A ROOM FULL OF NAGURSKI WOMEN

Once again, I find myself surrounded by women! This time lots of them and of all ages!

It seems I went to a meeting on volunteerism, recruiting and maintaining volunteers, and all the other representatives from different organizations, except for one other was a woman.

I’m not complaining, mind you, it’s just that I’m starting to lose my identity. The bloating and filling up with water didn’t help me.

The Association of Professional Volunteer Administrators met today at SUNY/Stony Brook Veterans Hospital to discuss the burning issues of volunteerism, and my job was to join it and learn about anything I could. My daughter’s agency asked me to start up a volunteer unit for them and build it from the ground up. I think I’ll call in sick!

Women seem to apologize a lot when they do things for some reason. “I’m sorry it takes so long, I really am NOT a computer person.” Says the lady working the laptop and overhead projector.

That would be a woman.

A man would say: “Ah, the computer is screwed up… again.”

The meeting was informative, if not agonizingly slow. I sat thinking about lunch about 10:00 am, when one of them started to eat hers in full view. Fortunately, it was egg-salad, and I hate egg salad. Now if she had a salami and provolone, well then I would have snuggled up to her to tell her how beautiful she really looked to me.

Now there are 5 bathrooms in this facility, 4 are women rooms, one men’s room, and that was the only one that was occupied longer than it should have been. Of course, I did the Mexican Hat dance, the Irish jig and Tarantella, all at once, until the bum finally came out. I felt like he was reading the New York Times in there, Sunday edition.

A man gives the presentation and kindly wakes you up after he is done, but not the ladies. After they give a presentation, we have to applaud, a polite clapping and a smile.

One lady looks like Bronco Nagurski, and dresses like Tina Turner, an ugly sight to say the least. She sits up front, facing me, and continuously crosses then uncrosses her legs, leaving scars on my retina! Why look you ask. Well, once she starts her movements, I go into a panic, my head moves uncontrollably and my eyes shift all over, in a seizure like activity, which can best be described as abject fear from seeing what cellulite presentation she has in mind.

My mother used to say: “And YOU are so beautiful?” No, Ma, I’m not, but I don’t flaunt it!

For that other man in the room, they led him out with help, guiding him to the curb outside where they had to call a cab to send him back to his office. If you are wondering what happened to him, he looked too hard at Ms. Nagurski.

25 CENTS AND AN ELSIE WRAPPER!

That’s how much it costs me to see a Brooklyn Dodger game at Ebbets Field way back when it costs 25 cents and Borden’s Elsie Ice Cream wrapper. Today to see a Mets game, at Citi Field, it costs $60! You hollered, cheered or jeered and had a great time.

In 1955, I went with some friends or cousins of mine, and we sat out in left field off the foul line, could see the whole park, and had a good time. The last game I went to the Mets played their next to last game at Shea Stadium. I was in the stratosphere, with a nose bleed and deathly silence in the ballpark.

What does this have to do with the price of hot dogs, you ask? Well actually, plenty. The cost of a hot dog in 1955 was 25 cents, and for a dime you got a soda. Try that today at a ballpark, and you actually make the vendor keep it as change!

They have taken the game of baseball, a father-son treat, and make it into a greed thing, like everything else in this world. And the way they make everything else in this world, it is of the poorest quality, or very defective.

It was interesting how Toyota, a well-respected name came apart at the seams, and now Ford, an American product is being recalled for imperfections in their products.

You can’t seem to find too many places that take pride in their service or products, they shame being, and there is no Mom and Pop store to go to. The big companies sell convenience, at the expense of value, taste or durability.

We buy things brand new, and before you can open the box, they need to be in repair! I don’t know how many water-pumps for my pool I purchased in the past few years, garden hoses that are so poorly made, they can’t even straighten out!

I think we place too much emphasis on cheap labor, and not on the quality of work and craftsmanship. I remember the mothers and fathers of my generation revering their jobs, taking pride in their work, and not complaining about what they did. Dad got up in the morning and came home at night, and in-between made a living, working not for his boss, but for his family. His imprimatur was the quality he left behind that day.

Give me back the caring folks who made baseball a game for fathers and sons to watch, mom and pop stores who wanted your business, and the pride of a job well-done and a product, well-made.

And the real beauty of those days was that people stayed home on Sundays, not work in some chain or bank!

“ALL PRISONERS REPORT TO THE YARD”

I sat in my easy chair, a cup of coffee in my hand, when I happened to notice that TLW (THE LITTLE WOMAN) was missing. It was her day off, so I figured she probably left me for another guy (A young stud) and turned the page to my newspaper, an interesting article on job growth.

Suddenly, the sliding door came alive and there entered TLW, an inquisitive look on her face.

“It is such a beautiful day, not hot and no humidity! Would you help me in the yard today?”

Me: “Sure.” (Where are those young studs when you need them?)

The labor gang of one was assigned his duties, and given a set of tools, began the process of penal colony reform for an inmate. (Me)

The warden, or wardenese, patrolled the area where I worked, no, toiled, and made comments and suggestions at the end of a shotgun and the leash of a vicious dog. Spurring me on to work harder, the crack of her whip, assailing my bare back, I began weeding, and pulling out weeds where they appeared.

“You didn’t put any Preem down the last time you weeded! That is why there are more weeds.” Crack of the whip.

Me: “Yes, dear”

“The last time you weeded, you left the little piles, are you going to pick them up THIS time?” Crack of the whip.


Me: Trembling, “Yes, dear.” Crack of the whip.

