FOREIGN IN A FAMILIAR PLACE

Recently I returned to my old street and the house where I lived as a young man with my parents. It was only like yesterday that it seemed the family was moving into the place Dad had built. I remember an old neighbor from the old neighborhood we were moving from helping us to move in, and the modern electric stove with the push buttons for each burner in a box on the stove top, and the neighbor thinking it was an inter-com.

I remember one of the last days too, the sense of how the house had gotten so old, over 50 years later. During those 50 some odd years, the building always seemed brand new to me, and yet it needed work.

I saw workmen everywhere, working on renovating the house, with new windows, and something being done to the garage, what I don’t know. There was even work in the back yard where the new cesspool was installed.

I rode down the street toward the train station that really wasn’t much but a dirt road with a lean to for a station and the word BELLPORT on a sign next to the tracks. It was where I walked every morning and returned every evening from first college and then work as a young designer. I tried to picture myself walking once more, but nothing seemed the same or at least familiar along the route.

Funny how your memory paints the picture and how stark the reality is when you revisit your old homestead. But I think I’ll stick with my memories and be it sweetened with time than to discuss what doesn’t feel right or seem the same. After all, as someone recently put it: “I am looking for not the place, but my childhood memory!”

Two guys are driving down 5th Avenue in Manhattan when they come up to a red light. The driver floors the gas pedal and they go zooming past the red light. His friend looks at him and says: "Hey, you just went through a red light." The driver says: "Don't worry about it. My brother does it all the time."

 So they keep driving and they come to a second red light. The guy driving floors the gas pedal and zooms past another red light. His friend is pretty mad, looks at him and says, "Hey man, you just went through another red light. What the heck are you doing?" The guy driver tells his friend, "Don't worry about it. My brother does that all the time."

 They come to a third red light and once again the driver floors the gas, zooming past the red light. His friend starts screaming at him, "What the heck? You're going to get us killed! Pull over and let me out." The driver screams back at him, "I'm telling you: don't worry about it. My brother, he does it all the time."

So they keep driving and they come to a green light. The driver slams on the brakes. His friend looks at him and says, "Are you out of your mind? What the heck is wrong with you? You go flying past three red lights, almost getting us killed, and then you slam on the brakes when you have a green light?" The driver looks at his friend and says, "I had to stop; my brother might have been coming."

 

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I NEVER KNEW THAT!

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A group of previous kindergartners were trying very hard to become accustomed to the first grade. The biggest hurdle they faced was that the teacher insisted on NO baby talk!
"You need to use 'Big People' words," she was always reminding them. She asked Chris what he had done over the weekend.
"I went to visit my Nana."
"No, you went to visit your GRANDMOTHER. Use 'Big People' words!" She then asked Mitchell what he had done.
"I took a ride on a choo-choo." She said "No, you took a ride on a TRAIN. You must remember to use 'Big People' words." She then asked little Alec what he had done.
"I read a book," he replied.
"That's WONDERFUL!" the teacher said. "What book did you read?"
Alec thought real hard about it, then puffed out his chest with great pride, and said, "Winnie the SH*T."

Having to spend Sunday in Albany by myself is not such a bad thing on spring day. The morning found me finishing up a delicious breakfast in the hotel restaurant and off I went to spend some time at the New York State Museum.

The walk from the Hilton Albany to the Empire State Plaza Convention Center and past the large reflective pool to the museum is a very interesting architectural tour. The pool separates the museum from the State capitol building, and is surrounded by some modern skyscrapers that rival NYC and are very beautiful. You couple this with the ancient old world European charm of the surrounding neighborhood and you see something marvelous.

Once you find your way into the museum, the first thing that makes you happy is: it’s FREE!!! Yes, since the state built it, they made it free.

Touring museums has been a thing I’ve done since my college days, but this tour is the most interesting I’ve ever taken by far. At every turn, there is something teaching you, at every turn there is something I learn. Never have I taken the time to read some of the smaller exhibits and information bits that are offered in museums like I did this one, it is truly a great and remarkable job, teaching; culture, history, design, archeology, architectural design and civilization from the beginning of time.

There are things like the Shakers having so much impact on the State, the 9/11 exhibit, moving and the emotion can flow if you are not careful, the subway exhibit taking me back to my childhood.

