In July of 1940, Ben travels from Oswego to the New York Municipal Airport to greet Rita and her cousin, Maria, who is on her first visit to the Big Apple. He carries flowers for both women. Ben and Rita embrace.
"It's been a long time, Rita."
"I missed you, Ben. I'd like you to meet my cousin, Maria."
"A pleasure, Maria. Welcome to New York."
The next couple of days are a whirlwind of activities, including trips to the Statue of Liberty, Times Square, Central Park, Yankee Stadium, and the Opera House. Before retiring for bed at their hotel on the third night, Rita and Maria have a heart to heart.
"Tomorrow, Ben and I are going to Oswego to have some time alone. There we can find out about each other."
"Are you sure you know what you are doing?"
"I know what I am doing. But, you must never let Miguel know about this."
"I love you, Rita, and I trust you. Ben is a kind man and I want you to be a happy woman, which you haven't been for many years. When your husband died, a bit of you died as well. It seems with Ben you have been reborn."
"Ben makes me want to live again, not just go through the motions. A couple of days in Oswego will tell me what I need to know."
"Go with God, Rita." They embrace.
Early the following morning, Rita and Ben enter Grand Central Station and board a train for Oswego. A number of hours later they arrive at the train station on West Utica Street, near the high school. Ben walks Rita to his car parked in the station's lot. They drive across the Utica Street Bridge (over the Oswego River) and turn left at East Third Street. When they reach East Oneida Street, Ben parks the car in front of his modest white house on the corner. Before entering, Maria and Ben cross the street to pray at the Catholic church in the East Side Park.
Ben gives Rita a quick tour of his house. On the main floor is a living room, dining room and kitchen. They climb the stairs to the second floor where Ben's bedroom is.
After having seen the house, Rita says, "It's nice and cozy."
"You mean it's a dump."
"No. I like it."
"My ex-wife, Paula, gets all the credit. She decorated the house. After the divorce, she didn't want to live here anymore, so I got everything and I've changed nothing."
Rita notices the closed door of a room on the second floor overlooking the street.
"What room is that?"
"Nobody's," says Ben, suddenly solemn. Then, quickly recovering, he asks, "Are you hungry?"
"Sure."
"I know the perfect place. Let's go."
Back in his car, they drive down East Oneida Street past the public library. Ben turns right on East First Street and then left on East Bridge Street. Passing over a second bridge over the same river, Rita gets a good view of Lake Ontario to her right. After traveling along several blocks of the commercial district on the west side of town, Ben turns right so Rita can see the park located nearby. There, he drives past, without noticing, Paula who is walking her beagle. However, his ex-wife notices Ben with an unknown woman by his side. Her eyes follow the car until it disappears from her view.
Sunday, March 26, 2017
Sunday, March 19, 2017
Ides of March
My first experience with a foreign language was my mother's mother tongue, Yiddish. As her parents were immigrants whose language was Yiddish, that was the language they taught her when she was a child growing up in their house. English would come later, especially at public school.
When I was growing up in my mother's house, I heard a smattering of Yiddish, especially when my parents wanted to communicate in front of us children without our understanding. The word I especially remember is "kleyner," which means "little one," which was how my mother often referred to me when I was young. The culture of the period when my mother raised her children discouraged speaking a foreign language, a sign of not being 100% American. So, my mother didn't pass Yiddish on to the next generation. What a pity!
As a Jewish child, I was sent to Hebrew School to learn about our family's religion. There I was taught Hebrew, but only how to read and speak the words in the prayers. "Barukh attah Adonai." I remember asking my teacher what the Hebrew words meant in English. He said it was not important for us to understand what the words meant, but God would. Bad answer!
In 1959, I entered the ninth grade at Kingsford Park School and was required to take first year Latin. It was exciting to finally learn a foreign language. "Agricolae amat puella." The following year at Oswego High School, I was offered the choice of taking second year Latin or first year French. Being a lazy student, I opted for the former hoping I could get away with only two years of a foreign language, the minimum requirement for most colleges. However, my mother noted they preferred a third year. She and I had a big fight about this and of course I lost. I had to take third year Latin as well.
My Latin teacher at OHS was Mrs. (Ruth) Young. As she was the youngest and prettiest of my teachers, I probably had a small crush on her. Our first year together we got along great. I was one of the best students in her class. Besides learning the Latin language, we studied Roman culture and history. I remember that in the Roman calendar, the fifteenth of each month was referred to as the "Ides." This past Wednesday was the Ides of March. In 44 B.C., Roman Emperor Julius Caesar was assassinated on the Ides of March. In William Shakespeare's play, Julius Caesar, the soothsayer warned him, "Beware of the Ides of March."
