Fourth Lake, Chapter 5

Eventually, Phil left the divided highway at Exit 23 and headed into the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains.  In 1894, this mountain range became the first and only wild land preserve in the United States to gain protection within the confines of its own state constitution.  It contains about six million acres, which makes it larger than Yellowstone, Yosemite, the Grand Canyon, the Great Smokey, the Everglades National Parks combined.  It is also larger than each of the seven smallest states that make up the USA: Hawaii, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Delaware, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and New Jersey.  The rocks making up the Adirondacks are among the oldest on Earth, about one billion years old.

Finally, Phil took New York State Route 28, heading west.  It would be about 70 miles before they would reach Fourth Lake and the tiny little town of Inlet, New York, just outside of which Judy had rented a cottage for their two-week vacation.  Its residents like to say, it’s a destination for visitors who want to enjoy the nearby wilderness.  Their motto is “where mountains and memories meet.”

Driving along Route 28 was at times a slow and laborious process on treacherous turns with many hills and valleys.  While Phil had to pay close attention to the road almost every second, Judy could sit by and take in the magnificence of the landscape.  She noticed how sweet the air smelled.  Then, there were the trees everywhere, lush and green.  The leaves were so plentiful that often you couldn’t see the brown bark of the trees.  Occasionally, Judy noticied clear water, both in the form of still lakes that reflected the images of the trees on the far side and bubbling brooks where the current seemed to dance off the rocks that were small impediments to the water.  She thought of James Fenimore Cooper’s masterpiece, The Last of the Mohicans, which was set in these mountains.

In the late afternoon, they reached Inlet, a town you could easily drive through in less than one minute.  Judy pointed out the sign for Woods Inn, the restaurant where she wanted to have dinner and Phil pulled into its parking lot.  The temperature was a few degrees cooler than it had been in New York City when they left that morning.

Woods Inn dated from 1896, eight years before the town even existed.  It was actually a magnificent, white, four-story structure with a green roof that faced out onto Fourth Lake.  The bottom floor housed a tavern called the Laughing Loon.  On the second floor was a reception area plus a large, elegant dining room.  Instead of the dining room, Judy preferred sitting at one of the tables that were set up on the long terrace overlooking Fourth Lake.  The reflection of the sun’s rays as it was setting glistened on the water’s surface.  As Judy looked around, she could only see trees and more trees hugging the water’s edge.  Phil ordered the 14 ounce prime rib, well done, and the mashed garlic potatoes.  Judy’s choice was very unconventional, the grilled venison with long grain and wild rice.  They shared a classic caesar salad, a bottle of merlot, and a large piece of home-made apple pie.

After a marvelous dinner, Phil and Judy got back into their car for the thirty-five second drive to their cottage.  As they were walking to their car, the two walked past Mitch Riley, the fifty year-old bartender at the Laughing Loon.  They didn’t notice him, but he definitely noticed Judy.  Mitch, a slim, bald man, had an eye for the ladies and knew few women who looked as good as Judy did.  He hoped she would pass his way again.

The keys for their cottage were in the virtually identical cottage next door where their landlords, Harry and Peg Williams, lived year-round.  While Phil tended to the luggage, Judy knocked on the front door. 

“Hello.  Who’s there?” asked a male voice.

“It’s Judy and Phil Black.  We’ve come for the keys to our cottage,” she replied.

“I’ve been expecting you.  Come on in.”

Judy entered the beautifully decorated cottage.  There she saw a handsome young man, perhaps the age of a graduate student, who greeted her with a big, toothy smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Judy.  Unfortunately, my aunt and uncle couldn’t be here because of a medical problem.  Nothing serious, but they had to go to Albany.  My name is Joe Williams.  I’m sure you’ll be very happy with the cottage.  If you need anything, just come over and I’ll take care of it.  Here are the keys.”

“Sorry to hear about your aunt and uncle.  I’m sure we’ll have a great time.”

Judy noticed a twinkle in Joe’s eyes that caught her special attention.  Before she left the cottage, she turned to look back at Joe who was still looking at her with that same toothy smile. 