At one point I decided to sit and rest for a while and discovered I was outside of a replica of Delmonico’s the historical restaurant that impacted the culinary world, while it catered to the rich. Two ladies wandered by and were looking into the window of the remade restaurant, and I couldn’t help but have a little fun. Sitting outside the entryway I stated to them: “there’s a 40 minute wait.” They laughed.

If you ever get to go to Albany, take in the Museum, you will be glad you did. There were things in there I never knew, a surprise around every corner. In fact, take in all of Albany, and the autumn is the best time to go. There is nothing up there but beauty, history and culinary delights everywhere.

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ON THE ROAD

The owner of a drug store walks in to find a guy leaning heavily against a wall. The owner asks the clerk, "What's with that guy over there by the wall?"
The clerk says, "Well, he came in here this morning to get something for his cough. I couldn't find the cough syrup, so I gave him an entire bottle of laxative."
The owner says, "You idiot! You can't treat a cough with laxatives!"
The clerk says, "Oh yeah? Look at him, he's afraid to cough!"  

Recently I had a business trip to upstate New York, stopping at Albany, and Saratoga Springs. When you think of Albany you can’t help but ask yourself why, since it is an ancient city, with beautiful buildings and historical landmarks, it doesn’t get enough play as a tourist attraction. Probably one reason is the fact that if you are flying in say from Europe, other than the Netherlands,why would you go there when NYC is just a few hours south with a real airport or two.

Across the street from me is St. Peter’s Church. Note: This brief history was borrowed extensively from "Historic Albany: Its Churches and Synagogues," edited by Anne Roberts and Marcia Cockrell. We are especially indebted to articles by Charles P. Richardson and Warren E. Roberts.

!st church

In 1609, Henry Hudson sailed the "Half Moon" up the river that today bears his name, and a few years later the Dutch established Fort Orange at the site of present-day Albany. In 1664, the Dutch colony of the New Netherlands came under British control and became New York. Although British tolerance brought an end to the predominant influence of the Dutch Reformed Church in Albany, it was not until the turn of the eighteenth century that the Anglican presence in New York expanded. This was primarily the result of increased British migration and the creation in 1701 of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel (S. P. G.), an arm of the Church of England whose primary function was to spread Anglicanism in the colonies. It was an S. P. G. missionary, The Rev. Thomas Barclay, who established Albany's first Anglican parish in 1708 and eight years later oversaw the opening of its first Anglican church, Saint Peter's.

So the history of Saint Peter's begins with the arrival of The Rev. Thomas Barclay, whose task was to aid in establishing friendly relations with the powerful and warlike Iroquois — the dreaded Confederacy of the Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga, Tuscarora and Seneca nations — and to bring sobriety and restraint to the 200 men and officers garrisoned in the British fort at Albany.

 

2nd church

In 1714 the governor acceded to Mr. Barclay's request and granted his license for the collection of money to build a church. The response was gratifying. Governor Hunter himself gave all the stone and lime required, in addition to money. The townspeople of Albany gave 200 pounds. Every single soldier in the Fort responded, as did "every inhabitant in the poor village of Schenectady . . . excepting only one poor person."

The Governor of the Province also assisted in the selection of a site for the building. In October 1714 the petition for a plot of ground in the center of Yonkers (now State) Street, at the foot of the eminence on which Fort Frederick reposed, was granted and a patent ordered to be issued. The little church under the shadow of the fort was the first house of worship of the Anglican Communion north of New York and west of the Hudson River.

In 1768 King George III granted a charter of incorporation to the parish. The formal charter was signed in April of 1769. Following the American Revolution, the parish was reorganized in 1787 and in 1789 by special act of the state legislature. The original charter and grants of Saint Peter's were confirmed, and its legal title changed to that which is has since borne: "The Rector and Inhabitants of the City of Albany in Communion with the Protestant Episcopal Church in the State of New York."

 

Today

The site of the present edifice was deeded to the parish in 1790 by the City of Albany in exchange for the site on which the first church stood in the middle of State Street. In 1802, the last year of the ‘rectorship’ of The Rev. Thomas Ellison, the second edifice, designed by Philip Hooker, was built. It, in turn, was demolished in 1859 during the ‘rectorship’ of The Rev. Thomas Clapp Pitkin.