Me: “But you told me to make #2 Son pick them up! You said you would tell him.” Crack of the whip.

The sun hung high in the noonday sky, and my lips were parched and my back bleeding, my hands calloused. Suddenly the warden shouted out from her lounge chair.

“OK, everyone back to your cell, I’m getting tired and hungry.”

I filed back into my cell, single file, and lay in my easy chair.

Suddenly. Over the PA boomed her voice once again!

“You will report back to work on Monday, when I have another day off, so I can finish working on my tan!”

She’s one tough lady!

A SMALL KITCHEN

There is very little we argue about. When it comes to her sons, however, we can become very confrontational! Like just the other day!

TLW (The Little Woman): “Did you put some aside for #2 son?”
“No, he can make his own, I made some stuff and put it in the freezer for him.”
TLW: “No good, we make fresh on weekends, it’s the weekend”
“I’d like to make some fresh…”
TLW: “What?”
“Oh, nothing, I was just finishing off my prayers for the day.”
“Well I guess I’ll have to make him sauce.”
“No, until the lab tests come in and prove otherwise, he’s still officially my son, I’ll make a special sauce.”
TLW: “Thank you.”

After much additional work on my part, TLW comes over and starts to lower some burners while raising others.

“What are you doing?”
TLW: “Some of the burners are pretty low!”
“That is because I am slow cooking.
TLW: “Oh, I didn’t know.”
“Yes, well that is why I am the chef today, and you are the eater. Me king, you peasant. I wear the pants in the house, YOU don’t!”
TLW: “Are you making enough for #2 Son?”
“Yes, dear.”
TLW: “Throw this into the sauce you made for him.”
“But that is tofu.”
TLW: “It’s ‘make believe chicken’. He is a vegetarian.”
“Make believe chicken?!”
TLW: “You KNOW what I mean.”
“Is that how they labeled it?”

TLW is your typical mother, doting over her babies, even if they ARE 22 going on 70.

As her husband, there are certain things I must follow for a happy marriage. #1 rule is, “Forget about yourself, the kids come first.” That is a hard and fast rule. I follow it because I want to live through the night. It IS a rule I do follow, it’s just that when it comes to her babies, I must be put on alert that that is now in effect! A sort of do or die rule.

If you are a mother, you understand this policy. Any mother worth her weight in Bon bons does this automatically. It starts three minutes before the first kid shots through the birth canal, and stays that way until you die, as a father.

“Mom, Dad’s dead.”
Mother: “Did you eat?”
“Yes Mom, but Dad’s dead, he’s just laying there!”
Mother: “Is he laying in front of the refrigerator, I put your barbeque sauce in there.”
“No Ma, what do you want to do with Dad?”
“Eat first Dear, then put him at the curb tomorrow morning.”

Sounds like an exaggeration? I think not.

No father worth his weight in beer will kick the bucket before the kids have eaten.

THE BENEFITS OF STAYING IN TOUCH

Sometimes you run into people by accident, and sometimes by design. I must be a great designer! I organized a reunion recently, and had the pleasure of having breakfast with a lady who I hadn’t seen in over 45 years! She hasn’t changed a bit! Beautiful and sweet, and she married a wonderful guy 39 years ago!

I speak of the lovely Marlene Fox Strong, and her husband Bob. Living down in North Carolina, and up for the reunion, we had occasion to have breakfast together recently on a Saturday Morning before they headed home.

What is interesting is that they are still in love, care about one another, and like all married couples, talk about each other, and then argue over small facts! I know that is exactly what TLW (The Little Woman) and I do!

Marlene has never changed. She still looks like she did in high school, and is still sweet as ever!

After the tree memorial the week before, we were gathering to go to lunch when I was talking to a group of people. Marlene was one of them, and she got very close to me, and started to pinch my arm! I looked at her and asked: “What is that for?” She looked at me and in her very soft voice said: “For all those times you teased me in High School!”

I don’t remember, but she did, and so I decided that if I deserved that, she was allowed to pinch me as often as she felt like it. Throughout the reunion, I would offer my arm up for pinching, and she took full advantage of it!

So a week later, we gathered for breakfast and had a wonderful conversation, and since she was visiting a child in Holbrook, I extended an invitation to visit me for dinner whenever they come up from North Carolina.

We talked about classmates, who looked good and who did what and lived where, and as we left the restaurant and stood in the parking lot for one last; “Goodbye”, I stuck my arm out one more time, and she pinched. It was an enjoyable reprimand from a lovely lady!

HAPPY DAYS (DAZE)

“Sunday, Monday, Happy Days.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Happy Days.
Thursday, Friday, Happy Days.
The weekend comes,
My cycle hums,
Ready to race to you.”

It was billed as a throw back to the old days, my high school years. I would once again reconnect with my youth and some of my classmates as well! We would meet at the Bellport Gateway Playhouse to enjoy a performance of ‘Happy Days”, a kind of replay of the popular sitcom from the 70’s. Created by Garry Marshall. With Henry Winkler, Marion Ross, Tom Bosley and Ron Howard for TV, the play version would be a reminder without promise, except for what is in one’s head.

“These days are all,
Happy and Free. (Those Happy Days)
These days are all,
Share them with me. (oh baby)
Goodbye grey sky, hello blue.
There's nothing can hold me when I hold you.
Feels so right, it can't be wrong.
Rockin' and rollin' all week long.”

The casting was very good, and the story line a little predictable, but good. I enjoyed the raw talent that sang and danced and must say it held my attention. The tickets were a generous gift from the lovely daughter of one of my high school reunion committee member, Judy Fuoco Hunter.



