Ted

Yesterday, October 17, would have been my brother Ted’s (Edward Brian Lasky) seventy-third birthday.  Sadly, he died four years ago in June of 2011.  He was the third of four boys.  I was the fourth and the youngest.  He was exactly two years, nine months, and three weeks older than I.  Of the four of us, we were the closest in age.  When I was growing up, we spent a lot time together, until he went away to college in the fall of 1960.

My family lived at 30 East Oneida Street until I was eleven.  When my eldest bother, Joel, went away to college in 1950, the second eldest, Paul, moved into Joel’s old bedroom to have more privacy.  That left Ted and me all alone in our bedroom.  I shared a bedroom with him again when we moved to 327 West Seneca Street in 1956. 

When he wanted to, Ted would coax me into being his playmate.  I was always agreeable.  Sometimes when I was playing with my next door neighbor and friend, Butchie, he would coax both of us to join him in some play time activity.  He wasn’t as athletic as Paul who encouraged me to join him in playing baseball or football in the park.  Ted and I would do other activities like mimicing stories we saw either on TV or at the cinema.  He also encouraged me to “fake box” with him like they did in the movies, until one day when he missed and I wound up with a bloody nose.

Back in those halcyon days of the 1950s, there was a tradition of Saturday mornings at the Oswego Theater.  It would include a main feature with Tarzan or Roy Rogers or the like, plus a million cartoons.  Ted and I would often go, by ourselves, along with loads of other kids.  Our mom would invariably give Ted the price of admission for us both.  I guess I was not to be trusted with money.  And Ted always played the same trick on me, saying that Mom had only given him enough for himself and nothing for me.  He told me to get out of line if I had no money.  I would cry begging him to say he had money for me, but he would keep up the charade until the very last moment.  I was a sucker for this “joke” every time.

One time, Ted asked the Theater Manager to bring us up on the stage during one of his live shows during intermission.  He usually asked some kids to participate in some skit.  And one time it was us.  I was so scared to go, but more afraid not to.  And in the skit, I had to let some girl sit on my knee.  It was so embarrassing.

On our way home one time from the theater, we passed by the Police Station on West First Street and Ted insisted that we go in.  He was curious about the jail cells.  I was about 9 and he was 12.  Ted was brazen enough to ask the policeman inside to let us experience being in a jail cell.  He took us in the back, put us in a cell, closed the door, and left.  Ted was thrilled.  I cried.

Speaking of the local police, one time Ted and I were returning home from the dentist in a taxi cab.  A drunken driver hit another car on East Bridge Street and sped away from the scene, right in front of us.  A cop on the sidewalk, jumped in the cab, sat right next to me, and commandeered the cabbie to “follow that car.”  I was scared, but the chase didn’t last long.  Again, Ted was thrilled.

I remember the night we moved to our new house on West Seneca Street in 1956 when Ted and I listened to some programs on the radio, like Gunsmoke and The Lone Ranger.  At 9:30 on Saturday night, September 21, 1957, we watched the second episode of the new series, Have Gun, Will Travel, which starred Richard Boone as Paladin and with a guest star named Charles Bronson.  Since then, I have seen this episode numerous times via Youtube, always thinking of Ted.  We shared a love of Westerns.  His favorite movie was High Noon, which is high on my list, as well.

Lying in bed many a night, Ted provided me with a great deal of unsolicited sex education.  I never asked my parents anything and only my father offered limited advice.  However, Ted was an unstoppable audio source of information.  Regarding women, he was especially infatuated with Asian women.  He had a crush on the Vietnamese-French actress, France Nuyen, who is best known for her work in the film version of the musical, South Pacific.  I remember him referring to that wonderful song from that film, You’ve Got to be Carefully Taught by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II.  Ted collected pictures of her and other Asian actresses and models.  He also had a crush on two non-Asian Sallies from Oswego High, Allen and Kessler.

After graduating, Ted went to Michigan State University in East Lansing.  I remember visiting him there once, staying with him in his dorm room.  It was there at MSU where he met his first wife, Joy, whose best friend, Helaine, had a sister named Bonnie, my first wife.  After I graduated from college, I moved to suburban Detroit, Michigan because Ted was there.  When I married in 1968, Ted was my Best Man.

My first wife and I were living in Queens, New York, when Ted decided to relocate there with his wife and two children in 1972.  He stayed for four years, working at WNBC radio, where he teamed up with among others, the legendary Don Imus.  Ted also introduced me to the famous sportscaster, Marv Albert.  While in New York, he published a trashy novel under the pseudonym, Brian Edwards, using my first name as that of the protaganist.  What an honor! 

After Ted left New York with his family for Florida in 1976 I don’t believe he ever returned.  I was hurt when he did not attend my daughter’s bat mitzvah in 1988, my son’s bar mitzvah in 1998, nor my daughter’s wedding in 2004.  There was always a reason.  And then when I arranged for our mother’s 80th birthday party to be held near his home in Florida in 1987, he chose not to be there as well.

