
Think of all the great things we would do?
Chorus:
Those were the days, my friend!
We thought they'd never end.
We'd sing and dance forever and a day.
We'd live the life we'd choose.
We'd fight and never lose.
For we were young and sure to have our way!
Di di di di…
Then, the busy years went rushing by us.
We lost our starry notions on the way.
If, by chance, I'd see you in the tavern,
We'd smile at one another and we'd say,
Those were the days, my friend!
We thought they'd never end.
We'd sing and dance forever and a day.
We'd live the life we'd choose.
We'd fight and never lose.
Those were the days, oh yes those were the days!
Di di di di…
Just tonight, I stood before the tavern.
Nothing seemed the way it used to be.
In the glass, I saw a strange reflection.
Was that lonely woman really me?
Those were the days, my friend
We thought they'd never end
We'd sing and dance forever and a day
We'd live the life we'd choose
We'd fight and never lose
Those were the days, oh yes those were the days!
Di di di di…
Through the door, there came familiar laughter.
I saw your face and heard you call my name.
Oh my friend, we're older but no wiser,
For in our hearts, the dreams are still the same.
Those were the days, my friend!
We thought they'd never end.
We'd sing and dance forever and a day.
We'd live the life we'd choose.
We'd fight and never lose.
Those were the days, oh yes those were the days!
Di di di di…
Our Bar was The Villa. The Beer was Fifteen cents a mug and the whiskey went on the average about forty cents a shot, Pizza was a buck for small, a buck and a quarter for medium and a buck and a half for a large. We generally got the medium or small, a buck and a half was way too much. We never got there before ten or eleven at night after some time at a roller rink, movie or even church. Yes that's correct, CHURCH.
A group of us were in the YCW, Young Christen Workers which had its base in Belgium and fostered union principles based on Catholic ethics. We'd spend time on Monday nights at the St. Anne's rectory discussing things like "A fair days wage for a fair days work." We'd also discuss such things as whether French kissing was a mortal sin. Sometimes representatives from Belgium, one guy was called Billy, visited to discuss the horrible working conditions overseas and touch base with the moral ethics of the young people here and there. There was a girls chapter also and dances were held inviting all the parishes to meet and greet one another and further explore French kissing. By the time our weekly meetings were done a few of us were thirsty and we go to the Villa to quench our thirst. We'd walk in bursting with energy, loud and feisty carrying our Bibles which confounded the old hard drinkers who were there before us. But we were ready for anything in the form of conversational arguments. One that sticks out in my mind was one old, I guess he was about forty-five, guy challenged us on our beliefs saying our drinking couldn't square with the Church's stance on drunkenness. We of course argued we never got drunk, today they measure drunkenness back then it was different. He challenged us about dressing up for Sunday Mass saying it was hypocritical. I told him to show up at the Twelve-fifteen one Sunday and he would see me unshaven and in my old clothes, didn't have jeans back then, and look for me receiving Communion. He did,. I did. He reformed and went back to church for awhile. I never saw him at the Villa after a time nor did I see him back at Church so who knows if the reformation stuck or if he just visited another Bar.
There was another group of guys and gals who went out together and after doing whatever we were doing ended up at The Villa. We drank ate Pizza argued and laughed until closing. We covered everything from sin to medicine to baseball to sex. Denny, argued that Cancer was caused by a virus. This theory arose some years later but I first head the argument from Denny. One of the girls' father was an alcoholic and she had a mother who was very ill and suffered at times in great pain if anyone even touched her bed. She was bedridden. One night before we went out the father came home in a drunken stupor and was jumping up and down on the mother's bed causing great pain, I can still hear the groans and see the tears. Finally I could not stand this anymore so I pleaded with him to stop but he wouldn't. I lifted him up and bodily threw him out of the bedroom and followed him into the living room promising to kill him if he ever did that again. He might have done it again but not in front of me nor did she ever mention it again. That night we didn't go out but we did shortly thereafter and in the Villa we argued whether I had the right to do what I did. We argued it from a ethical and moral viewpoint. I think we agreed right or wrong it was the thing to do.
We had lots of laughs at The Villa. When I might of had a little too much to drink I'd do my impersonation of Marlyn Monroe and Jane Russell from "Gentlemen Prefer Blonds" which required me to get up on the bar. The bartender never complained. We were good tippers, sometimes we'd leave as much as five or ten bucks which wasn't bad for a crowd of ten or so back then.
We solved every moral, political issue of the day. We had great ideas and weren't afraid to argue the pros and cons between Beers or Gin Rickeys. Some of us got drafted. Some of us married and had kids. Some of us just drifted away. Today there is no more Villa. There is no more YCW. There are very few of us left.
Just a few months ago one of the guys died of cancer. The girl whose father was a drunk married the guy who had the virus causing cancer idea. They married and moved away and faded in obscurity as far as I know. There are very few who seem to want to discuss ideas or just argue and have fun. Everyone I see today is texting or playing games or having hot sex but never really getting involved with anything but some sort of pleasure they think is out there.
