It is the last Sunday in January 1941, wedding day for Ben and Rita. The yard behind Rita's house in Mexico City is decked out for a small, simple affair. About 50 guests are present, sitting on chairs facing Ben and a Catholic priest who will officiate. Finally, all are quiet as Rita, in a cream-colored, laced, two-piece, tailor-made dress, and escorted by her brother, Miguel, starts to walk down the aisle. When she reaches Ben, Rita takes his hand, stands next to him, and faces the priest who starts speaking in Spanish. When the ceremony is over, Ben and Rita kiss and the guests converge on them offering their best wishes.
At the reception, a small band plays traditional Mexican music. The guests sit at tables eating, drinking, and laughing. Ben and Rita circulate, greeting them all. Later, under the lights, the newlyweds dance slowly to the music. Finally, they are alone.
"I couldn't wait for everyone to leave so I could hold you in my arms and kiss you. Seems to me people ought to be alone when they get married. I love you, Rita."
"I love you very much and you will make me very happy for the rest of my life."
The next morning at breakfast, Ben exclaimed that, "You know, living here in Mexico is like an adventure for me. I want to make the most of it."
"You will, my love."
And so, over the next several months Ben tries to make the most of his opportunity to experience life in a new land, with a different language and a different culture. He takes private Spanish lessons from a retired public school teacher and gives private English lessons to a few eager adult Mexican students. Ben visits many places and neighborhoods in his new adopted city. He meets many new people, most of whom welcome him, but some of whom do not wish him well. Soon, as his Spanish skills improve, Ben is able to help out at Rita's store, which pleases them both.
Near the end of 1941, Rita asks Miguel to pay her a visit at her office.
"We're having a party at my house on the seventh. Bring your girlfriend and whomever else you'd like. I want it to be big and festive."
"I can't believe it, my sister. You're a happy woman. Ben's been great for you."
"He's restored my life and he's becoming a little bit Mexican. His Spanish is getting better every day. He tries so hard."
"I'm surprised. It's been almost a year. Not many of them would do what he's done, come here to live, marry a Mexican woman. I'll see you Sunday. I'll bring Raquel and some others."
On the wall of Rita's office is a calendar which shows that Sunday will be December 7, 1941.
Sunday, July 30, 2017
Sunday, July 23, 2017
USA 2017
This year's trip to the USA started on American Airlines flight #950 on Wednesday, June 21, which departed Guarulhos Airport at approximately 9:30 PM. Cristina and I arrived at JFK Airport the following morning at 6 AM. After having our passports checked and finding our luggage, we were approached by a Brazilian Uber driver who took us to our hotel (Pennsylvania) on Seventh Avenue. After dropping off our luggage, we secured a US telephone number at a nearby AT&T store. Our plan had unlimited domestic calls plus 1,000 minutes of free calls to Brazil.
While Cristina spent the next several hours at Macy's, I had lunch at the Andrews Coffee Shop with my friend, Scott, whom I have know since freshman year at Penn. After checking in at the hotel at about 2:00 PM, we rested until we went to my daughter's, Rachel's, and her family's new home on East 78th Street, a two-family brownstone. My son-in-law, Mike, cooked delicious hamburgers on the bar-b-que on the patio. My grandsons, Nate and Leo, played pitcher and batter in the backyard.
On Friday morning, the 23rd, Cristina and I made our annual trip to Ess-a-Bagel on Third Avenue for the usual bagel with Nova Scotia smoked salmon, cream cheese and tomato. Like always, it was great, and like always, there was a line out the door. I was surprised that even tourists who had never been there before waited. I talked to first-time customers from Virginia and Texas.
That night, we had dinner with our friends, Joe and Ruth, at Bricchino's Italian Restaurant on West 29th Street. Ruth and I discovered that one of each of our respective grandparents had emigrated to the USA in 1904 from Minsk, in what is today Belarus. Were they on the same ship? Did they know each other?
On Saturday morning, the 24th, I was sitting in a salad bar near the hotel waiting for Cristina, when a woman asked in Portuguese if her family could sit at my table. It was a lucky break for these Brazilians that they ran into an American who could understand their language. Talking to them was a good way to kill a half-hour until Cristina returned.
Later, we went back to visit Rachel, Mike and Leo (Nate left for camp). We lunched at San Matteo Pizzeria e Cucina. Afterwards, we went to a Modell's Sporting Goods where another customer commented on my NC (University of North Carolina) t-shirt and ND (University of Notre Dame) cap. Couldn't I make up my mind?