Some time in the 1990s, his girlfriend, Brenda, visited New York City, without Ted.  As a prank, he arranged for Brenda’s twentyish daughter to pretend to be Brenda (whom I had never met nor seen a picture of) when she visited my office.  She was dressed as a young, glamourous doll.  After gullable me accepted this hook, line and sinker, the real Brenda, older and more conservative showed up, a little sheepishly. 

A few years before his death, I visited Ted for the last time at his assisted living facility in Broward County, Florida.  I remember we had lunch in a nearby restaurant and when the waitress arrived, he told her we were brothers, but that he was the “good-looking one.”  This was a line I had heard him use many times.

The day before he died, I told him via his son’s (Jordan’s) cell phone that I loved him.  He said he loved me, too.  Through good times and bad, he was my brother Ted.

Waste of Life

My favorite scene in the 1976 movie, Rocky, is when Mickey (Burgess Meredith), Rocky’s trainer, irritated with Rocky, insults him, using an ethnic slur. 

Rocky (Sylvester Stallone) responds, “You know, I’ve been coming in for six years and for six years you’ve been sticking it to me.  I want to know how come.” 

Mickey retorts, “You don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, I want to know how come.”

“You want to know?”

“I want to know.”

“I’m gonna tell you.  Because you had the talent to become a good fighter and instead of that you became a leg-breaker for a cheap, second-rate loan shark.” 

Trying to justify himself, Rocky responds with, “It’s a living.”

Mickey then sums it up for Rocky.   “It’s a waste of life.” 

Life is the most precious thing we have and maybe the only thing.  As Clint Eastwood’s character (William Muney) said in the 1992 Western movie, Unforgiven, “Hell of a thing killing a man.  You take away all he’s got and all he’s ever going to have.”

Another example of how precious life is was expressed in the ninth episode of the third season (1959) of the popular television series, Have Gun Will Travel, by Richard Boone’s character (Paladin).  “Do you think I hold my life in so little regard that I am not afraid to lose it?”       

To me, life is so precious that it’s a sin to waste it.  Life should be used to the fullest extent  possible.  That’s the reason we are here, to use our time in whatever positive way we can, but use it we must, not just to exist like a plant. 

I recently read about a Brazilian woman who is 88 years of age.  Most who were born in the same year as she was, 1927, are already dead.  Thus, she should take advantage of her extra time in some positive way that is possible for her to do.  On a recent Saturday morning, a friend asked her what she wanted to do on that beautiful, sunny day.  Her response, which is typical of her daily routine, is that she wanted to do nothing.  The next day, the same question, the same answer.  She mostly sits in front of the television watching what ever the same channel offers.  The friend has tried to encourage her to do something to take advantage of her opportunity to do something meaningful in her remaining years, for example to study English.  She refuses.  I believe that she is wasting her life.    

Recently, a cousin of mine sent me a photo from my brother’s (Joel’s) wedding which took place on Sunday, July 3, 1960, more than fifty-five years ago.  It was a photo of my father’s (Harry’s) family.  Besides himself, there was his wife (my mother, Margaret), four sons (including me), one daughter-in-law, three brothers, three sisters, two brothers-in-law, three sisters-in-law, and one nephew (19 people in all).  I remember that it was a happy day for all of us.  All were smiling, especially me at fourteen years of age.  I was wearing a tuxedo for the first time in my life.  I had the special responsibility of escorting my grandmother to her seat near the front of where the wedding ceremony was going to take place.

At that moment frozen in time by the camera, there was so much of my life still in front of me that I was unaware of on that day: high school, girls, dating, my first kiss, college, living on my own, graduation, getting a job as an accountant, making my own money, having my own home, meeting my first wife, marriage, New York, making love, having  two children, helping them grow up to be independent, well-adjusted human beings, divorce, Brazil, speaking Portuguese, meeting my second wife, Chapel Hill, Brazil again, second marriage, teaching English to eager Brazilians, and starting this blog.  When I posed for that picture in 1960, I didn’t know any of what would become my future.  But, I have tried to the best of my naive, innocent ability to mature and make good choices and decisions and learn from my mistakes as time passed.  I have become wiser.  I’ve had a good life so far, and I intend to keep making it better.  I try to use my time advantageously.  As someone once said, the past is over, the future is not guaranteed, so all we have is today.  Carpe diem.  Aproveite o dia.  Seize the day. 

Of the nineteen of us in the above-mentioned photo, fifteen are dead.  Their lives are over, no more chances, no more opportunities to take advantage of what life offers us.  We the living can’t throw away one single day, one single moment.  It’s too precious.  It would be a sin.  It would be a waste of life, as Mickey said.

Parenthood

On May 7, 2013, my wife, Cristina, and I were at the Broadhurst Theater in New York City watching the play Lucky Guy which starred Tom Hanks.  During the intermission, we walked to the bar at the rear of the theater where I bought her a glass of wine.  Suddenly, Cristina told me to turn around quickly.  I did.  And there walking directly toward me was Steve Martin (who is exactly one week younger than I am).  My brain went into overdrive to think of something witty and clever to say.  It came out as “Hi.”  His retort was, “How are you?”  Thereupon he disappeared into the nearby men’s room.

This reminds me of the day in 2004, when I saw Richard Dreyfus walking on a street in the upper west side of the same New York City.  That time my brain came up with, “I loved Moon Over Parador (the 1988 romantic comedy in which he starred opposite the Brazilian actress, Sonia Braga).”  He stopped in his tracks for a second and, without turning to look at me, he responded with, “Good!” 

In 1993, I was on an airplane with my son, Bret, flying from Chicago to New York.  Sitting in the first row, first seat, was Van Johnson (a “matinee idol of Hollywood’s golden age”).  I shook his hand and told him how much I enjoyed his performance in the 1954 film,  The Caine Mutiny.  He asked me if I wanted my money back.  I didn’t mention that I saw it for free on television. 

A couple of years earlier, I was in an elevator of my office building  (800 Avenue, New York City) when I noticed, standing to my left, the actor, film maker, Spike Lee.  I was speechless.  As I was starring at him, he broke the ice with, “How ya doin?”  I gave a “How ya doin?” back at him. 

My speechlessness reminded me of the time in 1967 when I saw the Academy Award winning actor, Ernest Borgnine, in a VIP lounge at the Detroit Metropolitan Airport.  He was sitting on a sofa all by himself watching television.  I was too afraid to approach him.  What a dope I was.

On the evening of this past July 16th, I was on American Airlines flight #929 from Miami to São Paulo.  I was offered an incredible entertainment package of hundreds of movies that I could choose from.  As a movie lover, this was heaven.  My first choice was Citizen Kane (1941), a movie I had seen before, but not one I was in love with.  I watched the first forty minutes and then turned it off.  I remembered why I didn’t like it.  The story sucks.  The protaganist, Charles Foster Kane, is not nice guy, the plot is boring, and Rosebud is only the sled he played with when he was a little boy.

My second choice was Gone With the Wind (1939), one of my all-time favorites (the book is one of the best works of fiction).    After about ten minutes I had to turn it off, too.  After all, the O’Haras and the Wilkes’s were slave-owners.  Basically, they were immoral people.  Should I care about them?  The image of their slaves as docile, happy workers who love their masters is repugnant.  Why did I not realize this before?

My third choice was the 1989 comedy-drama Parenthood starring the above-mentioned Steve Martin plus an ensemble cast which included Mary Steenburgen, Jason Robards, Keanu Reeves, and Dianne Wiest (nominated for the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress, but lost to Brenda Fricker in My Left Foot).  It was directed by Ron Howard who assisted in the development of the story.  I happily watched the movie to the end, even though I had seen it many times before.

The movie begins as Gil (Martin) is with his wife (Steenburgen) and three young children at a Major League Baseball game.  He is day dreaming about a number of times when his father, Frank (Robards), had taken him to a game when he was a child, only to be abandoned to the care of an usher.  It reminded me of a couple of occasions when my own father did something similar. 

On Christmas night, December 25, 1952, my father bought three tickets to the North South Shriner’s football game at Miami’s Orange Bowl, my first time at a major sporting event (7 years-old).  Instead of taking my bother, Paul (14 years-old), and me, my father hired somebody at the hotel we were staying at to take us.  On October 26, 1957, my father had his assistant at work take me to Archbold Stadium on the Syracuse University campus to watch the Orangemen play Penn State in a football game.

Parenthood is a wonderful movie about an extended family that keeps having more and more children, and despite the ups and downs of parenting, wouldn’t have it any other way.  Steve Martin’s performance as a father was outstanding.  I was surprised to learn he was not a father in real life when he made Parenthood in 1989.  However, his only child, a daughter, was five months old when we met twenty-four years later.   

Below is some marvelous dialogue from the film: 

Helen (Wiest, Gil’s sister): It sounds like a boy Garry's (Helen’s son) age needs a man around the house.

Todd (Reeves, Helen’s daughter’s boyfriend): Well, it depends on the man. I had a man around.  He used to wake me up every morning by flicking lit cigarettes at my head.  He'd say, "Hey, asshole, get up and make me breakfast." You know, Mrs. Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog, or drive a car. Hell, you need a license to catch a fish!  But they'll let any asshole be a father.

 

Julie (Helen’s daughter):  If he thinks I'm having his baby now, he's crazy!

Helen:  Baby?

George (Helen’s boyfriend):  Your daughter's having a baby?

Helen: A baby?

George:  You're going to be a grandma?

Helen: No, no, no, no. I'm too young to be a grandmother. Grandmothers are old. They bake, and they sew, and they tell you stories about the Depression.  I was at Woodstock, for Christ's sake! I peed in a field!