Fran Lebowitz, Scorsese's "Public Speaking" on HBO helped me realize that sometimes just talking and swapping ideas about everything and anything is what is missing today. The Roundtable at the Algonquin with it's group of witty people no longer exists. Today we have the talking heads shouting, screaming and usually saying nothing but trying to get people to follow them so their power base can be satisfied. By the way George S. Kaufman, Robert Benchley, Dorothy Day are a few of the people from The Roundtable that we could use today. Or maybe, to paraphrase, Fran Lebowitz, "One of the reasons the good old days were good was because I was in my twenties.". In any case as far as I am concerned, "Those Were The Days My Friend'.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Even Christ Appreciated A kind Word
Today's reading from Luke 23 (35-43) celebrating the feast Of Christ The King is particularly moving and gives an insight into the humanity of Jesus. Here he finds himself nailed to a cross to die a not only a most tortuous death but a public humiliation. His body aching from toes to head. Almost naked. People jeering him, spitting at him and constantly degrading him. All this is happening in front of his mother. The soldiers are gambling for his cloak. He has nothing left. He is stationed between two criminals. One of them continues to revile him using jeering taunts. The two men on each side were hardened criminals, possibly murderers. Yet one of them who Tradition calls Dismas looks at Christ. Is he a secret follower? Certainly he has heard of him yet he wouldn't be hanging on a cross dying a death only reserved for those trying to revolt or have committed the most heinous crimes. Whatever he is, he certainly feels compassion and empathy so much so Dismas is moved to words quieting the other jeering criminal and is moved to ask Christ to remember him when he comes into his kingdom. Did Dismas really believe in his request or was he just trying to comfort someone he felt was wrongly being destroyed? We will never know the answer to this despite all the theological musing about the subject because all that is recorded is in Luke's detailed accounting, the other Evangelists don't have it. Jesus' response is "...today you will be with me in Paradise." Was this Jesus rewarding a deathbed conversion or did he reward a man for an act of kindness that was not shown by the multitudes that laughed, jeered and spit at Jesus? It sort of fit into what Matthew 25 (31-46) said about those who would be saved because they fed the hungry, clothed the sick and visited those in prisons because when they did that to them they did it to Jesus. Imagine an act of kindness, caring and loving is the measure used in salvation not necessarily calling Jesus Lord. Check it out that's what is recorded. So here we are some 2000 years later celebrating the feast of Christ the King while at the same time celebrating an act of kindness that moved our King to bring a hardened criminal into Paradise because he cared for another being. We shall never know if Dismas believed in Christ as the Messiah or if he was just moved by love and compassion. What we do know is Christ appreciated the words and caring and rewarded him. If we go back to Matthew 25 (31-46) and put all this into practice I am sure we too can experience the splendor of Paradise which is the Kingdom of Christ.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
PS120, The Grammer School on "The Hill"
Way back when Queensborough Hill was still in it's infancy PS120 was the neighborhood school we went to from Kindergarten to Eight Grade. The classes were marked A and B and we got to know our classmates since some of us were together for more than Eight years. Not only did we get to know each other but our teachers got to know us. This created quite a family like existence. The school had a yard that was fenced in certain sections by a fence that was maybe a story and a half and in other sections by a fence that was a little over five feet tall. Before classes, for about forty-five minutes in the morning and at lunch time, every one went home for lunch, all the students would congregate in the yard until they were summoned by the teachers to line up and go into classes. If the weather was nice, and I mean sunny and dry not necessarily warm, each class had a time for exercise during the school day. The school yard had enough room for two softball fields but usually only one at a time was used. There was a full court basketball court right in center-field which was always in use even if softball games were being played. Sometimes there were full court games but most of the time half court games with two or three men on each side. In left field of the main softball field some two hundred feet or so away were two handball courts. To the left were the steps going into the school where some used to congregate to talk sports, girls or play craps after school. In certain areas were fast pitch sites. These only needed two guys and a sawed off broom-stick for a bat. A tennis ball or high bouncer (Spauldeen) was used since we all could throw curves with them. A box was drawn on the wall from shoulders to knees representing the strike zone. A game could be played by two people, sometimes four with an outfielder being used. We played ring-a-leevio, tag, Chinese handball, in this school-yard.
After school we'd go home to change into our play clothes and return to the school-yard to play until dinner time. Weekends would see Roller-Hockey and Moose and the big guys would kill one another. In the summer the big guys would go there after work, they were sixteen and up, to each chip in a dime for a new clincher and play softball with the winning team keeping the ball. Back then we never threw the ball away. When the cover would come off we'd tape it with black tape. When a bat split we would try to nail it and tape it using it until it became useless. We used wooden bats only and they were expensive, maybe anywhere from a buck to three or four dollars. The kids heard that the Babe used a bat that was around forty-four ounces and at least thirty-six inches long, so we used heavy bats, usually about thirty-six ounces and the same length. The games were quite good. One game played between 8A and 8B resulted in an one to nothing win for 8B with the potential tying run on third with no outs.
At least three or four times a week there would be fist fights. Somebody went home bleeding. Funny but no one was sued and no parent got involved, unless of course it was really a dirty gang fight. But then who would want their parents involved. If you lost Mom would usually beat you up for fighting; if you won you didn't let them know. Somehow you got the feeling Dad didn't mind if you got into a fight. The cops would raid the crap game every so often. The guys would scatter and the cops kept the money. You didn't want to be brought home by the cops because then even Dad would become incensed. Cops, Teachers, Priests and Nuns were never wrong and you always were and that goes for any adult neighbor, if they had a gripe.
