Saturday night finds Burt spending the evening at Libby's...as usual. Her mom makes hamburgers and french fries...as usual. Afterwards, Burt and Libby sit on the couch (Dottie is upstairs knitting) watching television and eating popcorn...as usual. At 9 PM Your Show of Shows comes on...as usual, a live program featuring a variety of comedic skits starring Sid Caesar, Imogene Coca, Carl Reiner and Howard Morris, among others. Burt and Libby laugh a lot...as usual.
After dropping off Burt, Harvey drives to the house of his girlfriend, Anne. Every Saturday night she cooks him a wonderful dinner, just what he wants, a big, thick steak, well done with boiled potatoes. Anne makes herself a smaller steak, medium. It wasn't as if Harvey didn't want to take her out, but she prefers to stay at home.
Anne is a comely woman about Harvey's age. She is an only child who never married. A music teacher by profession (with a grand piano at home), Anne almost never needs to go out.
"I love the way you cook my steak, Anne. There isn't a restaurant in town that can touch you. But once in a while I'd like take you out."
"Thanks. I'd like to accept your offer, but..."
Another voice is heard, a faint one from upstairs, calling out for "mommy."
"Excuse me, Harvey, I'll be right back."
It's Anne's mother, who is bedridden and whose mind is gone.
When she returns, Harvey can't resist saying what he has said to her before.
"Anne, you deserve more. Your mother, the woman who raised you, the woman you feel compelled to take care of is dead. That shell of a human being upstairs is not your mother. She is occupying the body of your mother, but not her mind nor her soul. She doesn't even know your name. She thinks you are her mother. If you need help putting her in an institution, I can do that. You can have a life, deserve a life. Now you are chained to her and this house. It is such a waste."
"I appreciate what you say, but I cannot abandon my mother. That woman upstairs is still my mother."
Later, Harvey arrives in front of Libby's house and honks the horn of his car. Within seconds, Burt is out the door, running to join his father.
Sunday, December 30, 2018
Sunday, December 23, 2018
D. C.
Article 1, Section 8 of the United States Constitution authorizes Congress "to exercise exclusive legislation in all cases whatsoever over such district as may become the seat of the government of the United States." This was considered important as James Madison wrote in the Federalist No. 43, "the national capital needed to be distinct from the States."
At the time of the ratification of the United States Constitution in June of 1788, the national capital was in the City of New York and the State of New York. This would just be temporary.
A compromise was reached among the leadership of the new republic (James Madison, Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton) that the federal capital be located along the Potomac River between the states of Maryland and Virginia.
"On December 23, 1788 (230 years ago today), the Maryland General Assembly passed an act, allowing it to cede land to the federal district. The Virginia General Assembly followed suit on December 3, 1789." President George Washington signed the federal Residence Act on July 16, 1790 authorizing the establishment of a permanent seat of government.
On September 9, 1791, the three commissioners (Thomas Johnson, Daniel Carroll and David Stuart) who were supervising the construction of the new capital city agreed to name it after the first president. The District was named Columbia which was a poetic name for the United States in common use at the time.
The second president of the United States, John Adams, was the first occupant of the White House on November 1, 1800. The first legislative session at the new Capital Building occurred 16 days later. Sadly, George Washington, whose mandate ended March 4, 1797, was not there for these memorable days. He died December 14, 1799 at the age of sixty-seven.
When Brazil became independent in 1822, its capital was the City of Rio de Janeiro in the State of Rio de Janeiro. Similar to the United States, it decided to build a new city, named Brasilia, which became its capital in 1960 and is located in the center-western region of the country, in a district separate from any state.
At the time of the ratification of the United States Constitution in June of 1788, the national capital was in the City of New York and the State of New York. This would just be temporary.
A compromise was reached among the leadership of the new republic (James Madison, Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton) that the federal capital be located along the Potomac River between the states of Maryland and Virginia.
"On December 23, 1788 (230 years ago today), the Maryland General Assembly passed an act, allowing it to cede land to the federal district. The Virginia General Assembly followed suit on December 3, 1789." President George Washington signed the federal Residence Act on July 16, 1790 authorizing the establishment of a permanent seat of government.
On September 9, 1791, the three commissioners (Thomas Johnson, Daniel Carroll and David Stuart) who were supervising the construction of the new capital city agreed to name it after the first president. The District was named Columbia which was a poetic name for the United States in common use at the time.
The second president of the United States, John Adams, was the first occupant of the White House on November 1, 1800. The first legislative session at the new Capital Building occurred 16 days later. Sadly, George Washington, whose mandate ended March 4, 1797, was not there for these memorable days. He died December 14, 1799 at the age of sixty-seven.
When Brazil became independent in 1822, its capital was the City of Rio de Janeiro in the State of Rio de Janeiro. Similar to the United States, it decided to build a new city, named Brasilia, which became its capital in 1960 and is located in the center-western region of the country, in a district separate from any state.
Sunday, December 16, 2018
Black Baseball Players
When I was born in 1945, there were no black baseball players in the American nor National Leagues. Why? They weren't good enough? No. It was simply the belief that blacks and whites shouldn't or couldn't play together on the same field at the same time. In other words, prejudice.
Speaking of prejudice, my parents consistently used the word "schvartze" when referring to black people. They said it only meant black in Yiddish, but I could sense in the way they said the word it meant something more. Would I learn this from them?
Segregation in baseball changed forever in 1947 when Branch Rickey, an owner (and General Manager) of the Brooklyn Dodgers of the National League, decided on a novel way to improve his ball club. He would hire a black ballplayer by the name of Jackie Robinson. Rickey knew he needed not only a good player, but also one who could handle the "harsh criticism from fans, other players, and ever his own teammates."
Jackie Robinson had such a successful year in 1947 he was voted Rookie of the Year. He continued playing with the Dodgers for 10 years before retiring in 1956. Jackie Robinson is in the Baseball Hall of Fame.
In 1964, I attended a speech Jackie Robinson gave on the Penn campus regarding civil rights in America. Afterwards, he gave me his autograph which I treasured for many years, especially after he died in 1972 at the age of 53. Years later I gave the autograph to my son Bret. I wonder where it is?
Also in 1947, Bill Veeck, owner of the Cleveland Indians of the American League, signed another black baseball player, Larry Doby. Three of his teammates refused to shake his hand, so Veeck got rid of them. Two years later, the Indians added a second black player, Luke Easter.
In 1957, I was at a minor league baseball game in Rochester, New York sitting behind the third base dugout (compliments of my Aunt Doris who had season tickets). The same Luke Easter was playing for the visiting team and had just cracked his bat. At the end of the inning, the equipment manager rose to the top of the dugout and offered me the damaged bat. I kept it for 5 years until my mother gave it away...without asking me.
In 1951, the New York Giants promoted a 20 year-old black ballplayer named Willie Mays. After making out his first 12 times at bat, Mays hit a home run and his statistics started to blossom. Like Jackie Robinson, he too was voted Rookie of the Year.
Since Willie Mays was the new sensation on my favorite team in my favorite sport, he became my favorite player, my sports idol to this day. I remember how thrilled I was seeing him in person for the first time at old Connie Mack Stadium in Philadelphia in 1964. Another time I saw Willie Mays hit one of his 660 home runs. He is considered one of the greatest players of all time and is also in the Baseball Hall of Fame.
In 1956, the old Milwaukee Braves added a black player named Wes Covington. His 45 home runs and 139 runs batted in (RBIs) were instrumental in their winning the National League pennant in both 1957 and 1958.
I met Wes Covington on June 30, 1960 when he was a member of the Havana Sugar Kings (minor league) baseball team. They were staying at the same hotel in Rochester where my brother Joel married my sister-in-law Judy. I'll never forget how a 28 year-old professional baseball player made a 14 year-old fan feel relaxed as we freely conversed for some minutes in the lobby.
I am sure the decisions of Branch Rickey, Bill Veeck and others admitting black baseball players to the Major Leagues affected my attitude toward minorities, civil rights and equal treatment to all in America. These men deserve a lot of credit for how they changed me and my country for the better.
Speaking of prejudice, my parents consistently used the word "schvartze" when referring to black people. They said it only meant black in Yiddish, but I could sense in the way they said the word it meant something more. Would I learn this from them?
Segregation in baseball changed forever in 1947 when Branch Rickey, an owner (and General Manager) of the Brooklyn Dodgers of the National League, decided on a novel way to improve his ball club. He would hire a black ballplayer by the name of Jackie Robinson. Rickey knew he needed not only a good player, but also one who could handle the "harsh criticism from fans, other players, and ever his own teammates."
Jackie Robinson had such a successful year in 1947 he was voted Rookie of the Year. He continued playing with the Dodgers for 10 years before retiring in 1956. Jackie Robinson is in the Baseball Hall of Fame.
In 1964, I attended a speech Jackie Robinson gave on the Penn campus regarding civil rights in America. Afterwards, he gave me his autograph which I treasured for many years, especially after he died in 1972 at the age of 53. Years later I gave the autograph to my son Bret. I wonder where it is?
Also in 1947, Bill Veeck, owner of the Cleveland Indians of the American League, signed another black baseball player, Larry Doby. Three of his teammates refused to shake his hand, so Veeck got rid of them. Two years later, the Indians added a second black player, Luke Easter.
In 1957, I was at a minor league baseball game in Rochester, New York sitting behind the third base dugout (compliments of my Aunt Doris who had season tickets). The same Luke Easter was playing for the visiting team and had just cracked his bat. At the end of the inning, the equipment manager rose to the top of the dugout and offered me the damaged bat. I kept it for 5 years until my mother gave it away...without asking me.
In 1951, the New York Giants promoted a 20 year-old black ballplayer named Willie Mays. After making out his first 12 times at bat, Mays hit a home run and his statistics started to blossom. Like Jackie Robinson, he too was voted Rookie of the Year.
Since Willie Mays was the new sensation on my favorite team in my favorite sport, he became my favorite player, my sports idol to this day. I remember how thrilled I was seeing him in person for the first time at old Connie Mack Stadium in Philadelphia in 1964. Another time I saw Willie Mays hit one of his 660 home runs. He is considered one of the greatest players of all time and is also in the Baseball Hall of Fame.
In 1956, the old Milwaukee Braves added a black player named Wes Covington. His 45 home runs and 139 runs batted in (RBIs) were instrumental in their winning the National League pennant in both 1957 and 1958.
I met Wes Covington on June 30, 1960 when he was a member of the Havana Sugar Kings (minor league) baseball team. They were staying at the same hotel in Rochester where my brother Joel married my sister-in-law Judy. I'll never forget how a 28 year-old professional baseball player made a 14 year-old fan feel relaxed as we freely conversed for some minutes in the lobby.
I am sure the decisions of Branch Rickey, Bill Veeck and others admitting black baseball players to the Major Leagues affected my attitude toward minorities, civil rights and equal treatment to all in America. These men deserve a lot of credit for how they changed me and my country for the better.
Sunday, December 9, 2018
Whiskey Sour
A whiskey sour is a mixed drink containing 1 1/2 ounces of either bourbon or rye whiskey, 3/4 of an ounce of fresh lemon juice and 3/4 of an ounce of a mixture of equal parts water and sugar.
On the rare occasions in my youth when my parents played hosts and a mixed drink was called for, this is how we made whiskey sours: empty a can of frozen lemonade into a pitcher, add 1 can of rye whiskey and 1 can of water. Stir and pour.
Based upon my limited experience with mixed drinks, a whiskey sour became my favorite cocktail when I became an adult. Whenever we went to a restaurant and/or someone suggested an alcoholic beverage, I would ask for a whiskey sour. Almost never a beer and never a glass of wine.
This all changed one day in 1991. My ex-wife Bonita, my daughter Rachel, my son Bret and I were in Ithaca, one of the loveliest towns in upstate New York, near Lake Cayuga, one of the Finger Lakes. We were there to visit Cornell University, which I believe has the most beautiful college campus in America.
We were visiting Cornell as part of an important task, on behalf of my teenage daughter, to visit various campuses of the colleges she was considering applying to. By actually being on a campus (as opposed to reading about it or seeing pictures of it), she could make a better decision when the time came as to which college she would choose.
I had been to Cornell twice before. In 1964 and 1966, as a Penn student, I went there for football games at Schoellkopf Field between the two Ivy League rivals. Neither game ended well.
On this visit in 1991, we drove about 240 miles from our home in New York City to Ithaca. After touring the campus, which made a good impression on all, we looked for a restaurant in town where we could have dinner. We chose Joe's Italian Restaurant because we all love Italian food.