The foundation stone for the present structure designed by Richard Upjohn was laid on St. Peter’s Day, the 29th of June 1859. A classic example of Gothic architecture, it is listed in the National Registry of Historic Landmarks. Inside the sanctuary, historic flags of the original colonies, plus others of relevance to our history are hung above the tall columns on either side of the center aisle. The stained glass windows on all four sides of the church are from the finest American and English studios from the late nineteenth century. The mosaic tile floor throughout the church is a fitting early twentieth century addition to this truly historic building.

For more information on St. Peter's Church, visit the State Street Stories website sponsored by the University at Albany's University Art Museum.

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FRUSTRATED JUSTICE

Way back in the 90’s, when O.J. Simpson stood trial for the murder of his wife Nicole and her boyfriend Ronald Goldman, Simpson was acquitted of murder by the fact that the LA Police were incapable of presenting a case and their ineptitude made all the difference in whether Simpson was allowed to go free or not. Poor management of the facts and poor presentation of the truth were key factors in Simpson winning that case, since Justice was not served, it was manhandled. The LA Police on October 3, 1995 allowed OJ to walk free, and continue their ineptitude: the real legacy of the LA Police Department.

Before the Simpson case, there was another case of manhandled justice in a book about the murder of Adam Walsh, penned by a gentleman named Willis Morgan scheduled to be released in July of this year. The book: FRUSTRATED WITNESS tells of eye witnessed accounts of events that the Hollywood Florida Police failed to or refused to take into account in trying to solve this crime. A quote from the books website goes:

“As much as this book is a case for Jeffrey Dahmer being Adam Walsh’s murderer, it is equally a study of how the Hollywood, FL detectives conducted the homicide investigation, becoming the greatest ally and defender of America’s most notorious serial killer. "I have a problem with facts that don’t fit, with witnesses not called or used, with bungled investigations, and with cover-ups after the fact," the author writes. The author presents many, many witnesses who know they saw Dahmer. Packed with charts, diagrams, photos, and letters, this is the most extensive collection of records to date of the Adam Walsh case.”

The author has spent over 30 years putting this book together and over ten years in writing and investigations. Appearing on countless TV shows and in numerous print publications describing what he saw, 2010 found the author filing a lawsuit against the HPD, State Attorney's Office, and one of the detectives involved in the Adam Walsh case.

Mr. Morgan’s case against the HPD is really an expose’ of the ineptitude of the police in this case, and: “I have a problem with facts that don’t fit, with witnesses not called or used, with bungled investigations, and with cover-ups after the fact," Mr. Morgan writes. In spite of the witnesses, charts and evidence to prove a case that Dahmer did it, the police have turned on a deaf ear and blind eye with a muted tongue!

FRUSTRATED WITNESS! - Willis Morgan
All rights reserved - Copyright © 2015
Design by Isa Dreaming

THE PARSLEY LADY

There are three construction workers on top of a building having lunch. One Italian, one Polish, and one Asian. The Italian has a meatball hero, the Asianl has noodles, and the Pole has kielbasa. The Italian and the Asian are tired of having the same lunches everyday. The Italian says that if he gets a meatball hero the next day that he will throw it off the building. The Asian says that if he gets noodles tomorrow he will also throw it off the building. The Pole says that if he gets kielbasa tomorrow he will throw it off the building. Sure enough the Italian and Asian workers open their lunch-boxes and they find that they have a meatball hero and noodles respectively. They both throw their lunches off the building. The Pole then throws his sandwich off the building. The other guys ask him how he knew that it was kielbasa again without even looking. He responded by saying: "Because I pack my own lunch."

My apologies to my Polish readers, this can be turned around you know. Tell it at an Italian funeral in New Jersey, or a Chinese New Year party in Manhattan.

Years ago while a youngster in Brooklyn, on a Sunday morning in most families in our Italian enclave, as you walked the streets, you could smell people making sauce. Every building seemed to have at least one Italian family in it and they all did the same thing, make the sauce for the Sunday meal and maybe for two more macaroni meals during the week.

Mom was no different and part of the custom with Mom like other mothers was to make meatballs and sausages and a thing called braciola, made from both beef and pork. It was delicious and I loved the pork one.