In my second year with Mrs. Young (third year Latin), as a sign of a silent protest, I basically studied just enough to pass. She noticed a difference in my attitude. One day after class, Mrs. Young confronted me. She asked how I was doing in my other classes. I responded that I was an A student in Intermediate Algebra, Physics, and American History, with a B in English. She asked why then was I barely getting a C in her class. I said, "I don't know, Mrs. Young." But, I did.
With three years of Latin in high school, I was exempted from having to study a foreign language at Penn. How unfortunate! I remember one of my freshman roommates elected to take first year Russian. Currently, at least one year of a foreign language is a requirement for a student at Penn's Wharton School.
As a young adult, my ex-wife, Bonita, and I signed up for French classes at the Alliance Francaise in New York City. We had a fantasy of living in France for a while. My first course was great. I learned how to say, "Paris est la capitale de la France." The second course was more difficult. The third was a horror as the teacher refused to accept questions in English nor respond in English. I was lost and I quit.
In 1998, I was browsing through a copy of the Village Voice, a newspaper I never read, neither before nor after that day. I saw an advertisement for private Portuguese classes offered by a Brazilian teacher, Natalia Gedanke. After a couple of business trips to Brazil, I had a curiosity about the Portuguese language. There was no commitment beyond one lesson. She came for that first class at my office. It was great. We continued for five years, eventually moving the weekly classes to her apartment on Pineapple Street in Brooklyn, near the Promenade.
So, here I am today, almost twenty years later, living in Sao Paulo, Brazil, speaking Portuguese with my wife, Cristina, her mother, Irene, and many other Brazilians. "Bom dia. Como vai? Tudo bem?" My fluency is getting better and better. I think Mrs. Young would be proud of me.
When I was growing up in my mother's house, I heard a smattering of Yiddish, especially when my parents wanted to communicate in front of us children without our understanding. The word I especially remember is "kleyner," which means "little one," which was how my mother often referred to me when I was young. The culture of the period when my mother raised her children discouraged speaking a foreign language, a sign of not being 100% American. So, my mother didn't pass Yiddish on to the next generation. What a pity!
As a Jewish child, I was sent to Hebrew School to learn about our family's religion. There I was taught Hebrew, but only how to read and speak the words in the prayers. "Barukh attah Adonai." I remember asking my teacher what the Hebrew words meant in English. He said it was not important for us to understand what the words meant, but God would. Bad answer!
In 1959, I entered the ninth grade at Kingsford Park School and was required to take first year Latin. It was exciting to finally learn a foreign language. "Agricolae amat puella." The following year at Oswego High School, I was offered the choice of taking second year Latin or first year French. Being a lazy student, I opted for the former hoping I could get away with only two years of a foreign language, the minimum requirement for most colleges. However, my mother noted they preferred a third year. She and I had a big fight about this and of course I lost. I had to take third year Latin as well.
My Latin teacher at OHS was Mrs. (Ruth) Young. As she was the youngest and prettiest of my teachers, I probably had a small crush on her. Our first year together we got along great. I was one of the best students in her class. Besides learning the Latin language, we studied Roman culture and history. I remember that in the Roman calendar, the fifteenth of each month was referred to as the "Ides." This past Wednesday was the Ides of March. In 44 B.C., Roman Emperor Julius Caesar was assassinated on the Ides of March. In William Shakespeare's play, Julius Caesar, the soothsayer warned him, "Beware of the Ides of March."
In my second year with Mrs. Young (third year Latin), as a sign of a silent protest, I basically studied just enough to pass. She noticed a difference in my attitude. One day after class, Mrs. Young confronted me. She asked how I was doing in my other classes. I responded that I was an A student in Intermediate Algebra, Physics, and American History, with a B in English. She asked why then was I barely getting a C in her class. I said, "I don't know, Mrs. Young." But, I did.
With three years of Latin in high school, I was exempted from having to study a foreign language at Penn. How unfortunate! I remember one of my freshman roommates elected to take first year Russian. Currently, at least one year of a foreign language is a requirement for a student at Penn's Wharton School.
As a young adult, my ex-wife, Bonita, and I signed up for French classes at the Alliance Francaise in New York City. We had a fantasy of living in France for a while. My first course was great. I learned how to say, "Paris est la capitale de la France." The second course was more difficult. The third was a horror as the teacher refused to accept questions in English nor respond in English. I was lost and I quit.