While waiting for our dinners, I ordered a whiskey sour. It was the most delicious whiskey sour I had ever had in my life. So, I ordered a second one. Big mistake!
By the end of our dinner at Joe's, I was drunk. Walking from the restaurant to our car required assistance from both Bonita and Rachel. Needless to say, I did not drive back to our motel. I needed to sleep it off.
As a result of this experience, I avoided whiskey sours for more than 25 years. Recently, my wife Cristina and I were in a restaurant here in Sao Paulo and I saw whiskey sour on a list of cocktails available. I became nostalgic. As Cristina had never had one, we shared a whiskey sour. It brought back memories of Joe's Italian Restaurant in Ithaca. This time I did not order a second.
On the rare occasions in my youth when my parents played hosts and a mixed drink was called for, this is how we made whiskey sours: empty a can of frozen lemonade into a pitcher, add 1 can of rye whiskey and 1 can of water. Stir and pour.
Based upon my limited experience with mixed drinks, a whiskey sour became my favorite cocktail when I became an adult. Whenever we went to a restaurant and/or someone suggested an alcoholic beverage, I would ask for a whiskey sour. Almost never a beer and never a glass of wine.
This all changed one day in 1991. My ex-wife Bonita, my daughter Rachel, my son Bret and I were in Ithaca, one of the loveliest towns in upstate New York, near Lake Cayuga, one of the Finger Lakes. We were there to visit Cornell University, which I believe has the most beautiful college campus in America.
We were visiting Cornell as part of an important task, on behalf of my teenage daughter, to visit various campuses of the colleges she was considering applying to. By actually being on a campus (as opposed to reading about it or seeing pictures of it), she could make a better decision when the time came as to which college she would choose.
I had been to Cornell twice before. In 1964 and 1966, as a Penn student, I went there for football games at Schoellkopf Field between the two Ivy League rivals. Neither game ended well.
On this visit in 1991, we drove about 240 miles from our home in New York City to Ithaca. After touring the campus, which made a good impression on all, we looked for a restaurant in town where we could have dinner. We chose Joe's Italian Restaurant because we all love Italian food.
While waiting for our dinners, I ordered a whiskey sour. It was the most delicious whiskey sour I had ever had in my life. So, I ordered a second one. Big mistake!
By the end of our dinner at Joe's, I was drunk. Walking from the restaurant to our car required assistance from both Bonita and Rachel. Needless to say, I did not drive back to our motel. I needed to sleep it off.
As a result of this experience, I avoided whiskey sours for more than 25 years. Recently, my wife Cristina and I were in a restaurant here in Sao Paulo and I saw whiskey sour on a list of cocktails available. I became nostalgic. As Cristina had never had one, we shared a whiskey sour. It brought back memories of Joe's Italian Restaurant in Ithaca. This time I did not order a second.
Saturday, December 1, 2018
The Killers
In 1927, the great American writer Ernest Hemingway sold a short story he wrote entitled The Killers to Scribner's Magazine. It was about two professionals who come to a small town to murder an ex-pugilist named Ole. They expected to find him at a diner he frequented, but he didn't show. They leave and look for Ole. A friend who was at the diner runs to his boarding house. Ole stoically receives the news of his impending assassination.
In 1946, Mark Hellinger (The Naked City post) produced the movie version of The Killers. It was directed by Robert Siodmak. The wonderful music was composed by Miklos Rozsa.
The first twelve minutes, forty seconds of the movie version of The Killers is an adaptation of Hemingway's short story. The remainder is the creation of the writer Anthony Veiller, who was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Screenplay, but lost to Robert Sherwood for The Best Years of Our Lives.
Al (Charles McGraw) and Max (William Conrad) enter Henry's Diner in Brentwood, New Jersey just before 6 PM, but from separate entrances. They sit together at the counter and order sandwiches. They talk to George (Harry Hayden), the counterman, and Nick (Phil Brown), a customer, in a threatening manner. Finally, they show their true colors and announce they are there to kill the Swede, who is expected to arrive shortly.
While Al ties up Nick and Sam (Bill Walker), the cook, in the kitchen, Max watches over George in the front of the diner. But, why kill the Swede asks George? What had he done to them?
"He never had a chance to do anything to us. He never even seen us."
"Why you gonna kill him for?"
I love the next line delivered by Max which was written by Hemingway.
"We're killing him for a friend."
George then convinces Al and Max that since the Swede hadn't arrived by 6 PM, he wouldn't come. That was his routine. The two killers leave the diner to look for their victim.
George tells Nick to go to the Swede's boarding house to alert him of his approaching doom. When he arrives, the Swede (Burt Lancaster in his first movie) is lying on his bed in a sleeveless undershirt and pants. He receives the news soberly. When Nick asks why they want to kill him, the Swede responds with one of my favorite movie lines (which was not written by Hemingway).
"I did something wrong...once."
Nick leaves feeling helpless. Shortly after, Al and Max arrive and do their job efficiently. Hemingway loved what they did with his short story.
In 1946, Mark Hellinger (The Naked City post) produced the movie version of The Killers. It was directed by Robert Siodmak. The wonderful music was composed by Miklos Rozsa.
The first twelve minutes, forty seconds of the movie version of The Killers is an adaptation of Hemingway's short story. The remainder is the creation of the writer Anthony Veiller, who was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Screenplay, but lost to Robert Sherwood for The Best Years of Our Lives.
Al (Charles McGraw) and Max (William Conrad) enter Henry's Diner in Brentwood, New Jersey just before 6 PM, but from separate entrances. They sit together at the counter and order sandwiches. They talk to George (Harry Hayden), the counterman, and Nick (Phil Brown), a customer, in a threatening manner. Finally, they show their true colors and announce they are there to kill the Swede, who is expected to arrive shortly.
While Al ties up Nick and Sam (Bill Walker), the cook, in the kitchen, Max watches over George in the front of the diner. But, why kill the Swede asks George? What had he done to them?
"He never had a chance to do anything to us. He never even seen us."
"Why you gonna kill him for?"
I love the next line delivered by Max which was written by Hemingway.
"We're killing him for a friend."
George then convinces Al and Max that since the Swede hadn't arrived by 6 PM, he wouldn't come. That was his routine. The two killers leave the diner to look for their victim.
George tells Nick to go to the Swede's boarding house to alert him of his approaching doom. When he arrives, the Swede (Burt Lancaster in his first movie) is lying on his bed in a sleeveless undershirt and pants. He receives the news soberly. When Nick asks why they want to kill him, the Swede responds with one of my favorite movie lines (which was not written by Hemingway).
"I did something wrong...once."
Nick leaves feeling helpless. Shortly after, Al and Max arrive and do their job efficiently. Hemingway loved what they did with his short story.
Saturday, November 24, 2018
The Year 1952, Chapter 5
Harvey Larson arrives home a little after 9 PM on the first Friday of September 1952. He is famished, but he knows there will be warm leftovers ready for him in the oven.
Because of the fight at school today, Burt is not hovering around his father, but is staying away without being too obvious. He sits in front of the television watching The Aldrich Family, a situation-comedy about a teenage boy named Henry. It immediately precedes and is on the same channel as The Friday Night Fights which go on at 10 PM.
At about 9:50, Harvey finishes his dinner and joins his son in front of the television. After a few minutes he notices something on Burt's face.
"Hey, is that a bruise below your left eye?"
"Nothing much."
"How did it get there?"
"Well, I got into a small fight today before school."
"You can't do that. We can't afford to offend anybody. They could take their milk business elsewhere. Do you understand how that could affect the roof over our heads and the food on our table?"
"I do."
"What was it about?"
"A kid at school named Carl was picking on Libby. I asked him to stop and he punched me. I hit him back. I don't think he'll bother either of us again."
"Next time, let Libby fight her own battles. And let there not be a next for you. Promise me or you go to bed right now."
"I promise."
At 10 PM, boxing comes on television live from Madison Square Garden in New York City. Over 4,000 fans are there to watch welterweight contenders Bobby Dykes (24 years-old) from Miami Beach and Gil Turner (22 years-old) from Philadelphia.
Dykes is the veteran with 86 wins. Turner has only 32 fights, but has lost only one, that to the champion, Kid Gavilan. Turns out Dykes has lost to him, as well.
Whomever Harvey chooses to root for, Burt, in their unannounced rivalry, chooses the other. Sometimes, Harvey went for experience, sometimes youth. But, he almost always goes for the white guy, if there is a white guy. Why is that? Maybe because Harvey is a white guy. Well, tonight's white guy is Dykes.
In the fifth round of a very close contest, Turner knocks Dykes through the ropes and out of the ring. Instead of being the end, it becomes a turning point. Dykes, who had been losing, regains the initiative. After ten rounds, the three judges take over. All three vote 5 rounds to 4, with one round even. However, two of the three judges vote for Dykes.
Harvey is all smiles as his man wins...again. He seems to be showing his son, that again, he knows best. Both Burt and his man Gil Turner go to bed that night very disappointed. For Burt, there has to be a day of reckoning with his father...soon.
Because of the fight at school today, Burt is not hovering around his father, but is staying away without being too obvious. He sits in front of the television watching The Aldrich Family, a situation-comedy about a teenage boy named Henry. It immediately precedes and is on the same channel as The Friday Night Fights which go on at 10 PM.
At about 9:50, Harvey finishes his dinner and joins his son in front of the television. After a few minutes he notices something on Burt's face.
"Hey, is that a bruise below your left eye?"
"Nothing much."
"How did it get there?"
"Well, I got into a small fight today before school."
"You can't do that. We can't afford to offend anybody. They could take their milk business elsewhere. Do you understand how that could affect the roof over our heads and the food on our table?"
"I do."
"What was it about?"
"A kid at school named Carl was picking on Libby. I asked him to stop and he punched me. I hit him back. I don't think he'll bother either of us again."
"Next time, let Libby fight her own battles. And let there not be a next for you. Promise me or you go to bed right now."
"I promise."
At 10 PM, boxing comes on television live from Madison Square Garden in New York City. Over 4,000 fans are there to watch welterweight contenders Bobby Dykes (24 years-old) from Miami Beach and Gil Turner (22 years-old) from Philadelphia.
Dykes is the veteran with 86 wins. Turner has only 32 fights, but has lost only one, that to the champion, Kid Gavilan. Turns out Dykes has lost to him, as well.
Whomever Harvey chooses to root for, Burt, in their unannounced rivalry, chooses the other. Sometimes, Harvey went for experience, sometimes youth. But, he almost always goes for the white guy, if there is a white guy. Why is that? Maybe because Harvey is a white guy. Well, tonight's white guy is Dykes.
In the fifth round of a very close contest, Turner knocks Dykes through the ropes and out of the ring. Instead of being the end, it becomes a turning point. Dykes, who had been losing, regains the initiative. After ten rounds, the three judges take over. All three vote 5 rounds to 4, with one round even. However, two of the three judges vote for Dykes.
Harvey is all smiles as his man wins...again. He seems to be showing his son, that again, he knows best. Both Burt and his man Gil Turner go to bed that night very disappointed. For Burt, there has to be a day of reckoning with his father...soon.
Saturday, November 17, 2018
Why an Accountant?
Before moving to Brazil at the end of May 2013, I had worked in the USA as an accountant for forty years. I was as an Auditor for Ernst & Ernst, a Federal Tax Manager for Joseph E. Seagram & Sons, Inc., an Accountant for the Anti-Defamation League and a Cost Analyst for the Office of Sponsored Research at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.
Why did I take this career path? Why an accountant? In the beginning, it should have been an obvious choice. My father started out as a bookkeeper, a basic form of accounting. But he never encouraged this for his son. However, he did utter these immortal words, "Happiness is a well paying job." Really? But I took his advice.
When I was heading to college, I applied (and was accepted) as an engineering student, probably because my brother Paul did the same and I didn't want to be a doctor as my mother had hoped. But in my last term in high school, I was having difficulty with Chemistry. Ironically, it turned out great. I believe I got the highest mark in the Regents exam at OHS that year. Thanks for your help, Mr. Reed.
Anyway, one day in May 1963, because of Chemistry, I drove to Penn and was easily able to switch from Engineering to Business. Why Business? Probably because of my father (President and General Manager of a local dairy).