She was a lady then in the 60’s, and remained so in the present. He daughter reserved complimentary tickets and we sat in the best seats in the house! Middle about 10 rows back, perfect for viewing and hearing what was going on in the theatre.

“Sunday, Monday, Happy Days.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Happy Days.
Thursday, Friday, Happy Days.
Saturday, What a day,
Groovin' all week with you.”



Afterward there were pictures being taken, and old acquaintances met, after 45 years! People who I forgot came alive once again! Before the show, TLW (The Little Woman) and I got there after dinner and it started to gently shower. Outside this grand old theatre that my family has a small connection to from the 1940’s, sat a large tent, and we sat under it, listening to the gentle pitter-patter of the rain and the gentle cool breezes that caressed one from the heat of the day. It was a romantic moment that I truly enjoyed, and must say, it put me in a very receptive mood for the show itself.

“These days are all,
Share them with me. (Those Happy Days)
These days are all,
Happy and Free. (oh baby)
These Happy Days are your's and mine.
These Happy Days are your's and mine, Happy Days.”

The funny thing is, as we sat under that tent, I saw a lot of people arriving about my age. Some of them I think I have seen before in another life, but dared not go over and introduce myself, in case I was wrong. It seemed like a ghost from the past has walked by, briefly showing a face from 45 years ago!



A couple of my classmates arrived and sat under the tent with us as we waited, and made for a very enjoyable time. We talked about ourselves, and the current as well as past goings on, and laughed at the drop of a hat.
As for the performance, they never sang a song from the period, but instead borrowed the sense of the songs, to make new ones for the play. If you went for the old music, you would be disappointed, but if you realized what was happening, it was a great show. To me it was just that, great!

THAT TIME OF THE YEAR AGAIN

It’s that time of the year again! The month of June has rolled around and people do silly things. I know, it happened to me, they get married! As a public service to newlyweds, the editors of DelBloggolo compile a list of helpful hints for young men about to enter this sacred pact, and men, think of it as a survival guide. (Please, don’t thank me.)

It was 39 years ago I entered a world of the unknown, uncertainty and surprises by hitching my wagon to one “Miss Manning”, as she liked to call herself. The road to marriage is short, but the road after is the one you want to be cautious with.

Here goes:

1. When lying to her, always look her in the eye. (They like that)

2. When speaking, choose your words carefully, because they always come back to haunt you.

3. If she can cook, don’t say you like what she made more than once, because if you do, you will get it so often you will look like it!

4. When her family announces they are coming, always remember they are not the children, they will go away at some point in time.

5. If you insist on having children, be prepared to see ALL your in-laws wrapped into one package!

6. Make sure you say; “I love you”, even if you can’t get the words up, mouth them.

7. If she says she is going to visit her family for a few days, do NOT look too gleeful, pleased or show the slightest signs of delight.

8. If she says she is going to visit her family for a few days, do NOT look too sad, or she will change her mind.

9. Always remember: her mother will have the last thought.

10.When she goes shopping for a new dress, always compliment her in it. If you don’t, she will go out again, exchange it and you go through the whole drill once more!

11. If she asks you how she looks in her new dress, don’t ask: “compared to what?”

12. If she says she is going to the beauty parlor, do not say: “Make sure they take you this time.”

13. When watching TV, always be mindful that she WILL speak to you while something important is going on.

14. When watching TV, always be mindful that she WILL speak to you while something important is going on, but NEVER, EVER, ask her to hush or stifle herself for the moment.

15. When watching TV, always be mindful that she WILL speak to you while something important is going on. Pretend you are interested, but lowering the sound, looking at her, and hope you didn’t lower the sound too much to miss what is going on.

16. Take her out to dinner once in a while, give her your cell phone, and when she is done eating, have her call you so you can pick her up.

17. Lastly, and most importantly: those three words they all want to hear,

“YES MY DEAR!”

Good luck you poor bastards!

IF YOU GOT ONE, USE IT!

I got a business call the other morning, and on the other end was a gentleman about my age, maybe even a little older, if possible. The purpose of his call was to tell me he had received all my e-mails except one, because he couldn’t open it. I told him I had resent it and that he should now be able to open it.


“Oh! Fine, I’m not at my computer right now, but when I get back I’ll have my grandson open it.”

A businessman with a grandson that opens his e-mails!

You know the old saying: “If you don’t use it, you’ll lose it.” That statement applies to either vacation days or something else I won’t mention here. It now should apply to grandchildren. Yes, have your grandchild open your e-mails.

Now I don’t have a grandchild, as far as I know, so I have to open my own e-mails! Yes, that is right. Anyone over 60 who is opening his own e-mails is at a lost for grandchildren and help. I feel so outdated without a grandchild, so all alone and fragile!

I occurred to me when the gentleman made his announcement, that people of my generation are kicking and screaming the last ten years as we go into I-pods, I-pads, Kindles, Bluetooths' (or is that ‘Blueteeth’?), blackberry, laptops, and the latest cell phones. I remember when a laptop was a napkin! Even the simple adventure of watching TV has become more complicated, with; Flat screens, tubes, plasma, LCD and DLP, plus I think HDTV.

All this troubles me. My concern is soon the food industry will start to upgrade and reinvent itself, and because I am over 60, will starve to death! And what about the car industry? They seem to be going the way of computer technology, with dashboards that should be displays for Times Square on a summer night. There is so much on the screen, which at one time was a few gauges with needles, is now digital in all kinds of colors, things appear and disappear, and if you accidentally lean on your steering wheel, you raise/lower or turn on/off your radio.