For dinner, Cristina and I went to Keen's Steakhouse on West 36th Street. We discovered this place while watching a scene in the Netflix series, Billions, starring Paul Giamatti and Toby Leonard Moore. Cristina and I wanted to sit at the same table as the actors did. The best we could do is sit at an adjacent table, eating the same as they did, mutton, and with the same portrait of a tiger looking over us. We had a wonderful night.
On Sunday, the 25th, we returned to Rachel's. On our way to buy some food, Leo, not yet seven-years-old, asked if I wanted to see an "inappropriate picture." It was a painting of naked angels in an art store on their street. I understood his meaning. We bought some typical Jewish food (salmon salad, rugelach, and potato knish at Sable's) for lunch on their patio. Leo struck me out playing pitcher and batter in the backyard.
In the evening, we went back to Macy's for more shopping. We had dinner at Just Salad on the fourth floor, where we convinced a couple from the UK it was a good place to eat.
On Monday, the 26th, we took a taxi to JFK driven by an immigrant from Ghana who lives in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. We flew on American Airlines flight #4641 to Raleigh-Durham Airport (RDU) in central North Carolina. From there we took a taxi to the Staybridge Hotel in Durham. Our taxi driver, Said, was an immigrant from Palestine. After a pleasant ride, I wished him, "Salaam alaykum."
On Tuesday, the 27th, Cristina and I lunched at our favorite supermarket, Whole Foods on Elliot Road in Chapel Hill. While there we bought a few items: Paul Newman salad dressing, peanut butter, cherries, peaches, and a slice of apple pie.
On Wednesday, the 28th, we ate soup and salad for lunch at Panera Bread. We had dinner in Durham at the house of our friends, Kevin and Connie and their Standard Poodle, Fender. Connie did a wonderful job with chicken and grits plus blueberry cobbler for dessert. By coincidence, we brought a blueberry pie from Kroger's.
On Thursday, the 29th, we shopped at CVS Pharmacy in Chapel Hill and lunched again at Whole Foods.
On Friday, the 30th, Cristina and I went to Walmart in Durham where we bought 12 boxes of Jello pudding, 4 boxes of angel hair pasta, and some toothpaste. We lunched at the Subway sandwich shop inside. At 5 PM, we took a bus to the Carolina Inn in downtown Chapel Hill for their Fridays on the Front Porch. Unfortunately, it was cancelled because the bluegrass band that was supposed to perform outdoors was fearful of inclement weather and didn't show up. While in Chapel Hill, we had dinner at Vespa on West Franklin Street. Afterwards, I bought dark chocolate covered almonds at a nearby market.
On Saturday, July 1, Kevin and Connie invited us to a bar-b-que at the home of his step-mother. Kevin did a great job on the chicken. We met more of Kevin's delightful family, including a brother, a sister, and a sister-in-law whose family members from Arkansas are friends of former President Bill Clinton, and an impressive nephew, Jacob, whom we discovered has the same birthday as I do.
On Sunday, July 2, our friends, Belinda and Raymond invited us to their home in nearby Graham, North Carolina. Raymond cooked delicious frogs legs. It was a first time for me, but it was a dish that my father liked very much.
On Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, July 3-5, Cristina and I relaxed in our hotel suite, which was very comfortable. It was like a second home to us.
On Thursday, July 6, we had dinner with Kevin and Connie at Kipo's, a Greek restaurant on West Franklin Street in Chapel Hill.
On Friday, July 7, while Cristina was shopping at Kohl's, I went to Barnes & Noble where I bought Jonathan Franzen's book, The Corrections. At 5 PM, we again took a bus into Chapel Hill to enjoy Fridays on the Front Porch. The weather, the live bluegrass music, and the beer were very enjoyable. We had traditional falafel sandwiches at the Med Deli and ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery.
While waiting for a bus for the return trip to our hotel in Durham, I was approached by a strange looking woman who said she wanted to use my cell phone to call her son. Fearing I would never get my phone back, I politely said I didn't have one. She then began to publicly chastise me. She said she didn't really want to use my phone, that it was only a test of my humanity, which I failed. She accused me of being an "asshole from New York." She continued her diatribe for several minutes while I ignored her. Later, after she was gone, two adolescent boys approached me asking if I was okay after being verbally assaulted by a "crazy woman." I was.
On Saturday, July 8th, we had lunch with Raymond and Belinda at the nearby Outback Steakhouse. In the evening, we ordered pizza from Papa John's.