 

Gil’s Grandmother:  You know, when I was nineteen, Grandpa took me on a roller coaster.

Gil: Oh?

Gil’s Grandmother: Up, down, up, down. Oh, what a ride!

Gil: What a great story.

Gil’s Grandmother:  I always wanted to go again. You know, it was just so interesting to me that a ride could make me so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together! Some didn't like it. They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. I like the roller coaster. You get more out of it.

 

Frank [watching his son, Larry, get thrown from a moving car and rolling up next to his feet]: What was that?

Larry: [Larry stands up and brushes himself off] Oh, some friends of mine were just dropping me off.

Frank: Friends? Friends slow down, they even stop!

 

Frank: [talking to his son, Gil, about the unending burden of parenting] It’s not like that all ends at 18, or 21, or 41, or 61.  It never, never ends.  It's like your Aunt Edna's ass.  It goes on forever and it's just as frightening.  There is no end zone.  You never cross the goal line, spike the ball, and do your touchdown dance.  Never!  I’m 64 and Larry’s 27.  And he’s still my son.  Like Kevin is your son.  Do you think I want him to get hurt?  He’s my son. 

Fourth Lake, Chapter 9

Judy woke up first on Thursday, August 1, 1974.  She looked at Phil who was sound asleep.  Judy decided to let him be while she pondered the events of yesterday.  She thought it to be a pretty good day, taking everything into account.  Besides her husband, two other men had paid attention to her.  How good is that?

Judy remembered the drinking she and Phil had done at the Laughing Loon Tavern.  They obviously overdid it.  So much so they decided it would be better to have dinner right there.  Mitch gave them a menu from the Woods Inn restaurant upstairs.  They chose a couple of items and a waiter brought them down so they could eat right at the bar.  Mitch was never too far away, ready with more drinks and more conversation, especially with Judy.  When they were ready to leave, Mitch called Joe who came with his pickup truck to take Judy and Phil back to their cottage.  They were in no condition to walk back, even such a short way.  When the two of them got out of Joe’s truck, they both were pretty wobbly.  Joe took very good care of Judy, but Phil was on his own.

The only negative Judy could recall was that bitch at the grocery store that seemed to be flirting with Phil.  Had he encouraged her?  Judy wondered.  She decided she wouldn’t let Phil go back to the grocery store alone, or at all.

Judy also vaguely remembered the two of them trying to make love as they fumbled around in the dark after entering their cottage.  It was a kind of a blur.  She didn’t remember all the details.  Finally, Phil woke up and she decided to finish what they had started before falling asleep the night before.

Later, during a breakfast of scrambled eggs, they discussed what they would do that day.  Their energy level had returned.  Phil and Judy were in the mood to try something new. 

There was another Watergate report on the radio that suggested Ron Ziegler, the White House Press Secretary, was being muzzled by President Nixon.  Ziegler’s Assistant, Jerry Warren, issued a denial in his absence.

While she was showering, Judy remembered the information that Mitch had told her about Dollar Island and the currently unoccupied mansion on it.  He mentioned the dock on the far side of the island that was used for arriving boats.  He also described the interior of the house that he had personally visited on one occasion.  He had worked as a waiter for a birthday party held there some years ago.  He referred to a large, rustic, sparsely furnished room where the twenty or so guests were gathered.  There was an expensive-looking, large rectangular table with chairs where they ate chocolate cake and drank French champagne.  He also remembered a staircase going up to a second floor, which he never saw.

Among the travel brochures they had of the area was one about nearby Rocky Mountain, not to be confused with the Rocky Mountains out west.  It described a half mile, steep hike to the 2,225 foot summit of the mountain which had some great views of Fourth Lake and the surrounding area.  There was a well worn trail which led to the rocky summit.  The elevation gain amounted to 448 feet.

After relaxing on their dock for about an hour and a half, Judy packed a picnic lunch and the two of them drove into Inlet.  Fortunately, when they passed the grocery store, May Flanagan was no where to be seen.  Phil and Judy then drove out the other end of town for the short distance to the parking lot across the road from Rocky Mountain.  They put on their hiking boots and Phil carried his camera with a zoom lens in its carrying case.  They started their climb to the top.

The sign at the entrance said to follow the yellow markers on the trail.  How hard could that be?  The trail consisted of a pathway through an ever rising mountain, thick with trees and rocks.  How many thousands of people had preceded Phil and Judy, making this trail, pointing their way forward and up?  They were asked to register at one point for safety sake, in case they got lost.  Lost?  They thought this was supposed to be easy. 

In some places, Phil and Judy had to climb over fallen trees to stay on the trail.  In others, there were steps made of large rocks.  Stay on the trail!  Where is that next yellow marker?  Are we lost?  There it is.  We aren’t lost...yet.  They had to be careful of their footing, especially when there was a sharp incline to the right or left on the trail.  There were so many rocks and trees.  And walking uphill was tiring on their legs.  Occasionally, there was level ground.  But then, up again.  Near the end of their climb, the path seemed to turn totally into a trail of boulders.  Finally, they reached the summit and there they had a gorgeous, breathtaking view of the entire Fourth Lake.