A phone in a car was a marvel, now it is illegal to use while driving. Meanwhile I could never fit a phone in my pants pocket, let alone a shirt pocket 15 years ago! Where would I put the cord? Now, what is supposed to be a phone is everything else as well! You can call, photo, text, and use it as a flashlight for God’s sake!

But I do not despair: help is on the way. My neighbor has two kids about the age of what my grandchildren should be, I think I’ll borrow them next time I turn on my computer.

COMING TO AMERICA

It was being replayed once more since the late 1890’s, this time in the mid-fifties: 1956 to be exact, on a night in July, as the big ocean-liner nosed its way through the waves of the North Atlantic, to New York Harbor, and the shores of the U.S.A.

Like millions before them, they were coming here to live their dream, a special dream to be an American family; the Carboni family enjoyed the crossing on that summer evening, with little to occupy their minds except the excitement of the Shores as they watched in silence, America sliding by.

Like many Italians before them this would be their new home. A new way of life awaited them. Little did they know what really awaited them that July 25th evening!

An ocean liner for the Italian Line (Società di navigazione Italia) home ported in Genoa, Italy, and named after the 16th-century Genoese admiral ship had a gross register tonnage of 29,100 and a capacity of about 1,200 passengers and 500 crew. For a country attempting to rebuild its economy and reputation after World War II, the ship was an icon of Italian national pride. Of all Italy's ships at the time, it was the largest, fastest and supposedly safest. Launched on 16 June 1951, the ship undertook its maiden voyage on 14 January 1953.

Approaching the Nantucket coast off of Massachusetts, Mario, his wife Renata, the mother of two children: Liviano 8 years old and Patrizia 11 months, the family anticipated their arrival with some apprehension, and maybe a small amount of regret that they left their familiar home and language for the new shores of the Land of the Free.

Many years later, after the death of Mario and Renata, her parents, Patrizia revealed to her friends a shocking fact. Being a member of the Wanna-Be Bank and Truss Company, and thus a co-worker of TLW (The Little Woman) and Toots II, TLW’s look alike, and now a good friend along with her husband Bill, I was flabbergasted as were we all, who didn’t know. We knew she was special, but not that special!

How many people do we know who were present at Pearl Harbor, when the Japanese attacked it in 1941? How many people do we know who participated in the invasion of Normandy on June 6th, 1944? Do we know anyone who was witness to the assassination of JFK in November of 1963?

It was one Sunday afternoon in Woodloch Pa, that she choosed to tell her story. As we waited to board the little excursion across a lake on a small ferry! You see that secret she revealed occurred over 56 years ago, and we suddenly had a friend with celebrity status!



The ship which Patrizia, the Princess of Foxwood Points, was a passenger, listed on its registry was the SS Andrea Doria, forever linked with one of the greatest sea disasters since the Titanic!

Fortunately for the Carboni family, they were taken aboard the Stockholm, the ship that collided with the Andrea Doria, sending her to a watery grave.

THERE ARE NO DAYS OFF…

At the Wanna-Be-Bank and Truss Company!

No sir, to spend a day away from the Wanna-Be Bank, and not discuss it would be nearly impossible. Why, take just last week, as TLW (The Little Woman) and myself, boarded the bus to Woodloch Pa, for a visit. On board was a couple of ladies or cohorts of TLW’s. There was Toots II, and Pat the Princess of Foxwood Points, two of the three amigas that complete this picture.

As we sat in the park and ride on the bus, under the shadow of the Wanna-Be Bank and Truss Co., waiting for the arrival of all the passengers, TLW immediately swung into action! Talking with her hands (Yes, that’s right, it is no longer the sole domain of Italian girls!) she shared her observations with the two sisters of monetary gratification, with long dissertations and short inserts of pertinent information that could only make the conversation, more bank like. Yes, indeed, the President of the Wanna-Be Bank and Truss Co., would be very proud!

To make matters even better for me, they find themselves with a gaggle of geese that are retired, but work part-time, translating for the Wanna-Be Bank and Truss Co., for the Hispanic customers. Fortunately for me, there were no Hispanic customers that needed translation of the conversation!

I politely asked, and was greeted with quizzical looks and downright disbelief: whether it was necessary to discuss Wanna-Be Bank and Truss Co. business on a day off, particularly on a Sunday morning?

After that short abbreviated pause (they still spoke) on went the conversation. I decided that these old broads were in overdrive mode, and Wanna-Be Bank and Truss Co. talk was what was on the verbal menu. I called TLW: “Overtime” for the rest of the day!

OH, THE HUMIDITY!

A few years ago I was watching a ballgame on TV. Being we had a very large screen, what normally is missed can be caught if you look for it, or even if you don’t! TLW (The Little Woman) happened to be in the room with me and observed a very common occurrence that she commented on.

“Why do all the players spit? Look at that, they keep spitting, that’s disgusting!”

“Oh! Really now? You don’t know much about baseball.”

“What do you mean, why do they constantly have to spit?”

“Well, for your information, they get paid the most, if they do spit. They are known as a 6-tool player.”

“A 6 tool player?”

“Yes, they get paid by how much natural ability they have. For instance, a 4-tool player may only make 5 million dollars a year, while a 6-tool player gets 10 million dollars a year.”

Snickering, she asked what tools were needed.

“Well a player who can hit, hit with power, run, catch, steal a base AND spit, is considered a 6-tool player. Spitting is a very important part of his repertoire!”