On Sunday, July 9th, we had lunch at the Stoney River Steakhouse located at the University Mall in Chapel Hill. Afterwards, also at the mall, we saw the movie, Beatriz at Dinner, with Salma Hayek and John Lithgow. I thought it a good movie, but with a strange ending. Coincidentally, the two actors were my choices for Rita and Ben in the screenplay version of my Best of Intentions, which is currently being serialized in my blog. Chapter 13 will be published next Sunday.
On Monday, July 10th, Cristina and I took Delta flight #3768 from RDU to Orlando International Airport, arriving at around 3:30 PM. My son, Bret, and my future daughter-in-law, Katie, were supposed to pick us up. However, Bret was delayed in returning home from work in Indiana and Katie injured her knee. My first inclination was to rent a car which I did at Dollar Rental. While standing in line, I over heard a mid-west couple extol President Trump to a couple from the UK. The man said, "We need to get rid of those liberal democrats." I responded, "Where should I go?" He ignored me.
While walking to the rental car, I saw it was raining heavily. I decided driving wasn't a good idea. I cancelled the rental and took an Uber to the La Quinta hotel in Lake Mary, Florida. It was the first time I used the Uber app on my cell phone. It worked great.
On Tuesday, July 11th, we had dinner at Duffy's, a nearby sports bar, with Katie, her mom, Peggy, and her sister, Danielle.
On Wednesday, July 12th, Cristina and I went to the Seminole Town Center Mall in Sanford, Florida. While waiting for Cristina outside J. C. Penney's, I was approached by the "Latin from Manhattan," a 74 year-old retiree living in Orlando, who was also waiting for his wife. He told me the story of his life, a former marine, a former court officer in New York City, and a former body guard for the family of the Shah of Iran while in exile in the USA.
On Thursday, July 13th, Bret finally arrived home. He and Katie brought us there where we visited with their dog, Mia, a Rottweiler. Later, the four of us had dinner at Pacino's, an Italian restaurant in Kissimmee, where will be the rehearsal dinner next February 16, the night before Bret and Katie's wedding. We can't wait. After dinner, they took us to the Embassy Suites by Hilton, our hotel next February. Very impressive!
On Friday, July 14th, we had breakfast with Bret and Katie at Crepevine in Altamonte Springs. Then they drove us to the airport. We first took American Airlines flight #278 back to JFK for the second half of our round trip. When we arrived in New York, we had to retrieve our luggage, re-check them and then go through security again. At our age, two flights in one day is one too many. Never again!
As our flight from JFK to Sao Paulo was not scheduled to leave before 11:30 PM Brazil time, I decided to eat something earlier. I went to McDonald's (in Terminal 8) alone as Cristina was not interested. While there, a female airport employee asked if she could sit at my table as the restaurant was very crowded. After making small talk, she noticed my wedding band and asked, "Where's your wife?" Only a woman would ask such a question.
We boarded the plane, American Airlines Flight #951, about 40 minutes before departure and it left on time. After sleeping a couple of hours, I awoke and couldn't fall back to sleep. I killed a couple of hours by watching the film, Rudy, which I had seen several times before. However, it was the first time I had seen it since our visit to the University of Notre Dame last year. I recognized parts of the beautiful campus, especially the Grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes. The plane touched down in Sao Paulo at about 8:40 AM on Saturday, July 15th. Our trip was over. We enjoyed it. We'll be back next February.
While Cristina spent the next several hours at Macy's, I had lunch at the Andrews Coffee Shop with my friend, Scott, whom I have know since freshman year at Penn. After checking in at the hotel at about 2:00 PM, we rested until we went to my daughter's, Rachel's, and her family's new home on East 78th Street, a two-family brownstone. My son-in-law, Mike, cooked delicious hamburgers on the bar-b-que on the patio. My grandsons, Nate and Leo, played pitcher and batter in the backyard.
On Friday morning, the 23rd, Cristina and I made our annual trip to Ess-a-Bagel on Third Avenue for the usual bagel with Nova Scotia smoked salmon, cream cheese and tomato. Like always, it was great, and like always, there was a line out the door. I was surprised that even tourists who had never been there before waited. I talked to first-time customers from Virginia and Texas.
That night, we had dinner with our friends, Joe and Ruth, at Bricchino's Italian Restaurant on West 29th Street. Ruth and I discovered that one of each of our respective grandparents had emigrated to the USA in 1904 from Minsk, in what is today Belarus. Were they on the same ship? Did they know each other?
On Saturday morning, the 24th, I was sitting in a salad bar near the hotel waiting for Cristina, when a woman asked in Portuguese if her family could sit at my table. It was a lucky break for these Brazilians that they ran into an American who could understand their language. Talking to them was a good way to kill a half-hour until Cristina returned.
