Teacher

In the late 1990s, I was in a rut, professionally.  I had been a tax accountant at Joseph E. Seagram & Sons, Inc. (see my blog post of March 20, 2016 - JES) for about thirty years and I felt like I was just spinning my wheels.  I was getting more and more depressed (not clinically) about my daily routine of going to my office in the morning and looking forward to, not dealing with my daily work-related tasks, but with leaving the office at the end of the day, as early as possible.  What was the point?  A paycheck, of course, but there had to be more to life than a paycheck.

I started thinking about an alternative occupation that would inspire me to become passionate about what I did for a living.  I thought about the Robin Williams 1989 movie, Dead Poets Society, the story of a young teacher (Williams) in 1959 at a private boarding school in a rural part of Delaware full of bright students, eager to learn.  Williams inspires them with his unorthodox teaching methods plus his enthusiasm.  He has them stand on their desks to see the world from a new perspective.  He encourages them to “make your lives extraordinary,” using the latin phrase “carpe diem,” or "seize the day."

This gave me the idea of pursuing a teaching career at fifty plus years-of-age, a little unusual.  Williams had convinced me that teaching was a noble calling.  I started taking night classes at Queens College to earn enough credits to qualify for a teaching certificate from the State of New York.  I vividly remember two of my courses. 

The first course dealt with educational psychology.  It was divided between classroom lectures/discussions and a fourteen chapter textbook.  One topic we discussed was grading, for which there are different theories (such as grading on a curve or based on stringent rules).  The professor announced that our course grade would be based solely on two multiple-choice exams (50% each).  The first would be a mid-term based solely on the first seven chapters of the textbook, and the second, a final, would be based solely on the last seven chapters of the textbook.  To him, classroom attendance and discussions were not relevant to the final grade, even though the subjects we discussed in the classroom were completely different from those in the textbook.  The grade in this course as given by the teacher was, in my opinion, completely irrational.  The three months of material we discussed in his class was “irrelevant?”  The relevant grade was based solely on material in a book he never discussed.  This was a very strange approach to grading.

The second course was what is referred to as “practice teaching.”  I was assigned to an America history teacher in an Astoria, Queens high school.  Under his supervision, I would teach one of his classes during the week.  Unfortunately, I quickly caught on that he didn’t really want to handle this assignment.  I was forced upon him by my Queens College advisor and his high school principal.  My mentor basically ignored me, let me do whatever I wanted, without any comment, with one exception.  I was thinking of showing my class a scene from the classic western, High Noon (see my blog post of March 22, 2015), when ex-Marshal Will Kane goes into a church to ask the congregants for their help in dealing with a dangerous situation.  I wanted to use this scene as a way of discussing civic responsibility.  My teacher’s response was, “We are here to teach, not to show movies.”

I was also to observe my teacher during his classes.  He was an example of why so many don’t like to study history.  His methods were boring and delivered without any enthusiasm.  He never updated his lesson plans nor tried to do anything unorthodox.  This was at the advent of the personal computer.  However, he admitted to all with pride in his voice that, “I don’t even know how to turn on a computer.” What a role model!

In September of 2000, sixteen years ago, I finally got my chance to be a teacher.  I got a job teaching World History to sixteen and seventeen year-olds at an alternative high school in Brooklyn.  All these students had been “removed” in one way or another from their neighborhood schools.  I was not in Dead Poets Society, but instead was in the 1955 film, Blackboard Jungle, which starred Glenn Ford, Sidney Portier, and Vic Morrow.                           

In the latter film, Ford is a new, enthusiastic teacher assigned to an inner-city high school full of students, like Portier and Morrow, from poor backgrounds, some of whom are juvenile delinquents.  I remember Ford using an unorthodox method to try to stimulate his students, showing them a cartoon of Jack and the Beanstalk.  In the climactic scene, Morrow pulls a switch-blade knife on Ford in their classroom.

Like Ford and Williams, I tried to be innovative and create an interesting, stimulating atmosphere for my students.  I decorated my classroom with covers from very old issues of Sports Illustrated that I had saved.  I put up two identical maps of the world, one the traditional way, and the second one, “upside down.”  Like Robin Williams, I wanted to show my students that they needed to see the world from a new perspective.