“How is that important?”

“Well, in spite (not spit) of your skepticism dear lady, spitting is making a statement to the other team! It’s saying: I don’t care what you try to do to make me look bad, I will beat with my 5 other tools.”

She was beginning to be skeptical, so I pursued it a little further.

“For instance, the pitcher throws his best pitch, a slider going 98 mph, with mustard on it and a whipplerly drop, and the batter hits it for a single. The batter, standing on first base with his hands on his hips will spit, stating: I can hit anything you throw at me. This usually results in the pitcher spitting back, stating: “Oh yeah, well wait for the next time up, let’s see how good you are?”

“And this is said all in the spitting?”

“Yes indeed! One of the things big league coaches and managers look for is chapped lips. If the player has chapped lips, he is probably a spitter, and chances are he will develop into a 6-tool player, his potential is unlimited, as is his earning and value to the team and himself! They see a guy who is gutsy, determined, hard to beat, then he is known as a ‘real spitter’. Another case in point, Major League Baseball has banned the hardest pitch to hit in baseball, you know what it is called?”

“No, but you will tell me.”

“The spitball or spitter”

“You mean they spit on the ball?”

“They USED to spit on the ball, not anymore, it was making the sport; too manly!”

WHAT THE WORLD OWES

Today marks the anniversary of D-Day, and in my mind, the most significant day in the annals of world history. Americans see this day as a day in our history where we set about liberating Europe. The Europeans under the domination of Nazi Germany see it as a day of liberation, and the Russians see it as a day of the two front war, they so desperately needed and wanted from the Allies.

To me this should be a day for the whole world to commemorate and observe as a day of world rejoicing, and a day for the world to say: “Thank you; America, Britain and Canada!”



Operation Overlord landed a transported 156,000 U.S., British, and Canadian troops across the English Channel in more than 5,000 ships and 10,000 planes. Commanded by Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower, the Allied forces landed on five beaches on Normandy and soon established beachhead areas, despite stubborn enemy resistance and heavy losses at the code-named Omaha Beach and Juno Beach. There were three other beaches: Utah, Sword and Gold, but the brunt of loses occurred at the two first mentioned beaches.

But this is not a history lesson I wish to give, but a reminder of a largely ignored fact! That fact is that we as a world body, never fully recognized what those brave men on all those beaches did for the world. It was a united-nations endeavor, yet we seem to localize it.



There are three defining dates to that struggle, which made the difference in the war. The first was NOT September 1st, 1939 in Poland, but December 7th, 1941! The second was June 6th, 1944 and the third was August 6th, 1945. All three dates have the U.S. imprimatur on it, but it really affected the whole world. But June 6th stands out as the pivotal date: the day the world breathed a sigh of relief, and Europe in particular. When the allies were willing to sacrifice their youth on the beaches of Normandy, the world knew it was a war that was over. Tyranny would not prevail, and the good will and conscience of men of freedom would!



The implications were far more reaching than Europe, for surely Japan knew it was only a matter of time before we as a free body of men and women would turn our full attention on Asia and defeat Japan too.

Only a hand-full of misguided individuals in Germany, Italy and Japan led the world into war, I really don’t think the people of those nations were evil or really wanted war, but the young men of the free-world, rose up together and gave a great deal of themselves, for world peace, to free, even them.

HOPE

I went with #2 Son to apply for a part-time job for him while he is home for the summer. We went into the main lobby and he took his application and found a table in the dining room to fill it out. The hotel was offering all kinds of jobs from high-level positions to busboys in their restaurant.

The people applying ran the gamut from teenager to men and women in their 60’s.

I couldn’t help but notice this one older gentleman and his sense of frustration. He sat at the table next to us, a man about 60 to 65, dressed in an old suit, with an uninspiring tie and shirt, an outfit which said: “I’ve been around the block and then some.” He wore a beard and his hair was thinning but a little scraggly, and he was slightly overweight.

But what I noticed was that he was waiting for his interview, and he seemed very nervous, and fidgety. He must have been out of work for a long time, and really needed this job he was applying for.

Another gentleman walked in, about in his mid 40’s to early 50’s. He wore a very crisp suit and with a shirt and tie that said: “I am very good, however circumstances beyond my control bring me here!”

The older gentleman watched the younger guy as he walked in, and immediately his face turned sour. He looked concerned that his chances went way down if this other man was applying for the job. There seemed to be a sense of desperation on the old fellows part, and it really upset me. I wanted to go over to him and say: “Guy, you have to dress the part, feel the part, and most importantly be the part. Look at you! You could cut your hair way back to a clean look, shave off the beard, and look a few years younger, and you could pave those worry lines in your face with a smile! And one more thing, get a nice tie.”

It’s a shame with this economy: the poor fellow has this to deal with. Probably dreaming of retirement that he will never see, and maybe on the brink of financial problems that are getting bigger by the day. He may have grandchildren he can’t enjoy, a lovely wife that needs to work and kids that worry about him. Sometimes I hate myself for imagining all that I just surmised!

WHAT’S THAT COMRAD: YOU WANT A PICTURE?

The five walked to the dock of the lake to board a small excursion boat to tour the beautiful lake, and catch the sea breezes that swept it and cooled down the warmth and humidity that Sunday afternoon. It was a small dock, and the boat was a short 15-minute ride, and one boarded at a first-come, first-served basis.

As we waited the people ahead of us started to board, and we were informed it would only take a limited number of passengers at a time, and with the five in my party, we exceeded the limit, and deferred to others to be next to board first.