Later, we went back to visit Rachel, Mike and Leo (Nate left for camp). We lunched at San Matteo Pizzeria e Cucina. Afterwards, we went to a Modell's Sporting Goods where another customer commented on my NC (University of North Carolina) t-shirt and ND (University of Notre Dame) cap. Couldn't I make up my mind?
For dinner, Cristina and I went to Keen's Steakhouse on West 36th Street. We discovered this place while watching a scene in the Netflix series, Billions, starring Paul Giamatti and Toby Leonard Moore. Cristina and I wanted to sit at the same table as the actors did. The best we could do is sit at an adjacent table, eating the same as they did, mutton, and with the same portrait of a tiger looking over us. We had a wonderful night.
On Sunday, the 25th, we returned to Rachel's. On our way to buy some food, Leo, not yet seven-years-old, asked if I wanted to see an "inappropriate picture." It was a painting of naked angels in an art store on their street. I understood his meaning. We bought some typical Jewish food (salmon salad, rugelach, and potato knish at Sable's) for lunch on their patio. Leo struck me out playing pitcher and batter in the backyard.
In the evening, we went back to Macy's for more shopping. We had dinner at Just Salad on the fourth floor, where we convinced a couple from the UK it was a good place to eat.
On Monday, the 26th, we took a taxi to JFK driven by an immigrant from Ghana who lives in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. We flew on American Airlines flight #4641 to Raleigh-Durham Airport (RDU) in central North Carolina. From there we took a taxi to the Staybridge Hotel in Durham. Our taxi driver, Said, was an immigrant from Palestine. After a pleasant ride, I wished him, "Salaam alaykum."
On Tuesday, the 27th, Cristina and I lunched at our favorite supermarket, Whole Foods on Elliot Road in Chapel Hill. While there we bought a few items: Paul Newman salad dressing, peanut butter, cherries, peaches, and a slice of apple pie.
On Wednesday, the 28th, we ate soup and salad for lunch at Panera Bread. We had dinner in Durham at the house of our friends, Kevin and Connie and their Standard Poodle, Fender. Connie did a wonderful job with chicken and grits plus blueberry cobbler for dessert. By coincidence, we brought a blueberry pie from Kroger's.
On Thursday, the 29th, we shopped at CVS Pharmacy in Chapel Hill and lunched again at Whole Foods.
On Friday, the 30th, Cristina and I went to Walmart in Durham where we bought 12 boxes of Jello pudding, 4 boxes of angel hair pasta, and some toothpaste. We lunched at the Subway sandwich shop inside. At 5 PM, we took a bus to the Carolina Inn in downtown Chapel Hill for their Fridays on the Front Porch. Unfortunately, it was cancelled because the bluegrass band that was supposed to perform outdoors was fearful of inclement weather and didn't show up. While in Chapel Hill, we had dinner at Vespa on West Franklin Street. Afterwards, I bought dark chocolate covered almonds at a nearby market.
On Saturday, July 1, Kevin and Connie invited us to a bar-b-que at the home of his step-mother. Kevin did a great job on the chicken. We met more of Kevin's delightful family, including a brother, a sister, and a sister-in-law whose family members from Arkansas are friends of former President Bill Clinton, and an impressive nephew, Jacob, whom we discovered has the same birthday as I do.
On Sunday, July 2, our friends, Belinda and Raymond invited us to their home in nearby Graham, North Carolina. Raymond cooked delicious frogs legs. It was a first time for me, but it was a dish that my father liked very much.
On Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, July 3-5, Cristina and I relaxed in our hotel suite, which was very comfortable. It was like a second home to us.
On Thursday, July 6, we had dinner with Kevin and Connie at Kipo's, a Greek restaurant on West Franklin Street in Chapel Hill.
On Friday, July 7, while Cristina was shopping at Kohl's, I went to Barnes & Noble where I bought Jonathan Franzen's book, The Corrections. At 5 PM, we again took a bus into Chapel Hill to enjoy Fridays on the Front Porch. The weather, the live bluegrass music, and the beer were very enjoyable. We had traditional falafel sandwiches at the Med Deli and ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery.
While waiting for a bus for the return trip to our hotel in Durham, I was approached by a strange looking woman who said she wanted to use my cell phone to call her son. Fearing I would never get my phone back, I politely said I didn't have one. She then began to publicly chastise me. She said she didn't really want to use my phone, that it was only a test of my humanity, which I failed. She accused me of being an "asshole from New York." She continued her diatribe for several minutes while I ignored her. Later, after she was gone, two adolescent boys approached me asking if I was okay after being verbally assaulted by a "crazy woman." I was.