In my second year at Penn, I was required to take a basic course in Accounting. As a morning person, I signed up for the 8 AM class, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. The professor was in his 40s and looked physically fit in his three-piece suit on his way (at 9 AM) to his real job. He was a practicing CPA-tax attorney and a former Marine (I think he included this in his background to be intimidating) who enjoyed teaching one accounting section each year. I wish I remembered his name. He encouraged me, by his energetic example, to take that path to accounting.
Officially, we were Section #1 and the professor wanted us to be the #1 group of accounting students (based upon our test scores on department-wide exams). He demanded we show up at 8 AM and begin the class on time. He always took attendance and if you were not in your seat at 8:00 he gave you a half an absence. If not there by 8:05, a full absence. Four absences and you failed the course. So, we had excellent attendance from the very beginning of the semester.
If you like numbers and logic and solving problems, you will like studying basic double entry accounting, which is what we did in that course. I liked it right away. The way the professor presented the material was stimulating. At the end of the year, I was so enthusiastic I chose to be an Accounting major.
Over the next two years, I took four more accounting classes from four different professors. None of them came close to matching the teaching ability of my first one. As a matter of fact, two of them made the subject matter quite boring. But I persevered because of my first professor.
However, I have learned from my years in the accounting field that the most satisfaction I got from being an accountant was the people I worked with. In this regard, I would like to thank the late Marty Kolins, Joe Giordano, Delferine Spooner and Kevin Maynor.
Sunday, November 11, 2018
The Great War
On June 28, 1914, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and his wife Sophie, were assassinated in Sarajevo, Bosnia by Gavrilo Princip, a Serbian nationalist. The reason was his opposition to the Austro-Hungarian Empire ruling over parts of the Balkans, in south-eastern Europe.
Austria-Hungary blamed the Serbian government for the attack.
Austria-Hungary blamed the Serbian government for the attack.
The Russian Empire supported Serbia. Germany was an ally of Austria-Hungary. France and Great Britain were allies of Russia. In August 1914, with each side having long been preparing, the Great War began. It was not until World War II that it became known as World War I.
During the 1916 US presidential campaign, the Democratic Party used the slogan, "He (President Woodrow Wilson) kept us out of war." This was significant because German submarines had attacked cruise ships travelling the high seas around Great Britain, their enemy.
In April of 1915, a German submarine sank the British cruise ship, Lusitania, near the British coast after having left New York. Almost 1,200 people perished in the attack, including many Americans. Prior to its departure, the German Embassy in Washington published a warning to travelers on ships flying the British flag found to be in waters around Great Britain did so at great risk. In fact, material to support its war effort was put on the Lusitania in New York by the British government.
Obviously, there was a great anti-German outcry in the USA as a result of the Lusitania. However, the Wilson administration successfully pressured the German government "to suspend unrestricted submarine warfare."
In November of 1916, Wilson won re-election. Early in 1917, Germany again started attacking neutral shipping (which could be carrying valuable cargo to its enemy) in areas around Great Britain. Five American merchant ships were sunk. American public opinion shifted to favoring war. On April 2, 1917, President Wilson asked Congress for a declaration of war against Germany, which would "make the world safe for democracy." Really? Such a war would be "a war to end war." Really?
By this time, the Great War had been going on for three bloody years with no military victory in sight. It was a stalemate with German, French and British armies facing each other across trenches in western Europe. Germany feared the entry of thousands of fresh American troops could tip the balance against it.
Before things got worse, Germany launched an offensive in the spring of 1918. Its army pushed the front westward to within 75 miles of Paris. The French capital was shelled forcing some residents to flee. However, the offensive stalled. British, French and American forces (the Allies) started pushing the Germans back to where they had started before their offensive began.
In the summer of 1918, Allied forces launched their own campaign which kept pushing the Germans further and further back. Finally, on November 11, 1918 (100 years ago today), an armistice was signed signaling a German surrender and an end to the Great War. US involvement won the war but the US suffered over 300,000 casualties in one year of fighting. Was it worth it?
A final peace treaty (The Treaty of Versailles) was signed on June 28, 1919 (5 years after the assassination). It required Germany "to disarm, make ample territorial concessions, and make reparations." This German humiliation and its aftermath led to the rise of the Third Reich a mere fourteen years later. Twenty years after the above treaty was signed, Europe was at war again.
America's entry into the Great War "most likely foreclosed the possibility of a negotiated peace among belligerent powers that were exhausted from years mired in trench warfare." How the history of the world would have been different had America stayed home we'll never know.
Sunday, November 4, 2018
Anatomy of a Murder
In Thelma and Louise (October 7, 2018 post), I discussed alternatives to their fleeing the scene after Louise kills Harlan. She was responding to his obscenities after he tried to rape Thelma. Could there be a legal justification for what she did?
In Otto Preminger's 1959 courtroom drama, Anatomy of a Murder, we may have an answer. The film was nominated for 7 Academy Awards including Best Picture (won by Ben-Hur), but won none.
In the movie, defense lawyer Paul Biegler (James Stewart, nominated for Academy Award for Best Actor, but lost to Charlton Heston in Ben-Hur) is hired by Frederick Manion (Ben Gazzara), a U.S. Army officer, who is accused of murdering Barney Quill, an innkeeper in Thunder Bay, Michigan (Upper Peninsula). He admits shooting Quill, but only after Quill raped his wife, Laura (Lee Remick).
Laura had been at the bar in Quill's Inn (her husband was home asleep) drinking and playing the pinball machine (while swishing her hips). After driving Laura near her home, Quill rapes her. Laura wakes up her husband and tells him what happened. He goes to the bar and shoots Quill.
Biegler tells Manion his only hope for a not guilty verdict is temporary insanity. Biegler uses the argument that Manion "may be eligible for a defense of irresistible impulse (M'Naghten rule), a form of temporary insanity." This means the accused could not control their behavior even when they knew it was wrong.
The prosecution, led by State Attorney Claude Dancer (George C. Scott, nominated for Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor, but lost to Hugh Griffith in Ben-Hur), at first tries to prevent the alleged rape from being introduced by the defense since it is unproven. Thus, Manion would lack a motive for killing Quill.
Eventually, Judge Weaver (Joseph Welch - Cowardly Acts post on October 14, 2018) allows the alleged rape into the record. Then the prosecution claims the sex was consensual, which again hurts the defense.
Near the end of the trial, a witness comes forward to corroborate the rape accusation which again helps the defense. She is Mary Pilant (Kathryn Grant), Quill's manager of the inn who has inherited it after his death. She found the missing panties (in the hotel laundry) that had been worn by Laura Manion the night of the rape.
In Otto Preminger's 1959 courtroom drama, Anatomy of a Murder, we may have an answer. The film was nominated for 7 Academy Awards including Best Picture (won by Ben-Hur), but won none.
In the movie, defense lawyer Paul Biegler (James Stewart, nominated for Academy Award for Best Actor, but lost to Charlton Heston in Ben-Hur) is hired by Frederick Manion (Ben Gazzara), a U.S. Army officer, who is accused of murdering Barney Quill, an innkeeper in Thunder Bay, Michigan (Upper Peninsula). He admits shooting Quill, but only after Quill raped his wife, Laura (Lee Remick).
Laura had been at the bar in Quill's Inn (her husband was home asleep) drinking and playing the pinball machine (while swishing her hips). After driving Laura near her home, Quill rapes her. Laura wakes up her husband and tells him what happened. He goes to the bar and shoots Quill.
Biegler tells Manion his only hope for a not guilty verdict is temporary insanity. Biegler uses the argument that Manion "may be eligible for a defense of irresistible impulse (M'Naghten rule), a form of temporary insanity." This means the accused could not control their behavior even when they knew it was wrong.
The prosecution, led by State Attorney Claude Dancer (George C. Scott, nominated for Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor, but lost to Hugh Griffith in Ben-Hur), at first tries to prevent the alleged rape from being introduced by the defense since it is unproven. Thus, Manion would lack a motive for killing Quill.
Eventually, Judge Weaver (Joseph Welch - Cowardly Acts post on October 14, 2018) allows the alleged rape into the record. Then the prosecution claims the sex was consensual, which again hurts the defense.
Near the end of the trial, a witness comes forward to corroborate the rape accusation which again helps the defense. She is Mary Pilant (Kathryn Grant), Quill's manager of the inn who has inherited it after his death. She found the missing panties (in the hotel laundry) that had been worn by Laura Manion the night of the rape.
It was "common knowledge" around Thunder Bay that Mary was Quill's mistress. On cross-examination, Dancer tries to discredit Mary's testimony by strongly suggesting her belief Quill raped Laura Manion was motivated by jealousy. Shocked by this accusation, she tries to respond.
"Barney Quill was my..."
Dancer presses forward right in her face, "Barney Quill was what?"
Mary then completes her sentence, "Barney Quill was my father."
Dancer is struck dumb. A lawyer should never ask a question to which he doesn't know the answer. Quill and his illegitimate daughter had kept the true nature of their relationship a secret for years.
How did this new evidence affect the jury? We don't know for sure, but Frederick Manion was found not guilty. Maybe with irresistible impulse, Louise could have earned the same verdict for killing Harlan.
"Barney Quill was my..."
Dancer presses forward right in her face, "Barney Quill was what?"
Mary then completes her sentence, "Barney Quill was my father."
Dancer is struck dumb. A lawyer should never ask a question to which he doesn't know the answer. Quill and his illegitimate daughter had kept the true nature of their relationship a secret for years.
How did this new evidence affect the jury? We don't know for sure, but Frederick Manion was found not guilty. Maybe with irresistible impulse, Louise could have earned the same verdict for killing Harlan.
I recently (2022) read the book (same title) written by Robert Traver which was the basis for the movie. Important differences between the movie and the book were the Laura Manion's panties found by Mary Pilant and that Barney Quill was not Mary Pilant's father. Give credit to Otto Preminger, the director, and Wendell Mayes, the screenwriter.
Sunday, October 28, 2018
The Year 1952, Chapter 4
Libby Collins, a pretty girl with short, reddish brown hair who just turned thirteen on the first of the month, sits near the window of her home anxiously awaiting the arrival of her cousin, Burt. From here, they will make a 15 minute walk to their middle school, talking and laughing. This is a practice they had been doing every school day for as long they could remember.
Libby's father, Eddie, was Molly Larson's younger brother. He married his high school sweetheart, Dottie, right after graduation in 1937. Two years later, just a month after Burt, Libby was born. A few months after Pearl Harbor, Eddie was drafted into the US Navy. A year later, he was killed by a Japanese torpedo attack in the Pacific.
Libby and Burt both grew up without a parent of the opposite sex. Living close together and without much of any other family, they grew close. They are more than cousins.
When Libby finally sees Burt approaching her home, she yells out to her mother she is leaving. She grabs her school books and runs out the door. They meet in front of the house and head to school.
Just as they arrive in front of the school, Carl, another kid from their class, sees them approaching. He is one year older than the rest of his classmates, having been left behind a year some years ago. He isn't stupid. He just doesn't try. Outside of school, Carl is a trouble maker, occasionally picking fights on the playground. He approaches Libby.
"Hey, Libby, what are you doing with this loser? You could do so much better."
"Yeah, like who? You? Don't make me laugh."
"I'm willing to do you a big favor. Not that you deserve it."
At this point, Burt has had enough of this conversation.
"Knock it off, Carl. Leave her alone."
"Really. And who's going to make me? You and what girl scout troop?"
"Just me, Carl."
At that moment Burt and Carl stand face to face waiting for someone to make the first move. A small group of other children start crowding around them waiting for something exciting to happen.
Finally, Carl, looking for some action and having waited long enough, cocks his right fist and thrusts it towards Burt's face landing just below his left eye. At almost the same instant, Burt's right fist strikes Carl's left jaw. Carl wobbles back a bit from the force of the blow. He quickly recovers and is about to throw another punch, but decides against it.
"Had enough, Carl?"
"Another time, another place. This isn't over."
The school bell rings and all enter the building. Libby holds tight to Burt's arm as they enter together.
Libby's father, Eddie, was Molly Larson's younger brother. He married his high school sweetheart, Dottie, right after graduation in 1937. Two years later, just a month after Burt, Libby was born. A few months after Pearl Harbor, Eddie was drafted into the US Navy. A year later, he was killed by a Japanese torpedo attack in the Pacific.
Libby and Burt both grew up without a parent of the opposite sex. Living close together and without much of any other family, they grew close. They are more than cousins.
When Libby finally sees Burt approaching her home, she yells out to her mother she is leaving. She grabs her school books and runs out the door. They meet in front of the house and head to school.