Their cottage was just what Judy had wanted for their romantic getaway.  It was rustic both inside and out.  To the right and left of the cottage were trees.  In back was the road to Inlet and in front was Fourth Lake.  The cottage was simple, but decorated in a similar fashion to their landlord’s.  It was basically a very large room with a separate full bath.  The large room included an area for their bed, an area which included a small round table, two chairs and a TV, and a separate kitchen space with a refrigerator, a sink, and a stove.  Toward the lake was a patio with lounge chairs and a barbeque.  After unpacking, they sat on the patio, relaxing and admiring the view.

“It’s beautiful, Judy.  You picked a winner.”

I’m glad you’re not disappointed.  I’m sure we’ll enjoy ourselves here.  We have everything we need.”

“Let’s just relax now.  I’m kind of tired now from the drive up.  And I didn’t get much rest yesterday, or all last week for that matter.”

At 7:00 PM, Phil and Judy watched the only television they would see that day, Sixty Minutes, which was one of their favorite programs.  Mike Wallace was interviewing President Nixon’s White House Chief of Staff, General Alexander Haig.  The General claimed that Nixon was hanging tough throughout this difficult Watergate ordeal.  He expressed confidence that they would have the votes to win once the impeachment issue would get to the full House of Representatives.  Any resulting decision by the President would be based on what would be in “the best interest to the American people.  That will be the criterion on which Richard Nixon rules, governs, if you will, continues in office or might decide not to.”  The interview was very troubling to both Phil and Judy.

After the program was over, they returned to the patio to enjoy the sights and sounds of the lake.  Later, she asked Phil to fix her a whiskey and soda from their well-stocked bar.  He agreed, but after ten minutes, Judy wondered what had happened to her drink.  She entered the cottage and saw Phil fast asleep, face down on their king-size bed.  Judy had a fantasy of both starting and ending the day by making love with her husband.  It was not to be.  She left Phil where he lay.  She fixed her drink herself and returned to the patio to look out over her view, which was diminishing rapidly.  Judy was still thinking about sex.  She enjoyed it.  She needed it.  What had occured that morning had only whetted her apetite.  She was so disappointed that Phil had let sleep overtake him before they had a chance to make love again on their new bed.  Tonight it was too late for Judy and Phil.  But as Scarlett O’Hara said, “Tomorrow is another day."

Fourth Lake, Chapter 1

Judy’s eyes slowly opened from a blissful night’s sleep.  She had been dreaming, but as soon as she awoke, the memory of the dream fell into an abyss of oblivion.  She was lying on her back; her head lay gently on her pillow.  She was so relaxed that, at first, she had no desire to move.  There was no hurry.  Judy turned her head slightly to her left and noticed that her husband, Phil, wasn’t in bed with her.  Then, she remembered that he hadn’t been there when she went to bed the night before at about 11:00.  There was nothing good on TV at 10:00.  Judy read Les Miserables for an hour before her eyes started to close and she put the book down.  Sleep came quickly and easily.  She turned her head slightly to her right to look at the digital clock on the night table.  It read 6:56 AM.

Phil had told her that he had to work late every night this week, including Saturday, if they were going to be able to get away on their two-week vacation to the Adirondack Mountains. 

Judy sat up and examined Phil’s half of the bed.  Had he been there at all last night?  She couldn’t be sure.  She was a housewife, not a detective.  She felt a momentary twinge of panic.  Had he been in an accident on his way home from Manhattan?  Had he left her and run away with his secretary?  Where was he?  The panic disappeared with the sound of the shower being turned on in their bathroom.  Phil must have awakened slightly before she did and slipped quietly into the shower.  Or perhaps he had just arrived home and went straight to their bathroom.  It didn’t matter; he was home.  She was safe, at least for the present.

Judy got out of bed and started walking toward the sound of the shower.  She was wearing a floor-length, light blue nightgown and the white panties she had worn the day before.  She opened the bathroom door without knocking and entered.  Steam from Phil’s hot shower was starting to form on the mirror in front of the sink.  Judy could see his face, through the transparent shower door, as he looked up toward the shower head while rinsing his dark, blondish hair.  His eyes were closed and he didn’t realize, as yet, that he had company.