In 1998, I was browsing through a copy of the Village Voice, a newspaper I never read, neither before nor after that day. I saw an advertisement for private Portuguese classes offered by a Brazilian teacher, Natalia Gedanke. After a couple of business trips to Brazil, I had a curiosity about the Portuguese language. There was no commitment beyond one lesson. She came for that first class at my office. It was great. We continued for five years, eventually moving the weekly classes to her apartment on Pineapple Street in Brooklyn, near the Promenade.
So, here I am today, almost twenty years later, living in Sao Paulo, Brazil, speaking Portuguese with my wife, Cristina, her mother, Irene, and many other Brazilians. "Bom dia. Como vai? Tudo bem?" My fluency is getting better and better. I think Mrs. Young would be proud of me.
Sunday, March 12, 2017
Michigan
Yesterday, Saturday, March 11, 2017, the University of Michigan Wolverines hosted the University of Pennsylvania Quakers in men's lacrosse at Michigan Stadium, otherwise known as "The Big House," in Ann Arbor, Michigan. The home team won, 13 to 12. Over the years, the two schools have rarely competed in intercollegiate sports. Yesterday was an exception. However, back in the academic year 1962-1963, they competed in one of the most important competitions of my life.
The above academic year was my senior year at Oswego High School. No longer needing to study either American History or Latin, my academic load was minimal. That allowed me to concentrate on my college applications to Cornell, Harvard, Brown, Georgia Tech, Case Tech, Brandeis, Penn, and Michigan.
I believe in visiting a college before applying to it. That way, a student can get a sense about whether they would fit in or not. I recall my brother Joel's first time at Dartmouth College was his arrival as a freshman in September of 1950 when I was only five years-old.
My parents were not believers in college visits. Of the eight colleges I applied to, I had only visited two prior to sending out my applications. The first was Penn, my brother Paul's alma mater. I especially remember Thanksgiving of 1958 when we attended the annual home game against Cornell, which the Big Red won, 19-7.
In the spring of 1962, my parents and I drove from Oswego to East Lansing, Michigan to visit my brother Ted who was a student there at Michigan State University. I convinced my parents to pass through nearby Ann Arbor to check out the University of Michigan. As I recall, we just drove through the campus. The only stop we made was in front of Michigan Stadium, which I briefly entered. I was impressed with what I saw of the university.
In the fall of 1962, after all my applications had been mailed, I received a thin yellow envelope, the return address of which was from the University of Michigan. Later, I learned that thin envelopes were usually bad news, containing quick matter-of-fact rejection letters. I received one from both Harvard and Brown. However, without any worry, I opened the above envelope which contained the excellent news that I had been accepted to the freshman class at the University of Michigan. More information would be forthcoming in future larger envelopes.
As Michigan was the first of the eight to respond, I felt joy at having somewhere to go the following year when I would be a high school graduate and free of my mother's very strict rules. I was going to Michigan. I was going to be a Wolverine. I was going to wear the maize and blue. I would sing "Hail to the Victors."
However, the following March (1963), I received a second such envelope, this one a very thick white one from the University of Pennsylvania which announced my acceptance into its freshman class. Penn had been my first choice. Because of my brother Paul, I knew so much more about Penn than any of the other five that accepted me. I also liked that it was located in a big city, Philadelphia, which appealed to me after my years in small town Oswego. I wanted to experience how the other half lived. Ann Arbor was a college town, with a population then of only about 67,000, a larger version of Oswego.
Well, as everyone should know by now, I went to Penn and am happy I did. I got a great education and am a proud alumnus.
However, in the summer of 1967, after my Penn graduation, I moved to suburban Detroit, Michigan where my brother Ted was living. As a result, I met my first wife, Bonita, who was then a senior at the University of Michigan. During the time we dated, I spent a lot of time on the campus and in the city of Ann Arbor. We went to a football game in September at the Big House, where Michigan defeated Duke University, a school I would become familiar with forty years later when I lived in central North Carolina. The score was 10-7.
During Thanksgiving week of 1991, my family and I were visiting Bonita's relatives in suburban Detroit. I convinced my teenage daughter, Rachel, it would be a good idea to take a tour of the nearby University of Michigan campus. Unfortunately, it was a very cold day. Every time, we moved outdoors, Rachel asked when we could go back inside. I was convinced she would never go to Michigan.
However, the next September (1992), a friend invited Rachel to a football weekend at Michigan. She loved it and applied to be a Wolverine. She was accepted and matriculated there the following September of 1993.
In November of 1993, Bonita, my son, Bret, and I traveled to Ann Arbor for Parent's Weekend. Bret and I went to a football game at the Big House against Purdue, which Michigan won, 25-10. In October of 1994, the three of us returned again to visit Rachel. Bret and I sat in the student section for the Michigan State game, which Michigan won, 40-20. Unfortunately, all the students stood the whole game, which was bad for Bret and me.
