A week before Christmas 1952, Burt's cousin Libby comes to his house after school. She's worried about things Burt was saying.
"Burt, I'm upset."
"Why? What's going on?"
"Some things you're saying frighten me."
"What are you talking about?"
"Like, first, Walcott is still the heavyweight champion. Then, the Dodgers won the World Series. And finally, Stevenson will be the next president of the United States. None of that is true."
"But, they should be. They're all the fair thing, right?"
"Well, maybe. But, that's not the point. They didn't happen and we have to accept reality."
"Why? Fairness is better. Life should be fair, shouldn't it?"
"It should be, but when it isn't, we have to accept it."
"Why? When things happen that aren't fair, it sucks. If we can change that, why not?"
"Because we can't change what really happens. Get used to it."
"I don't want to get used to it. I've had to live without a mother, you without a father. Isn't that enough? I've had enough reality. If we can change the world we live in, why not?"
"Sure, try to change the world going forward, but not create a different world in your head. That's crazy."
It's 25 years later, December 1977. Dear reader, we are at a psychiatric hospital where a doctor named Burt is talking to his patient, who coincidentally is also named Burt. They are discussing the same issues as the above Libby and Burt were doing back in 1952.
The doctor says, "Fighting against the constant tide of reality can be difficult and exhausting. My advice is this. Almost a thousand years ago, the French Jewish biblical scholar Rashi said, 'Receive with simplicity everything that happens to you.'"
THE END
Sunday, December 29, 2019
Sunday, December 22, 2019
Bernhard Goetz
Thirty-five years ago today, December 22, 1984 (a Saturday), Bernhard Goetz, a white, male 37 year-old New Yorker, boarded a downtown number 2 subway train at the 14th Street station in Manhattan. In the same car of the train and near where Goetz sat were four African-American male teenagers each of whom had a rap sheet (criminal record).
Shortly after Goetz entered the train, one of the teenagers, Troy Canty, asked him, "How are you doing?"
Goetz responded, "Fine."
Soon Canty and a second teenager, Barry Allen, got up from their seats and moved to block Goetz from the other passengers.
Then Canty said, "Give me $5."
Unbeknownst to both Canty and Allen, Bernhard Goetz (a victim of an assault in 1981) had on his person a 5-shot .38-caliber (unlicensed) revolver. He pulled it out and fired multiple shots at the four teenagers (which also included Darrell Cabey and James Ramseur), wounding them all.
After telling the train conductor that "They tried to rob me," Bernhard Goetz fled the scene. He went home, grabbed some things, rented a car and drove to New England where for eight days he stayed at a different motel, registered under a different name and paid with cash. On December 30th, Goetz turned himself into the police in Concord, New Hampshire.
Bernhard Goetz stood trial in Manhattan (April-June, 1987) on charges of attempted murder, first degree assault and criminal possession of a weapon (carrying a loaded, unlicensed gun in a public place). His lawyer (Barry Slotnick) argued that, "Goetz's actions fell within the New York State self-defense statute (a person may use deadly force if he reasonably believes another person is trying to rob him)."
Bernhard Goetz was only convicted on the weapons charge and was sentenced to a year in jail. He was released after eight months.
I along with the rest of New York was fixated with this event when it happened and during the subsequent criminal trial. About twenty years ago, the case came back to my attention when I sat in on one of my daughter Rachel's classes at the University of Pennsylvania Law School. I was a proud parent who listened attentively as her professor discussed the legal issues involved in the State of New York vs. Bernhard Goetz.
Shortly after Goetz entered the train, one of the teenagers, Troy Canty, asked him, "How are you doing?"
Goetz responded, "Fine."
Soon Canty and a second teenager, Barry Allen, got up from their seats and moved to block Goetz from the other passengers.
Then Canty said, "Give me $5."
Unbeknownst to both Canty and Allen, Bernhard Goetz (a victim of an assault in 1981) had on his person a 5-shot .38-caliber (unlicensed) revolver. He pulled it out and fired multiple shots at the four teenagers (which also included Darrell Cabey and James Ramseur), wounding them all.
After telling the train conductor that "They tried to rob me," Bernhard Goetz fled the scene. He went home, grabbed some things, rented a car and drove to New England where for eight days he stayed at a different motel, registered under a different name and paid with cash. On December 30th, Goetz turned himself into the police in Concord, New Hampshire.