“Good morning, darling” she said.

“Oh, Judy!  I didn’t hear you come in.  Did you sleep well?”

“Great!  How about you?”

“So, so.  I got in a little after midnight.  I woke up about 15 minutes ago.  I tried not to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

Judy noticed his wonderfully tall, masculine body, shimmering from the constant flow of hot water.  For a man of forty, he kept in great shape.  To her, he didn’t look that much different from the first time she saw him, almost 20 years ago, when he was the point guard for the University of Pennsylvania’s basketball team.  It was December 1955 and Judy, as a cheerleader for the Violets of NYU, had made the trip to the Palestra in Philadelphia to help her school to victory.  However, she couldn’t keep her eyes off number 10 in the cute white uniform of the opposition.  His chiseled face and his blonde hair made him look almost too beautiful.  Judy marveled at his muscular shoulders, arms and legs that were not hidden by his skimpy uniform, trimmed in red and blue.  Unfortunately, his cute butt was completely covered by his tight-fitting short-shorts.   

As she was staring at her naked husband, Judy began to have the desire to feel his warm, wet body, up close.  She couldn’t exactly remember the last time they had made love.  He had been so busy lately.  She removed her nightgown and panties and opened the shower door.  Her naked ex-gymnast’s body revealed a slender 5’ 3”, thirty-eight year-old woman, not much altered by having delivered two babies.  Judy’s perfectly-formed breasts and long dark hair would catch the eye of any man.  She felt some of the hot water splash on her body.  It felt good and welcoming.

“Judy!  What are you doing?  I’ll be out in a minute.”

“No.   I don’t want you to leave.”

Judy put her arms around Phil’s neck and kissed him passionately, with her mouth and tongue desperately searching for his.  She wanted to make love to her husband.  He seemed to have been avoiding her for too long.  She found him and cornered him at a time and in a place where he couldn’t escape.  The hot water now poured over them both.  After an initial hesitation, he succumbed to her feminine charms.  Phil returned Judy’s passion and lust.  He grabbed her right breast and her left buttock.  She gently took his erect penis in her soft hands.  After ten minutes, they were both drained and revitalized by their lovemaking.  It was a great way to begin their vacation trip to Fourth Lake.

Fourth Lake is in the Adirondack Mountains Fulton Chain of Lakes, named for Robert Fulton, the inventor of the steamboat.  Fourth Lake, the largest in the chain, is 5.5 miles from Old Forge, New York (population 800), at the beginning of the chain in the west, to Inlet, New York (population 400) at its far end in the east.  Near Inlet on Fourth Lake is Eagle Bay, New York (population 300).  First Lake, Second Lake, Third Lake and Fourth Lake are really one long lake separated by narrow straits.  There is a stream that allows access from Fourth Lake to the much smaller Fifth Lake.  Old Forge is about 270 miles north of New York City.

To be continued next month…     

 

Marty Kolins

Marty Kolins was born 100 years ago tomorrow, May 25, 1915 in Brooklyn, New York.  Actually, he was born Martin Yeager, the first and only child of his two parents.  Unfortunately, his father died when Martin was a little boy.  What a tragedy when this happens.  No man would ever love him as much as his natural father.  Apparently, his mother had some financial difficulties as a result of her husband’s death and Martin went to live with his grandparents who raised him for several years. 

Eventually, his mother remarried and Martin went to live with the newlyweds.  She had a hard job convincing her new husband to accept Martin as his son.  He legally adopted Martin who then became Martin Kolins.  The couple later had a daughter and a son, Martin’s half-sister and half-brother.  Martin’s step-father showed favortism towards his biological children in contrast to being much less supportive of Martin.  I believe that Martin tried, for the rest of his step-father’s life, to show him that he was worthy of his love.  It was a difficult task.  This striving shaped Martin’s character.