In December of 1994, Penn's men's basketball team visited Crisler Arena in Ann Arbor to play Michigan. Rachel was at the game, while Bret and I watched on TV from our home in New York. Penn won this time, 62-60.
It was in Rachel's senior year that I got a chance to attend some classes at Michigan. One was a lecture about the Vietnam War, which I recalled from my youth. In a second class, in which both Rachel and I were present (but not sitting together), her professor discussed the civil rights struggle of the 1960s, which I also remembered vividly. I was an active participant in that class.
In April of 1967, we returned to the Big House for Rachel's graduation. I was a proud Michigan parent.
I recently had a dream I was a student at Michigan where I met three of my old friends from Oswego. Strange!
Perhaps the next generation of my family will return to study at the University of Michigan. That would be great.
The above academic year was my senior year at Oswego High School. No longer needing to study either American History or Latin, my academic load was minimal. That allowed me to concentrate on my college applications to Cornell, Harvard, Brown, Georgia Tech, Case Tech, Brandeis, Penn, and Michigan.
I believe in visiting a college before applying to it. That way, a student can get a sense about whether they would fit in or not. I recall my brother Joel's first time at Dartmouth College was his arrival as a freshman in September of 1950 when I was only five years-old.
My parents were not believers in college visits. Of the eight colleges I applied to, I had only visited two prior to sending out my applications. The first was Penn, my brother Paul's alma mater. I especially remember Thanksgiving of 1958 when we attended the annual home game against Cornell, which the Big Red won, 19-7.
In the spring of 1962, my parents and I drove from Oswego to East Lansing, Michigan to visit my brother Ted who was a student there at Michigan State University. I convinced my parents to pass through nearby Ann Arbor to check out the University of Michigan. As I recall, we just drove through the campus. The only stop we made was in front of Michigan Stadium, which I briefly entered. I was impressed with what I saw of the university.
In the fall of 1962, after all my applications had been mailed, I received a thin yellow envelope, the return address of which was from the University of Michigan. Later, I learned that thin envelopes were usually bad news, containing quick matter-of-fact rejection letters. I received one from both Harvard and Brown. However, without any worry, I opened the above envelope which contained the excellent news that I had been accepted to the freshman class at the University of Michigan. More information would be forthcoming in future larger envelopes.
As Michigan was the first of the eight to respond, I felt joy at having somewhere to go the following year when I would be a high school graduate and free of my mother's very strict rules. I was going to Michigan. I was going to be a Wolverine. I was going to wear the maize and blue. I would sing "Hail to the Victors."
However, the following March (1963), I received a second such envelope, this one a very thick white one from the University of Pennsylvania which announced my acceptance into its freshman class. Penn had been my first choice. Because of my brother Paul, I knew so much more about Penn than any of the other five that accepted me. I also liked that it was located in a big city, Philadelphia, which appealed to me after my years in small town Oswego. I wanted to experience how the other half lived. Ann Arbor was a college town, with a population then of only about 67,000, a larger version of Oswego.
Well, as everyone should know by now, I went to Penn and am happy I did. I got a great education and am a proud alumnus.
However, in the summer of 1967, after my Penn graduation, I moved to suburban Detroit, Michigan where my brother Ted was living. As a result, I met my first wife, Bonita, who was then a senior at the University of Michigan. During the time we dated, I spent a lot of time on the campus and in the city of Ann Arbor. We went to a football game in September at the Big House, where Michigan defeated Duke University, a school I would become familiar with forty years later when I lived in central North Carolina. The score was 10-7.
During Thanksgiving week of 1991, my family and I were visiting Bonita's relatives in suburban Detroit. I convinced my teenage daughter, Rachel, it would be a good idea to take a tour of the nearby University of Michigan campus. Unfortunately, it was a very cold day. Every time, we moved outdoors, Rachel asked when we could go back inside. I was convinced she would never go to Michigan.
However, the next September (1992), a friend invited Rachel to a football weekend at Michigan. She loved it and applied to be a Wolverine. She was accepted and matriculated there the following September of 1993.
In November of 1993, Bonita, my son, Bret, and I traveled to Ann Arbor for Parent's Weekend. Bret and I went to a football game at the Big House against Purdue, which Michigan won, 25-10. In October of 1994, the three of us returned again to visit Rachel. Bret and I sat in the student section for the Michigan State game, which Michigan won, 40-20. Unfortunately, all the students stood the whole game, which was bad for Bret and me.