But to make these things you needed parsley, chopped and along with other things like pine nuts it helped season the inside roll, and Mom never had enough. So every Sunday, Mom would wait for me to come home from 9:00 am Mass and send me to the parsley lady, a dear woman who came from my Grandmother’s hometown in Italy. She was known as ‘A Gumada’. A Gumada was the point lady for parsley: they couldn't ship in parsley to our part of Brooklyn unless they gave half of it to her.

“JOOOOSEPH!”

“What Ma?”

“Go to A Gumada and ask her for some parsley!”

This was one of my favorite chores, because this lady we called A Gumada, was a beautiful wonderful and kind woman, who liked me for some reason.

Every Italian Bride has some in her wedding bouquet!

I would ring her doorbell and she would look down from her second floor apartment and see me. “”My mother said can she have some parsley?”

“Come uppa stairs”

Once in the apartment, I entered her huge kitchen and she would get some parsley, wrap it in a damp paper napkin and make me sit, have a piece of cake and give me some candy for my pocket.

The parsley lady: may she rest in peace.

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WINE

Woman's quote of the day

"Men are like fine wine. They all start out like grapes, and it's our job to stomp on them and keep them in the dark until they mature into something with which you'd like to have dinner with."

Wine in my family background goes back at least a century. When my grandfather came here to America, he brought with him his wine making skills and passed on the appreciation of wine to his children, who in turn tried to keep it from their children.

Grandpa Ralph had a winemaking grape crusher in his cellar on Fulton Street, Brooklyn. In the late summer when the grapes where fully ripened, he would cut them down from the vineyard he had growing in his backyard, Grandpa was a smart man, in the spring when the grapes began their maturation, he would cut a grape off and giver it to his grandchildren, who would taste a sour grape, and avoid touching the grapes at all, never realizing that the grapes would sweeten in the late summer!

Once it was time for the grapes to be harvested and turned into wine, the place became a beehive of wine making activity, flies all over the basement and grape being crushed into a grinder, then set aside to ferment, and then bottled into wine bottles without labels or brand. But if you tasted the wine, it was Grandpa’s wine we drank.

A homemade bottle of wine was often an apt gift to present to someone and was gladly accepted. Wine was like a pizza compared to other pizza made, so wine was compared. Grandma Frances made pizza as a business in during the great depression and profited from her pizza parlor. Dad would buy pizza and make a judgment, depending on his mood, whether the pizza was as good as he would make.

Grandma would always come to visit us when we moved to the Island and bring a big shopping bag or two. One bag was with a gallon of homemade wine and one was a bag filled with Italian cheeses, salami from different Italian regions and sometimes bread. But wine was the gift!

On the holidays such as Easter and Christmas, Dad would pour a pitcher of wine from his gallon jug and then slice oranges and drop them into the jug. After the orange slices sat through the meal, each of us kids got a slice of orange to suck and eat on, this was a big deal to a 7 year-old!

But God forbid you dropped or spilt a glass of wine, you were marked as clumsy for life, and everywhere you went, people would know: HE spilled the wine.

Men's counter-quote of the day

"Women are like fine wine. They all start out fresh, fruity and intoxicating to the mind and then turn full-bodied with age until they go all sour and vinegary and give you a headache.

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You should, or else I’ll whine!

IT’S CHRISTMAS EVE! AGAIN!

It is hard to believe that it is Christmas Eve again, or as you non-believers say: “December 24^th.” It seems like only yesterday I had said that but it was 2013.

This year is interesting in that there is nothing to say about it except before you know it, it will be Christmas Eve, 2015, or as you non-believers say: “December 24^th, 2015”!

Years ago this was a day for self-recrimination on my part. Santa was coming, and suddenly all those things I thought were fun were coming to haunt me, as Santa would have the last laugh. It was then that I turned to God, promising a better person in the coming year, more attention to Mom and Dad, and less torturing of my sisters. The hope was that God would intercede on my behalf and sway jolly old St. Nick to laugh it off and give the kid a break.

Mom was in total command, giving me orders and I faithfully carrying them out, avoiding my sisters where possible and throwing out the garbage without being asked. I even took the live eel heads that were eating through the brown paper bag down to the trash can two flights down!