Phil and Judy sat down to rest.  But, they couldn’t take their eyes off of what was down below, what they had just left a short time before.  Judy had a fantasy about what she wanted to do on top of Rocky Mountain, but they were not alone.  There was a family of four nearby that had already arrived and were eating their picnic lunch.  This gave Phil an idea.  But before he could open his mouth and start on his bologna sandwich, Judy gave him a romantic kiss on his lips, something all mountain climbers do with their partners when they reach their objective.

While Phil was eating his sandwich and drinking a Coke, Judy took his camera, looked through the lens and zoomed the focus toward Dollar Island.  It looked even better to her from this angle.  She could see the dock Mitch mentioned as they were now on the opposite side of the lake from their cottage.  She zoomed the image as much as she could to see the mansion as large as possible.  She starred at it.  Judy was now determined more than ever to go to Dollar Island and see the mansion from as close up as possible, and to take Phil with her, kicking and screaming, if necessary.  She wasn’t going to leave Fourth Lake before visiting that house.                      

Benedict Arnold

Benedict Arnold began the American Revolutionary War on the Patriot side as a captain in the Connecticut Militia.  In April of 1775, his company assisted in the seige of Boston.  In May of 1775, he helped Ethan Allen to capture Fort Ticonderoga.  In December of 1775, Arnold participated in the ill-fated attack on the City of Quebec.  For his efforts there, he received a commission as a general in the American Army.  In October of 1777, he was heroic in the decisive victory over the British at the Battle of Saratoga.  When the British withdrew from Philadelphia in June of 1778, General George Washington appointed Arnold as the military commander of the City. 

It was around that time that Arnold started to have misgivings about his choice of sides in the war.  He began a secret correspondence with Major John Andre, the British spy chief.  In August of 1780, Washington appointed Arnold as the Commandant of West Point, a commanding plateau on the west bank of the Hudson River, 55 miles north of New York City.  In this capacity, Arnold offered to turn the fort over to the British, for a price.  Andre confirmed they would pay him twenty thousand pounds.  Two hundred, thirty-five years ago tomorrow, September 21, 1780, Arnold and Andre met to discuss the final arrangements for the turnover of West Point.  Two days later, while attempting to return to British-held New York City, Andre was captured by American forces.  On his person were documents that incriminated Arnold.  Hearing this, Arnold himself escaped to New York City and became a general in the British Army.  After the war ended in 1783, he moved to England where he died in 1801.

Today, there are no statues of Benedict Arnold in the United States.  For two hundred and thirty-five years his name has been vilified as synonymous with the word traitor.  He was a patriot who fought for American independence and then fought against the united States of America.  Similarly, Jefferson Davis, Robert E. Lee, and other leaders of the rebellious Confederate States of America were once loyal Americans who fought against the United States of America and thus became traitors.  However, unlike Arnold, today there are statues and monuments to these men in the United States.  Why the difference?

The American Revolutionary War was waged because of a desire by some in the British North American colonies for independence.  At the end of the war, the losers, those colonists loyal to the British crown, plus some freed slaves and Hession soldiers hired to fight for the British, emigrated to Canada or Great Britain.  They knew they would be unwelcome in the newly independent American States plus they had little desire to live under a new and untested form of government.  The slaves would be returned to their masters. 

The Civil War was waged because of a desire by the rich and powerful slave-owners in the South to create a nation in which African slavery would be protected and made permanent.  At the end of the war, the losers, the white Southerners who fought for and supported the rebellious Confederate States of America, mostly stayed put.  (A small number did emigrate to Mexico and Brazil.)  For about twelve years, until 1877, they endured what was called Reconstruction.  During this period, the States that had seceded were under the rule of the United States Army.  It organized local elections which permitted former slaves (freedmen) to vote.  On the other hand, whites who held leading positions in the Confederacy were barred from voting and could not hold public office.  Coalitions of freedmen, northerners who emigrated to the South (carpetbaggers), and southerners who supported Reconstruction (scalawags) cooperated to form state and local governments. 

As a result of the disputed presidential election of 1876, the new US President Rutherford B. Hayes ended Reconstruction after he was inaugurated in January 1877.  The US Army was withdrawn and the South came under the exclusive rule of white southerners.  “Following continuing violence around elections as insurgents worked to suppress black voting, the Democratic-dominated Southern states passed legislation to create barriers to voter registrations by blacks and poor whites.”  As a result, the new white power structure mandated a system of legal segregation of the races in all public facilities, known as Jim Crow laws.  In theory, it was supposed to be separate, but equal.  But in reality, “conditions for African Americans were consistently inferior and underfunded compared to those available to white Americans.”  This period of legal segregation and voter suppresion continued until the 1960s.