Unfortunately, I discovered that most of my students had turned themselves off to what I would call “formal education.” They were bright, but thought that I had nothing to teach them.  What was important to them they could learn on the streets (even though many were functionally illiterate).  The only reason my students showed up, at least occasionally, was that the law in New York State required their attendance until age eighteen.  I found it fascinating that I was the most poorly dressed person in the classroom, even though I was the most affluent.  I was basically ignored, ridiculed, and threatened by my students.  I wanted out.  I quit after one month.  On my last day, the mother of one of my students asked what she could do to help her son who showed up at school irregularly.  I told her that she must convince him that what the school had to offer him was valuable.  A hard task for the turned-off.

However, here in Brazil, I am a teaching again and enjoying it immensely.  It is the best job of my life even though I receive the smallest salary of my life.  I give private conversational English classes, either in person or on Skype, to my eager Brazilian students who want to improve their English skills.  I enjoy teaching those who want to learn.  That is what a real teacher/student relationship should be.                 

 

The First Date

John was sitting back, relaxed.  He had made this flight from RDU to JFK many times, sometimes for work, sometimes for pleasure.  He liked sitting by the window, looking out at the marvel of a nature that had created such an unbelievable view.  Today, the flight was smooth, perhaps a good omen.  He looked at his watch.  The plane was about half way there.  He began to think about what may happen.  Should he have expectations or would it be better to just relax and take what comes?  It was the first Saturday in June.  The weather was supposed to cooperate.  That was no guarantee, but you can hope.

John had “met” Joanna on one of those Internet dating sites late last year, just before Christmas.  He had tried several sites, but she was the first one he felt could be the one.  He had a good life.  He had a good job at the University doing the kind of research he had dreamed of when he went to graduate school for his PhD in Biology.  He earned more than enough money.  He had a one bedroom apartment in a nice part of Chapel Hill.  He could buy a new car about every three years or so.  He had a few friends in the area he could hang out with when he was free, which sometimes wasn’t a lot because of the demands of his work.  But something was missing from his life and he was eager to find it.  Maybe today was the day.

Something about Joanna’s picture struck him.  She was not what he would call beautiful, but there was something there that he could describe as attractive.  He was forty years-old and not exactly a Cary Grant.  He couldn’t expect a Sophia Loren.  He was lonely.  He wanted to meet someone to fill the void in his life.  He hadn’t been able to find the right someone in central North Carolina so he decided to expand his search area.  New York was a good option, with an endless pool of possibilities.  He liked New York a lot.  It was an exciting destination full of many things to see and do.  Joanna was five years his junior.  She designed bottles for a beverage company and lived alone in a tiny apartment in Greenwich Village. 

John and Joanna had many things in common, especially a love of classic movies.  They were both avid viewers of TCM.  They were also subscribers of Netflix.  He preferred DVDs, she streaming.  John was a big fan of the Duke, John Wayne, his namesake.  Joanna adored Bette Davis.  As a result, they both envied Henry Fonda, who appeared with John Wayne in the 1948 Western classic, Fort Apache, and with Bette Davis ten years ealier in Jezebel, an ante-bellum drama.

After several months of exchanging emails, John and Joanna had recently had a few phone conversations.  He loved the sound of her voice.  She was just what he expected from the tone of the emails.  Joanna seemed a little shy at first, but once the conversation got rolling, she became an active participant.  John himself wasn’t a big extrovert, but he liked talking about things he liked to talk about.  The way she responded gave him the confidence he needed. 

John’s JetBlue flight touched down safely at JFK airport almost exactly on time.  As the plane taxied to the gate, he started getting a little nervous, but he had plenty of time to relax before they would meet at the restaurant he had chosen for their first date, Pastis, an iconic French bistro on Ninth Avenue near Little West 12th Street.  He’d gone there last year with some Department of Biology associates from New York University.  John loved the steak and french fries he had ordered.  He thought it would be a good choice for their first date.  The food was great, the ambiance was second to none, and the tables were not so big that they couldn’t have a nice conversation.

John walked off the plane pulling his one suitcase with wheels and entered Terminal 5.  Just like his previous times there, it was full of people arriving and departing New York.  He briskly walked through the building heading for the AirTrain which would take him to Jamaica Station.  From there, John would take the LIRR to Penn Station in Manhattan.  That would put him directly across Seventh Avenue from the Hotel Pennsylvania, where he liked to stay when in New York. 