Dad had an inside connection with Santa, he seemed to have conversations with him that had uncertainties to them, saying things like: “I spoke to Santa today, he asked if you were a good boy, I had to tell him the truth, you can’t lie to Santa!” He never told me what the truth was, but it played in my head as a disappointing morning of my siblings getting toys and me coal, coal to be put in my stocking, even though we didn’t have stocking hanging.

I would start to feel sorry for myself, look at my sister and think: “Why did I do that? She had it coming, I’m sorry God, I won’t do it again if Santa comes tomorrow for me and I get my train set.”

Somehow, Santa did come for me too, every year, and left me toys, and no coal. While Mom went to church, I would go to Dad while he was in bed and thank him for talking to Santa for me. This was not a good idea since Mom had gone to mid-night Mass!

FROM ME TO YOU...

HAVE A WONDERFUL AND MERRY CHRISTMAS!

 

 

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Watch Wolowitz try to earn his doctorates!

ARMISITC DAY

(351; 5 U. S. Code, Sec. 87a) was approved on May 13, 1938, making November 11 in each year a legal holiday, known as Armistice Day, or Veteran’s Day. This day was originally intended to honor veterans of World War I.

This is a day that honors those men and women who served in the big one, the original big one, World War I. In terms of conflict, its’ hard to say how horrific it was, especially when you compare it to the horrors of World War II. It was meant to honor those who were in an actual war, putting their lives on the line for the U.S.

Today you can still meet the brave men and women who fought in Korea, Viet Nam, Iraq and Afghanistan. My grandparent’s generation, then the “Greatest Generation” my parents, are mostly gone by now, as we are left to record their actions in time of strife for the generations to come, who will little remember or care about this ancient history.We must always keep it alive in our textbooks.

But if you want to meet the brave and the wounded warriors, we need to just look beyond our self-induced comforts and go to the veteran’s hospitals, the rehab centers and the unemployment lines. Maybe take a look under some bridge and you may find one sleeping because of post war trauma and stress.

These men and women, who put their lives on the line, are being neglected by today’s America, but you know that and I know that and together we hope the problem will go away by itself. But it won’t, unless we do something about it, rise up as a nation and demand we take care of our Heroes, demand that they have decent medical and decent jobs and decent homes to care for their families. I’ll tell you why, because they will, in spite of our apathy take arms once again if we needed them.

Just imagine going to do a difficult job that requires courage and self-control, doing it successfully, even losing a limb or two, maybe your peace of mind you so took for granted and not get paid for it in a meaningful way. How do we look these brave people in the eye? How do we save them from the callousness of our selfish society? How do we become a band of brothers for their sake? We put in those bums in Washington to do our bidding: our veteran’s should be the priority that comes first!

I’ve had two high school reunions I helped organize, and one that I attended, and I see these guys from the Viet Nam era, thankfully alive and safe, and I wish I could have done more on my part. I was kept out because of a hearing loss in both ears, and I know I owe them more than gratitude, I owe them more than just talk and typed words, both are cheap.

There is nothing more I wish to say today, except once again,

THANK YOU to our war veterans. I will pray for those who have fallen, and those who were permanently injured both physically and mentally I say: You don’t deserve what has happened to you, you do deserve all the support without question and no need to qualify it. We should start looking at the old men we send to Congress to fight wars with young people’s lives and thinking about throwing out the bunch once and for all if they can’t or won’t comply with what they owe you.

SO TODAY, AT 11:00 A.M., when the original armistice was signed ending World War I, take a that moment and just remember them all.

There will be no other parts to this posting today in honor of the fallen and wounded Veteran's, see you tomorrow.

ANGEL OF THE SEA

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No, this is not about some church on the water but of a historic hotel that is so beautiful that once you see it, you want to go inside and explore.

It seems every time I go to Cape May New Jersey, I have to see this wonderful architectural gem, and once more make my imagination run wild about a time long ago, when things were different.

The following is from the website:

http://www.angelofthesea.com/history

The Angel of the Sea was built around 1850 as a "summer cottage" for William Weightman, Sr., a Philadelphia chemist who, as managing partner of Powers & Weightman, introduced quinine to the United States as an anti-malarial drug. Built as a single structure, the house originally stood on the corner of Franklin and Washington Streets where the Cape May Post Office now stands.