It was during this period (1877-1965) that the white southern establishment developed a narrative (alternative history) that told a story favorable to the white southern “lost cause.”  This made the actions of their ancestors who participated in the Civil War for the South more palatable.  According to the narrative, the Civil War was not about slavery.  It was about the desire of the South to be free and independent, in a similar manner that the thirteen British colonies had wanted to be free and independent in 1776.  Unfortunately in my view, this narrative has taken hold in the white Southern community.  The Civil War, the heroes of that war, and the Battle Flag of the Confederacy have all come to represent southern pride, southern culture, and southern tradition.  Sometimes it is not the victors who write the history.  Sometimes, the losers, because they have the political power, write the history.

To be fair, 95% of white Southerners did not own slaves and four of the States (Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee and Arkansas) only seceded after President Lincoln ordered Federal troops to go to the South to suppress the “rebellion,” as it was called by him.  Presumably, those States felt that secession was a legitimate option, but its suppression by force was not.  I would prefer that the descendents of those 95% of white Southerners realize that their non-slaving owning ancestors had been misguided by the slaving holding elite.  They fought bravely in the Civil War, but they fought on the wrong side of history.      

On the other hand, as I stated above, the powerful elite in 1860, all slave owners, opted for secession in order to protect slavery (read the Confederate Constitution).  They were able to convince the other 95% of white southerners who did not own slaves to support secession because (1) it was in their economic interest to support slavery (“Cotton is king”), (2) it was in their social interest to support slavery (at least you are superior to a slave) and (3) they needed to protect their women from the invaders from the North.  However, just as in the Revolutionary War, it was not a unanimous decision to secede.  In western Virginia, western North Carolina, eastern Tennessee, and northern Alabama, where yeoman farmers were strong and slavery almost did not exist, the majority favored staying in the Union. 

It was also during this post-Reconstruction period that statues, monuments and memorials were constructed throughout the South to remember the heroes of the Confederacy, many of whom owned slaves.  The African American community in the South, descendents of those held in slavery, was powerless to do anything about it, until now.  Recently, the Battle Flag of the Confederacy, which had flown over the State of South Carolina Capital, was taken down.    

Silent Sam, a statue of a symbolic Confederate soldier (who fought against the United States of America), was erected on The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill campus in 1913.  In 1924, a gigantic sculpture of Confederate General Robert E. Lee (a slave-owner) leading a column of his soldiers (who fought against the United States of America) was completed on the side of Stone Mountain, Georgia.  In 1933, a statue of Confederate President Jefferson Davis (a slave owner) was erected on the campus of the University of Texas in Austin.  There are hundreds, if not thousands more, throughout the South.

What would we think if some German people started to talk nostalgically about their history from 1933-1945?  What if they started waving the Nazi flag as representative of German culture, pride, and tradition?  What if they built statues of some of their heroic leaders from that period?  I think we Americans would be shocked and dismayed.  Similarly, I am appalled when I see Silent Sam in McCorkle Park in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, my once and future home.                                  

NFL

Today, September 13, is opening day for the 2015 season of the National Football League (NFL).  I know there was a game Thursday night (the Pittsburgh Steelers lost 28-21 to the New England Patriots at Gillette Stadium, Foxborough, Massachusetts), but for the other 30 teams, and traditionally, the game is played on Sundays (“On any given Sunday...”).  The League is currently the most popular sport in the United States.  But it wasn’t always that way.  Until the late 1950s, it lived in obscurity, overshadowed by the college game and especially baseball.  For example, in Philadelphia, fan support for the University of Pennsylvania Quakers was far greater than the Eagles in the decade of the 1940s.

Ninety-five years ago, on August 20, 1920, in Canton, Ohio, the league was first formalized as the American Professional Football Conference, consisting of eleven teams.  There are thirty-two teams in the League today.  The next month, September of 1920, it changed its name to the American Professional Football Association.  Two years later, now headquartered in Columbus, Ohio, it became the National Football League.

When I became a fan of professional football about thirty years later in the early 1950s, the NFL, led by Commissioner Bert Bell, consisted of twelve teams: the New York Giants, the Cleveland Browns, the Philadelphia Eagles, the Pittsburgh Steelers, the Chicago Cardinals, the Washington R-word, the Detroit Lions, the Chicago Bears, the Green Bay Packers, the Baltimore Colts, the San Francisco 49ers, and the Los Angeles Rams.  The first six were in the Eastern Conference and the second six in the Western Conference.  After a twelve game season the two Conference winners would meet in a championship game, the site of which was determined on an alternating basis between the Eastern and Western Conference champions.  For example, in 1954 the Browns hosted the Lions in Cleveland, while in 1955 the Rams hosted the Browns in Los Angeles.