After checking in and dropping his suitcase off in his relatively small room, John stepped out onto the streets on Manhattan.  He felt invigorated.  He wanted to enjoy the sights and smells of the city.  He walked all the way to Third Avenue and 50th Street to have a hearty lunch at Essa Bagel, which offered the best in the world.  They couldn’t be duplicated in Chapel Hill.  Maybe it was the water.  He ordered a hot plain bagel with cream cheese, Nova Scotia smoked salmon, and a slice of tomato.  Couldn’t top that!

Afterwards, John took a leisurely stroll to Central Park and found a bench to sit on and rest.  In spite of the hub-bub that surrounded him, his mind could finally focus again on the point of his visit to the Big Apple, Joanna.  Who was she and what did he know about her?  What did he want of her?  Did he think she would want him as well?  It was exhilarating and confusing at the same time.  John knew he looked forward to her emails and now to their telephone calls.  When he wasn’t busy at work, he missed the time they shared.  Did they have a relationship or was that something that could begin tonight?  What if things didn’t work out as he hoped?  What if she looked different in person, so different that he couldn’t stand looking at her?  What if she thought him a fool?  He guessed that’s what first dates are all about.

John strolled over to the zoo.  It was full of people, especially mothers and small children.  It made him think about having children of his own some day.  He would like at least one, maybe two if the first one worked out okay.  He wondered if Joanna wanted kids.  They never discussed children.  Whatever it was they had had not advanced to the having children stage. 

John made eye contact with a Snow Leopard.  It looked so peaceful and majestic, laying on its belly, surveying its world.  He wondered what it was thinking.  John hoped it wasn’t eyeing him for its next meal.  He also hoped there was more than one Snow Leopard living in the Central Park Zoo so he or she wouldn’t be lonely.

Eventually, John started walking, at a leisurely pace, back to the hotel.  He could feel his nervous energy aroused inside both his body and mind.  His wished the clock would speed-up and slow down.  When he got back to his room, he tried killing time by watching a classic movie on TV.  TCM was showing Love is a Many Splendored Thing with Jennifer Jones and William Holden, one of John’s favorite romantic films.  He adored both stars.  When he turned on the TV, Holden’s character had just returned by plane from visiting his estranged wife who refused to give him a divorce so he could marry Jones’s character.  Holden and Jones were both so very disappointed.

After the movie, John took his second shower of the day.  Then he shaved, which he had not done before he left home in the morning.  An hour before his reservation for two at Pastis he got dressed.  John decided to wear his navy blue sports jacket over a pink shirt.  He had on a pair of khaki pants and black shoes.  Thirty minutes later he jumped into a taxi for the trip downtown.  John arrived with ten minutes to spare.  A few couples waiting in line without reservations gave him a dirty look when he walked past them directly to the host.  He mentioned his reservation and asked if Joanna had already arrived.  She hadn’t.  He ordered a beer on tap at the bar as he waited to be seated.

As John sipped his beer, he was again filled with nervous energy.  Any second now, he would be face to face with Joanna for the first time.  He wasn’t sure how tall she was.  John hoped she wouldn’t be taller than he or very short.  Somewhere in the middle would be good.  How would she wear her hair which had been long in the one photo he had?  How would she be dressed?  Conservative or sexy?  Should they shake hands or kiss on the cheek?  What should he say?  So many thoughts!

Finally, one of the hostesses found him at the bar and escorted him to a table for two at the far end of the restaurant.  She advised him they would be on the look out for Joanna and would bring her to the table as soon as she arrived.  He took a gulp of beer from the mug he had brought with him from the bar.

As the minutes passed, John started getting nervous.  Was she being fashionably late or was she the type of person who was never on time?  Perhaps she was caught in traffic.  Perhaps she got lost.  He looked at the other tables near him and saw all the couples enjoying eating and talking.  John hoped that would be him and Joanna very soon.  Thirty minutes later, he ordered another beer and was truly worried about where she was.  She had called him at his home number a few times.  They never exchanged cell phone numbers.  He couldn’t be sure she even had one.  It never occurred to him he would need hers tonight.

As the minutes ticked by, John started worrying that she was standing him up.  It had never dawned on him that she would do this.  She seemed so excited about his decision to come to New York and have dinner together.  She had bubbled.  He was confident she was sincere.  But, now?