Bernhard Goetz stood trial in Manhattan (April-June, 1987) on charges of attempted murder, first degree assault and criminal possession of a weapon (carrying a loaded, unlicensed gun in a public place). His lawyer (Barry Slotnick) argued that, "Goetz's actions fell within the New York State self-defense statute (a person may use deadly force if he reasonably believes another person is trying to rob him)."
Bernhard Goetz was only convicted on the weapons charge and was sentenced to a year in jail. He was released after eight months.
I along with the rest of New York was fixated with this event when it happened and during the subsequent criminal trial. About twenty years ago, the case came back to my attention when I sat in on one of my daughter Rachel's classes at the University of Pennsylvania Law School. I was a proud parent who listened attentively as her professor discussed the legal issues involved in the State of New York vs. Bernhard Goetz.
Sunday, December 15, 2019
Glenn Miller
Growing up in the 1950s, my exposure to music consisted mostly of listening to long-playing records of Broadway musicals my parents attended on their frequent trips to New York City. Some of these were Pajama Game, Can Can, Carousel, Wish You Were Here, South Pacific, Oklahoma and The Sound of Music. I still love this kind of music.
My brother Ted had his own record player that played 45 rpm vinyl records. And, he became enamored with the music of Glenn Miller, probably because of the 1954 movie, The Glenn Miller Story, starring James Stewart. For a time, all Ted played were Glenn Miller records.
The songs Ted played over and over and over again included Moonlight Serenade, In The Mood, Little Brown Jug, Indian Summer, Tuxedo Junction, Pennsylvania 6-5 Thousand and Chattanooga Choo Choo. After hating these records at first (because Ted played them incessantly), I grew to appreciate the music. Thanks, Ted.
Glenn Miller was born in Clarinda, Iowa on March 1, 1904. During his senior year in high school, he became interested in "dance band music." Upon graduation, Miller decided to become a professional musician.
In the late 1920s and early 1930s, Glenn Miller played the trombone for several different bands. In the mid-1930s, he performed as a trombonist, arranger and composer for the Dorsey Brothers, a famous jazz band of that era.
In 1938, Glenn Miller moved to New York with the intention of starting his own band and creating his own unique sound. He succeeded.
In a 1939 interview, Miller stated, "We're fortunate in that our style doesn't limit us to stereotyped intros, modulations, first choruses, endings or even trick rhythms. The fifth sax, playing clarinet most of the time, lets you know whose band you're listening to." When you hear his music, you know it's Glenn Miller.
For the rest of his life, Glenn Miller enjoyed professional success and great popularity. In 1942 (during World War II), he joined the US military to "be placed in charge of a modernized army band."
On December 15, 1944 (75 years ago today), Glenn Miller flew from an airfield in England bound for Paris to make final arrangements to move his band there. His plane disappeared while over the English Channel and was never found.
Glenn Miller was 40 years-old, the same age as another great musician/composer, John Lennon (see blog post of the same name), who also died a violent and untimely death. It is interesting to note that Glenn Miller was an American who died flying from England, while John Lennon was an Englishman who died in the United States.
My brother Ted had his own record player that played 45 rpm vinyl records. And, he became enamored with the music of Glenn Miller, probably because of the 1954 movie, The Glenn Miller Story, starring James Stewart. For a time, all Ted played were Glenn Miller records.
The songs Ted played over and over and over again included Moonlight Serenade, In The Mood, Little Brown Jug, Indian Summer, Tuxedo Junction, Pennsylvania 6-5 Thousand and Chattanooga Choo Choo. After hating these records at first (because Ted played them incessantly), I grew to appreciate the music. Thanks, Ted.
Glenn Miller was born in Clarinda, Iowa on March 1, 1904. During his senior year in high school, he became interested in "dance band music." Upon graduation, Miller decided to become a professional musician.
In the late 1920s and early 1930s, Glenn Miller played the trombone for several different bands. In the mid-1930s, he performed as a trombonist, arranger and composer for the Dorsey Brothers, a famous jazz band of that era.
In 1938, Glenn Miller moved to New York with the intention of starting his own band and creating his own unique sound. He succeeded.