On Saturday, July 8th, we had lunch with Raymond and Belinda at the nearby Outback Steakhouse. In the evening, we ordered pizza from Papa John's.
On Sunday, July 9th, we had lunch at the Stoney River Steakhouse located at the University Mall in Chapel Hill. Afterwards, also at the mall, we saw the movie, Beatriz at Dinner, with Salma Hayek and John Lithgow. I thought it a good movie, but with a strange ending. Coincidentally, the two actors were my choices for Rita and Ben in the screenplay version of my Best of Intentions, which is currently being serialized in my blog. Chapter 13 will be published next Sunday.
On Monday, July 10th, Cristina and I took Delta flight #3768 from RDU to Orlando International Airport, arriving at around 3:30 PM. My son, Bret, and my future daughter-in-law, Katie, were supposed to pick us up. However, Bret was delayed in returning home from work in Indiana and Katie injured her knee. My first inclination was to rent a car which I did at Dollar Rental. While standing in line, I over heard a mid-west couple extol President Trump to a couple from the UK. The man said, "We need to get rid of those liberal democrats." I responded, "Where should I go?" He ignored me.
While walking to the rental car, I saw it was raining heavily. I decided driving wasn't a good idea. I cancelled the rental and took an Uber to the La Quinta hotel in Lake Mary, Florida. It was the first time I used the Uber app on my cell phone. It worked great.
On Tuesday, July 11th, we had dinner at Duffy's, a nearby sports bar, with Katie, her mom, Peggy, and her sister, Danielle.
On Wednesday, July 12th, Cristina and I went to the Seminole Town Center Mall in Sanford, Florida. While waiting for Cristina outside J. C. Penney's, I was approached by the "Latin from Manhattan," a 74 year-old retiree living in Orlando, who was also waiting for his wife. He told me the story of his life, a former marine, a former court officer in New York City, and a former body guard for the family of the Shah of Iran while in exile in the USA.
On Thursday, July 13th, Bret finally arrived home. He and Katie brought us there where we visited with their dog, Mia, a Rottweiler. Later, the four of us had dinner at Pacino's, an Italian restaurant in Kissimmee, where will be the rehearsal dinner next February 16, the night before Bret and Katie's wedding. We can't wait. After dinner, they took us to the Embassy Suites by Hilton, our hotel next February. Very impressive!
On Friday, July 14th, we had breakfast with Bret and Katie at Crepevine in Altamonte Springs. Then they drove us to the airport. We first took American Airlines flight #278 back to JFK for the second half of our round trip. When we arrived in New York, we had to retrieve our luggage, re-check them and then go through security again. At our age, two flights in one day is one too many. Never again!
As our flight from JFK to Sao Paulo was not scheduled to leave before 11:30 PM Brazil time, I decided to eat something earlier. I went to McDonald's (in Terminal 8) alone as Cristina was not interested. While there, a female airport employee asked if she could sit at my table as the restaurant was very crowded. After making small talk, she noticed my wedding band and asked, "Where's your wife?" Only a woman would ask such a question.
We boarded the plane, American Airlines Flight #951, about 40 minutes before departure and it left on time. After sleeping a couple of hours, I awoke and couldn't fall back to sleep. I killed a couple of hours by watching the film, Rudy, which I had seen several times before. However, it was the first time I had seen it since our visit to the University of Notre Dame last year. I recognized parts of the beautiful campus, especially the Grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes. The plane touched down in Sao Paulo at about 8:40 AM on Saturday, July 15th. Our trip was over. We enjoyed it. We'll be back next February.
Sunday, July 16, 2017
Europe 1971
Forty-six years ago, the summer of 1971 to be exact, my ex-wife, Bonita, and I decided to have the adventure of our young lives. We were going to spend a month in Europe, but because we did not have a lot of money, we would have to do it on the cheap. Arthur Frommer's Europe on $5 a Day would be our guide.
I remember our late night departure from JFK to Paris on an Air France flight. My brother Paul and his wife, Janet, drove us to the airport in our Corvair, which he used while we were away. They brought a bottle of champagne to celebrate the occasion.
When Bonita and I arrived at Orly Airport early the next morning, we were exhausted from a lack of sleep and jet lag. On the other hand, it was incredibly stimulating to be in a foreign country, especially one with a different language. We took public transportation to the heart of the city. When we came up to the street, there in front of us was the Champs-Elysees and the Arc de Triomphe. What a view! It was like a picture post card, only it was real.