John felt a tap on his shoulder.  He turned hoping it would be Joanna.  Instead, it was the hostess saying he had a phone call and to follow him.  Since Joanna was the only person who knew where he was at this moment, he was sure it was her.  He didn’t know what to think.  He put the phone to his ear.

“Joanna?”

“Yes, it’s me, John.  Please listen and don’t say anything.  I’m not who you think I am.  I can never come.”

She hung up.  After a few seconds, so did John.  He was numb.  He paid for his two beers and left. 

William Holden

William Holden, the movie star, was born (William Beedle, Jr.) in 1918 in O’Fallon, Illinois, a small town in the southern part of the state near St. Louis, Missouri.  His family moved to South Pasadena, California when Holden was three years old.  After graduating South Pasadena High School, Holden started acting in local theater groups.  He was discovered by a talent scout for Paramount Pictures in 1937.

Holden’s first starring role was as a violinist turned boxer in the 1939 film, Golden Boy, with Barbara Stanwyck.  His career really took off after he was cast as an unemployed Hollywood screenwriter in Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard in 1950 (see my blog post of November 1, 2015).  For this role Holden earned an Academy Award nomination for Best Actor (lost to Jose Ferrer in Cyrano de Bergerac).  Three years later in 1953, he won an Academy Award for his performance as an American soldier in a German POW camp during World War II in the film, Stalag 17.  In 1976, he received his third and final nomination for an Academy Award as Best Actor portraying a TV news executive in the film, Network (lost to his co-star, Peter Finch). 

In a movie career that lasted 43 years, Holden made many other memorable films such as Our Town, Born Yesterday, Executive Suite, Sabrina, The Bridges at Toko-Ri, The Country Girl, Picnic, The Bridge on the River Kwai, The Horse Soldiers, The Wild Bunch, and The Towering Inferno.  Tragically, he died alone and intoxicated at his home in Santa Monica, California in 1981 (at the age of sixty-three, same age and year as Richard Boone) after “slipping on a rug, severly lacerating his forehead on a table, and bleeding to death.”  His body was discovered four days later.

In 1955 and 1960, Holden made two movies that were both filmed on location in the British Crown Colony of Hong Kong.  The first was Love is a Many-Splendored Thing with Jennifer Jones (see my June 5, 2016 blog post, Peck and Jones) and the second was The World of Suzie Wong with Nancy Kwan.

In the first movie, Holden portrays a married (but separated from his wife) American war correspondent who falls in love with a Eurasian medical doctor played by Jennifer Jones.  Her character was based on a true story written by Dr. Han Suyin (the woman of the story), whose father was Chinese and whose mother was Flemish.  Of course, Jones was not Eurasian, but American audiences then didn’t seem to care.  She was a great actress and it was just accepted that she was Eurasian in the film, with a little help from Hollywood make-up. 

In the second movie, Holden portrays a struggling American painter who comes to Hong Kong looking for subjects to paint to prove to himself whether he has any talent.  He meets and falls in love with a local prostitute, Suzie Wong, played by Nancy Kwan, whose father was Chinese and whose mother was British.  Nancy is Eurasian, but she was portraying a 100% Chinese woman in the movie.  I am of the opinion that to American movie makers and American movie audiences at that time Eurasian was more “acceptable” than Asian.  In reality, Kwan should have portrayed Dr. Han Suyin in the first movie, a Eurasian portraying a Eurasian.

The main theme in both films deals with a taboo, a white man romantically involved with a woman who is not white (see my August 21, 2016 blog post, South Pacific), in these cases, 50% Chinese and 100% Chinese.  The films attempt to break down such a taboo by having the protaganist, Holden, refuse to give up the women he loves, Jones and Kwan.  I think the films succeed because they create sympathy for the characters in love.  In addition, the films succeed because we get to see the beauty of Hong Kong.

In 1997, Chinese-American Director Wayne Wang (named after John Wayne) made a film called Chinese Box which starred Jeremy Irons (English actor) and Gong Li (Chinese actress).  It is also a love story (again set in Hong Kong, this time during the final days before the UK turned it over to the People’s Republic of China) between a British journalist (similar to Holden in the first above film) and the Chinese bar girl (similar to Kwan in the second above film) he is in love with.  There is still the everpresent issue of forbidden interracial love between a white man and a Chinese woman, but at least here the movie audience sees the reality of a fully Chinese actress portraying a fully Chinese character.  Progress is being made.           