Naturally there were girls in the school-yard before school commenced but never after school was over. It wasn't because they weren't invited but for some reason they deferred, especially if they wanted to keep their reputation. One named Helen could beat most guys in a good fist fight but when she got a little older she refrained because her reputation as a tom-boy was keeping the romantic ones at bay.
Little by little Queensborough Hill matured and more room was needed for the emerging student body. New wings extended out into the school-yard until there was very little room left to do anything. The roller-hockey games, the softball games, the crap games, handball, basketball and the fights are all gone. Only echos from the past are heard but the ones hearing them are dwindling. But I believe somewhere there is a school-yard where the guys and gals can get together . Everybody knows each other and there is always something to do, someone to talk to, lots of laughs and youth reigns supreme.
After school we'd go home to change into our play clothes and return to the school-yard to play until dinner time. Weekends would see Roller-Hockey and Moose and the big guys would kill one another. In the summer the big guys would go there after work, they were sixteen and up, to each chip in a dime for a new clincher and play softball with the winning team keeping the ball. Back then we never threw the ball away. When the cover would come off we'd tape it with black tape. When a bat split we would try to nail it and tape it using it until it became useless. We used wooden bats only and they were expensive, maybe anywhere from a buck to three or four dollars. The kids heard that the Babe used a bat that was around forty-four ounces and at least thirty-six inches long, so we used heavy bats, usually about thirty-six ounces and the same length. The games were quite good. One game played between 8A and 8B resulted in an one to nothing win for 8B with the potential tying run on third with no outs.
At least three or four times a week there would be fist fights. Somebody went home bleeding. Funny but no one was sued and no parent got involved, unless of course it was really a dirty gang fight. But then who would want their parents involved. If you lost Mom would usually beat you up for fighting; if you won you didn't let them know. Somehow you got the feeling Dad didn't mind if you got into a fight. The cops would raid the crap game every so often. The guys would scatter and the cops kept the money. You didn't want to be brought home by the cops because then even Dad would become incensed. Cops, Teachers, Priests and Nuns were never wrong and you always were and that goes for any adult neighbor, if they had a gripe.
Naturally there were girls in the school-yard before school commenced but never after school was over. It wasn't because they weren't invited but for some reason they deferred, especially if they wanted to keep their reputation. One named Helen could beat most guys in a good fist fight but when she got a little older she refrained because her reputation as a tom-boy was keeping the romantic ones at bay.
Little by little Queensborough Hill matured and more room was needed for the emerging student body. New wings extended out into the school-yard until there was very little room left to do anything. The roller-hockey games, the softball games, the crap games, handball, basketball and the fights are all gone. Only echos from the past are heard but the ones hearing them are dwindling. But I believe somewhere there is a school-yard where the guys and gals can get together . Everybody knows each other and there is always something to do, someone to talk to, lots of laughs and youth reigns supreme.
Monday, November 15, 2010
A Love Story, Long Ago And Far Away
Long ago and far away,
I dreamed a dream one-day,
And now that dream is here beside me!
Long the skies were overcast,
But now the clouds have past,
You're here at last!
Chills run up and down my spine,
Aladdin's lamp is mine,
The dream I dreamed was not denied me!
Just one look and then I knew,
That all I longed for long ago,
Was you!
Music and Lyrics by Ira Gershwin and Jerome Kern
He was only in his teens when he first saw her. She was the prettiest girl he ever saw. He tried to get to know her but he was rebuffed at every move. On top of being fed the wrong information by some of his friends who were looking to make a move on her themselves she just didn't seem interested in him.
Life was very busy for him then. He was playing ball. He was starting to get very active in music. Graduation from High School was a goal that was near but seemed unobtainable as he barely made grades that were passing. But he finally graduated, just barely. He was free to go after his dreams. Of course he had to get a job but that was only to mollify his mother. His real dream was music or sports. He was about as successful at his job as he was at his school work. However he was making some progress at music which necessitated his concentration to be in music as he abandoned his dream of baseball.
Playing a musical instrument even back then lent itself to groupies. He didn't have a shortage of girls. He had a very active social life and his music career while really not giving much money was progressing as he not only played, he composed and arraigned.
He seemed happy and absorbed in his life yet there was always the memory of that girl who wouldn't pay any attention to him. He started to drink and experiment with drugs. His social life became even more active. One might say he was content and happy. Yet there was this void he felt like a deep wound that wouldn't heal.
Then one day he spotted her walking along Fifth Ave., that same girl who had now become the most beautiful women he ever laid his bloodshot eyes on. What the hell he thought, I've got to chance it and approached her. He ran besides her and asked if she went to his high school and when she replied in the affirmative the game was on. She said she recognized him and seemed genuinely glad to see him. They walked and talked for a long time and he finally asked her out and she accepted. It was a whirlwind courtship which led to a quick marriage. He suddenly found out that a wife and children really couldn't wait for him to realize his dream since they all needed food, shelter and clothing. Little by little he gave up his dream and concentrated on earning a living which required him to return to night college in order to compete.
They were married many years and were entering that stage when both were asking themselves "If I had to do it all over again, would I?" She seemed to be tiring of him and he was beginning to feel that he lost the chance for dream fulfillment. He thought, "Could it be that she's falling out of love with me?". She was older but still very beautiful, lively and full of life. He became overweight and the lines in face gave evidence of his early life even though he long ago gave that part up. He felt he was losing her and that void he felt when he was younger was returning.