In December of 1994, Penn's men's basketball team visited Crisler Arena in Ann Arbor to play Michigan. Rachel was at the game, while Bret and I watched on TV from our home in New York. Penn won this time, 62-60.
It was in Rachel's senior year that I got a chance to attend some classes at Michigan. One was a lecture about the Vietnam War, which I recalled from my youth. In a second class, in which both Rachel and I were present (but not sitting together), her professor discussed the civil rights struggle of the 1960s, which I also remembered vividly. I was an active participant in that class.
In April of 1967, we returned to the Big House for Rachel's graduation. I was a proud Michigan parent.
I recently had a dream I was a student at Michigan where I met three of my old friends from Oswego. Strange!
Perhaps the next generation of my family will return to study at the University of Michigan. That would be great.
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Elmer Gantry
Burt Lancaster was one of a handful of male movie stars who served as role models for me when I was a young boy. He was strong, virile, and courageous. I wish I could have been more like him in my youth.
I remember watching Burt Lancaster at the Oswego Theater in The Flame and the Arrow (1950), The Crimson Pirate (1952), South Sea Woman (1953), Vera Cruz (1954), Trapeze (1956), Gunfight at the O.K. Corral (1957), Run Silent, Run Deep (1958), and Judgment at Nuremberg (1961). Elsewhere, I saw him in Seven Days in May (1964), The Train (1964), and The Professionals (1966).
Burt Lancaster was born in his parents' house at 209 East 106th Street in the Borough of Manhattan in New York City on November 2, 1913. After being a gymnast at DeWitt Clinton High School, he developed skills as an acrobat and joined the Kay Brothers Circus. Lancaster enlisted in the U.S. Army at the beginning of WWII, after which he returned to New York and took up acting. After performing in only one stage play that lasted just three weeks, he attracted the attention of a Hollywood movie agent, Harold Hecht, with whom he later formed a production company (see May 1, 2016 blog post -- Marty the Movie).
Burt Lancaster's first film, The Killers (1946), is a classic example of film noir and effectively launched his career as a movie star. In it, he portrays The Swede, a man whom two professional killers are sent to murder. As Lancaster said in the film, "I did something wrong...once." Even though he was rubbed out early in the movie (based on a short story written by Ernest Hemingway), he is the leading man (opposite the glamorous Ava Gardner) and appears in the rest of the film in numerous flashbacks.
Burt Lancaster was nominated three times for the Academy Award for Best Actor, but lost: From Here to Eternity (1953 - losing to William Holden in Stalag 17 - see blog post of 4/2/16), Birdman of Alcatraz (1962 - losing to Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird), and Atlantic City (1981 - losing to Henry Fonda in On Golden Pond). However, in 1960, he won his Academy Award for Best Actor as Elmer Gantry.
Elmer Gantry, the movie, was written and directed by Richard Brooks. Besides Burt Lancaster, it starred Jean Simmons and Shirley Jones. In addition to the above Academy Award, Jones won an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress and Brooks won an Academy Award for Best Writing (Screenplay - based on material from another medium - book written by Sinclair Lewis). The film was also nominated for the Academy Award for Best Picture but lost to The Apartment (see my blog post, Shut Up and Deal, January 1, 2017).
The character Elmer Gantry "is a hard-drinking, fast talking traveling salesman with a charismatic personality." One day in the late 1920s, he enters the tent of the traveling evangelist, Sister Sharon Falconer (Simmons). Gantry is attracted to her and uses his cunning to join her entourage. He eventually becomes her confidante and lover. Falconer's rise to the top of her profession is shattered when Gantry is blackmailed by a prostitute (Jones) who was his former lover. Everything Falconer and Gantry worked for comes crashing down when their tent becomes engulfed in flames.
My favorite scene in the movie is when Gantry confronts Sharon about his true feelings for her.
Gantry: You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you. It’s you I want, Sharon. No one else.
I want you so bad, I’m in pain half the time. I would like to tear those holy wings off you
and make a real woman out of you. I’d
show you what heaven was like. No golden
stairways or harp music or silvery clouds.
Just ecstacy! Coming and
going!
Sharon: Do you really think I’m competing for your
glorious body?
Gantry: You’re damn right you are. Every woman competes with every other woman
for every man. The truth, Sharon. You want it.
You want it just as much as I do.
You want it with me. When are you
going to make up your mind to take it?
Sadly, Burt Lancaster died on October 20, 1994 (at age 80) as a result of his third heart attack. His body was cremated and, at his request, there was no funeral nor memorial service (all similar to my brother Ted).
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