We walked to what we thought would be our hotel for our three-day stay in Paris. I had sent a telegram requesting a reservation. However, the owner very curtly told us she had no room for us, that she never sends telegrams back to those for whom she has no space. So, we spent our first few hours in Paris walking around, lugging our bags, looking for a hotel with a vacancy. We finally found one we could stay at, but only for one night. We accepted and then laid down and slept. What a beginning to our adventure.
Well, Paris is the most beautiful city in the world. Of course, we went to the Louvre, Notre Dame, and Montmartre. We traveled along the Seine, drank coffee in outdoor cafes, and experimented with couscous. However, we were also snubbed by waiters who couldn't understand our poor attempts to speak French. English was out of the question.
Next we flew to Rome. On the way we got the most gorgeous view of the Alpes. I sat on the plane next to an Australian guy who asked me, "Are you on oliday?" I asked him to repeat his question three times because I couldn't understand his pronunciation of the word, "holiday," which in his culture means vacation. From the airport, we took a bus to a terminal in the downtown area. When we asked for directions to our pensione, a young man grabbed our bag and said to follow him. We were suspicious, so we took the bag back and found our own way there.
The locale of our pensione in Rome was beautiful, on a piazza, but the place itself was a dump. We had to share a bathroom with everybody on our floor and newspapers served instead of toilet paper. In Paris, we had warm croissant for breakfast. In Rome, it was a very hard roll.
On our first full day in Rome, we attempted to do and see everything, and all on foot. We didn't realize they had buses and a subway system. I remember in the afternoon we visited the Forum Romano. But, what I remember most was a wonderful lunch. From American culture, we were used to spaghetti as a main course. In Italy, it is an appetizer. So, we ate a lot of great food, plus we drank a bottle of Chianti. When we returned to our pensione on foot, our stomachs were full and we were exhausted.
On our second day, we went to the Vatican. Bonita was wearing shorts which we discovered was prohibited attire inside their church. A couple of nuns wouldn't let her enter St. Peter's. However, she wrapped a sweater around her legs to make her outfit more acceptable.
One night we discovered a very good neighborhood restaurant, where nobody spoke English. When we got to the dessert, I asked for gelato, Italian ice cream. Then I noticed our waiter leaving the restaurant. After some delay, he reappeared, entered the kitchen, and then brought the gelato to our table. Bonita tried it and she ordered more. The waiter again left the restaurant, apparently to go to same store to buy more gelato.
Next, we traveled by bus through the mountains to Naples. One day while there, we took a chartered bus up to the ruins of the ancient city of Pompeii, which was destroyed in 79 A.D. when Mount Vesuvius erupted. I remember the tour guide referring to the name of his company, C-I-M-A, pronounced "chima." Before arriving at Pompeii, we made an unannounced stop at a cameo factory, where we were strongly encouraged to buy some of their hand-made products. We didn't. However, we felt sorry for the worker whose deformed hand was raised by the tour guide in an attempt to evoke sympathy.
My lasting memory of Pompeii was at one particular elaborate house, apparently of two gay men, with a mural by the front entrance. The mural was covered and, by law, was only to be viewed by men. We were also told that there would be no pictures allowed. However, as soon as the mural was uncovered, you could see numerous flashes going off. The mural was of a man with a giant erect penis that he was using to carry some object.
At the end of the day's trip to Pompeii, the guide announced, "Now, it is time for the tip."
From Naples, we also took a boat ride to the nearby island of Capri and its Blue Grotto. Inside the grotto, it was so dark that if you fell overboard, you would be lost.
Next, we took a train to the east coast of Italy and the town of Bari. From there, we took a boat across the Adriatic to Yugoslavia. It departed at midnight for a six-hour trip. We bought a ticket for the cheapest cabin on board which was below the water line. Bonita and I were so unnerved by the sound of the water pounding our side of the ship that we finally decided we would sit on the deck awaiting our arrival in the ancient walled city of Dubrovnik, in what is today Croatia.
We stayed in the Hotel Zagreb where the price of our room included breakfast and dinner to be served at an assigned table. Enjoyably, we shared the table with two young men from Malmo, Sweden. As one of them spoke very good English, we spent some interesting hours discussing various topics, including a love of basketball. Sadly, we didn't share contact information which would have been helpful, because two years later, on another trip to Europe, we stopped briefly in Malmo.
The beach by Dubrovnik was rocky, but it attracted many tourists from various European countries. We relaxed on rented reclining beach chairs and ate local ice cream. I remember being there when I read in the International Herald Tribune of the death of Samuel Bronfman, the head of Seagram's, my employer. (See blog post, JES.)