Martin graduated from Erasmus Hall which then was a prestigious public high school in Brooklyn.  He applied to Columbia University, but was turned down, in spite of his excellent grades, because, as he was told by an admissions officer, “We have a quota on Jewish students.”  Anti-Semitism was also a constant theme in Martin’s life.  So instead of Columbia, Martin went to New York University.

As with America as a whole, the Great Depression hit Martin’s family very hard in the early 1930s.  His step-father had been a successful businessman, the owner of a company that manufactured ladies’s garments.  He not only lost his business, but the family lost their home as well.  They were literally thrown onto the streets.  This shocking turnaround psychologically devastated his step-father.  Martin became the family breadwinner.  He initially got a job as an usher in a movie theater in the Bronx, a long way from Brooklyn.

Then Martin caught a break.  Through a family friend, he got a job as an accountant, for which he had no training, at the newly created company, Joseph E. Seagram and Sons, Inc.  This was 1934.  Prohibition had recently ended its foolish experiment in the United States and The Seagram Company, Ltd., the Canadian liquor enterprise, had established its American subsidiary at the Chrysler Building in New York City.  With the exception of his service in World War II, Martin spent the next 50 years working for Seagram’s.  Martin changed his major at NYU from liberal arts to accounting.  He also changed the mind of his step-father as to his worth.  I believe that Martin was relieved that he was working for a Jewish owned business where he would be protected from Anti-Semitism.

Some time after the Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor, Martin, who was responsible for his parents, two siblings, plus a new wife, was drafted into the US Army.  After basic training in Texas, he was sent to a military base in Hawaii, then an American territory.  Shortly before his infantry unit was to be shipped out to somewhere in the Pacific where there was some serious fighting going on, Martin caught another lucky break.  While loading crates onto a ship, he broke his right arm.  He was sent to an Army medic, who did not do a very good job placing his arm in a cast.  Martin was sure it was a case of Anti-Semitism.  He never had full use of his right arm for the rest of his life.  And he spent the rest of the war in Hawaii.  After which, he returned to New York and Seagram’s.

In May of 1969, Martin, who was then the Federal Tax Manager in the Tax Department, convinced his boss that he needed an assistant.  He found one in me.  I had started working for Seagram’s in March of the previous year in the Accounting Department.  I began my new job in the Tax Department after lunch on the 15th of the month.  Martin, or Marty as I called him, was a great boss and a truly nice man.  He treated me, as he did everyone else, with the utmost of respect.  We were a team until he retired from Seagram’s in 1984 after 50 years when his wife, also a Seagram employee, was eligble to retire as well after 25 years with the company.  I succeeded Marty as Federal Tax Manager.

One thing I must mention about Marty was that he was a heavy smoker (when smoking was permitted in the office).  He would smoke one cigarette after another.  He constantly had a cigarette in his mouth and he would literally smoke his cigarettes all the way to the filter.  On his desk he had a large round ash tray that was black on the inside.  By the end of the day the ash tray was so filled with cigarette butts that you could not tell what color the ash tray was. 

One day, I was in Marty’s office discussing some work-related matters.  After some minutes, I realized he wasn’t paying any attention to me.  He kind of leaned forward in his chair, looking down, without saying anything.  Finally, he got up and walked out of his office and out of the department.  I returned to my desk, not knowing what to make of his untypical behavior.  Luckily for Marty, in those halcyon days, Seagram had a Medical Department with a doctor on duty, for Marty was having a heart attack.  I didn’t see him again until several days later as a patient in Lenox Hill Hospital.  Once he recovered, he quit smoking cold turkey,    

Marty died of another heart attack in April of 1997 at the age of 81.  I, along with many others, wanted very much to pay homage to him by going to his funeral.  Unfortunately and foolishly, there was no service (after his cremation).  He deserved better. 