Then she became very ill. She contacted a long term disease that took many years to reach its conclusion. He tried to be the faithful caregiver. Even as she lost herself in the illness she became more beautiful. He realized the finality of this so when it came he was not devastated. Yet the void in his soul became greater. He could not play his music anymore but he listened and remembered. With each song a memory of their relationship was brought into vivid consciousness. Then he finally realized that they were not separated, she was still alive, in his mind, in his heart in the the great beyond. While they lived in different dimensions, if he didn't give up they could still be together, not in the same physicality but in the same spirit. And so the void started to close as he realized that the dreams he had as a young man were really chasing bubbles and the real dream was she. He realized while it was fun chasing bubbles it was better living life.
Long ago and far away,
I dreamed a dream one-day,
And now that dream is here beside me!
Long the skies were overcast,
But now the clouds have past,
You're here at last!
Chills run up and down my spine,
Aladdin's lamp is mine,
The dream I dreamed was not denied me!
Just one look and then I knew,
That all I longed for long ago,
Was you!
Music and Lyrics by Ira Gershwin and Jerome Kern
Saturday, November 13, 2010
“God save me from my friends - I can protect myself from my enemies.”
Proverb Quote is so apt. Some years ago a couple was getting ready to celebrate their twenty-fifth anniversary. Their children were preparing to surprise them with a trip to Puerto Rico. The first twenty-five years of marriage didn't leave itself to much vacationing for this couple because of financial difficulties. This was to be a big effort on the part of the children and a great source of pleasure for the couple. The plan was to surprise them at a dinner. There were friends of this couple called John and Fran who went to the children and asked them what their plans were for the big event. When they were told John and Fran volunteered to do the booking and take care of the details which was a relief as the children were unsophisticated in handling travel plans at this time. At the dinner which J & F were at the big surprise was sprung. The bigger surprise was that J & F were coming also. Of course they asked if it would make the couple uncomfortable but what could they say but "Love to have you. Come along.".
The whole scene was overwhelming. They arrived in Puerto Rico for a week's stay only to find that they had adjourning rooms which could be accessed simply by opening a door. This was supposed to be a second honeymoon so needless to say the couple felt a little uncomfortable. While they were on the beach one day J & F met cousins who happened to be vacationing. What a co-incident! There was some fun like the girls winning $100 at Roulette and seeing a few shows. But J&F were becoming more intrusive so much so that a chair had to be put up against the adjoining door so they were sure that J & F didn't just walk in on them uninterrupted. After spending time with their cousins and enjoying themselves J&F started to get bored and started making overtures to leave early which caused no little consternation to the couple, especially the wife.
One day on an excursion to the rain forest there was a stop at a water-fall. The young people were attempting to scale the rocks up the falls. John insisted on going. The Husband declined. Half way up John fell down the rocks into the pool. Needless to say John was bruised and hurt. Consider the fact that John was fat and out of shape and did very little athletic things, so he was really hurt. The couple took this as a great opportunity for them to enjoy time by themselves. The next morning while John was licking his wounds they snuck out of their room and went to Old San Juan to enjoy a real Puerto Rican breakfast. The day alone was wonderful. Unfortunately John pushed his recovery so all they had was one day to themselves. Finally the day came to leave. The trip home J & F were distant. That distant was maintained for the rest of their lives. Some friends relayed the ugly rumors they were spreading about the couple. J & F avoided any contact with the couple whenever they could.
The couple wondered why this was happening. When their children questioned them about the flowers and champagne that was in their rooms the couple didn't know what they were referring to. It seems J & F were given a few bucks to purchase these items as additional gifts for the celebration. Maybe J & F just forgot it but it appeared they pocketed it. When the kids we asked why they went to them for help they explained J & F took it over and booked through their travel agent. Checking with some people it was determined that The Hotel booked was being shut down for renovations and the adjoining rooms went to J & F free of charge. Nobody knew how but the cousins of J & F probably were in on the freebie some way.
The recap is John & Fran horned in on this couple's first real time to be alone and celebrate without being asked because they were "friends"; J & F pocketed about $100 in cash that was supposed to be for the couples enjoyment. J & F got a weeks freebie stay and repaid the couple by de-friending them and spreading rumors about them. So I guess the Proverb Quote which is this Blog's title is very, very apt.
As an epilogue when the couple's Thirtieth anniversary came they went on two trips, Bermuda and the children's gift to Can Cun, ALONE, and they really enjoyed it. The time in Puerto Rico shall never be forgotten however.
The whole scene was overwhelming. They arrived in Puerto Rico for a week's stay only to find that they had adjourning rooms which could be accessed simply by opening a door. This was supposed to be a second honeymoon so needless to say the couple felt a little uncomfortable. While they were on the beach one day J & F met cousins who happened to be vacationing. What a co-incident! There was some fun like the girls winning $100 at Roulette and seeing a few shows. But J&F were becoming more intrusive so much so that a chair had to be put up against the adjoining door so they were sure that J & F didn't just walk in on them uninterrupted. After spending time with their cousins and enjoying themselves J&F started to get bored and started making overtures to leave early which caused no little consternation to the couple, especially the wife.