In 1881, Mr. Weightman decided that an ocean view from the broad porches of his "cottage" would be appreciated by family, friends and guests. To accomplish this goal, he hired a number of local farmers to move the house to a piece of property on the corner of Ocean and Beach Avenues, near where the Marquis de Lafayette now stands.

The farmers discovered the house was too large to move as one unit. Not wanting to lose the winter work, they decided to cut the house in half, move it in sections and then reconnect it after the move. Their task took all winter long, pulling the sections on rolling tree trunks with mule and horse power! Unfortunately, after both halves of the house were moved to the new location, the farmers discovered that, although their mules and horses were quite adequate for "pulling" the house, they proved totally ineffective in "pushing" it back together.

Summer was close upon them, and Mr. Weightman would soon be returning to Cape May. The farmers enclosed the sides where the cut had been made, renovated as best they could and hurried back to their farming chores. The results of their efforts are the two buildings as they stand today.

The house remained in the Weightman family until Mr. Weightman's death in 1905. During the next 50 or so years the Weightman Cottage, as it was called, was used as a hotel, guest house and, during one period, a restaurant.

In 1962 a powerful Nor'easter ripped through New Jersey and devastated the city of Cape May. Referred to by many as the Storm of the Century, it destroyed much of the town including Convention Hall and the boardwalk. Miraculously the Angel survived, but not without considerable damage. The massive rebuilding that followed the storm cleanup called for the two houses to be torn down to make room for a parking lot. They were saved from this fate when they were purchased by the Reverend Carl McIntire and moved (this time on flatbed trucks) to their present location on Trenton Avenue. From 1962 to 1981, the houses were used as a dormitory for students from Shelton College and to board employees from several nearby inns. During this time they received very little maintenance and in 1981 they were declared uninhabitable. Virtually unwanted, this once magnificent structure was left abandoned to vandals and the elements until December of 1988.

About that time, John Girton, a builder and developer, and his wife Barbara crawled through a window to check out the soundness of the buildings. Although all of the windows were broken out, walls had collapsed and many of the porches and stairways had rotted, it appeared the houses could be saved! Based on what they found, the Girtons purchased the property and began renovations in January, 1989. Time was money and John Girton led his crews seven days a week around the clock to put the Angel back together. At times, as many as 75 people were working on the site during a 24 hour period. At the end of one shift, one painting crew would get off the scaffolding and another would get on it.

A trailer set up in the backyard housed a fully functional cabinet-making shop. There artisans and carpenters would find bits and pieces of the original building and piece them together. They then recreated on-site all the gingerbread detail, wall brackets and windows, copying the original designs they found. The first of the two buildings opened in July of 1989, only six short months after renovations had begun! One year later, the most complete Victorian restoration in New Jersey was completed. The total project cost approximately $3.5 million and was done with over 103,000 man hours of labor.

After its first two successful seasons as a bed and breakfast, the Angel of the Sea was acknowledged as one of the Top Ten B & Bs in the United States by two national bed and breakfast organizations. It also won the Historic Preservation Award from the National Trust for Historic Preservation in Washington, DC for renovation to historic specifications.

In the fall of 1995, John and Barbara sold the Angel to their oldest daughter, Lorie Whissell. Since then, Lorie has made numerous additions and upgrades to the inn, refurbishing many of the guestrooms and adding additional guest services. A new interlocking brick patio was created in the rear of the inn and the landscaping was extensively redesigned and brand new deck was installed on the first floor porch. Flat screen TVs have been placed in many of the rooms and the Angel now offers guests wireless Internet access.

As we toured the hotel lobby, we walked out and two gentlemen were busy working installing some kind of electrical thing, and one of them asked us if we would be inrested in getting a view from the top of the building, off of one of the balcony/porches! We immediately took him up on it an had the most beautiful view of the beach, boardwalk and surrounding Cape May to put the icing on our cake! 

If you are ever in the neighborhood, please do yourself a favor and visit the place, or better still, make a reservation for a few days of angelic serenity, and passion for beauty.

http://www.ahrcsuffolk.org/

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Address: 1231 Taft Hwy, Signal Mountain, TN 37377

Phone:(423) 886-6943

Hours: Open today · 10:00 am – 6:00 pm