The waiting area was maybe 10 feet by 10 feet with an enclosure, then a very narrow stairway to a small landing, then the long gangway to the edge of the boat to board. We stood next in line and people were quickly gathering behind us to board also.

Suddenly, this little lady and her small child come up to me and the lady asked in a broken English Russian accentuated voice, if I could take her child’s picture.

“Why sure!” I say and kneel down to shot.

“No, no, can you shoot it on the bottom of the steps?”

“No problem” I replied, being a really wonderful person that I am. (I heard that!)

“Wait, Mister, can I get in the picture?”

“Sure”

“Let’s shoot it on the landing with the lake behind us.”

I’m starting to get suspicious.

“Can we have one more with MY mother, the three of us?”

I’m getting suspicious and a little annoyed. Khrushchev never had these many pictures taken, even at the great Kitchen Debate with Nixon!

All of a sudden, another lady shuffles her way down to the dock, with a bunch of carry-on bags and totes! The people behind me are getting very angry, but no one says anything.

I do!

“OK, picture session is over, back to the back of the line!”

“Don’t worry Mister, we are not cutting in.”

“I’m sure you are not”, as I squeeze them off to the side, as the boat opens its doors and everyone boards, passing them by and having them wait. They try to cut in front of the people behind me, I point out to the operator what they are doing, and she makes them wait their turn for a later boat!

Once I board, this guy and his wife for speaking up congratulate me!

WOW!

The reunion is finally over, and the effects are lingering and lasting! In anyone’s vocabulary, it is called a success. The success is not from the turnout, although it was terrific, not in the fact that we all had such a wonderful time, nor even in the fact that the DJ was terrific, the Bellport CC magnificent or the food outstanding. No, that isn’t it, it was the tremendous spirit of my classmates in getting together and seeing ourselves, once again, the laughter, and tears, the hugs and handshakes, made it a success!

Being it is a committee of all women and myself, I should tell you: the original plan was for a 40th reunion, but I never got a word in edge wise for five years!

Those crazy kids are already planning one for next year! This time in Florida! Someone thought about the 50th being on a cruise ship!



There was some fun, a winner of the baby contest guessing game, and the non-awards of a few non-contests we didn’t have, but could have. (Don’t ask)



As some of you might know, we started the day on Saturday, July 29th, with a memorial at the old grounds of the Bellport High School, now the Middle School, to the old building that burned down and our classmates who no longer are with us. We invited family and friends as well as classmates. Afterward, a whole gang of about 30 of us gathered for lunch in Bellport.



That night we all gathered at BobbiQue’s for an ice-breaker: which lasted for a good while of hand shaking, hugs and remembering old times.



But the reunion started for my great committee and me at 9:00 am that Sunday morning at the Bellport Country Club, as we gathered together to set things up.



After the reunion, we went upstairs for drinks, and then the next morning, Memorial Day, some of us gathered for breakfast!



I’m glad we graduated, because if we didn’t, I would be out partying somewhere right now!



The nicest thing that happened was that the Committee gave TLW (The Little Woman) a special recognition for her patience with the meetings, and I made her an Honorary Committee Member for her helping me. They love her more than even I do! I also thought it appropriate to make Jerry Walsh, one of my committee member’s husband an Honorary Committee Member for bringing his lovely wife Kathy, all the way from New Jersey for the meetings! He too, like TLW, never ever complained



Well, it is all over, I am glad I did it, will never ever forget the days and the wonderful people that came. To them I thank, and know full well, along with the committee, that it was indeed them that made it a success.

BEYOND UNDERSTANDING

On Saturday, May 29th, my high school reunion planned a memorial for our classmates who passed on, and the building that once stood on the grounds. It was a well-attended event, a gathering of classmates and friends and family, that watched as we dedicated a tree and stepping stone in the name of those departed.

Not all of my classmates made it that day, in fact one herself; was on the precipice of crossing over, and Nancy was in all our prayers. She was suffering from cancer of the brain, and by our measure was very brave, but very weak. She told us she was not afraid of dying, and would wait for all of us to rejoin together.

I will share with you the address I made to all that day, since it mattered to me, and my classmates.

TREE DEDICATION

Welcome from the committee for the BHS Class of 1964 45fth Reunion. We would like to thank the Board of Education, the principal of the Bellport Middle School: Mr. Ginity and his administration, Veronica Bradley and the wonderful students and advisors from the Middle School allowing us the privilege of being here today and donating this beautiful tree in remembering our past. Your kindness has set the tone for our reunion weekend in a very positive way.

We gather today at this sacred place of our youth, where we began the long journey into adulthood, to commemorate those tragic events that unfolded on March 8th, 1963, and to call to mind those of us who were part of those events, and are no longer with us.

With sadness we recall: the fire filled day, that is forever burned into our hearts and minds, and gratefully salute the unselfish heroics of our beloved teachers, fire departments, parents and fellow schoolmates who so fearlessly manned the stretchers and ladders to rescue our fellow students from what may have been an even greater tragedy.

The lessons we learned that day have stayed with us, and to this day remind us, that life is both fleeting and precious. To those that follow us, and stand here today to join us, it teaches that we must all rise up to the occasions that challenge us most, and say to ourselves: “I will survive.”

As we gather this weekend, to celebrate the 45th reunion of our graduation from Bellport High School, so we gather to remember our fellow classmates who have passed on before us. For some of us, we will learn for the first time of those who have left us, and for some of us it will be a reminder once again of their passing, but none of us should ever forget them. They were the embodiment of the spirit of Bellport High School, and the little village that harbored her.