Just as they arrive in front of the school, Carl, another kid from their class, sees them approaching. He is one year older than the rest of his classmates, having been left behind a year some years ago. He isn't stupid. He just doesn't try. Outside of school, Carl is a trouble maker, occasionally picking fights on the playground. He approaches Libby.
"Hey, Libby, what are you doing with this loser? You could do so much better."
"Yeah, like who? You? Don't make me laugh."
"I'm willing to do you a big favor. Not that you deserve it."
At this point, Burt has had enough of this conversation.
"Knock it off, Carl. Leave her alone."
"Really. And who's going to make me? You and what girl scout troop?"
"Just me, Carl."
At that moment Burt and Carl stand face to face waiting for someone to make the first move. A small group of other children start crowding around them waiting for something exciting to happen.
Finally, Carl, looking for some action and having waited long enough, cocks his right fist and thrusts it towards Burt's face landing just below his left eye. At almost the same instant, Burt's right fist strikes Carl's left jaw. Carl wobbles back a bit from the force of the blow. He quickly recovers and is about to throw another punch, but decides against it.
"Had enough, Carl?"
"Another time, another place. This isn't over."
The school bell rings and all enter the building. Libby holds tight to Burt's arm as they enter together.
Sunday, October 21, 2018
For Whom The Bell Tolls
In 1624, the English poet John Donne wrote the immortal words, "No man is an island, entire of itself. Each is a piece of the continent, a part of the main...Each man's death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind. Therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee."
To me, Donne is saying that all human beings are part of one universal community, all related to each other, regardless of race, religion, or nationality.
The novelist Ernest Hemingway chose the above phrase as the title of his greatest novel, first published this day back in 1940. I consider it the finest I have ever read.
Ernest Hemingway was born in Oak Park, Illinois on July 21, 1899. After high school, he went to work for the Kansas City Star as a reporter.
In 1918, Hemingway volunteered as a Red Cross ambulance driver in Italy where World War I was raging. It became the basis for his novel A Farewell to Arms.
In 1926, Hemingway, while living in Paris, wrote The Sun Also Rises based on his experiences there with the post-war expatriate generation that didn't return home when the war ended.
In 1937, Hemingway went to Spain to cover the civil war for the North American Newspaper Alliance. A group of right wing generals (fascists) from the Spanish Army had led a revolt to overthrow the moderate-liberal republican Spanish government.
Hemingway was "at the Battle of the Ebro, the last Republican (anti-fascist) stand, and he was among the journalists who were the last to leave the battle as they crossed the river." His experiences in Spain led Hemingway to write For Whom the Bell Tolls. I believe he chose the title because he believed what happened in Spain was everyone's responsibility, not just Spaniards.
It is the story of Robert Jordan, an American with experience as a dynamiter who went to Spain to fight fascism. He is assigned to blow up a bridge in the mountains near the city of Segovia just before an attack begins in order to limit the enemy's ability to launch a counter-attack.
Robert (or Roberto as he is known in Spain) is assisted in blowing the bridge by a group of pro-Republican guerrillas in the area. In the group he meets Maria, "a young Spanish woman whose life had been shattered by her parents' execution and her own rape at the hands of the fascists at the outbreak of the war." Over the four days and three nights of the story, Roberto and Maria fall in love.
My favorite lines in the book occur at dawn just before Roberto and the guerrillas will attempt to blow the bridge. Roberto and Maria are alone and she asks, "How much time do we have?" meaning before they will have to part for their tasks at hand, he to do his job with the dynamite and she to secure the horses necessary for the group's escape after the mission. His response is beautiful, "A lifetime." It is what all of us have remaining in our lives.
To me, Donne is saying that all human beings are part of one universal community, all related to each other, regardless of race, religion, or nationality.
The novelist Ernest Hemingway chose the above phrase as the title of his greatest novel, first published this day back in 1940. I consider it the finest I have ever read.
Ernest Hemingway was born in Oak Park, Illinois on July 21, 1899. After high school, he went to work for the Kansas City Star as a reporter.
In 1918, Hemingway volunteered as a Red Cross ambulance driver in Italy where World War I was raging. It became the basis for his novel A Farewell to Arms.
In 1926, Hemingway, while living in Paris, wrote The Sun Also Rises based on his experiences there with the post-war expatriate generation that didn't return home when the war ended.
In 1937, Hemingway went to Spain to cover the civil war for the North American Newspaper Alliance. A group of right wing generals (fascists) from the Spanish Army had led a revolt to overthrow the moderate-liberal republican Spanish government.
Hemingway was "at the Battle of the Ebro, the last Republican (anti-fascist) stand, and he was among the journalists who were the last to leave the battle as they crossed the river." His experiences in Spain led Hemingway to write For Whom the Bell Tolls. I believe he chose the title because he believed what happened in Spain was everyone's responsibility, not just Spaniards.
It is the story of Robert Jordan, an American with experience as a dynamiter who went to Spain to fight fascism. He is assigned to blow up a bridge in the mountains near the city of Segovia just before an attack begins in order to limit the enemy's ability to launch a counter-attack.
Robert (or Roberto as he is known in Spain) is assisted in blowing the bridge by a group of pro-Republican guerrillas in the area. In the group he meets Maria, "a young Spanish woman whose life had been shattered by her parents' execution and her own rape at the hands of the fascists at the outbreak of the war." Over the four days and three nights of the story, Roberto and Maria fall in love.
My favorite lines in the book occur at dawn just before Roberto and the guerrillas will attempt to blow the bridge. Roberto and Maria are alone and she asks, "How much time do we have?" meaning before they will have to part for their tasks at hand, he to do his job with the dynamite and she to secure the horses necessary for the group's escape after the mission. His response is beautiful, "A lifetime." It is what all of us have remaining in our lives.
Sunday, October 14, 2018
Cowardly Acts
I'm a human being. I try to treat all other human beings with decency ("generally accepted standards of moral behavior"). I hope others will treat me with decency. It's like what I learned in Hebrew School a long time ago, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."
In 1954, United States Senator Joseph McCarthy of Wisconsin was conducting hearings into conflicting accusations made by both McCarthy and the United States Army. Chief Counsel for the Army was a lawyer named Joseph Welch. He later portrayed Judge Weaver in Otto Preminger's 1959 standout courtroom drama Anatomy of a Murder.
In the most memorable moment of the hearings, Welch stopped McCarthy's unjust character assassination of a young man with, "You've done enough. Have you no sense of decency, sir? At long last, have you left no sense of decency?" The answer was apparently not.
To me, a cowardly act shows a lack of decency. In my life, I have been both a victim and a perpetrator of cowardly acts.
I am sorry for beating a dead horse, but I must bring up again the pretty blonde girl from Minetto (Sixteen Again and Sixteen Again RevisiTed). She believed I did something that hurt her in some way. Instead of confronting me with an explanation and a request for an apology, she committed a cowardly act by ignoring me forever. She showed me a lack of decency, which I deserved.
I am sorry a second time for beating another dead horse, but I must bring up again the Nameless Girl (and the Nameless Girl RevisiTed). I did not appreciate how she treated me. So, instead of confronting her with an explanation and a request she change her ways, I committed a cowardly act by ignoring her forever. (Did I learn that from the pretty blonde girl from Minetto?) I showed the Nameless Girl a lack of decency, which she deserved.
Let me mention a new person. One night my freshman year at Penn, the young men on the fifth floor of the Class of 1928 Dormitory invited women from the nursing school at the nearby Philadelphia General Hospital to a mixer.
There I met a very nice young woman who apparently thought I was a very nice young man. She wasn't beautiful, but she was cute with short curly brown hair. We spent virtually the whole mixer together, talking, drinking and eating. We ignored all others.
She was an athlete (played soccer) and a sports fan. How wonderful! When her curfew approached, I walked her back to her dormitory on 34th Street. She gave me her phone number and we kissed good night. I felt great. However, walking back to my dorm, I threw her phone number into a garbage bin on the street. I never called her, ever. What a dummy!
In the cold night air, I suddenly realized that our relationship had no long-term future since she wasn't Jewish. I could imagine the frowning faces of my parents at my considering (at 18 years of age) marrying a shiksa (50 years later, I married one). I committed a cowardly act by not giving her an explanation for my rude behavior.
Of course, I should have continued seeing her in spite of my parents. I was too young to be thinking about marriage. I showed the nice young woman a lack a decency, which she deserved, which everybody deserves.
In 1954, United States Senator Joseph McCarthy of Wisconsin was conducting hearings into conflicting accusations made by both McCarthy and the United States Army. Chief Counsel for the Army was a lawyer named Joseph Welch. He later portrayed Judge Weaver in Otto Preminger's 1959 standout courtroom drama Anatomy of a Murder.
In the most memorable moment of the hearings, Welch stopped McCarthy's unjust character assassination of a young man with, "You've done enough. Have you no sense of decency, sir? At long last, have you left no sense of decency?" The answer was apparently not.
To me, a cowardly act shows a lack of decency. In my life, I have been both a victim and a perpetrator of cowardly acts.
I am sorry for beating a dead horse, but I must bring up again the pretty blonde girl from Minetto (Sixteen Again and Sixteen Again RevisiTed). She believed I did something that hurt her in some way. Instead of confronting me with an explanation and a request for an apology, she committed a cowardly act by ignoring me forever. She showed me a lack of decency, which I deserved.
I am sorry a second time for beating another dead horse, but I must bring up again the Nameless Girl (and the Nameless Girl RevisiTed). I did not appreciate how she treated me. So, instead of confronting her with an explanation and a request she change her ways, I committed a cowardly act by ignoring her forever. (Did I learn that from the pretty blonde girl from Minetto?) I showed the Nameless Girl a lack of decency, which she deserved.
Let me mention a new person. One night my freshman year at Penn, the young men on the fifth floor of the Class of 1928 Dormitory invited women from the nursing school at the nearby Philadelphia General Hospital to a mixer.
There I met a very nice young woman who apparently thought I was a very nice young man. She wasn't beautiful, but she was cute with short curly brown hair. We spent virtually the whole mixer together, talking, drinking and eating. We ignored all others.
She was an athlete (played soccer) and a sports fan. How wonderful! When her curfew approached, I walked her back to her dormitory on 34th Street. She gave me her phone number and we kissed good night. I felt great. However, walking back to my dorm, I threw her phone number into a garbage bin on the street. I never called her, ever. What a dummy!
In the cold night air, I suddenly realized that our relationship had no long-term future since she wasn't Jewish. I could imagine the frowning faces of my parents at my considering (at 18 years of age) marrying a shiksa (50 years later, I married one). I committed a cowardly act by not giving her an explanation for my rude behavior.
Of course, I should have continued seeing her in spite of my parents. I was too young to be thinking about marriage. I showed the nice young woman a lack a decency, which she deserved, which everybody deserves.
Sunday, October 7, 2018
Vertigo
"Vertigo is a 1958 American film noir psychological thriller produced and directed by Alfred Hitchcock." It stars James Stewart, Kim Novak and Tom Helmore.
Vertigo the illness is "a sensation of whirling and loss of balance associated particularly with looking down from a great height." When I look down from our 11th floor terrace I feel a little queasy. Not exactly vertigo, however.
In Vertigo the movie, the above illness plays a significant role. Scottie (Stewart), a retired San Francisco police detective suffering from vertigo, is approached by Gavin (Helmore), an old college classmate, who wants him to follow his wife Madeleine (Novak) whom he says is suicidal.
However, the real reason is Gavin intends to murder his rich wife for her money. He hires Judy (also Novak) to impersonate his wife who then lures Scottie to follow her up a church bell tower south of the city which he will not be able to climb all the way because of his vertigo. When Judy reaches the top alone, Gavin throws down his already murdered real wife Madeleine making it look as though she committed suicide.
Scottie assumes the dead woman is the Madeleine he fell in love with (really Judy). Ridden with guilt at not preventing her "suicide," he suffers a mental breakdown from which it takes months to recover.
After he recuperates. Scottie is obsessed with the memory of Madeleine (really Judy), the woman he still loves. He spends much of his time at places where he remembers her being.
By shear luck, one day Scottie sees Judy walking down the street in her resumed life as an ordinary department store saleswoman. Although her hair and clothes are different, Scottie is attracted to her because of her striking similarity with Madeleine. Really?
Scottie follows Judy to her room at the Hotel Empire. (We stayed at this hotel when we visited San Francisco in 2008.) At first, she rejects his advances, but because she fell in love with Scottie while playing Madeleine, she agrees to spend time with him. Judy hopes Scottie will forget Madeleine and fall in love with her. But Scottie is obsessed with Madeleine and wants Judy to dress like her, color her hair like her and change her hair style to be like hers. As Scottie says to Judy, "It can't make that much difference to you." Really?
However, Judy makes one fatal mistake. She kept a souvenir of Madeleine's, a necklace she wore when previously with Scottie. When he sees it on her, he puts the puzzle together and realizes that Judy was Madeleine and that she and Gavin duped him regarding the murder of the real Madeleine.
With this knowledge, Scottie becomes very angry (maybe he should have been very happy the woman he loves is still alive) and drags Judy back to the church bell tower (late at night) and forces her, against her will, to climb it along with him. They go all the way to the top (Scottie conquers his vertigo), the point where Gavin threw the real Madeleine to her imagined "suicide."
Judy is frantic with fear because of Scottie's aggressive behavior. When she sees a dark figure (a nun dressed in a black habit) approaching from the shadows, she takes a step backwards and falls to her death.
I hate the above end of this otherwise wonderful movie. I know Judy is guilty of being an accomplice to a Gavin's murder of the real Madeleine, but I don't believe she deserves what happens to her. What about Gavin? He escaped to Europe with his wife's money.
Finally, I believe Scottie is to blame for Judy's death, forcing her to the top of the church bell tower, a dangerous place. He should be charged with criminally negligent manslaughter, death resulting from his serious recklessness.
Vertigo the illness is "a sensation of whirling and loss of balance associated particularly with looking down from a great height." When I look down from our 11th floor terrace I feel a little queasy. Not exactly vertigo, however.
In Vertigo the movie, the above illness plays a significant role. Scottie (Stewart), a retired San Francisco police detective suffering from vertigo, is approached by Gavin (Helmore), an old college classmate, who wants him to follow his wife Madeleine (Novak) whom he says is suicidal.
However, the real reason is Gavin intends to murder his rich wife for her money. He hires Judy (also Novak) to impersonate his wife who then lures Scottie to follow her up a church bell tower south of the city which he will not be able to climb all the way because of his vertigo. When Judy reaches the top alone, Gavin throws down his already murdered real wife Madeleine making it look as though she committed suicide.
Scottie assumes the dead woman is the Madeleine he fell in love with (really Judy). Ridden with guilt at not preventing her "suicide," he suffers a mental breakdown from which it takes months to recover.
After he recuperates. Scottie is obsessed with the memory of Madeleine (really Judy), the woman he still loves. He spends much of his time at places where he remembers her being.
By shear luck, one day Scottie sees Judy walking down the street in her resumed life as an ordinary department store saleswoman. Although her hair and clothes are different, Scottie is attracted to her because of her striking similarity with Madeleine. Really?
Scottie follows Judy to her room at the Hotel Empire. (We stayed at this hotel when we visited San Francisco in 2008.) At first, she rejects his advances, but because she fell in love with Scottie while playing Madeleine, she agrees to spend time with him. Judy hopes Scottie will forget Madeleine and fall in love with her. But Scottie is obsessed with Madeleine and wants Judy to dress like her, color her hair like her and change her hair style to be like hers. As Scottie says to Judy, "It can't make that much difference to you." Really?
However, Judy makes one fatal mistake. She kept a souvenir of Madeleine's, a necklace she wore when previously with Scottie. When he sees it on her, he puts the puzzle together and realizes that Judy was Madeleine and that she and Gavin duped him regarding the murder of the real Madeleine.
With this knowledge, Scottie becomes very angry (maybe he should have been very happy the woman he loves is still alive) and drags Judy back to the church bell tower (late at night) and forces her, against her will, to climb it along with him. They go all the way to the top (Scottie conquers his vertigo), the point where Gavin threw the real Madeleine to her imagined "suicide."
Judy is frantic with fear because of Scottie's aggressive behavior. When she sees a dark figure (a nun dressed in a black habit) approaching from the shadows, she takes a step backwards and falls to her death.
I hate the above end of this otherwise wonderful movie. I know Judy is guilty of being an accomplice to a Gavin's murder of the real Madeleine, but I don't believe she deserves what happens to her. What about Gavin? He escaped to Europe with his wife's money.
Finally, I believe Scottie is to blame for Judy's death, forcing her to the top of the church bell tower, a dangerous place. He should be charged with criminally negligent manslaughter, death resulting from his serious recklessness.
Sunday, September 30, 2018
The Year 1952, Chapter 3
A little before 7 AM on the first Friday of September, the year 1952, Mrs. Barone enters the Larson's home. She has been their housekeeper/cook/nanny (when Burt needed one) since Molly Larson died tragically many years ago.
Mrs. Barone, a widow for almost 20 years, is in her early 70s with grey hair tied in a bun. She could definitely afford to lose some weight.
Mrs. Barone has deep affection for Burt and visa versa. Regarding Harvey, they have a professional relationship. They only talk when necessary.
Since Burt can fix his own breakfast of Corn Flakes and fresh strawberries with milk (from his father's dairy), Mrs. Barone is busy preparing Harvey's breakfast: an egg omelet, two strips of bacon, buttered (also from his dairy) toast and coffee with cream (again from his dairy) and sugar.
Before Burt comes downstairs, he enters his father's bedroom full of curiosity about his father's Thursday. Harvey offers few details. But, Burt enjoys watching him shave, especially when he's applying the shaving cream with a brush. How long will it be before Burt can do the same?
There are two topics Harvey and Burt share in common, baseball and boxing. Harvey loves the Yankees. They are easy to love having won three straight World Series and look like a good bet to do it again in October as the American League pennant winner.
"Did the Yanks win last night, Dad?"
"Sure did."
Instead of mimicking his father's passion for the Yankees, Burt feels a desire to compete with him. Maybe Harvey doesn't give his son enough quality time. He is always so busy at work. Maybe deep down, Burt is angry about that. So, this gives rise to Burt's hatred of the Yankees.
"What about the Dodgers?"
"I don't know. You can read about them in the afternoon paper."
What a disappointment. Harvey knew of Burt's interest (as a Dodger fan) in this score, but failed to take note.
"Will you be home tonight to watch the Fights on TV? Two welterweights, Gil Turner and Bobby Dykes."
"You know I always come home as soon as I can. It should be a good one."
After breakfast and a chat with Mrs. Barone, Burt heads off to school. However, his next stop will be at the house of his cousin, and best friend in the world, Libby Collins.
Mrs. Barone, a widow for almost 20 years, is in her early 70s with grey hair tied in a bun. She could definitely afford to lose some weight.
Mrs. Barone has deep affection for Burt and visa versa. Regarding Harvey, they have a professional relationship. They only talk when necessary.
Since Burt can fix his own breakfast of Corn Flakes and fresh strawberries with milk (from his father's dairy), Mrs. Barone is busy preparing Harvey's breakfast: an egg omelet, two strips of bacon, buttered (also from his dairy) toast and coffee with cream (again from his dairy) and sugar.
Before Burt comes downstairs, he enters his father's bedroom full of curiosity about his father's Thursday. Harvey offers few details. But, Burt enjoys watching him shave, especially when he's applying the shaving cream with a brush. How long will it be before Burt can do the same?
There are two topics Harvey and Burt share in common, baseball and boxing. Harvey loves the Yankees. They are easy to love having won three straight World Series and look like a good bet to do it again in October as the American League pennant winner.
"Did the Yanks win last night, Dad?"
"Sure did."
Instead of mimicking his father's passion for the Yankees, Burt feels a desire to compete with him. Maybe Harvey doesn't give his son enough quality time. He is always so busy at work. Maybe deep down, Burt is angry about that. So, this gives rise to Burt's hatred of the Yankees.
"What about the Dodgers?"
"I don't know. You can read about them in the afternoon paper."
What a disappointment. Harvey knew of Burt's interest (as a Dodger fan) in this score, but failed to take note.
"Will you be home tonight to watch the Fights on TV? Two welterweights, Gil Turner and Bobby Dykes."
"You know I always come home as soon as I can. It should be a good one."
After breakfast and a chat with Mrs. Barone, Burt heads off to school. However, his next stop will be at the house of his cousin, and best friend in the world, Libby Collins.
Sunday, September 23, 2018
Worse Than Death
I used to think nothing was worse than death. As I don't believe in an afterlife (nor a before life), death means the end, the absolute end of an individual's consciousness. The world will go on, but without you. The individual no longer exists...except for what they leave behind. That is a difficult concept to accept. However, it is not a punishment. As Paul Newman said in the 1967 Western movie Hombre, "We all die. Just a question of when."
However, I have come to believe there are things worse than death. Pain, terrible pain, without end, is worse. Dying, in order to end the pain, would be preferable.
Before my father died in 1981, I used to have occasional headaches. There was always Tylenol in the house to end the pain. When I traveled I always took some with me, except the trip to bury my father. But what if there were nothing to treat the pain, only suffering, endless worsening pain?
About 16 years ago, I began to feel pain in my perineum. Tylenol didn't help. My gastroenterologist never saw such a thing before. A second one recommended as a solution an excruciating procedure (with no guarantee) that I anticipated would be worse than what I was experiencing. I declined. Thankfully, after a few months the pain disappeared and has never returned. I now understand why some people commit suicide because of persistent, endless pain.
In season 5 of the Showtime series Ray Donovan, his wife Abby (Irish actress Paula Malcomson), after suffering cancer and its treatments for many months, chooses to end her life on her own terms rather than continue the fight. "I don't want another day."
Then there is mental pain. I heard once of a husband who accidentally injured his wife so badly she was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. How could a man live with himself after committing such a grievous blunder? How could he look at her day after day for the rest of his life knowing what he had done to her?
Recently, I watched an episode of the Netflix series Anne With an E (season 2) about a teenage girl named Anne raised on a farm in Canada at the end of the 19th Century. Her mother, Marilla (British actress Geraldine James), who is suffering from an unidentified illness, exclaimed, "I won't be a burden to Anne."
Marilla did not want Anne changing her life in order to care for her sickly mother. If there were no other alternative, Marilla would prefer death than alter the course she was setting for Anne's bright future.
Unlike the USA where there is a whole industry that cares for the elderly, Brazilian culture dictates that families care for their aged parents. My wife Cristina has already spent 25 years (and counting) enduring the burden of first caring of her father and now her mother.
As I just celebrated my 73rd birthday, I realize I am closer to the end of my life than the beginning. Of course, this could be true any time, but for sure at mine. I don't know what will be my end, something quick or long lasting? However, I know one thing: "I won't be a burden to anyone." It is not my wish to return to those halcyon days of my infancy when I could not care for myself (eating, bathing, eliminating).
If my brain deteriorates to the point where I no longer know my loved ones, I would prefer death. After all, as Mr. Carson said in the PBS series Downton Abbey (season 4), "The business of life is the acquisition of memories."
However, I have come to believe there are things worse than death. Pain, terrible pain, without end, is worse. Dying, in order to end the pain, would be preferable.
Before my father died in 1981, I used to have occasional headaches. There was always Tylenol in the house to end the pain. When I traveled I always took some with me, except the trip to bury my father. But what if there were nothing to treat the pain, only suffering, endless worsening pain?
About 16 years ago, I began to feel pain in my perineum. Tylenol didn't help. My gastroenterologist never saw such a thing before. A second one recommended as a solution an excruciating procedure (with no guarantee) that I anticipated would be worse than what I was experiencing. I declined. Thankfully, after a few months the pain disappeared and has never returned. I now understand why some people commit suicide because of persistent, endless pain.
In season 5 of the Showtime series Ray Donovan, his wife Abby (Irish actress Paula Malcomson), after suffering cancer and its treatments for many months, chooses to end her life on her own terms rather than continue the fight. "I don't want another day."
Then there is mental pain. I heard once of a husband who accidentally injured his wife so badly she was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. How could a man live with himself after committing such a grievous blunder? How could he look at her day after day for the rest of his life knowing what he had done to her?
Recently, I watched an episode of the Netflix series Anne With an E (season 2) about a teenage girl named Anne raised on a farm in Canada at the end of the 19th Century. Her mother, Marilla (British actress Geraldine James), who is suffering from an unidentified illness, exclaimed, "I won't be a burden to Anne."
Marilla did not want Anne changing her life in order to care for her sickly mother. If there were no other alternative, Marilla would prefer death than alter the course she was setting for Anne's bright future.
Unlike the USA where there is a whole industry that cares for the elderly, Brazilian culture dictates that families care for their aged parents. My wife Cristina has already spent 25 years (and counting) enduring the burden of first caring of her father and now her mother.
As I just celebrated my 73rd birthday, I realize I am closer to the end of my life than the beginning. Of course, this could be true any time, but for sure at mine. I don't know what will be my end, something quick or long lasting? However, I know one thing: "I won't be a burden to anyone." It is not my wish to return to those halcyon days of my infancy when I could not care for myself (eating, bathing, eliminating).
If my brain deteriorates to the point where I no longer know my loved ones, I would prefer death. After all, as Mr. Carson said in the PBS series Downton Abbey (season 4), "The business of life is the acquisition of memories."
Sunday, September 16, 2018
Antietam
Antietam is a creek in north-central Maryland near the Town of Sharpsburg. In the 1860s the town had a population of around 1,000.
In the summer of 1862, General Robert E. Lee led his Army of Northern Virginia across the Potomac River in an attempt to move the Civil War to the North. He hoped to win an important victory which might bring European recognition of the Confederate States of America.
On September 17, 1862 (156 years ago tomorrow), Lee's army met General George B. McClellan's Army of the Potomac at the Battle of Antietam (creek). "It turned out to be the bloodiest day in United States history, with a combined tally of 22,717 dead, wounded or missing." That is four times the total of American casualties on D Day, June 6, 1944.
Union forces claimed victory at Antietam as Lee was the first to withdraw from the field of battle all the way back across the Potomac into Virginia. The super cautious McClellan failed to pursue him. This and other failures eventually led President Abraham Lincoln to dismiss McClellan later that year. In 1864, McClellan unsuccessfully challenged Lincoln in the presidential election.
According to Doris Kearns Goodwin, the presidential biographer, "The victory (at Antietam) was the long-awaited event that provided Lincoln the occasion to announce his plans to issue an Emancipation Proclamation the following January (1, 1863)." Six days after the battle, September 23, 1862, a preliminary proclamation was published.
The Emancipation Proclamation was issued under Lincoln's Constitutional war powers as Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces suppressing the ongoing rebellion. It states that "all persons held as slaves within the rebellious states are and henceforward shall be free." Such slaves had been used for military purposes by the Confederate armed forces. Freeing them would hinder those forces.
Previously, the goal of the Civil War from the northern point of view was to preserve the Union. Now, a second goal was added: to end slavery. Thankfully, both goals were achieved. "God bless the United States of America."
Sunday, September 9, 2018
Sixteen Again RevisiTed
On January 11, 2015, I posted a story in my blog entitled "Sixteen Again" about a significant experience of mine back in 1961. Faced with an opportunity that didn't happen very often, I used all the courage I could muster to ask a pretty blonde girl from Minetto for a date. She accepted. All went very well on the date until the very last moment.
For an unexplained (by her) reason, when we returned (after dancing and dining) to her house, she got out of the car, ran to the door, opened and closed (herself behind) it before I got there to say good night. She refused to speak to me ever again. What had I done to deserve that?
The only plausible explanation is my decision to give a ride to my Minetto friend, Warren Bickers, who was hitchhiking at the corner of West First and Utica, created some kind of a horribly embarrassing situation for her, for which she blamed me to eternity.
Afterwards, I focused on her rejection of me at the end, instead of the other 99% of the date. Instead of realizing she had and thus other girls would also accept a date with me (one wrote in my yearbook "Don't keep your nose in a book; it's too cute to be in there."), I focused on her rejection at the end. Instead of realizing the ease with which I conducted myself with her during the date, I focused on her rejection at the end. Instead of realizing how much she was enjoying herself during the date, I focused on her rejection at the end.
There is an old expression, "If you fall off a horse, you get back up." I didn't take such sage advice. That date, in the first half of my junior year, would be my one and only during my high school days. I permitted the ghastly fear of rejection to control my behavior for the next two years until my Penn roommate Mike Parr arranged a date for me with Phyllis Green, a Temple coed.
If I had focused on the positive side of that date instead of the negative, how my life could have changed? I was on the cusp of developing social self-confidence, which I lacked before then. But my reaction to the end of that date crushed my fragile ego for years to come.
My two children never lacked for social self-confidence during their formative years. Why? I believe it was because their mother and I worked hard to instill it in them. On the other hand, I suffered because nobody did that for me during my youth.
When I graduated from college in 1967, I decided to move to Michigan where my brother Ted and his wife lived because, lacking social self-confidence, I knew my sister-in-law would arrange many opportunities for me to meet young women. That's how I met my first wife.
If back in 1961 I had used that date experience in a positive way, I could have developed into a socially self-confident young man who would not have needed any such assistance in Michigan. I would have preferred to remain in Philadelphia after graduation, a city I had grown to love during my four years at Penn. What a different direction my life would have gone? I'll never know.
For an unexplained (by her) reason, when we returned (after dancing and dining) to her house, she got out of the car, ran to the door, opened and closed (herself behind) it before I got there to say good night. She refused to speak to me ever again. What had I done to deserve that?
The only plausible explanation is my decision to give a ride to my Minetto friend, Warren Bickers, who was hitchhiking at the corner of West First and Utica, created some kind of a horribly embarrassing situation for her, for which she blamed me to eternity.
Afterwards, I focused on her rejection of me at the end, instead of the other 99% of the date. Instead of realizing she had and thus other girls would also accept a date with me (one wrote in my yearbook "Don't keep your nose in a book; it's too cute to be in there."), I focused on her rejection at the end. Instead of realizing the ease with which I conducted myself with her during the date, I focused on her rejection at the end. Instead of realizing how much she was enjoying herself during the date, I focused on her rejection at the end.
There is an old expression, "If you fall off a horse, you get back up." I didn't take such sage advice. That date, in the first half of my junior year, would be my one and only during my high school days. I permitted the ghastly fear of rejection to control my behavior for the next two years until my Penn roommate Mike Parr arranged a date for me with Phyllis Green, a Temple coed.
If I had focused on the positive side of that date instead of the negative, how my life could have changed? I was on the cusp of developing social self-confidence, which I lacked before then. But my reaction to the end of that date crushed my fragile ego for years to come.
My two children never lacked for social self-confidence during their formative years. Why? I believe it was because their mother and I worked hard to instill it in them. On the other hand, I suffered because nobody did that for me during my youth.
When I graduated from college in 1967, I decided to move to Michigan where my brother Ted and his wife lived because, lacking social self-confidence, I knew my sister-in-law would arrange many opportunities for me to meet young women. That's how I met my first wife.
If back in 1961 I had used that date experience in a positive way, I could have developed into a socially self-confident young man who would not have needed any such assistance in Michigan. I would have preferred to remain in Philadelphia after graduation, a city I had grown to love during my four years at Penn. What a different direction my life would have gone? I'll never know.
Sunday, September 2, 2018
The Naked City
The Naked City (New York) is a 1948 film noir directed by Jules Dassin, produced by Mark Hellinger and stared Barry Fitzgerald, Howard Duff, Don Taylor and Ted de Corsia. In addition to producing, Hellinger also did the narration for the movie. Sadly, he died of a heart attack at forty-four years of age shortly before the movie was released.
The Naked City won two Academy Awards: Best Cinematography, Black-and-White (William Daniels) and Best Editing (Paul Weatherwax).
On one level, The Naked City is a police drama showing in almost documentary style the mundane minute by minute steps of a murder investigation. Jean Dexter, a former model, is found dead in her bathtub. Who done it? Detective Lieutenant Dan Muldoon (Fitzgerald) and Detective Jimmy Halloran (Taylor) are assigned to the case.
Discovered in Dexter's address book, the police question Frank Niles (Duff), who claims only a legitimate business relationship with her. However, Muldoon and Halloran discover Niles has no legitimate business. In reality Dexter and Miles conspired to steal jewelry from wealthy New Yorkers.
Dexter enticed Doctor Stoneman to give her information as to when his friends would be at parties he hosted so actual burglars, Willie Garzah (de Corsia) and an associate, could rob jewelry from their unprotected homes. Niles would then sell the jewelry and divide the money among the conspirators.
However, Garzah gets greedy and kills Dexter. Later, he tries to kill Niles. By following Niles, the police discover he sold stolen jewelry. To help himself, Niles implicates Stoneman and the robber ("It was Garzah"). In an exciting conclusion, Garzah is discovered living on the lower East Side of Manhattan and is cornered by the police on the nearby Williamsburg Bridge.
In one poignant scene, Dexter's parents (from out of town) come to the New York City Mortuary to identify her body. The mother before the identification is very angry and says, "All these young girls, so crazy to be with the bright lights. No bright lights for her now, is there? What about us? Scandal! My husband's a gardener. He works for a banker, a highly respectable gentleman. He'll get fired now. I hate her. I hate her. She even had to change her name. I do hate her. I do. I warned her. A million times I warned her. I hate her for what she's done to us."
But when she sees her murdered daughter's body, her attitude suddenly changes. "My baby. Oh, my baby." And the tears of a distraught mother flow.
Secondarily, The Naked City is "a story of the city itself." It was filmed on location in New York, rare at the time. The actors "played out their roles on the streets, in the apartment houses, in the skyscrapers of New York...A great many thousands of New Yorkers played out their roles also (unbeknownst to them). It was the city as it (was in the summer of 1947). Hot summer pavements, the children at play, the buildings in their naked stone, the people without makeup."
At the end, the narrator sums up The Naked City. "It's one o'clock in the morning ... and this is the city and these are the lights that a child born to the name of Victoria (Jean Dexter) hungered for. Her passion has been played out now. Her name, her face, her history were worth five cents a day for six days (as written in the newspapers). Tomorrow, a new case will hit the headlines. Yet, some will remember Jean Dexter. She won't be entirely forgotten, not entirely, not altogether. There are eight million stories in the naked city. This has been one of them."
The Naked City won two Academy Awards: Best Cinematography, Black-and-White (William Daniels) and Best Editing (Paul Weatherwax).
On one level, The Naked City is a police drama showing in almost documentary style the mundane minute by minute steps of a murder investigation. Jean Dexter, a former model, is found dead in her bathtub. Who done it? Detective Lieutenant Dan Muldoon (Fitzgerald) and Detective Jimmy Halloran (Taylor) are assigned to the case.
Discovered in Dexter's address book, the police question Frank Niles (Duff), who claims only a legitimate business relationship with her. However, Muldoon and Halloran discover Niles has no legitimate business. In reality Dexter and Miles conspired to steal jewelry from wealthy New Yorkers.
Dexter enticed Doctor Stoneman to give her information as to when his friends would be at parties he hosted so actual burglars, Willie Garzah (de Corsia) and an associate, could rob jewelry from their unprotected homes. Niles would then sell the jewelry and divide the money among the conspirators.
However, Garzah gets greedy and kills Dexter. Later, he tries to kill Niles. By following Niles, the police discover he sold stolen jewelry. To help himself, Niles implicates Stoneman and the robber ("It was Garzah"). In an exciting conclusion, Garzah is discovered living on the lower East Side of Manhattan and is cornered by the police on the nearby Williamsburg Bridge.
In one poignant scene, Dexter's parents (from out of town) come to the New York City Mortuary to identify her body. The mother before the identification is very angry and says, "All these young girls, so crazy to be with the bright lights. No bright lights for her now, is there? What about us? Scandal! My husband's a gardener. He works for a banker, a highly respectable gentleman. He'll get fired now. I hate her. I hate her. She even had to change her name. I do hate her. I do. I warned her. A million times I warned her. I hate her for what she's done to us."
But when she sees her murdered daughter's body, her attitude suddenly changes. "My baby. Oh, my baby." And the tears of a distraught mother flow.
Secondarily, The Naked City is "a story of the city itself." It was filmed on location in New York, rare at the time. The actors "played out their roles on the streets, in the apartment houses, in the skyscrapers of New York...A great many thousands of New Yorkers played out their roles also (unbeknownst to them). It was the city as it (was in the summer of 1947). Hot summer pavements, the children at play, the buildings in their naked stone, the people without makeup."
At the end, the narrator sums up The Naked City. "It's one o'clock in the morning ... and this is the city and these are the lights that a child born to the name of Victoria (Jean Dexter) hungered for. Her passion has been played out now. Her name, her face, her history were worth five cents a day for six days (as written in the newspapers). Tomorrow, a new case will hit the headlines. Yet, some will remember Jean Dexter. She won't be entirely forgotten, not entirely, not altogether. There are eight million stories in the naked city. This has been one of them."
Sunday, August 26, 2018
The Year 1952, Chapter 2
While his father was busy at the office on the first Thursday night in September of 1952, Burt Larson, a slim boy of average height for his age with straight brown hair, cut short, was sitting home alone on the carpeted floor of the living room directly in front of their brand new black and white television watching a slew of programs, some of which were carryovers from radio days.
At 7:30 PM there was The Lone Ranger (Clayton Moore), a program featuring a masked man, a former Texas Ranger, who travels on horseback with his Indian friend Tonto (Jay Silverheels) across the old American west "to assist those challenged by lawless elements."
At 8:00 PM, Burt watched The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show, a situation comedy featuring a pair of former vaudeville stars who in real life were husband and wife.
Following at 8:30 PM was The Amos 'n' Andy Show, an all black situation comedy, which was almost the only time blacks were on television in 1952. It starred Tim Moore (as Kingfish) and Spencer Williams (as Andy) who played two buffoons.
Finally at 9:00 PM, Burt saw Dragnet, a drama which was created by and starred Jack Webb as Joe Friday, the stone-faced, by the book police sergeant in Los Angeles, California ("This is the city").
As soon as Burt saw his father's car pull up in front of their house, he turned off the TV and scooted up the stairs to his bedroom, closed the door and got into bed. He already had on his pajamas. Burt knew it would be hopeless to try to engage his father in conversation as he was sure he would be rebuffed. Everything had to wait until morning.
However, before Burt fell asleep, he stared for a moment at the photo (hanging on the wall near his bed) of his late mother, Mollie, who died in a car accident when Burt was only two years old. He has no memory of her when she was alive. She was a pretty young woman (30 years old) with curly brown hair.
The previous month, Burt celebrated his thirteenth birthday. Two days ago, on the Tuesday after Labor Day, he entered the eighth grade of his public school.
At 7:30 PM there was The Lone Ranger (Clayton Moore), a program featuring a masked man, a former Texas Ranger, who travels on horseback with his Indian friend Tonto (Jay Silverheels) across the old American west "to assist those challenged by lawless elements."
At 8:00 PM, Burt watched The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show, a situation comedy featuring a pair of former vaudeville stars who in real life were husband and wife.
Following at 8:30 PM was The Amos 'n' Andy Show, an all black situation comedy, which was almost the only time blacks were on television in 1952. It starred Tim Moore (as Kingfish) and Spencer Williams (as Andy) who played two buffoons.
Finally at 9:00 PM, Burt saw Dragnet, a drama which was created by and starred Jack Webb as Joe Friday, the stone-faced, by the book police sergeant in Los Angeles, California ("This is the city").
As soon as Burt saw his father's car pull up in front of their house, he turned off the TV and scooted up the stairs to his bedroom, closed the door and got into bed. He already had on his pajamas. Burt knew it would be hopeless to try to engage his father in conversation as he was sure he would be rebuffed. Everything had to wait until morning.
However, before Burt fell asleep, he stared for a moment at the photo (hanging on the wall near his bed) of his late mother, Mollie, who died in a car accident when Burt was only two years old. He has no memory of her when she was alive. She was a pretty young woman (30 years old) with curly brown hair.
The previous month, Burt celebrated his thirteenth birthday. Two days ago, on the Tuesday after Labor Day, he entered the eighth grade of his public school.
Sunday, August 19, 2018
New York No More
On August 19, 1957 (sixty-one years ago today), the board of directors of the New York Giants baseball team voted 8-1 to move the franchise (which had been in New York City for seventy-four years) to San Francisco. (Such a thing would never happen in Brazil.) It had only been three short years before (1954) that the Giants won the World Series beating the favored Cleveland Indians in four games.
Prior to the move, the Giants competed with two other teams in New York, the Yankees and the Dodgers, for fans to attend their home games, which were played at the Polo Grounds in Manhattan on West 155th Street next to the Harlem River. In 1925, the Giants were number one in attendance in the city. Ten years later (1935) they were number one again, but it would be for the last time.
In 1951, the Giants won the National League pennant (lost to the Yankees in the World Series in six games) and had an average home attendance of 13,584. Three years later, in their last championship season in New York, their average home attendance rose to 15,198. By 1957, it had dropped to 8,493.
Per Giant President, Horace Stoneham, "Attendance has been going down here. Kids are still interested, but you don't see many of their parents at games." Moving to San Francisco, where the Giants would be the sole local team, was an opportunity "too good to pass up." Average home attendance in their new home in 1958 was 15,711, a 79% increase over the prior year. Last year (2017) it was 40,785, twice the Giants best year in New York.
When I was growing up in the early 1950s, baseball was by far the most popular sport in America. It was the "National Pastime." Living where I did, New York was the closest major league city. So everybody in Oswego was either a Yankee, a Dodger, or a Giant fan. Most were Yankee fans, especially since they had won the World Series five straight years, from 1949 to 1953.
However, my older brother Paul was a Giant fan, so I became a Giant fan. When he went to college in Philadelphia, he switched to the Phillies. But, I have remained a Giant fan my whole life, even when they moved from New York to San Francisco.
The move meant little to me since I lived 300 miles from their former home in New York and never went to any of their games. I simply followed the Giants in newspapers, magazines, on the radio and on television. Their name (Giants) and their colors (black and orange) remained the same, so I remained loyal.
When I was nine years old (1954), the Giants won the World Series (as discussed above). I thought it would happen again real soon. However, it would be another 56 years (2010) until the San Francisco Giants would win their first World Series, defeating the Texas Rangers in five games. In 2012, they won again beating the Detroit Tigers in four. 2014 brought a third championship in five years, with a victory over the Kansas City Royals in seven games.
In 1972, on a drive to California (see last week's post), I went to the only Giant home game I have ever been to, at Candlestick Park. I hope to do it again one day at their new San Francisco home, AT&T Park.
Ironically, tomorrow the Giants will be back in New York...but only to play some games against the team that replaced them in that city, the Mets. They'll return home to San Francisco next Friday.
Prior to the move, the Giants competed with two other teams in New York, the Yankees and the Dodgers, for fans to attend their home games, which were played at the Polo Grounds in Manhattan on West 155th Street next to the Harlem River. In 1925, the Giants were number one in attendance in the city. Ten years later (1935) they were number one again, but it would be for the last time.
In 1951, the Giants won the National League pennant (lost to the Yankees in the World Series in six games) and had an average home attendance of 13,584. Three years later, in their last championship season in New York, their average home attendance rose to 15,198. By 1957, it had dropped to 8,493.
Per Giant President, Horace Stoneham, "Attendance has been going down here. Kids are still interested, but you don't see many of their parents at games." Moving to San Francisco, where the Giants would be the sole local team, was an opportunity "too good to pass up." Average home attendance in their new home in 1958 was 15,711, a 79% increase over the prior year. Last year (2017) it was 40,785, twice the Giants best year in New York.
When I was growing up in the early 1950s, baseball was by far the most popular sport in America. It was the "National Pastime." Living where I did, New York was the closest major league city. So everybody in Oswego was either a Yankee, a Dodger, or a Giant fan. Most were Yankee fans, especially since they had won the World Series five straight years, from 1949 to 1953.
However, my older brother Paul was a Giant fan, so I became a Giant fan. When he went to college in Philadelphia, he switched to the Phillies. But, I have remained a Giant fan my whole life, even when they moved from New York to San Francisco.
The move meant little to me since I lived 300 miles from their former home in New York and never went to any of their games. I simply followed the Giants in newspapers, magazines, on the radio and on television. Their name (Giants) and their colors (black and orange) remained the same, so I remained loyal.
When I was nine years old (1954), the Giants won the World Series (as discussed above). I thought it would happen again real soon. However, it would be another 56 years (2010) until the San Francisco Giants would win their first World Series, defeating the Texas Rangers in five games. In 2012, they won again beating the Detroit Tigers in four. 2014 brought a third championship in five years, with a victory over the Kansas City Royals in seven games.
In 1972, on a drive to California (see last week's post), I went to the only Giant home game I have ever been to, at Candlestick Park. I hope to do it again one day at their new San Francisco home, AT&T Park.
Ironically, tomorrow the Giants will be back in New York...but only to play some games against the team that replaced them in that city, the Mets. They'll return home to San Francisco next Friday.
Sunday, August 12, 2018
Drive to California
In 1972, a year after my ex-wife Bonita and I had made a one month trip to Europe (see blog post Europe 1971), we decided to drive to California. We wanted to see our own country, not from a seat on an airplane thousands of feet up, but down on the ground in a car. But, not just any car.
My Corvair, the used car (my first car) I had bought five years before, was wearing out. To drive across country required a brand new car, one in tip top condition. So, we bought a green, Fiat 124 Sport Coupe.
The problem with the above purchase was this car had standard transmission, a stick shift. Neither Bonita nor I knew how to drive it. So, we signed up for lessons in a Volkswagen Beetle which is an easy car to drive. After a few, I went to the Fiat dealership on Northern Boulevard to pick up our new car.
However, much to my chagrin, I couldn't get the car off their lot. I kept stalling out. The salesman was very kind and took me for a drive around the block. Finally, I was able to head home. I stalled out at every red light on the way. But, I made it and we started our drive to California a few days later.
The first day we drove about 500 miles to Durham, North Carolina. I chose this location because of Duke University, which we toured. Little did I know I would return to the area to live and work 35 years later.
Day two saw us travel 385 miles to Atlanta, Georgia. We visited a tourist attraction (shopping and entertainment) called Underground Atlanta, which opened in 1969. It closed last August. My niece, Karen, who was not yet born, has lived with her family in the Atlanta area for many years.
On the third day, we drove 470 miles to New Orleans, Louisiana. I remember driving through Alabama (the only time in my life I was there) and stopping at a bank in a small town to get some cash. We drove across Lake Pontchartrain and into The Big Easy. I saw the Mississippi River for the first time and ate dinner at a restaurant specializing in gumbo.
Next we drove up through Bayou country in Louisiana passing Baton Rouge and then Shreveport before heading west into Texas. While still in Louisiana, Bonita had to stop for a bathroom break at a general store, which unfortunately didn't have indoor plumbing. We stopped for the night in Dallas after driving a little over 500 miles. This was four years before my brother Joel and his family moved there. They have now lived in Dallas for 42 years. But I was there first.
On the fifth day, we took a relatively short trip of 360 miles to Amarillo where we enjoyed a good steak dinner. It is cattle country.
Then we headed due west into New Mexico, passing numerous beautiful mesas along the way, stopping overnight in the western end of the state, in a town called Gallup after driving 425 miles. At the time, Gallup had a population of about 15,000, the majority of whom were mostly Navajo people. I remember shopping in a store which specialized in native American hand made jewelry.
Early the next morning, after loading up with fruit from a Gallup supermarket, we headed west towards Arizona. Just before dawn, we had a surreal experience. At the border, we encountered Arizona State Police who inquired whether we had any fruit, which we acknowledged. We then had a choice of either consuming it on the spot or leaving it with them. We chose the latter. I had thought the Constitution allows for the free and unobstructed transportation of goods from one state to another. Apparently not.
We then drove to the Grand Canyon which is the most beautiful natural creation I have ever seen. It took my breath away, similar to my experience viewing the Champs-Elysees the previous year. We ended the day in the most garish place on Earth, Las Vegas, Nevada (after driving a total of over 450 miles). We had dinner at Circus, Circus, walked into a casino, put down a $1 bet on a roulette wheel, lost and returned to our nondescript motel.
The next morning we drove west through a desert for about 270 miles before finally reaching our destination, Los Angeles, California. I remember a sign while driving which said "no gas next 90 miles." There was nothing but sand and cactus. We stopped in Baker, California, which consisted of a gas station and a diner. We used both.
In our three days in LA, we hit some of the usual tourist locations: Disneyland, Grauman's Chinese Theater, Hollywood and Vine, Beverly Hills, the Los Angeles Coliseum, etc. We dined at a restaurant owned by Sonny (and Cher). At one point, the owner walked past us and smiled.
Then we took gorgeous route 101 for 380 miles up the coast to San Francisco, stopping at Malibu Beach and San Simeon, where we stepped into the Pacific Ocean and saw (from a distance) the Hearst Castle.
The highlight of my stay in the bay area was a baseball game at Candlestick Park, then the home of my lifelong favorite team, the San Francisco Giants. It is the only Giant home game I have ever been to and it was the only time I ever saw the great Roberto Clemente in person.
However, my lasting impression of the game was the weather. I was dressed (t-shirt and shorts) for a summer time game in New York City, but I was in San Francisco. The fans around me wore winter jackets and were under blankets. Mark Twain was credited as saying, "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco." I suffered from the wind and the cold air for three hours. Thankfully, the Giants won the game, 7-0.
Leaving California, we took route 80 East 380 miles to Winnemucca, a small town in northern Nevada which consisted of some gas stations, motels and three casinos, which we didn't enter.
The following day we drove 355 miles, past the Bonneville Salt Flats, the Great Salt Lake and the Wasatch Range to Salt Lake City, Utah. We visited the Temple Square and the Tabernacle in the downtown area.
Next, we then drove 535 miles through the Rocky Mountains to Denver, Colorado. I remember almost nothing about that day.
The following day, it was on to Omaha, Nebraska, a distance of about 540 miles. Nearby, we visited Boys Town, the village made famous by the Spencer Tracy, Mickey Rooney 1938 film of the same name which I had seen many times. It is the true story of a home for delinquent and underprivileged boys founded by Father Edward Flanagan (Tracy). Why only for boys?
After re-crossing the Mississippi River, we reached Chicago, Illinois (470 miles). We drove around a bit, seeing Lake Michigan and the Sears Tower.
Our tour of the USA was about over. We stopped in Detroit, Michigan (280 miles) to visit Bonita's family. The next day we drove to our home in New York City (615 miles). In total, our brand new Fiat had covered over 7,000 miles from New York to California and back with no problem. It was a fantastic, never to be forgotten journey across our beautiful country.
My Corvair, the used car (my first car) I had bought five years before, was wearing out. To drive across country required a brand new car, one in tip top condition. So, we bought a green, Fiat 124 Sport Coupe.
The problem with the above purchase was this car had standard transmission, a stick shift. Neither Bonita nor I knew how to drive it. So, we signed up for lessons in a Volkswagen Beetle which is an easy car to drive. After a few, I went to the Fiat dealership on Northern Boulevard to pick up our new car.
However, much to my chagrin, I couldn't get the car off their lot. I kept stalling out. The salesman was very kind and took me for a drive around the block. Finally, I was able to head home. I stalled out at every red light on the way. But, I made it and we started our drive to California a few days later.
The first day we drove about 500 miles to Durham, North Carolina. I chose this location because of Duke University, which we toured. Little did I know I would return to the area to live and work 35 years later.
Day two saw us travel 385 miles to Atlanta, Georgia. We visited a tourist attraction (shopping and entertainment) called Underground Atlanta, which opened in 1969. It closed last August. My niece, Karen, who was not yet born, has lived with her family in the Atlanta area for many years.
On the third day, we drove 470 miles to New Orleans, Louisiana. I remember driving through Alabama (the only time in my life I was there) and stopping at a bank in a small town to get some cash. We drove across Lake Pontchartrain and into The Big Easy. I saw the Mississippi River for the first time and ate dinner at a restaurant specializing in gumbo.
Next we drove up through Bayou country in Louisiana passing Baton Rouge and then Shreveport before heading west into Texas. While still in Louisiana, Bonita had to stop for a bathroom break at a general store, which unfortunately didn't have indoor plumbing. We stopped for the night in Dallas after driving a little over 500 miles. This was four years before my brother Joel and his family moved there. They have now lived in Dallas for 42 years. But I was there first.
On the fifth day, we took a relatively short trip of 360 miles to Amarillo where we enjoyed a good steak dinner. It is cattle country.
Then we headed due west into New Mexico, passing numerous beautiful mesas along the way, stopping overnight in the western end of the state, in a town called Gallup after driving 425 miles. At the time, Gallup had a population of about 15,000, the majority of whom were mostly Navajo people. I remember shopping in a store which specialized in native American hand made jewelry.
Early the next morning, after loading up with fruit from a Gallup supermarket, we headed west towards Arizona. Just before dawn, we had a surreal experience. At the border, we encountered Arizona State Police who inquired whether we had any fruit, which we acknowledged. We then had a choice of either consuming it on the spot or leaving it with them. We chose the latter. I had thought the Constitution allows for the free and unobstructed transportation of goods from one state to another. Apparently not.
We then drove to the Grand Canyon which is the most beautiful natural creation I have ever seen. It took my breath away, similar to my experience viewing the Champs-Elysees the previous year. We ended the day in the most garish place on Earth, Las Vegas, Nevada (after driving a total of over 450 miles). We had dinner at Circus, Circus, walked into a casino, put down a $1 bet on a roulette wheel, lost and returned to our nondescript motel.
The next morning we drove west through a desert for about 270 miles before finally reaching our destination, Los Angeles, California. I remember a sign while driving which said "no gas next 90 miles." There was nothing but sand and cactus. We stopped in Baker, California, which consisted of a gas station and a diner. We used both.
In our three days in LA, we hit some of the usual tourist locations: Disneyland, Grauman's Chinese Theater, Hollywood and Vine, Beverly Hills, the Los Angeles Coliseum, etc. We dined at a restaurant owned by Sonny (and Cher). At one point, the owner walked past us and smiled.
Then we took gorgeous route 101 for 380 miles up the coast to San Francisco, stopping at Malibu Beach and San Simeon, where we stepped into the Pacific Ocean and saw (from a distance) the Hearst Castle.
The highlight of my stay in the bay area was a baseball game at Candlestick Park, then the home of my lifelong favorite team, the San Francisco Giants. It is the only Giant home game I have ever been to and it was the only time I ever saw the great Roberto Clemente in person.
However, my lasting impression of the game was the weather. I was dressed (t-shirt and shorts) for a summer time game in New York City, but I was in San Francisco. The fans around me wore winter jackets and were under blankets. Mark Twain was credited as saying, "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco." I suffered from the wind and the cold air for three hours. Thankfully, the Giants won the game, 7-0.
Leaving California, we took route 80 East 380 miles to Winnemucca, a small town in northern Nevada which consisted of some gas stations, motels and three casinos, which we didn't enter.
The following day we drove 355 miles, past the Bonneville Salt Flats, the Great Salt Lake and the Wasatch Range to Salt Lake City, Utah. We visited the Temple Square and the Tabernacle in the downtown area.
Next, we then drove 535 miles through the Rocky Mountains to Denver, Colorado. I remember almost nothing about that day.
The following day, it was on to Omaha, Nebraska, a distance of about 540 miles. Nearby, we visited Boys Town, the village made famous by the Spencer Tracy, Mickey Rooney 1938 film of the same name which I had seen many times. It is the true story of a home for delinquent and underprivileged boys founded by Father Edward Flanagan (Tracy). Why only for boys?
After re-crossing the Mississippi River, we reached Chicago, Illinois (470 miles). We drove around a bit, seeing Lake Michigan and the Sears Tower.
Our tour of the USA was about over. We stopped in Detroit, Michigan (280 miles) to visit Bonita's family. The next day we drove to our home in New York City (615 miles). In total, our brand new Fiat had covered over 7,000 miles from New York to California and back with no problem. It was a fantastic, never to be forgotten journey across our beautiful country.
Sunday, August 5, 2018
Thelma & Louise
Thelma & Louise is a 1991 film directed by Ridley Scott (nominated for Academy Award for Best Director, but lost to Jonathan Demme for The Silence of the Lambs), written by Callie Khouri (won Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay) and starred Geena Davis (Thelma) and Susan Sarandon (Louise). Both actresses were nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actress but lost to Jodie Foster, also for The Silence of the Lambs.
Thelma & Louise are two friends from Arkansas who go on a fishing trip into the mountains. On their way there, they make a nighttime stop at a roadside bar. Thelma is picked up by a womanizing stranger named Harlan (played by Timothy Carhart). After drinking and dancing, the two leave the bar and go out to the parking lot to get some air. Feeling better, Thelma attempts to return to the bar.
Harlan: Wait a minute. Where do you think you're going, huh?
Thelma & Louise are two friends from Arkansas who go on a fishing trip into the mountains. On their way there, they make a nighttime stop at a roadside bar. Thelma is picked up by a womanizing stranger named Harlan (played by Timothy Carhart). After drinking and dancing, the two leave the bar and go out to the parking lot to get some air. Feeling better, Thelma attempts to return to the bar.
Harlan: Wait a minute. Where do you think you're going, huh?
Thelma: I'm going back inside.
Harlan: Oh, no, no. (Harlan starts grabbing and touching her.)
Thelma: Harlan.
Harlan: What?
Thelma: Hey, quit it. Stop it. Stop it.
Harlan: Thelma. Listen to me. I'm not gonna hurt you, OK? I just wanna kiss you. All right?
Thelma: No. No.
Harlan: Come on. (He kisses her.) God damn, you are gorgeous.
Thelma: All right. Let me go now. I mean, I'm married. Come on.
Harlan: That's OK, I'm married, too.
Thelma: I don't feel good. I've been sick.
Harlan: Listen to me. I said I'm not going to hurt you. OK? Relax. (He continues his unwanted advances towards her.)
Thelma: Harlan, stop it. Please. I mean it. Wait. Don't. Louise is gonna wonder where I am.
Harlan: Fuck Louise. (She slaps him to ward him off.) Don't ever fucking hit me, fucking bitch.
Thelma: Please, Harlan. Don't hurt me, Harlan, please.
Harlan: Shut up. Shut the fuck up. You hear me? (He attempts to rape her. Suddenly, Louise arrives at the parking lot.)
Louise: Let her go.
Harlan: Get the fuck out of here.
Louise: (She puts a gun to his head.) You let her go, you fucking asshole, or I'm gonna splatter your ugly face all over this nice car.
Harlan: (He lets her go.) All right. Hey, just calm down. We were just having a little fun, that's all.
Louise: Looks like you got a real fucked up idea of fun. In the future, when a woman's crying like that, she isn't having any fun. (The two women head back toward the bar, perhaps for Thelma to get cleaned up, perhaps to call the police to get justice for Thelma. But Harlan can't keep his mouth shut.)
Harlan: Bitch! I should have gone ahead and fucked her.
Louise: What did you say?
Harlan: You can suck my [expletive deleted].
Full of rage, Louise shoots Harlan dead with one bullet to the heart. She became his judge, jury and executioner. Louise then decides, for both her and Thelma, that the best policy would be to flee the scene in their car. She believes the police will treat what happened as nothing more than a simple homicide. This is 1991, not 2018. Did she do the right thing?
First, Louise's decision eventually leads to the police engaging in a multi-state pursuit of the two fugitives, climaxing in the death of both women.
Second, Louise's decision makes Thelma, who was not directly involved in the shooting, an accomplice. By turning herself into the police, Louise could have saved Thelma from criminal prosecution.
Third, Thelma & Louise could have told the police (a lie) that Louise shot Harlan in the act of attempting to rape Thelma. There seems to have been plenty of physical evidence to prove Harlan's guilt of that crime.
Or fourth, Thelma & Louise could have told the truth as to what happened. An extenuating circumstance is that Louise was a rape victim years before and the behavior of Harlan triggered an emotional response that may have been uncontrollable (see 1959 film Anatomy of a Murder). This may have given her a lighter sentence or perhaps none at all with the right judge and jury.
The bottom line is that Louise's decision to flee was the worst choice. What do you think?
Louise: What did you say?
Harlan: You can suck my [expletive deleted].
Full of rage, Louise shoots Harlan dead with one bullet to the heart. She became his judge, jury and executioner. Louise then decides, for both her and Thelma, that the best policy would be to flee the scene in their car. She believes the police will treat what happened as nothing more than a simple homicide. This is 1991, not 2018. Did she do the right thing?
First, Louise's decision eventually leads to the police engaging in a multi-state pursuit of the two fugitives, climaxing in the death of both women.
Second, Louise's decision makes Thelma, who was not directly involved in the shooting, an accomplice. By turning herself into the police, Louise could have saved Thelma from criminal prosecution.
Third, Thelma & Louise could have told the police (a lie) that Louise shot Harlan in the act of attempting to rape Thelma. There seems to have been plenty of physical evidence to prove Harlan's guilt of that crime.
Or fourth, Thelma & Louise could have told the truth as to what happened. An extenuating circumstance is that Louise was a rape victim years before and the behavior of Harlan triggered an emotional response that may have been uncontrollable (see 1959 film Anatomy of a Murder). This may have given her a lighter sentence or perhaps none at all with the right judge and jury.
The bottom line is that Louise's decision to flee was the worst choice. What do you think?
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