In a 1939 interview, Miller stated, "We're fortunate in that our style doesn't limit us to stereotyped intros, modulations, first choruses, endings or even trick rhythms. The fifth sax, playing clarinet most of the time, lets you know whose band you're listening to." When you hear his music, you know it's Glenn Miller.
For the rest of his life, Glenn Miller enjoyed professional success and great popularity. In 1942 (during World War II), he joined the US military to "be placed in charge of a modernized army band."
On December 15, 1944 (75 years ago today), Glenn Miller flew from an airfield in England bound for Paris to make final arrangements to move his band there. His plane disappeared while over the English Channel and was never found.
Glenn Miller was 40 years-old, the same age as another great musician/composer, John Lennon (see blog post of the same name), who also died a violent and untimely death. It is interesting to note that Glenn Miller was an American who died flying from England, while John Lennon was an Englishman who died in the United States.
Sunday, December 8, 2019
The Night God Died
In 1958, while preparing for my bar mitzvah, I was committed to the Jewish religion. I even thought about becoming a rabbi. It seemed like a good job.
I believed in God. It made sense. How could this amazing world exist without one?
Parallel to my religious activities was my family life, which was dominated by my mother, a very controlling person. She had rules that had to be obeyed without question or argument. I found this to be extremely frustrating. Like a tea kettle has a spout to let off steam, I needed one, too. But, I didn't.
Rarely, I reached a point in which I blew up, had a temper tantrum. They were always at home and I was allowed to act out until I calmed down on my own. But nothing changed. The rules remained and they had to be followed, without recourse. (Bill Gates had a similar problem with his mother. They went to therapy. We didn't.)
One night, and I don't know how I got there, I found myself in the sanctuary of the Congregation Adath Israel on East Third Street in Oswego. I was older, in high school, and fed up with the regimentation I was facing from my mother. I couldn't stand it anymore. I was literally standing in the dark pleading for God's help. There was no reply.
Eventually, my father came to take me home. I realized it was hopeless. Nobody was listening to me. There was no God.
A few years later, I escaped, left home for college. I finally gained freedom from the prison of my mother's restrictive rules.
While at Penn, I came across the French writer Voltaire who said, "If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him." That I could relate to.
I believed in God. It made sense. How could this amazing world exist without one?
Parallel to my religious activities was my family life, which was dominated by my mother, a very controlling person. She had rules that had to be obeyed without question or argument. I found this to be extremely frustrating. Like a tea kettle has a spout to let off steam, I needed one, too. But, I didn't.
Rarely, I reached a point in which I blew up, had a temper tantrum. They were always at home and I was allowed to act out until I calmed down on my own. But nothing changed. The rules remained and they had to be followed, without recourse. (Bill Gates had a similar problem with his mother. They went to therapy. We didn't.)
One night, and I don't know how I got there, I found myself in the sanctuary of the Congregation Adath Israel on East Third Street in Oswego. I was older, in high school, and fed up with the regimentation I was facing from my mother. I couldn't stand it anymore. I was literally standing in the dark pleading for God's help. There was no reply.
Eventually, my father came to take me home. I realized it was hopeless. Nobody was listening to me. There was no God.
A few years later, I escaped, left home for college. I finally gained freedom from the prison of my mother's restrictive rules.
While at Penn, I came across the French writer Voltaire who said, "If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him." That I could relate to.
Sunday, December 1, 2019
The French Connection
The French Connection is a 1971 police action film, produced by Philip D'Antoni, directed by William Friedkin and written by Ernest Tidyman. It starred Gene Hackman, Roy Scheider, Fernando Rey and Tony Lo Bianco.
The French Connection was nominated for 8 Academy Awards, winning 5: Best Picture (D'Antoni), Best Director (Friedkin), Best Actor (Hackman), Best Adapted Screenplay (Tidyman) and Best Film Editing (Gerald G. Greenberg). Scheider was nominated for Best Supporting Actor, which was won by Ben Johnson in The Last Picture Show (see post: The Real Ben Johnson).
Filmed on the streets of New York City, The French Connection is the story of police detectives Popeye Doyle (Hackman) and Buddy Russo (Scheider). One night while having drinks at the Copacabana nightclub, they notice Sal Boca (Lo Bianco) at a table with known criminals involved in narcotics. Doyle and Russo follow him when he leaves.
Boca stops for an early breakfast at Ratner's, a Jewish kosher dairy restaurant at 138 Delancy Street in the East Village. This scene caught my attention as my family and I went to Ratner's often. Our favorite dishes were cherry cheese blintzes and kasha varnishkes. Ratners operated from 1905 until it closed in 2002.
Believing a shipment of heroin would soon arrive in New York, Doyle gets a warrant to wiretap Boca. Through this, he learns the heroin is coming from France.
Alain Charnier (Rey), French drug kingpin, convinces his TV personality friend, Henri Devereaux (Frederick de Pasquale), to hide the heroin in his car (a Lincoln) which is going to cross the Atlantic to New York via a cruise ship.
Realizing Charnier is the key to catching the criminals with the heroin, Doyle follows him through the streets of Manhattan before losing him on a subway car (the Grand Central Station Shuttle to Times Square).
Charnier's hit man (Marcel Bozzuffi) unsuccessfully tries to assassinate Doyle near his apartment at the Marlboro Housing Projects off Stillwell Avenue in Brooklyn. At the time, my ex-wife Bonita worked as a teacher in a day care center nearby.
Doyle (in a commandeered Pontiac Le Mans) then chases the assassin (who was on an elevated B subway train) through 86th Street in Bensonhurst. It was "one of the greatest car chase sequences in movie history." After the train crashes, the assassin escapes the subway car but is shot (in the back) by Doyle while trying to flee.
Eventually, Doyle and Russo discover the heroin hidden in Devereaux's car, but leave it there. Later, Charnier drives the car to an old warehouse on Wards Island to sell the drugs to Boca and his associates. Doyle and a large police unit also arrive, killing Boca in a shootout and arresting the others, except Charnier, who somehow disappears without a trace. However, he reappears along with Doyle in the sequel of The French Connection.
The French Connection was nominated for 8 Academy Awards, winning 5: Best Picture (D'Antoni), Best Director (Friedkin), Best Actor (Hackman), Best Adapted Screenplay (Tidyman) and Best Film Editing (Gerald G. Greenberg). Scheider was nominated for Best Supporting Actor, which was won by Ben Johnson in The Last Picture Show (see post: The Real Ben Johnson).
Filmed on the streets of New York City, The French Connection is the story of police detectives Popeye Doyle (Hackman) and Buddy Russo (Scheider). One night while having drinks at the Copacabana nightclub, they notice Sal Boca (Lo Bianco) at a table with known criminals involved in narcotics. Doyle and Russo follow him when he leaves.
Boca stops for an early breakfast at Ratner's, a Jewish kosher dairy restaurant at 138 Delancy Street in the East Village. This scene caught my attention as my family and I went to Ratner's often. Our favorite dishes were cherry cheese blintzes and kasha varnishkes. Ratners operated from 1905 until it closed in 2002.
Believing a shipment of heroin would soon arrive in New York, Doyle gets a warrant to wiretap Boca. Through this, he learns the heroin is coming from France.
Alain Charnier (Rey), French drug kingpin, convinces his TV personality friend, Henri Devereaux (Frederick de Pasquale), to hide the heroin in his car (a Lincoln) which is going to cross the Atlantic to New York via a cruise ship.
Realizing Charnier is the key to catching the criminals with the heroin, Doyle follows him through the streets of Manhattan before losing him on a subway car (the Grand Central Station Shuttle to Times Square).
Charnier's hit man (Marcel Bozzuffi) unsuccessfully tries to assassinate Doyle near his apartment at the Marlboro Housing Projects off Stillwell Avenue in Brooklyn. At the time, my ex-wife Bonita worked as a teacher in a day care center nearby.
Doyle (in a commandeered Pontiac Le Mans) then chases the assassin (who was on an elevated B subway train) through 86th Street in Bensonhurst. It was "one of the greatest car chase sequences in movie history." After the train crashes, the assassin escapes the subway car but is shot (in the back) by Doyle while trying to flee.
Eventually, Doyle and Russo discover the heroin hidden in Devereaux's car, but leave it there. Later, Charnier drives the car to an old warehouse on Wards Island to sell the drugs to Boca and his associates. Doyle and a large police unit also arrive, killing Boca in a shootout and arresting the others, except Charnier, who somehow disappears without a trace. However, he reappears along with Doyle in the sequel of The French Connection.
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