They were a part of the best of times and the best time of our lives, they learned with us, played with us, sang with us, danced with us, and even prayed with us. They were our friends, our classmates, and yes: we could even call them our brothers and sisters. They were a real part of our lives, and helped to enrich all of us as we stand here today.

And so this tree and stepping stone, memorials to all who have gone before us, are placed here to remind, commemorate and salute. It is a memorial dedicated to a building that once stood on these grounds, and to student lives, which forever echo in our hearts. This tree will give to the community, to replenish what this community has, the spirit that is Bellport High School. This stone likewise, will give testimony to this day. Although we will be reminded in sadness that some of us have passed on, so too, will we be reminded in gladness that they lived.


The stepping-stone, a gift created by Pam Brin, to the class of ’64 will be placed at the base of the tree. The inscription into the stepping-stone reads: “In Memory of our departed classmates, class of 64”. The stone will have 17 hearts engraved, representing each one of our departed classmates. As Martha Scott calls off each name of a departed classmate we remember, take a moment to reflect on them, while a flower is placed in their name on the stone.

Thank You.


After the reunion, which was held the very next day, we got an email from Nancy’s husband informing us that she had passed on, the day of the memorial!

WHAT A DAY!

Today, as I sat behind my computer, I suddenly got an urge to not do anything. Surprisingly, that happens often, and today, I felt a need to get away from the computer.

When the day is in the 70’s and dry, with sunshine illuminating one’s mood, getting outside becomes very important. Meaning for a while to do some good old fashioned yard work, I grabbed my straw hat, put on a pair of old, torn jeans and a rake, and out I went, feeling very happy.

There is a sense of accomplishment, almost what I feel when I paint a picture or make a dish, that fills me when I work outside. I like to get my hands into the soil, immersing my fingers, feeling like this is what life should feel like, not the minor clapping of a keyboard. I don’t use gloves, like I don’t use tape in my painting or processors in my cooking, preferring to do everything by hand, feeling the art come to life like I am God himself!

There is no greater joy than creating something from the basic ingredients, and finishing it off as a thing of beauty. It is like a newborn child, arriving from the depths of its mother’s body, and giving great wonder and a joy to behold!

I guess the feeling of falling in love for the first time can be equated with the sense of being outdoors, and one with nature on these kinds of days. It doesn’t take a whole lot of tools to do, or great plans, just the love of it.

WHAT A WASTE!

Today is Memorial Day, a day that is filled with sadness and reflection. Often we equate it with the dead men and women who gave their lives for this great country. I think it should be expanded a day more. It should be a two-day memorial for not only the dead soldiers and sailors, marines and air force men, but a day for the innocent victims of the wars, the children and men and women who lost their homes, their limbs, and their lives.

I think two days, because we can not diminish what the brave did, even the ones that survived the combat, whether in one piece or not, yet a second day points out the stupidity and wastefulness of war. The spending of lives, treasure, peace and good will that only war destroys.

Men and their ideology starts wars for mankind. It gets in the way of people living their rightful time on this earth. And what does starting war really accomplish in the end? Orphans, widows and widowers, pain and suffering, hunger and disease, the loss of one’s home: is what is accomplished.

Hollywood has had a tendency to glorify war, and most people that do glorify it, have never fought in one, they don’t know, it is not a child’s game. But it makes us child-like with fear. I see all the crosses at Pinelawn or Arlington and I think, is the cure for cancer resting under a cross? Is the cure for heart disease resting under that Star of David? What have we done? We have sent all the young men, with futures in front of them, to an early grave by old men with their futures behind them.

We as humanity should make it a law: you cannot be a politician unless you are a mother of a son under the age of 18 years old. See how fast we beat the drums to march, see how quickly we play the bugle to call for arms. I think there would be peace in this world.

WHERE HAVE ALL THE FLOWERS GONE
words and music by Pete Seeger
performed by Pete Seeger and Tao Rodriguez-Seeger

Where have all the flowers gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the flowers gone?
Long time ago
Where have all the flowers gone?
Girls have picked them every one
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

Where have all the young girls gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the young girls gone?
Long time ago
Where have all the young girls gone?
Taken husbands every one
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

Where have all the young men gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the young men gone?
Long time ago
Where have all the young men gone?
Gone for soldiers every one
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

Where have all the soldiers gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the soldiers gone?
Long time ago
Where have all the soldiers gone?
Gone to graveyards every one
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?

Where have all the graveyards gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the graveyards gone?
Long time ago
Where have all the graveyards gone?
Covered with flowers every one
When will we ever learn?
When will we ever learn?

©1961 (Renewed) Fall River Music Inc
All Rights Reserved.

TODAY IS THE REUNION!

Way back in August, around the 17th, the idea of the reunion was born! With the idea came the responsibility of organizing it, and getting people to help me get it better organized. What I found was a revelation! People are really terrific, they will do what it takes to get things done, that they believe in!

My committee was all women, and they were as reliable as any man could be. I’m not a feminist or even a bleeding heart. I do believe that women should get equal pay, be respected for their brains, not their looks, and be entitled to all the things men are entitled to. A case in point to support those beliefs is the success of the reunion. Without them, and their spirit and commitment to the cause, no reunion is possible.

If you look at the results of World War II, and the immediate mobilization we went through as a country, those guys needed tools and weapons to fight a two-front war, and women of this country supplied them. They seem to always step up big time. Yet we seem to forget that sometimes.