As I was a big sports fan in my youth, and as each of the games of the New York Football Giants (to distinguish them from my favorite baseball team, the New York Giants), were televised into our living room every Sunday afternoon in the fall, I became enamored of the NFL Giants.  In those years, as television was a black and white phenomenom, I couldn’t tell for sure what color their helmets, jerseys, or pants were.  One game between the Eagles (green) and the Giants (red and blue) became quite confusing as both teams wore dark helmets and a dark jerseys. 

Before  1956, the Giants were a loser, especially frustrated by the exploits of Otto Graham and Paul Brown’s Browns.  I remember one particular Sunday, November 30, 1952, when I sat through a loss to the Steelers by a score of 63-7.  However, in 1956, my loyalty was rewarded with a championship, the team’s first since 1938, when they beat the Bears at Yankee Stadium, 47-7.

In 1957, a rookie out of nearby Syracuse University, the one and only Jim Brown (the greatest football player I ever saw) led the Browns back to the NFL championship game in Detroit.  Unfortunately for the Browns, they lost to the Lions 59-14. 

In 1958, the Giants needed to beat those same Lions in Detroit in order to stay in the race for the championship.  On December 7th, they were leading (19-17) late in the game when Detroit threatened to score a go-ahead field goal.  Giant Linebacker, Harland Svare (#84) blocked it to insure the Giants victory.  The following Sunday, the 14th, the Giants hosted the Browns on the last game of the regular season, needing to defeat Cleveland in order to force a tie-breaking playoff game the following Sunday.  Legendary Pat Summerall (#88) kicked a forty-nine yard field goal as snow was blowing with about two minutes remaining to give the Giants a 13-10 victory.  Playing the Browns back at Yankee Stadium again on the 21st, the Giants shutdown Jim Brown and won the playoff game, 10-0.  That led to another game for the NFL championship at Yankee Stadium the following Sunday against the Western Champion, the Baltimore Colts, led by quarterback Johnnie Unitas.  That game, on December 28, 1958, would become known as the greatest game ever played and would forever change the destiny of the NFL.

The Colts scored two second quarter touchdowns on a two yard run by Alan “the horse” Ameche and a fifteen yard pass from Unitas to Raymond Berry to go into halftime with a 14-3 lead.  They took the second half kickoff and seemed to be putting the game away when they marched to the Giants’s one yard line.  However, the Giants held and the momentum turned.

A few plays later, Giant quarterback Charlie Conerly’s (#42) 33 yard pass connected with Kyle Rote (#44) at their own 46 yard line.  Rote broke a tackle and ran for another 29 yards when he was tackled from behind at the Colt’s 25 yard line, where he fumbled the ball.  Teammate Alex Webster (#29) picked up the loose ball and ran to the one yard line where he was forced out of bounds (86 yards on a pass completion plus run with a recovered fumble).   Two plays later, Mel Tripplet (#33) scored a touchdown to narrow the score to 14-10.  The Giants took the lead, 17-14, in the fourth quarter on a Conerly to Frank Gifford (#16) touchdown pass of fifteen yards.

With a little over two minutes left in the fourth quarter, Unitas drove the Colts 73 yards down the field for a game-tying field goal with seven seconds left.  That sent the game into the first ever Sudden Death Overtime to determine the NFL champion.  The Giants won the coin toss, but failed to get a first down.  They punted to the Colts who marched eighty yards down field with the clímax being Ameche again in the end zone on a one yard run.  Game over, Colts 23, Giants 17.  I cried.   

Even with the City of New York blacked out, an estimated forty-five million Americans watched the game on television, a record at that time.  As a result of this game, professional football became immensely more and more popular for years to come.  Because of this new popularity, in 1960, a rival league, the American Football League, with eight teams (Boston Patriots, New York Titans, Buffalo Bills, Houston Oilers, Dallas Texans, Denver Broncos, Oakland Raiders, and the Los Angeles Chargers), started operating.  In addition, the NFL added expansion teams in 1960 (Dallas Cowboys) and 1961 (Minnesota Vikings).  Under the leadership of Commissioner Pete Rozelle, the two leagues merged a few years later and their respective champions met in the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum on January 15, 1967 in the first of what would become known as the Super Bowl, the most watched single sporting event of the year in the USA. 

Recently, Giant great Frank Gifford passed away.  It reminded me of that group of Giants (that meant so much to me in my youth) that were in the NFL championship game six times in eight years (1956-1963).  Unfortunately, they also lost to the Colts in 1959, the Packers in 1961 and 1962, and finally the Bears in 1963.  Ironically, I was at Franklin Field, then home of the Philadelphia Eagles, on opening day 1964 (exactly 51 years ago today) when this great run of sucess all came crashing down, with a 38-7 loss.  Besides Gifford and the others previously mentioned, I remember Rosie Brown (#79), Rosie Grier (#76), Jimmy Patton (#20), Sam Huff (#70), Jim Katkavage (#75), Andy Robustelli (#81), Emlen Tunnell (#45), Bob Schnelker (#85), Ray Wietecha (#55), and Dick Modzelewski (#77 – On Saturday night, September 26, 1964, I sat directly behind him in a Philadelphia movie theater showing Behold a Pale Horse, starring Gregory Peck, Anthony Quinn, and Omar Sharif.). 

Tonight, the Giants are on the road to play the Dallas Cowboys.  Good luck to both teams and good luck to the NFL.  Hopefully, this year will be improvement over last year when, instead of great plays by players on the field, the talk was of player issues involving spousal abuse, child abuse, and game day cheating.

Brief Encounter

Standing behind her as she sat at their table, he put his left hand on her right shoulder.  Then Alec walked out the door of the refreshment room and was gone forever.  Laura hoped he would change his mind and return, but he didn’t.  This was the end of their brief affair, but for fans of the 1945 British romantic film, Brief Encounter, written by Noel Coward, directed by David Lean, with Piano Concerto No. 2 by Sergei Rachmaninoff, and starring Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson (nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actress, but lost to Olivia DeHaviland in To Each His Own), their love story can be replayed over and over again. 

It started so innocently.  Laura, a middle-aged housewife and mother of two young children, was waiting on the station platform on her way home after her weekly Thursday excursion to Milford, got a piece of grit in her eye as a train passed rapidly in front of her.  Retreating into the refreshment room, she unsuccessfully tried to remove it.  Alec, a kindly (married with children) general practioner, offered his assistance and was quickly able to mend her irritated eye.  So began their relationship.

The following Thursday, after she exited from a book store in Milford, Laura and Alec passed on the street.  Remembering each other from the previous week, the two made small talk for a minute or so before continuing on their respective ways.

On the third Thursday, Laura was sitting alone in a crowded restaurant in Milford having just ordered lunch.  When she saw Alec approaching, Laura said hello and invited him to join her as there were no empty tables available.  I believe this was an innocent gesture, perhaps reciprocating for his act of kindness in assisting her in her moment of need two weeks prior.  The two chatted amiably sharing lunch, a laugh at the dreadful live music they had to endure in the restaurant, and some good conversation.    

After lunch, Laura mentioned that she was going to the cinema and Alec asked if he could join her as his work at the hospital that day was finished.  She accepted.  I believe this was their first step over the line.  She said it was so natural and innocent, but was it?  After enjoying a movie together, they walked back to the train station.  Just before they arrived, Alec put his hand under Laura’s arm.  It was their first intimacy. 

In the refreshment room, they each had a cup of tea before their respective trains arrived.  Alec talked about his passion for preventative medicine.  Laura found him very endearing, talking about it as if he were “a little boy.”  I think this was an indication of her growing fondness for Alec.  When his train arrived, they both mentioned how much they had enjoyed their afternoon together. 

Alec asked, “Can I see you again?”  After Laura avoided giving a direct response, he repeated his request. 

Laura said, “Yes, of course.” 

“Please, next Thursday, the same time,” he pleaded. 

At first, she said, “I couldn’t possibly.” 

He asked again and finally she said, “I’ll be there.” Alec thereupon happily ran off to meet his train. 

On the fourth Thursday, Laura went back for lunch to the same table in the same restaurant where they had met the previous week, hoping that Alec would be there.  After finishing her meal, she “waited a bit,” but he didn’t come.  Then Laura passed by the hospital where Alec spent his Thursdays, but she didn’t see him.  She arrived at the train station a little earlier than usual, having left the cinema before the feature film was even over.  After finishing her tea in the refreshment room, she walked to the platform to await her train.  Laura noticed Alec’s train arriving and he wasn’t anywhere to be seen.  She suddenly felt “panic stricken” at the thought she wouldn’t see him again.  Then, there he was, running up the ramp towards her.  She ran to meet him.  He apologized for not seeing her earlier.  There had been an emergency at the hospital.  Together they ran to his train that was about to depart. 

As he boarded, he asked, “Next Thursday?”

She responded with a broad smile on her face, “Yes, next Thursday.”

On the fifth Thursday, they again went to the cinema together.  As it turned out to be a terribly bad movie, they left before the end.  Since it was a lovely afternoon, they decided instead to go to the local botanical gardens.  Laura was enjoying herself “without any pang of conscience.”  They decided to go for a boat ride on the lake, with Alec doing the rowing and Laura trying to steer.  They both felt “gay and happy.”  Trying to go under a low bridge, Alec got out of the boat and got his shoes and socks wet.  They found a place to stay while they dried them off and where they would be alone.  Their mood turned serious. 

Over a cup of tea, he said, “You know what’s happened, don’t you?” Alec meant that  they had fallen in love. 

Laura simply said, “Yes.”

I highly recommend that you see this marvelous romantic film and discover what happened next to Laura and Alec.  I hope I have whetted your apetite for more.  I consider Brief Encounter the best film of this genre ever made.  After you see it, please let me know what you think.