Marty and I worked together for 15 years and during that time he told me much about his life.  Much of it was funny, the way he could tell stories.  A favorite expression (in Yiddish) of his was “If it’s free, spread it all over me.”  However, some was tragic.  I knew that his siblings pre-deceased him.  He cut himself off from his nieces and nephews because he didn’t think they would want to maintain any contact with him once his brother and sister had died.  Foolish!   He went through a very messy divorce from his first wife.  She had a lawyer and he didn’t .  Foolish!  He literally left their relationship with only the shirt on his back.  His wife maintained sole custody of their teenage daughter.  Occasionally, she would run away from her mother and go to stay at Marty’s home.  Once, the mother kicked in his front door to retrieve their daughter.  Marty was very disappointed with his adult son when he tried to stay neutral during his parents’s divorce.  Marty became estranged from him for a time as a result.  Foolish!

As Marty lived in my neighborhood, I ran into him occasionally after his retirement.  I was always happy to see him.  Let us leave Marty with one anecdote that typified the kind of person Marty was.  A colleague of ours in the Tax Department who smoked once made an off-hand comment that he had run out of matches.  This was not a request, simply a comment.  Marty left the building and went to a nearby store to buy a box of matches.  He returned and gave it to our colleague.  Marty was still trying to prove to his step-father that he was worth it.        

The Red and The Blue

Friday, the fifteenth of May, marked the forty-eighth anniversary of my graduation from the University of Pennsylvania (Penn) with a Bachelor of Economics Degree.  I am sure I received a wonderful education while I was there and I am proud to be forever associated as an alumnus with a world-class institution of higher learning.

However, as we Americans know, the college experience can be more than just studying.  And besides the partying, there is also college sports.  I have been a fan of Penn Quaker teams (currently numbering sixteen men’s and fifteen women’s) in a variety of sports since even before my matriculation there in August of 1963.  Obviously, since Penn was one of more than 100 colleges that had football teams in the 1950s, I was aware it existed, but I didn’t know too much about it.  That all changed on November 5, 1955, when the Penn-Notre Dame football game was televised into our living room on East Oneida Street in Oswego, New York.

My brother, Paul (HAPPY BIRTHDAY), and I would spend the next few hours glued to our black and white TV to watch the five win, one loss Fighting Irish as they visited historic Franklin Field to play the struggling Quakers who were looking for their first victory since 1953.  I remember Lindsay Nelson in his plaid sports jacket describe the action on the field.  Typically, my brother and I would each choose a team during the weekly televised college football contest to make it a kind of personal competition.  I usually picked the wrong team.  This time, I couldn’t lose.  As Paul was an applicant to the following year’s freshman class at Penn, he dutifully chose the Quakers.  I got Notre Dame by default.  What a break! 

However, what  a start!  Notre Dame’s Paul Hornung kicked off to Penn to begin the game.  Frank Riepl, a sophomore, playing in his first varsity game, took the kick 8 yards deep in his own end zone, but, rather than take a touchback, he ran it back all the way to the opposite end zone to give the Quakers the lead, 7-0.  The football Gods were against me.  I could never seem to beat my older brother.  In the second quarter, Penn lead 14-7 before a home crowd of over 45,000 fans and a national television audience.  However, the Fighting Irish tied the score before the half and went on to a resounding 46-14 victory.  It was the last time in my life I ever rooted against the Red and the Blue.  (Ironically, the following Saturday, the Fighting Irish travelled to Chapel Hill to play the North Carolina Tar Heels, the University I worked at for 5 years beginning in 2008.)

When my brother went to Penn as a freshman the following fall (1956), I became a Penn fan.  On November 27, 1958, I (along with my family) attended my first Penn athletic contest, the annual Thanksgiving Day football game against Cornell at Franklin Field.  Penn lost 19-7, but I wasn’t a fair weather fan.  Let’s go, Quakers.  Fight on, Pennsylvania.  Hoorah for the Red and the Blue.

Five years later, I entered Penn as a freshman.  I felt it was the right school for me.  It was located in a big city (Philadelphia) and offered a very diverse curriculum.  And there was a major college sports program.  My first football game at Franklin Field as a student was on October 5, 1963 against Dartmouth.  We lost 28-0.  We didn’t even score a point.  How humiliating!  However, four weeks later (November 2, 1963), I returned and the Quakers pulled off a minor miracle by defeating top-rated Harvard, 7-2, on a muddy field, aided by a very good punter (Bruce Molloy) who kept the Crimson pinned in their own end of the field.  That was the sole highlight of the1963 season.  There were no football highlights in 1964. 

On January 25, 1964, I attended my first Penn basketball game, against cross-town rival, Villanova University.  It was my first time inside the fabulous Palestra, home at the time of Big Five basketball.  Penn, Villanova, Temple, St. Joseph’s, and LaSalle all played their home games there, on the Penn campus.  To accomodate so many teams, there were almost always double-headers (including one with a bomb scare).  Two games for the price of one.  It was like the way movies used to be.  Unfortunately, my first experience at the Palestra wasn’t so great either.  The Quakers lost, 72-48.  However, two years later on March 1, 1966, Penn, led by seniors Jeff Newman and Stan Pawlak, beat Princeton 56-48 at the Palestra on its last game of the season to win the Ivy League men’s basketball championship. 

While watching four years of Penn basketball, I also got to see (three times) the great Princeton star, Bill Bradley, Class of 1965.  Once, the legendary NBA star, Wilt Chamberlain, showed up to see Bradley play as well.  What a buzz there was in the crowd when Wilt sat in the first row under one of the baskets.  I also got to see, whom I consider the greatest college player I ever saw live, Dave Bing of Syracuse University play against LaSalle.  When I was growing up in Oswego, I didn’t even know that Syracuse had a basketball team until he showed up in 1962.

By the time of my graduation from Penn in 1967, I had enjoyed few memorable moments watching the Red and the Blue at Franklin Field.  I had to wait for that as an alumnus.  On October 26, 1968, after losing to arch-rival Princeton for eight consecutive years, I attended a homecoming game and saw Coach Bob Odell’s Quakers win their fifth in a row while finally defeating  the Tigers, 19-14.  Odell, a member of the Penn class of 1944, was a football star who won the coveted Maxwell Award as a senior. 

Four years later, on November 25, 1972, I along with about 40,000 Penn fans entered Franklin Field to see if (under Coach Harry Gamble) we could win our first Ivy League football championship since 1959 (my brother’s senior year).  Penn took an early 14-0 lead, but Dartmouth scored twice in the final three minutes of the first half to tie the score.  It was still tied at 17 late in the fourth quarter.  However, Dartmouth scored two touchdowns again in the final three minutes of the second half for a 31-17 victory.  My first Penn Ivy League football championship would have to wait another ten years.  Ironically, one of the Dartmouth Assistant Coaches that day, Jerry Berndt, would become the Penn Head Football coach that would win that championship.

On November 13, 1982, I was back at Franklin Field along with about 35,000 others to see Penn fight it out with Harvard for the Ivy League title.  It turned out to be one of the most exciting football games I have ever witnessed in person.  Penn dominated the first fifty minutes of the game.  They entered the Red Zone (inside Harvard’s twenty yard line) six times, scoring two touchdowns, two field goals, but failing to score twice.  The Penn defense had utterly stifled the Crimson offense.  The score stood 20-0.

Then the tables turned.  Harvard rallied and scored three consecutive touchdowns in the next nine minutes to take a 21-20 lead.  However, fantastically the tables turned once more.  With only a minute left, Penn marched down the field and attempted a game winning thirty-eight yard field goal on the final play of the game.  The kick was no good.  Harvard wins 21-20?  No!  There was a penalty on the play.  Harvard was guilty of roughing the Penn kicker (Dave Shulman).  With no time left on the clock (a game cannot end on a penalty on the defense), Penn got one more chance to kick a game winning field goal, now from twenty-seven yards away, and this time it was good.  Incredibly Penn won, 23-21, to win its first Ivy League football title in 23 years.  It was a great day to be a Penn fan and I was there.           

       

John Wayne

When I was growing up in the 1950s, I felt I needed role models to teach me what it meant to be a man.  I hope I was one for my son, but in my case, I did not have the closest of relationships with my father.  My brothers were still young and involved in their own lives, but provided some guidance.  I looked to others in the outside culture to be such models.  One such area was the world of sports and I had some favorite athletes to look up to, such as Willie Mays and Floyd Patterson.  However, I had limited contact with these men.  I could only occasionally actually see my heroes in action (on television), but not hear their voices nor their opinions.