I would not be here right now typing, if it weren’t for a woman, my grandmother, then my mother. One had the courage to come to this country, as a child, on her own, not speaking the language, and built a large family and business! When things weren’t gong well for my family, Mom stood up and raised us all (5 children) and none of us went to jail! And then there is TLW (The Little Woman), who raised her children, (all of us) under trying circumstances, and unfair burdens.

Women! In most family backgrounds, the mother builds the superstructure of family being, and the father takes the role of leader! The mother builds the character, and the father supports it. The mother creates the moral code, and the father adds the muscle. But in every case, the mother or woman supplied what is necessary, and in her own way, builds this great country of ours!

Not all women are successful at what they attempt. Some are indeed failures as mothers. It may not be their fault, but it happens. Men, on the other hand can claim an even less successful rate of accomplishment. Look at all the men in jail compared to women.

I have sisters who have children, and now nieces, all my sisters did a wonderful job, my nieces are following in their mother’s footsteps. Not all the ladies on the committee are mothers, and to that I say: “What a shame!” They are all good people that have the ingredients for great motherhood.

So ladies of the Bellport High School Class of ’64 Reunion Committee, thanks for a million reasons, for the 75 happy people that will share in the joy of the reunion, and for myself I say: I love each and every one of you!

TOYOTA, DON’T TOY WITH ME!

One thing TLW (The Little Woman) and I have is excellent credit. We take pride in paying our bills, and keeping debt down to the minimum. With excellent credit, it gives you as pass to the whole world of potential poorhouse residences!

Recently we went to Toyota for a car, the Prius, and we made all the arrangement with a lease agreement, where they, Toyota will pay the first payment due to an overlap with the old lease on the Camry.

We were assured they would make the payment and we left them with a new Prius and everything “under control”. Everything except Toyota is under control. It feels like we applied the brakes, and the car accelerated! (Where have I heard that before?)

So sure enough, we get not one, but two letters wondering where our payment was! WHERE OUR PAYMENT IS????!!!!

Where is their payment? Huh?

They were late on their own car payment! I called and told them that I was very angry, that my good credit would be harmed if they didn’t take care of the matter and they were responsive. I quote: “We’ll look into it.” I wonder if they have time, after all, they are looking into a lot of cars that don’t want to stop.

The next day I get a call from the salesman, a nice chap, one who used to take his mom to church every Sunday, then get abused by her ordering him around. A man I could trust. He said that he could assure me that the payment was made by Toyota. The day I called, they made the payment!

Well, Mr. Salesman is sending me a copy of the check. I hope a Toyota copy of a check can stop at my mailbox.

BUILDING CHARACTER

When I was a teenager and then in my very early twenties, my relationship with my parents seemed to change to one of a more adult nature. Mom had put away her wooden spoon, and Dad was starting to admit I was HIS son, too.

That was because I was getting to the point where they needed me more, and I was always available for them. Dad and I worked together, in the summers and after school, and Mom, who didn’t drive, always needed a ride!

Mom could usually be found in a state of hysterics, trying to stifle a laugh as I did different imitations of relatives on Dad’s side of the family, and tricks I played on him. Oh, she lived for the tricks I played.

One of my favorite, was taking my little sister’s doll and removing a voice activator that repeated what you said; back to you, in baby talk!

One late afternoon, right before dad came home from work, I set it up under my father’s kitchen chair where he would eat dinner. Mom watched with fascination as I took some white surgical tape and began taping the voice activator to the bottom of the chair.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“I’m taping this under Dad’s chair, and when he talks, it will repeat back to him.”

“Oh!” Then she starts to laugh.

Mom did housework, she didn’t have time to think of these things, I took it on.

Dad comes home that night, and Mom puts the dinner out, and Dad pours himself a glass of wine, and I start in.

“So Dad, are we working on Saturday?”

“As far as I know!”
(Echo repeats in a child’s voice.)

Dad jumps out of his chair and stands behind it, looking confused.

Mom is trying to stifle her laugh, choking as she does, and I look up and ask:

“What’s the matter?”

“WHAT THE HELLL WAS THAT?”
(Echo repeats in a child’s voice.)

Dad looks at me bug eyed.

“YOU DIDN’T HEAR THAT?”
(Echo repeats in a child’s voice.)

“Hear what?”

Mom cannot control herself anymore, and laughs out loud.

Dad is starting to get a grin that says it all:

Come OOONNN!”
(Echo repeats in a child’s voice.)

“Jesus Chr…”
(Echo repeats in a child’s voice.) Now I’m laughing harder than Mom, who is holding her sides, and I can’t even hear anything from laughing so hard.

“OK, what did your son do?”

I was her son to Dad when I did something unusual.

“Who, that character, what makes you think he did something?” She is laughing and can’t really speak her words well.

“Sure, and you helped him. That dopey…”

But Dad got his revenge one night. Mom had her TV shows, usually a comedy, and Dad had his shows, usually a murder mystery, they never watched TV in the same room. Dad had a remote that he used in the bedroom that operated the TV in the den also.

Mom was watching her show, and Dad struck, sneaking up on Mom, who’s back is to the doorway. Dad changes the channel on Mom! She doesn’t realize it at first.

Suddenly she realizes she’s been watching the wrong show, and can’t figure out how!

She changes it again to her show, and Dad waits then strikes again!

Now Mom is scared, and can’t figure it out still! Dad is getting his revenge, and happily so. Finally she changes the channel again and as Dad stands there with the remote, Mom catches his reflection in the TV screen, and gives chase.

Yes, my parents, acting like children!