One day on an excursion to the rain forest there was a stop at a water-fall. The young people were attempting to scale the rocks up the falls. John insisted on going. The Husband declined. Half way up John fell down the rocks into the pool. Needless to say John was bruised and hurt. Consider the fact that John was fat and out of shape and did very little athletic things, so he was really hurt. The couple took this as a great opportunity for them to enjoy time by themselves. The next morning while John was licking his wounds they snuck out of their room and went to Old San Juan to enjoy a real Puerto Rican breakfast. The day alone was wonderful. Unfortunately John pushed his recovery so all they had was one day to themselves. Finally the day came to leave. The trip home J & F were distant. That distant was maintained for the rest of their lives. Some friends relayed the ugly rumors they were spreading about the couple. J & F avoided any contact with the couple whenever they could.
The couple wondered why this was happening. When their children questioned them about the flowers and champagne that was in their rooms the couple didn't know what they were referring to. It seems J & F were given a few bucks to purchase these items as additional gifts for the celebration. Maybe J & F just forgot it but it appeared they pocketed it. When the kids we asked why they went to them for help they explained J & F took it over and booked through their travel agent. Checking with some people it was determined that The Hotel booked was being shut down for renovations and the adjoining rooms went to J & F free of charge. Nobody knew how but the cousins of J & F probably were in on the freebie some way.
The recap is John & Fran horned in on this couple's first real time to be alone and celebrate without being asked because they were "friends"; J & F pocketed about $100 in cash that was supposed to be for the couples enjoyment. J & F got a weeks freebie stay and repaid the couple by de-friending them and spreading rumors about them. So I guess the Proverb Quote which is this Blog's title is very, very apt.
As an epilogue when the couple's Thirtieth anniversary came they went on two trips, Bermuda and the children's gift to Can Cun, ALONE, and they really enjoyed it. The time in Puerto Rico shall never be forgotten however.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
A Letter To President Obama
Dear President Obama,
I know very little about politics but I know how to react when threatened by thugs. You played schoolyard Basketball when you were a kid. You probably played in some leagues also. If you were in a travelling league you got to know how dangerous it was to beat some home team in a rough part of town. The goons pushed hard. It was fight or get the hell kicked out of you. You could quit, turn tail and run. I get the feeling you knew how to fight. You stood your ground and won more than you lost.
You give the impression that you think Washington, D.C. is more civilized than the schoolyard and that the thugs and goons are left back home on the rough streets of our Cities. To me, a novice, there is little difference between D.C., Congress and the schoolyard except the facade of expensive suits and cleaned up language.
You entered the scene with your team some two years ago with the promise of a cleaner game which would help all Americans along the road to a better life. You seemed to really mean we could be better as a nation and people who cared for one another. You kicked the home team's butt. However, they didn't go away, instead they reverted to the goon tactics all thugs have. Playing on fears, John Boehner, Eric Cantor and Mitch McConnell encouraged a new gang called the Tea Baggers, who could have been called Tea Bangers, who morphed into the Tea Party. They made up false charges, "death panel", "forged birth certificate", Black Christian Radical", "Muslim in waiting for the overthrow of this government.", let the rumors circulate and never deny them. Their one object was to have you have a one term Presidency. The verbal clubs, slings and arrows were not very noble but were very effective.
Little by little people began to believe these insidious rumors some because they wanted to believe them and some because they trusted the goons who were saying them. Your team never got out to talk to the people. Sure you went to rallies, Town Halls and tracked polls. You guys never got past preaching to the choir. The people I talk to and live with. Your team didn't believe the signs and just lost an important game getting your butts kicked all over this nation. Yes the economy is a big reason but there are so many other contributory factors. Believe this, there are people in this country that hate you. WHY? Because you are Black. Yes bigotry still exists. Because they think you are a Muslim and Socialist who wants to subject America to Islamic laws. The following are a few things floating around the inter-net these days. Supposedly there is included in the new health care bill a Muslim term that is put in to start the process of getting us under Islamic rule. Another is a picture of a ceremony where all are saluting except you who have arms at full length and hands folded. This is called "The Crotch Salute" and supposedly is you disrespecting all of us so called Americans. People believe this junk and the goons like those I have referred to are perpetuating the myth and getting away with it.
There are others out there who are waiting for the dream to be fulfilled. Who brought you in on a wave of hope two years ago. These represent many more than the nay sayers but have to be reassured that you are the guy who the nations thought you were. You have to be stronger, stand up and LEAD. Stand up to the Tea Bangers and the Washington goons who think they own that town. You are being perceived as weak always apologizing and seeking compromise while getting your nose rubbed in it. Before it is too late put a little starch in your backbone. Return to the schoolyard style, come out swinging and go for the knock out.
You are needed as a strong leader don't let the thugs and goons win. You can win using truth, strength and bringing the dream closer to fruition for all Americans. The fear is, if you let the goons and thugs win America will lose and that will really hurt.
I know very little about politics but I know how to react when threatened by thugs. You played schoolyard Basketball when you were a kid. You probably played in some leagues also. If you were in a travelling league you got to know how dangerous it was to beat some home team in a rough part of town. The goons pushed hard. It was fight or get the hell kicked out of you. You could quit, turn tail and run. I get the feeling you knew how to fight. You stood your ground and won more than you lost.
You give the impression that you think Washington, D.C. is more civilized than the schoolyard and that the thugs and goons are left back home on the rough streets of our Cities. To me, a novice, there is little difference between D.C., Congress and the schoolyard except the facade of expensive suits and cleaned up language.
You entered the scene with your team some two years ago with the promise of a cleaner game which would help all Americans along the road to a better life. You seemed to really mean we could be better as a nation and people who cared for one another. You kicked the home team's butt. However, they didn't go away, instead they reverted to the goon tactics all thugs have. Playing on fears, John Boehner, Eric Cantor and Mitch McConnell encouraged a new gang called the Tea Baggers, who could have been called Tea Bangers, who morphed into the Tea Party. They made up false charges, "death panel", "forged birth certificate", Black Christian Radical", "Muslim in waiting for the overthrow of this government.", let the rumors circulate and never deny them. Their one object was to have you have a one term Presidency. The verbal clubs, slings and arrows were not very noble but were very effective.
Little by little people began to believe these insidious rumors some because they wanted to believe them and some because they trusted the goons who were saying them. Your team never got out to talk to the people. Sure you went to rallies, Town Halls and tracked polls. You guys never got past preaching to the choir. The people I talk to and live with. Your team didn't believe the signs and just lost an important game getting your butts kicked all over this nation. Yes the economy is a big reason but there are so many other contributory factors. Believe this, there are people in this country that hate you. WHY? Because you are Black. Yes bigotry still exists. Because they think you are a Muslim and Socialist who wants to subject America to Islamic laws. The following are a few things floating around the inter-net these days. Supposedly there is included in the new health care bill a Muslim term that is put in to start the process of getting us under Islamic rule. Another is a picture of a ceremony where all are saluting except you who have arms at full length and hands folded. This is called "The Crotch Salute" and supposedly is you disrespecting all of us so called Americans. People believe this junk and the goons like those I have referred to are perpetuating the myth and getting away with it.
There are others out there who are waiting for the dream to be fulfilled. Who brought you in on a wave of hope two years ago. These represent many more than the nay sayers but have to be reassured that you are the guy who the nations thought you were. You have to be stronger, stand up and LEAD. Stand up to the Tea Bangers and the Washington goons who think they own that town. You are being perceived as weak always apologizing and seeking compromise while getting your nose rubbed in it. Before it is too late put a little starch in your backbone. Return to the schoolyard style, come out swinging and go for the knock out.
You are needed as a strong leader don't let the thugs and goons win. You can win using truth, strength and bringing the dream closer to fruition for all Americans. The fear is, if you let the goons and thugs win America will lose and that will really hurt.
Very truly yours,
Bglou
Friday, November 5, 2010
In Life: Short Moments With Enduring Impact
The actual moment of living occurs in a flash drifting into memory where it lives for eternity. The event almost forgotten. The people seen only briefly live on in our minds although never seen again.
In 1946 I had to have elective surgery for flat feet because at the time the thought was if it was not done then I would collapse in my middle twenties. This thought is not held today but back then the Orthopedic Surgeon convinced my mother to have it done. The New York Hospital for Orthopedic Surgery was on Fifty-Seventh Street near the Fifty-Ninth Street bridge. The operation would cause me to miss grade 7B. The arches on both feet had to be broken and reset. The Achilles tendons had to be severed and reset, and bone scrapings from my right shin had to be utilized. I'd be in casts for three months and had to learn how to walk again, no rehab centers then. We got off the BMT subway this late August day and stopped at a Woolworth's where my Mom let me have whatever I wanted before entering the hospital. I had A BLT with mayo and a vanilla malted, which I can still taste it was so good. We entered the hospital and I was prepped for the operation the next day which took a little more than three hours. The anesthesia used was gas or so I was told and it wasn't bad during or after. My mother saw the surgeon after. He was twitching so badly she was sure he had botched the whole thing. He didn't. I was placed in a semi-private room with an older man.
The room, two beds were faced in opposite direction. I looked out at the hall way and he looked out at an apartment building across the street. The nurses used to come in to sneak a smoke. They stood in the bathroom and I'd yell "Chickie" if a supervisor was headed in our direction.The mornings held diversion since across the way apparently, a young woman would emerge from what we guessed was her morning shower unclad and dry herself in full view of my room-mate and the nurses. They all laughed gleefully and when I would attempt to get a view they stopped me since I was too "young" for the view.
My room-mate was a window washer. Back then the window washer would step out on the ledge and hook himself up to hooks on the frame of the building. My window washer was up high when he did this one day and the frame came out and he fell many stories landing on his feet breaking many bones causing him to have what seemed like ever lasting pain and many operations. With all his problems he cared for me. He always made sure I was taken care of properly and reassured my parents that the nurses were doing a good job. My first nights after the operation I must have been in a lot of pain and he stayed awake until I was fast asleep. I wasn't always nice, kind of a snotty kid, yet for some reason he put his pain aside and wanted to care for me even though he was bed bound. I was due to go home on a Saturday and all I was looking forward to was my mom's spaghetti and meatballs, which I missed greatly. That Thurs. night when being visited by my family my brother got me a vanilla malted and I drank it voraciously. Early Fri. morning around three I woke up throwing up all over the place. My room-mate called the night nurse and I had a fever. A few hours later with my mom present a Doctor from Roosevelt hospital examined me and determined I had to go to his hospital to have my appendix removed. I cried like a baby, which caused everyone Doctors and nurses, my room-mate and his wife to cry. I knew I wasn't going to have mom's spaghetti and meatballs this Sat.. I requested that I be given gas and not ether. My Doctor agreed.
My only ambulance ride as a patient was taken and it was kind of exciting. We got to Roosevelt Hospital which had no available semi-private rooms so I was placed in a ward. This was kind of scary, a lot of beds with grown men who I didn't know. I was prepped and brought into the operating room on a gurney, remember I had casts on both legs up to my knees. I was quite a sight. I remember the hospital lights going by quickly as I was being wheeled on the gurney. Another first which I hope is never repeated. The Anesthesiologist placed something over my nose and mouth and the first breath I took I knew my Doctor had lied, it was ether and it was terrible. I grabbed at the mask to pull it off but then apologized and succumbed to the darkness. I woke up in the ward with my mom and pop by my bed side. I remember going in and out of consciousness. I told my Pop I knew he had to go to work the next day so he could go home. I asked my mom to stay. She said the Hospital wouldn't let her. I suggested she hide under the bed. Then there was darkness again. I woke up in the middle of the night, many times, very thirsty and having the dry heaves. Everytime I woke up there was this guy standing over me, helping me making sure I didn't tear my stitches. He was like my surrogate mother and I trusted him completely. I woke the next morning feeling a lot better and this guy came over to me to see how I was doing. We talked a bit and this I remember, he was concerned that I was young and alone with two operations in two weeks. He assured my parents he would look after me. I asked what he did and he said very proudly that he was a Hobo. He made it plain that he was not a Bum since a Bum was looking for a handout while Hobos rode the rails from town to town looking for work so they could survive. Hobos were very prevalent during the Great Depression since so many couldn't find work. Robert Mitchum, who was a very good actor rode the rails when he was very young and never hid the fact that he was a Hobo. Later that day they took me to a semi-private room. Later that week I went home and had my mom's spaghetti and meatballs. And it was very good.
I never saw these two guys again. My window washer room-mate spoke to me once on the phone since he was interested in how I was doing. I was too shy and stupid to be able to thank him for all he did. The Hobo
disappeared from my view as quickly as he appeared. I never had the chance to tell him how much he meant to me during my night of hell. Two people who came into my life at a time of great need when I was most vulnerable and felt most alone, then disappeared never to be seen or heard by me again. I shall never forget them. I don't remember their names but I know who they are; certainly God's Angels sent on a mission of love. I would bet that many of you have these Angels in your lives also.
In 1946 I had to have elective surgery for flat feet because at the time the thought was if it was not done then I would collapse in my middle twenties. This thought is not held today but back then the Orthopedic Surgeon convinced my mother to have it done. The New York Hospital for Orthopedic Surgery was on Fifty-Seventh Street near the Fifty-Ninth Street bridge. The operation would cause me to miss grade 7B. The arches on both feet had to be broken and reset. The Achilles tendons had to be severed and reset, and bone scrapings from my right shin had to be utilized. I'd be in casts for three months and had to learn how to walk again, no rehab centers then. We got off the BMT subway this late August day and stopped at a Woolworth's where my Mom let me have whatever I wanted before entering the hospital. I had A BLT with mayo and a vanilla malted, which I can still taste it was so good. We entered the hospital and I was prepped for the operation the next day which took a little more than three hours. The anesthesia used was gas or so I was told and it wasn't bad during or after. My mother saw the surgeon after. He was twitching so badly she was sure he had botched the whole thing. He didn't. I was placed in a semi-private room with an older man.
The room, two beds were faced in opposite direction. I looked out at the hall way and he looked out at an apartment building across the street. The nurses used to come in to sneak a smoke. They stood in the bathroom and I'd yell "Chickie" if a supervisor was headed in our direction.The mornings held diversion since across the way apparently, a young woman would emerge from what we guessed was her morning shower unclad and dry herself in full view of my room-mate and the nurses. They all laughed gleefully and when I would attempt to get a view they stopped me since I was too "young" for the view.
My room-mate was a window washer. Back then the window washer would step out on the ledge and hook himself up to hooks on the frame of the building. My window washer was up high when he did this one day and the frame came out and he fell many stories landing on his feet breaking many bones causing him to have what seemed like ever lasting pain and many operations. With all his problems he cared for me. He always made sure I was taken care of properly and reassured my parents that the nurses were doing a good job. My first nights after the operation I must have been in a lot of pain and he stayed awake until I was fast asleep. I wasn't always nice, kind of a snotty kid, yet for some reason he put his pain aside and wanted to care for me even though he was bed bound. I was due to go home on a Saturday and all I was looking forward to was my mom's spaghetti and meatballs, which I missed greatly. That Thurs. night when being visited by my family my brother got me a vanilla malted and I drank it voraciously. Early Fri. morning around three I woke up throwing up all over the place. My room-mate called the night nurse and I had a fever. A few hours later with my mom present a Doctor from Roosevelt hospital examined me and determined I had to go to his hospital to have my appendix removed. I cried like a baby, which caused everyone Doctors and nurses, my room-mate and his wife to cry. I knew I wasn't going to have mom's spaghetti and meatballs this Sat.. I requested that I be given gas and not ether. My Doctor agreed.
My only ambulance ride as a patient was taken and it was kind of exciting. We got to Roosevelt Hospital which had no available semi-private rooms so I was placed in a ward. This was kind of scary, a lot of beds with grown men who I didn't know. I was prepped and brought into the operating room on a gurney, remember I had casts on both legs up to my knees. I was quite a sight. I remember the hospital lights going by quickly as I was being wheeled on the gurney. Another first which I hope is never repeated. The Anesthesiologist placed something over my nose and mouth and the first breath I took I knew my Doctor had lied, it was ether and it was terrible. I grabbed at the mask to pull it off but then apologized and succumbed to the darkness. I woke up in the ward with my mom and pop by my bed side. I remember going in and out of consciousness. I told my Pop I knew he had to go to work the next day so he could go home. I asked my mom to stay. She said the Hospital wouldn't let her. I suggested she hide under the bed. Then there was darkness again. I woke up in the middle of the night, many times, very thirsty and having the dry heaves. Everytime I woke up there was this guy standing over me, helping me making sure I didn't tear my stitches. He was like my surrogate mother and I trusted him completely. I woke the next morning feeling a lot better and this guy came over to me to see how I was doing. We talked a bit and this I remember, he was concerned that I was young and alone with two operations in two weeks. He assured my parents he would look after me. I asked what he did and he said very proudly that he was a Hobo. He made it plain that he was not a Bum since a Bum was looking for a handout while Hobos rode the rails from town to town looking for work so they could survive. Hobos were very prevalent during the Great Depression since so many couldn't find work. Robert Mitchum, who was a very good actor rode the rails when he was very young and never hid the fact that he was a Hobo. Later that day they took me to a semi-private room. Later that week I went home and had my mom's spaghetti and meatballs. And it was very good.
I never saw these two guys again. My window washer room-mate spoke to me once on the phone since he was interested in how I was doing. I was too shy and stupid to be able to thank him for all he did. The Hobo
disappeared from my view as quickly as he appeared. I never had the chance to tell him how much he meant to me during my night of hell. Two people who came into my life at a time of great need when I was most vulnerable and felt most alone, then disappeared never to be seen or heard by me again. I shall never forget them. I don't remember their names but I know who they are; certainly God's Angels sent on a mission of love. I would bet that many of you have these Angels in your lives also.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Potpourri
I saw Clint Eastwood's "Hereafter" and was enthralled. Read the New York Times' review for all the reasons I find compelling about this picture. One great part not mentioned by the Times was Eastwood's original music he composed. I am sure the arrangement only added to it but it was great. Not only did it fit the subject matter enhancing the movie but it reminded one of Eastwood's talent as a piano player. He had some terrific operatic pieces in the movie as well. I should point out that not all will find the movie as satisfying. I refer you to the New York Daily News' review which panned it giving it only one star. Read the both reviews and then go see the movie and see who you agree with. By the way the french actress has the type of beauty that is haunting and the children are so good you might think they are little people (midgets is a politically incorrect term).
I voted today. I like tea but only when it is brewed. Letting the bag soak until it releases all the flavor tastes scalded to me, and we can see how these tea baggers have a skewed vision with one of them in California suggesting second amendment solutions to voting problems among our legislature and one of them in New York telling a reporter who we felt was threatening his family, "I'll take you out!", sounding more like Tony Soprano than a guy running for office. Let's not forget the nutcase in Delaware who doesn't read much and reclaimed her virginity after she lost it but it didn't have anything to do with her dabbling in witchery.
Nobody made apple pie like my mom. The apples were just the right firmness, and the taste was sweet yet with a tinge of a lemony bite. Above all her crust was terrific. I always told her she had some crust. Only recently I realized what she made that was so tasty was probably clogging all our arteries all at once. She had the dough, used the flour, kneaded it carefully blending in lots of butter and Crisco. Her crust was flaky as anything and tasty and unhealthy. Remember when as kids we teased the fat one by calling him The Criso Kid, fat in the can. Funny, as unhealthy as it was, and the fact that I haven't tasted it in probably thirty-five years If I could, I would bring her back from where she is right now just to have another slice of her Apple Pie.
This Blog will end here the way it started by referring to the hereafter.
I voted today. I like tea but only when it is brewed. Letting the bag soak until it releases all the flavor tastes scalded to me, and we can see how these tea baggers have a skewed vision with one of them in California suggesting second amendment solutions to voting problems among our legislature and one of them in New York telling a reporter who we felt was threatening his family, "I'll take you out!", sounding more like Tony Soprano than a guy running for office. Let's not forget the nutcase in Delaware who doesn't read much and reclaimed her virginity after she lost it but it didn't have anything to do with her dabbling in witchery.
Nobody made apple pie like my mom. The apples were just the right firmness, and the taste was sweet yet with a tinge of a lemony bite. Above all her crust was terrific. I always told her she had some crust. Only recently I realized what she made that was so tasty was probably clogging all our arteries all at once. She had the dough, used the flour, kneaded it carefully blending in lots of butter and Crisco. Her crust was flaky as anything and tasty and unhealthy. Remember when as kids we teased the fat one by calling him The Criso Kid, fat in the can. Funny, as unhealthy as it was, and the fact that I haven't tasted it in probably thirty-five years If I could, I would bring her back from where she is right now just to have another slice of her Apple Pie.
This Blog will end here the way it started by referring to the hereafter.
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