Best of Intentions, Chapter 2

Ben is slowly, clumsily, hesitatingly walking through a dense, wooded area, like a forest or a jungle, finding it difficult to maintain his balance.  He's searching for someone or something.  His eyes dart rapidly in many directions, examining the terrain.  He's dressed as a hunter, but he has no gun.

He shouts, "Frank...Frank...Frank."  There is no response.

Ben's eyes open wide as he sits up quickly from a prone position, very startled.  He slowly realizes that he's back in his room at the Commodore Hotel.  Ben cups his sweaty face with his hands.  He's breathing deeply.  Then he begins to relax, knowing it was just a dream, but one he's had too often.

A short time later, Ben leaves his hotel room and slowly walks to his right toward the elevators, oblivious to the world around him.  He's better groomed than the previous night and seems more positive and self-confident.  Ben arrives at the elevator bank and presses the button requesting a down elevator. 

A voice from behind him says, "I hope you don't think I'm following you." 

Ben turns around and sees Rita.  He had not realized she had been walking behind him.  Rita's hair, makeup, and clothes aren't as glamorous as they were the previous night, but Ben is still quite pleased to see her.  He smiles, as does she.

"Good morning.  Sleep well?"  says Ben.

"Like a baby, as you say.  Where are you going, to watch more baseball?"

"Not yet.  I'm meeting my friends in the coffee shop for breakfast."

"I'm going there, too, to meet my brother."

The elevator arrives and the door opens.  Ben lets Rita enter first.  There are a few other people inside.  Ben and Rita stand near each other, awkwardly, not talking.  All are silently descending to the lobby.  The elevator makes several more stops as more people get on making the space more crowded.  Ben and Rita are pushed closer together, making them slightly uncomfortable.  Finally, the elevator reaches the lobby and the door opens.  Ben and Rita step out together.  They turn and walk toward the hotel's coffee shop.  After entering, they each look around for their respective breakfast partners among the throng of hungry patrons.  Bob, Billy, and Miguel are not to be found.

"See your brother?"

"No.  But, I'm not surprised.  He was out very late last night.  I may have to go wake him.  Do you see your friends?"

"No.  They're probably still sleeping.  Say, I'm hungry and I don't want to wait for them.  Would you join me...at least until your brother arrives?"

Rita is pleasantly surprised and after a moment's hesitation, accepts.  Ben is beaming.  He asks the hostess for a table for two.  Ben and Rita follow her to their table.  He politely helps Rita with her chair.  They examine their menus.  After a moment, Ben puts his menu down and studies Rita who still looks at hers.

"You said you've visited New York many times.  Where are you from?"

"Mexico City.  I come here on business.  I manage my late husband's hat shop.  We sell both men's and women's hats."

"You're Mexican.  Wow!  You're the first I've met.  And your English.  It's perfect."

"I've studied English since I was a child.  When we used to visit our cousins in Houston I got to practice a lot."

"Sorry about your husband."

"That happened about five years ago.  Heart attack!  A great pity!  And you, are you married?  Any children?" 

Ben hesitates giving an answer.  He looks down.

"I'm...ah...divorced.  No children."

"I'm sorry.  What work do you do?"

Ben responds with renewed vigor.  "I'm a teacher.  High school.  American history.  I love trying to reach the kids, to motivate them to understand history's relevance to their lives.  It's not bunk like Ford said.  If you don't understand the past, you can't figure out the present, nor can you have any chance to predict the future."

"I agree.  I've always been interested in the history of my country.  We've had a difficult past.  And where are you from?"

"A small town upstate.  My friends and I come here every year to see the Yankees play.  I should really study more about your country's history.  After all, we're neighbors."

Their waitress finally arrives and asks for their orders.

Rita said, "I'll have pancakes and coffee, please."

"The same."

The waitress takes their menus and leaves them alone. 

Ben, feeling more and more confident, says, "Pardon me for saying this but, you intrigue me.  You're so different from the women I know back home."

"Perhaps it's just that I come from a different world than you do.  And you're not like any of the Mexican men I know, nor like many of the American men I've met either.  You're open to differences, while many are not."

"I don't get it.  We're just two people who met on the twelfth floor and we're sharing a little."

"That's beautiful, Ben.  Please call me Rita."

"OK, Rita,"

Soon, their waitress returns with their food and beverages.  Rita and Ben start eating as two hungry people do.  Bob and Billy enter the coffee shop and notice Ben with a strange woman.  They are curious, but want to give their friend some space.  They sit at a table behind Rita, but far enough away so they can't hear any of their conversation.  Ben notices his friends, but tries to ignore them.

"Do you like your pancakes, Rita?"

"Yes, especially because they are so different from what we eat at home."

"I'd like to try some Mexican food."

"I could recommend a good Mexican restaurant here in New York."

"That would be great."

Rita puts down her knife and fork and takes one more gulp of coffee. 

"Please excuse me.  I really must go and wake my brother, Miguel, and get ready for our flight home.  It's been a pleasure talking to you, Ben.  I hope I'll see you again one day."

"I hope so, too.  Perhaps I could write you sometime...to see how you're doing."

"That would be wonderful..Let me write down my address."

Rita takes out a piece of paper and a pen, writes down the name of a Mexican restaurant in New York and her address in Mexico City, and gives it to Ben.  She stands up, as does he, and takes her check.  Rita steps towards him, places her left hand on his right shoulder, kisses him gently on his left cheek, and heads toward the coffee shop cashier.  Almost immediately, Bob and Billy join Ben at his table.

"What gives?" asks Bob.

"Who was that babe?" said Billy.

"Just a woman I met here in the coffee shop while waiting for you bums.  It was so crowded when I arrived that we agreed to share a table."

"What was on that paper she gave you?" asked Bob.

"And why did she kiss you?" said Billy.

Ben responded, "She wrote down the name of a Mexican restaurant she recommended.  The kiss?  Oh, I guess she was just being nice.  No big deal."

"It was good seeing you with a woman, Ben.  It's been a long time." said Bob.

South Pacific

“South Pacific is a musical composed by Richard Rodgers, with lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II (same as Carousel-See post of January 17, 2016).  The work premiered in 1949 on Broadway in New York City and was an immediate hit, running for 1,925 performances. The plot of the musical is based on James A. Michener's Pulitzer Prize-winning 1947 book, Tales of the South Pacific, and combines elements of several of those stories. Rodgers and Hammerstein believed they could write a musical based on Michener's work that would be financially successful and, at the same time, would send a strong progressive message on racism.”

What racism?  The plot concerns two U. S. naval officers, Ensign Nellie Forbush, a nurse, and Lieutenant Joseph (Joe) Cable, USMC, who meet on a Pacific island during World War II.  No, they do not fall in love with each other.  They are only friends.  But, they do fall in love with other people and therein lies the rub. 

At a party on the island for officers, Nellie meets a rich, local planter named Emile de Becque, a French emigre.  They fall in love.  However, he is a widower with two young children.  Their mother was Tonkinese (people from Southeast Asia, near the Gulf of Tonkin), thus making them Eurasian.  Nellie was reared in Little Rock, Arkansas, where she learned a taboo against interracial marriage.  Thus, De Becque’s children complicate their relationship to the point where she breaks it off after she discovers who their mother was.

On a visit to the nearby island of Bali Ha’i, Joe meets a beautiful young Tonkinese girl, Liat, whom he falls in love with.  However, he can’t marry her because of the same above taboo, but instead will marry his white girlfriend back home in Philadelphia, PA.   

When Joe talks to Emile about why he can’t marry Liat, he sings a poignant song that gets to the essence of their mutual problem (also why Nellie can’t marry Emile).  In 1949, this song was extremely controversial, but Rodgers and Hammerstein were willing to risk artistic and financial failure to make their point.  The song, You’ve Got to be Carefully Taught, would stay in the show. 

You've got to be taught
To hate and fear,
You've got to be taught
From year to year,
It's got to be drummed
In your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a different shade,
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught before it's too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate,
You've got to be carefully taught!  You’ve got to be carefully taught!

Joe is at this particular island’s naval base to engage in a very dangerous mission, spying behind Japanese lines.  However, he needs the help of de Becque to serve as his local guide.  Initially, de Becque is reluctant to risk his life because of his relationship with Nellie.  However, after their breakup, he believes he has little to live for (Emile, what about your children?) and agrees to help Joe spy on the Japanese.  Later, Nellie realizes that de Becque means more to her than living by the code of conduct she grew up with.  She is shocked and frightened to discover that he is on a dangerous mission and prays for his life to be spared.  Nellie then meets Liat whose lover is with de Becque.  The two women frantically wait for news of Emile and Joe.

There is a beautiful song, called Twin Soliloquies, which describes when Nellie and Emile first meet, and where they each privately show their insecurities.

Nellie:
Wonder how I'd feel
Living on a hillside,
Looking on an ocean,
Beautiful and still.

Emile:
This is what I need,
This is what I've longed for.
Someone young and smiling
Climbing up my hill!

Nellie:
We are not alike.
Probably I'd bore him.
He's a cultured Frenchman,
I'm a little hick.

Emile:
Younger man than I,
Officers and doctors.
Probably pursue her,
She could have her pick.

Nellie:
Wonder why I feel
Jittery and jumpy!
I'm like a school girl
Waiting for a dance.

Emile:
Can I ask her now?
I'm like a school boy!
What will be her answer?
Do I have a chance?

Later, Emile sings about meeting the right woman, Nellie, on Some Enchanted Evening.

Some enchanted evening
You may see a stranger,
you may see a stranger
Across a crowded room
And somehow you know,
You know even then
That somewhere you'll see her
Again and again.

Some enchanted evening
Someone may be laughing,
You may hear her laughing
Across a crowded room
And night after night,
As strange as it seems
The sound of her laughter
Will sing in your dreams.

Who can explain it?
Who can tell you why?
Fools give you reasons,
Wise men never try.

Some enchanted evening
When you find your true love,
When you feel her call you
Across a crowded room,
Then fly to her side,
And make her your own
Or all through your life you
May dream all alone.

Once you have found her,
Never let her go.
Once you have found her,
Never let her go!

On the other hand, Nellie expresses her true feelings about Emile with I’m in Love with a Wonderful Guy.

I expect everyone of my crowd to make fun
Of my proud protestations of faith in romance,
And they'll say I'm naïve as a babe to believe
Any fable I hear from a person in pants.

Fearlessly I'll face them and argue their doubts away,
Loudly I'll sing about flowers and spring,
Flatly I'll stand on my little flat feet and say
Love is a grand and a beautiful thing!
I'm not ashamed to reveal
The world famous feeling I feel.

I'm as corny as Kansas in August,
I'm as normal as blueberry pie.
No more a smart little girl with no heart,
I have found me a wonderful guy!

I am in a conventional dither,
With a conventional star in my eye.
And you will note there's a lump in my throat
When I speak of that wonderful guy!

I'm as trite and as gay as a daisy in May,
A cliché comin' true!
I'm bromidic and bright
As a moon-happy night
Pouring light on the dew!

I'm as corny as Kansas in August,
High as a flag on the Fourth of July!
If you'll excuse an expression I use,
I'm in love, I'm in love,
I'm in love, I'm in love,
I'm in love with a wonderful guy!

South Pacific is truly a classic musical you will enjoy again and again.

 

V-J Day

Today, August 14, 2016, will be the seventy-first anniversary of V-J Day, the day in 1945 when the USA’s war against the Empire of Japan, which Japan started with its attack on Pearl Harbor, three years and eight months prior (December 7, 1941), was finally over.  Eight days before V-J Day, on August 6, 1945, the U. S. military dropped an atomic bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima.  Receiving no response from the Japanese government after the resulting devastation (an estimated 66,000 people were killed), the U. S. military dropped the second and last of its then inventory of such bombs on the Japanese city of Nagasaki on August 9, 1945 (an estimated 39,000 people were killed).

Five days later, on August 14, 1945 (in the USA), Japanese Emperor Hirohito urged his people, in a radio address, to accept a surrender to the Americans.  He blamed the use of a “new and cruel bomb” by the USA for this necessity.  U. S. President Harry S. Truman announced Japan’s surrender at a news conference at the White House.  The American people were jubilant.  In an iconic photograph by Alfred Eisenstaedt that reflected their exhilaration, an American sailor kissed a nurse unknown to him in New York City’s crowded Times Square (www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/V-J_day_in_Times_Square).  The Second World War was finally over.  Germany had surrendered three months earlier on May 8, 1945.

Over the years, there has been some debate about the decision, made by President Truman, to drop those atomic bombs on Japan.  Truman, himself once said that after making a decision, he “never looked back.”  As such, he had no regrets about dropping those bombs.  I agree.