Movies turned out to be a better venue.  When I saw selected role models, it would be for two hours or so.  And I could both watch their character’s actions and hear them speak their minds.  And if they were popular, I would have more and more opportunites in more and more films.  I had many favorites:  Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas, Gregory Peck, and James Cagney to name some.  But, my number one was and is John Wayne.  Unlike many actors who played many different types of roles, he played about the same character in almost every one of his movies.

Why John Wayne?  First was his size.  He was a big man.  But, his characters didn’t use their size to intimidate or harm those weaker than they.  Because of his size, he was able to overcome the bad guys.  And not only to help himself, but he always used his size and skills to help others less fortunate.    

John Wayne’s characters had a code of behavior.  In his last movie, The Shootist (1976), he enunciated his code:  “I won’t be wronged.  I won’t be insulted.  I won’t be laid a hand on.  I don’t do these things to other people and I require the same from them.”  Not something bad to live by.

Of course, in films there is always a conflict.  Otherwise, there is no story.  And in his movies’s conflicts, there was danger, physical danger.  However, John Wayne’s characters never showed fear, only courage.  Maybe he felt fear, but he never let his fear control his behavior.

And of course, there were the ladies.  He was not only attracted to women, but they were attracted to him as well.  And when he was in a romantic relationship, he knew what to do. 

My favorite John Wayne movie was John Ford’s classic 1956 Western, The Searchers, which used the spectacular Monument Valley for its outdoor locations.  The opening and closing scenes are like bookends.  In the opening, a door opens and his character is seen approaching on horseback from a distance.  In the closing, a door closes with him remaining as an outsider.  What happens in between makes for a wonderful movie.

Despite incredibly receiving no Academy Award nominations when it was first released, The Seachers is now considered to be a great film.   In 1989, The Searchers was deemed culturally, historically, and aesthetically significant by the United States Library of Congress.  In 2007, the American Film Institute ranked The Searchers twelfth on its list of the one hundred greatest American films.  All I know is that, when I saw it in a movie theater as an 11 year-old, I loved it.  I still enjoy watching it again and again, always looking for something I hadn’t noticed before.

John Wayne’s character, Ethan Edwards, arrives at his brother Aaron’s ranch in Texas in 1868.  He has been gone since 1861, the beginning of the Civil War, when he joined the Confederate Army.  Where he had been since the war ended three years earlier is a mystery, but there is some evidence he had fought in Mexico for Emperor Maximilian. 

If you watch Ethan’s body language you should note that, of the five people in his brother’s family (mother, father, two daughters, Lucie and Debby, and a son, Ben), he is definitely most interested in his sister-in-law, Martha.  This interest seems to be reciprocal, as well.  However, there is no dialogue to support this theory, only suggestions.  Such as, what exactly is the reason for Ethan’s visit to his brother’s ranch after seven years?  Aaron asks Ethan, “I saw it in you before the war.  You wanted to clear out.  You stayed beyond any real reason.  Why?”  Ethan, after staring at Martha, changes the subject.  

The following day, a group of Texas Rangers arrive at the Edward’s ranch to organize a posse (which Ethan joins) to look for cattle rustlers who had run off with some prize steers of one of their neighbors.  Turns out, it wasn’t cattle rustlers at all.  It was some Comanches who were trying to draw the men folk away from Ethan’s brother’s ranch for a murder raid.  When Ethan returns, the ranch is on fire and Aaron, Martha, Ben are dead.  The two daughters have been abducted.

It is very telling that the only victim Ethan calls out for is Martha.  His brother and nephew are dead and his two nieces are missing, but he is preoccupied with his sister-in-law.   Strange!  After the dead are buried, he and two young men (Brad, Lucy’s boyfriend, and his brother’s adopted son, Marty) undertake a multi-year search for the two missing girls.  Hence, the title, The Searchers.  Along the way, Lucie is found dead and Brad is killed.  Despite such setbacks, Ethan and Marty continue their unending search for the younger girl, Debbie.