One day on the beach, on the way to buying some ice cream, one of those responsible for renting the beach chairs grabbed me by the arm and escorted me to his assistant who was under the impression we had not paid the very low rental for such chairs that day. In spite of a total language barrier between us, I was finally released from his custody.
Next, we flew on a very bumpy, but short, flight to the capital city of Belgrade. We grabbed a taxi requesting to be taken to the train station. Again, no common language. However, Bonita made a "choo-choo" sound which was immediately recognized by our female driver.
Our train to Budapest left at midnight. By then the station platform was full of people waiting along with us for the train to arrive. It reminded me of a scene from Doctor Zhivago. We need not have worried about finding a place to sit on the train as, even with our limited resources, we could afford first-class tickets for a reserved cabin. When we reached the Hungarian border in the middle of the night, our sleep was interrupted when an immigration official entered our compartment without knocking. When he asked for our papers, it seemed as if I was in an old black-and-white Hollywood movie. Luckily, he didn't speak English so he couldn't ask us any questions and our papers were in order.
Budapest is actually two cities, Buda and Pest, which are divided by the Danube River. Our hotel, the nicest one we had on our trip, the only one with a private bath, was on an island in the Danube, called Margaret's Island. The island reminded me of Central Park in New York City, but with wild peacocks roaming around. There was an outdoor cafe and an outdoor movie where an American film, The Strawberry Statement, was being shown. It starred Kim Darby, the actress who, in 1969, played opposite John Wayne in True Grit. Perhaps the movie was shown because Darby's mother was from Budapest.
Outside the hotel, it seemed as if nobody spoke English. However, in my desire to eat goulash, I found a restaurant that had one waiter whose English was passable. We ate there all three nights of our stay and ordered goulash every night, even the third night when our waiter wasn't there. It was spicy, but great.
From Budapest, we took a train to Vienna which was on the other side of the "iron curtain." I could sense some of our Hungarian fellow-travelers being nervous as we approached the border. We stayed in the Hotel Fuchs in Vienna, which was a strange name, except that in English, it means fox. It is a beautiful city with some great pastry. Unfortunately, my only lasting memory there was of a livery driver kicking his horse for some perceived misdeed. Awful!
We then took an overnight train to Venice where something happened that would affect me the rest of my life. When we entered the train, we discovered it was very crowded and had difficulty finding a compartment with two vacancies. Each one had room for six people. Finally, we entered one with only four occupants, but who had strewn their bags over the remaining seats to make it appear as if there was no room for us. But, we were assertive and got the two extra seats that were face to face.We put our bags above us in the overhead racks.
Some time during the night, while all were asleep, one of our bags fell and landed on my right knee which was extended across the compartment to Bonita's seat. I didn't feel anything at the time and fell back asleep. The next morning we arrived in Venice and found a very cheap rooming house. We walked to the Piazza San Marco and its millions of pigeons. After lunch, we returned to our rooming house and rested. When I got up from a nap, I felt pain in my right knee and had difficulty walking. It got better the next day, but my knee continued to give me difficulty until I had an operation to repair torn cartilage four years later. The knee has periodically given me problems over the years. That train ride was where it all began.
Next, we traveled by train to Florence where we saw Michelangelo's magnificent statue, The David, in the Accademia Galleria.
Finally, we returned to Rome and an Alitalia flight back to JFK and the USA. Our adventure was over, but it was a big success. I'm amazed I still remember so much of it.
I remember our late night departure from JFK to Paris on an Air France flight. My brother Paul and his wife, Janet, drove us to the airport in our Corvair, which he used while we were away. They brought a bottle of champagne to celebrate the occasion.
When Bonita and I arrived at Orly Airport early the next morning, we were exhausted from a lack of sleep and jet lag. On the other hand, it was incredibly stimulating to be in a foreign country, especially one with a different language. We took public transportation to the heart of the city. When we came up to the street, there in front of us was the Champs-Elysees and the Arc de Triomphe. What a view! It was like a picture post card, only it was real.
We walked to what we thought would be our hotel for our three-day stay in Paris. I had sent a telegram requesting a reservation. However, the owner very curtly told us she had no room for us, that she never sends telegrams back to those for whom she has no space. So, we spent our first few hours in Paris walking around, lugging our bags, looking for a hotel with a vacancy. We finally found one we could stay at, but only for one night. We accepted and then laid down and slept. What a beginning to our adventure.