Without those bombs, the USA and its allies would have had to invade the homeland of Japan, just as they had done regarding Germany, in order to secure an unconditional surrender.  The planned invasion was code-named Operation Downfall.  It was to begin in October 1945 with an assault intended to capture the southern third of the main Japanese island of Kyushu.  Then, in the spring of 1946, the USA and its allies would have invaded the Kanto Plain, near the capital of Tokyo on the Japanese island of Honshu.  Operation Downfall would have been the largest amphibious operation in history, greater than the D Day invasion of Europe on June 6, 1944.

On the other side, the Japanese military was preparing for the U. S.-led invasion with its own Operation Ketsugo.  Logically, they knew where the attack would begin and planned for an all-out defense of Kyushu, with nothing left in reserve. 

U. S. military planners assumed “that operations in this area will be opposed not only by the available organized military forces of the Empire, but also by a fanatically hostile population.”  As such, estimates were made by various groups and individuals in and out of the U. S. government as to the number of American casualties (killed and wounded) that would be suffered by the U. S. during Operation Downfall.  Thankfully, we will never know the true number, but based upon previous experiences during WWII, it would have been mammoth (substantially more than the number killed by the atomic bombs).  And the number suffered by the Japanese would have been huge as well.  It is safe to say, in my opinion, that the estimated 105,000 Japanese who died as a direct result of the dropping of the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki was less than those who would have died (Americans, allies and Japanese) during the planned invasion of Japan.  Thus, the atomic bombs saved lives.           

 

August 7

Today is August 7.  To me, it is the most special day of the year.  Why?  Well, of course, it is my birthday.  It is a day that should be celebrated, to remember that Tuesday, back in 1945, when at Syracuse Memorial Hospital, in the 15th Ward of the City of Syracuse, the County of Onondaga, the State of New York, the United States of America, I was born. 

It was not the date of my conception which was probably around November 14, 1944 (38 weeks).  If I knew the exact date, I would celebrate that day, too.  Let me thank my parents, Harry and Margaret Lasky, who were then residents of the City of Oswego, the County of Oswego, the State of New York, the United States of America for creating me.  I wouldn’t be here without them and the rest of my ancestors who preceded Harry and Margaret.  Unfortunately, Harry and Margaret died many years ago (1981 and 1995 respectively), but I can’t celebrate my birthday without giving a toast to them.

August 7, 1945 was a day when many things were happening besides my birth.  The headline on every newspaper in the world that day showed the same thing.  The United States military had dropped an atomic bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima.  This was an attempt to bring World War II (in the Pacific) to a speedy conclusion with fewer American casualties (and Japanese, as well).  It worked.  Seven days later, the Empire of Japan agreed to an unconditional surrender.  You could say that my birth coincided with the birth of the atomic age.

That same day in Canton, Ohio, Alan Page was born.  He played football at the University of Notre Dame (I was at the Navy game in 1966), as well as for the Minnesota Vikings and the Chicago Bears.  Page was inducted into both the college and NFL Halls of Fame.  He also graduated from the University of Minnesota Law School, practiced law, served as a State of Minnesota Assistant Attorney General, and was then elected as an Associate Justice of the State of Minnesota Supreme Court where he served until he was forced to retire last year by state law.  I’m wearing a Notre Dame “ND” cap in his honor.  Happy Birthday, Alan.

How should I celebrate my birthday?  Well, today, my wife, Cristina, and her mother, Irene, will take me to lunch at a restaurant of my choosing, Vinheria Percussi (www.percussi.com.br), which is located down the street from where we live in São Paulo.  I chose it because it is a wonderful restaurant with excellent Italian food, which I love, and one in which Cristina and I have frequented for many years. 

I love sweet things, especially chocolate cake (even though it is not healthy).  It has been traditional in my life to celebrate my birthday with chocolate cake.  I remember once I ordered a chocolate cake from a bakery on Bell Boulevard in Bayside, Queens, near where I lived.  When I picked up the cake, I discovered that they had misspelled my name in a message on its top.  I insisted that they correct their error.  This year, for my birthday, Cristina has bought (www.studiodochocolate.com.br) me a wonderful “bolo de brigadeiro” (a chocolate cake similar to fudge).

However, more than food and drink, it will be wonderful to hear from my children, grandchildren, brothers, and other family members and friends who will acknowledge me on my special day.  After all, it is the human relationships we have that make life so worthwhile.

Happy birthday to me!