When Debbie was first abducted, she was 8 years-old.  When she is eventually located, but not yet re-captured, she is a teenager (played by Natalie Wood).  She has been raised as a Comanche and is now one of the wives of the Comanche chief, Scar.  Ethan expresses his racism, “She’s been living with a buck.  She’s nothing but a...”  His motivation in finding her has changed from bringing her home to killing her (a white woman living with Indians should be put out of her misery).  This racism is unusual for John Wayne’s movie characters.  In other films, he shows great respect for Indians (see Fort Apache (1948) and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949)).    

Would it be natural for a man to spend so many years searching for his niece?  Or is she his niece?  Maybe Debbie is his daughter?  She was born before Ethan had left for the war.  And maybe there had been a liaison between Ethan and Martha.  That makes more sense to me.  Looking back at the scene of the raid by the Comanches, Martha was not only murdered, but raped as well.  That may explain why, when Debbie is eventually re-captured, Ethan takes particular pleasure in scalping Scar, who probably raped the woman he had been in love with.  Perhaps the search was also about revenge.

During the climatic scene when she is finally rescued from the Comanches, Debbie is afraid of Ethan, who is to her a menacing figure.  She runs from him.  We, the audience, aren’t sure what he’ll do when he finally has her in his arms.  We shouldn’t have worried.  He says, “Let’s go home, Debbie.”

When Ethan, Debbie, and Marty arrive at the “home” of their neighbors, Debbie and Marty are welcomed inside.  However, as I described above, Ethan remains outside, drifting away, as the door closes ending the movie.  The audience hears a somber tune which can describe Ethan’s plight: “A man will search his heart and soul, go searching way out there.  His peace of mind, he knows he’ll find, but where Oh, Lord, Lord where?  Ride away, ride away, ride away.”

Labor Day

On Tuesday, May 4, 1886, at the Haymarket Square in the City of Chicago, the State of Illinois, the United States of America, a rally in support of workers who were on strike demanding an eight-hour work day started peacefully.  They were also there to condemn the killing of several demonstrators by the Chicago police the previous day.  Suddenly, the rally turned violent.  Someone threw a bomb at the police as they were trying to disperse the crowd.  After the bomb exploded, the police started shooting at the fleeing demonstrators.  In all, seven police officers and four civilians were killed.  Estimates were that around seventy demonstrators were wounded. 

Eight anarchists were put trial by the State of Illinois as a result of the above violence.  Four were convicted and hanged.  A fifth committed suicide while awaiting his execution.  Three others were sentenced to prison terms.  Six years after the trial, a newly-elected governor of Illinois pardoned the three who were still in prison and criticized the trial that had convicted the eight anarchists. 

The so-called Haymarket Affair is generally considered to be the reason for the origin of the international May 1st holiday, known as Labor Day.  It is ironic that the United States of America, where the Haymarket Affair took place, some 129 years ago, does not celebrate Labor Day in May as does virtually the rest of the world.

Instead, Labor Day in the United States of America (and Canada) is celebrated on the first Monday in September.  Why?  In 1889, an international federation of socialist groups declared May 1st as a workers’s day to commemorate the events at the Haymarket Square in Chicago three years before.  Five years later, in 1994, U.S. President Grover Cleveland, uneasy with the association of May 1st with socialist organizations, signed into law an authorization to instead make Labor Day, in the United States, the first Monday in September.  Shortly thereafter Canada followed suit.  They are the only two countries in the world that celebrate Labor Day in September rather than May. 

Living in the United States most of my life, I did not notice this difference.  However, since I moved to Brazil, I have become much more aware of the international May 1st holiday.  I think it is time the United States joined the rest of the world to celebrate Labor Day in May.  Many Americans already do celebrate May 1st as the international Labor Day.  I think we should no longer be afraid of any connection with any socialist or communist organizations or governments.  The day of the red scare is over.  I know there may be some hesitency to create a new federal holiday.  And we could still keep the traditional first Monday in September as a holiday, but just give it another name.  Any suggestions or comments?