Well, Paris is the most beautiful city in the world. Of course, we went to the Louvre, Notre Dame, and Montmartre. We traveled along the Seine, drank coffee in outdoor cafes, and experimented with couscous. However, we were also snubbed by waiters who couldn't understand our poor attempts to speak French. English was out of the question.
Next we flew to Rome. On the way we got the most gorgeous view of the Alpes. I sat on the plane next to an Australian guy who asked me, "Are you on oliday?" I asked him to repeat his question three times because I couldn't understand his pronunciation of the word, "holiday," which in his culture means vacation. From the airport, we took a bus to a terminal in the downtown area. When we asked for directions to our pensione, a young man grabbed our bag and said to follow him. We were suspicious, so we took the bag back and found our own way there.
The locale of our pensione in Rome was beautiful, on a piazza, but the place itself was a dump. We had to share a bathroom with everybody on our floor and newspapers served instead of toilet paper. In Paris, we had warm croissant for breakfast. In Rome, it was a very hard roll.
On our first full day in Rome, we attempted to do and see everything, and all on foot. We didn't realize they had buses and a subway system. I remember in the afternoon we visited the Forum Romano. But, what I remember most was a wonderful lunch. From American culture, we were used to spaghetti as a main course. In Italy, it is an appetizer. So, we ate a lot of great food, plus we drank a bottle of Chianti. When we returned to our pensione on foot, our stomachs were full and we were exhausted.
On our second day, we went to the Vatican. Bonita was wearing shorts which we discovered was prohibited attire inside their church. A couple of nuns wouldn't let her enter St. Peter's. However, she wrapped a sweater around her legs to make her outfit more acceptable.
One night we discovered a very good neighborhood restaurant, where nobody spoke English. When we got to the dessert, I asked for gelato, Italian ice cream. Then I noticed our waiter leaving the restaurant. After some delay, he reappeared, entered the kitchen, and then brought the gelato to our table. Bonita tried it and she ordered more. The waiter again left the restaurant, apparently to go to same store to buy more gelato.
Next, we traveled by bus through the mountains to Naples. One day while there, we took a chartered bus up to the ruins of the ancient city of Pompeii, which was destroyed in 79 A.D. when Mount Vesuvius erupted. I remember the tour guide referring to the name of his company, C-I-M-A, pronounced "chima." Before arriving at Pompeii, we made an unannounced stop at a cameo factory, where we were strongly encouraged to buy some of their hand-made products. We didn't. However, we felt sorry for the worker whose deformed hand was raised by the tour guide in an attempt to evoke sympathy.
My lasting memory of Pompeii was at one particular elaborate house, apparently of two gay men, with a mural by the front entrance. The mural was covered and, by law, was only to be viewed by men. We were also told that there would be no pictures allowed. However, as soon as the mural was uncovered, you could see numerous flashes going off. The mural was of a man with a giant erect penis that he was using to carry some object.
At the end of the day's trip to Pompeii, the guide announced, "Now, it is time for the tip."
From Naples, we also took a boat ride to the nearby island of Capri and its Blue Grotto. Inside the grotto, it was so dark that if you fell overboard, you would be lost.
Next, we took a train to the east coast of Italy and the town of Bari. From there, we took a boat across the Adriatic to Yugoslavia. It departed at midnight for a six-hour trip. We bought a ticket for the cheapest cabin on board which was below the water line. Bonita and I were so unnerved by the sound of the water pounding our side of the ship that we finally decided we would sit on the deck awaiting our arrival in the ancient walled city of Dubrovnik, in what is today Croatia.
We stayed in the Hotel Zagreb where the price of our room included breakfast and dinner to be served at an assigned table. Enjoyably, we shared the table with two young men from Malmo, Sweden. As one of them spoke very good English, we spent some interesting hours discussing various topics, including a love of basketball. Sadly, we didn't share contact information which would have been helpful, because two years later, on another trip to Europe, we stopped briefly in Malmo.
The beach by Dubrovnik was rocky, but it attracted many tourists from various European countries. We relaxed on rented reclining beach chairs and ate local ice cream. I remember being there when I read in the International Herald Tribune of the death of Samuel Bronfman, the head of Seagram's, my employer. (See blog post, JES.)
One day on the beach, on the way to buying some ice cream, one of those responsible for renting the beach chairs grabbed me by the arm and escorted me to his assistant who was under the impression we had not paid the very low rental for such chairs that day. In spite of a total language barrier between us, I was finally released from his custody.
Next, we flew on a very bumpy, but short, flight to the capital city of Belgrade. We grabbed a taxi requesting to be taken to the train station. