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.
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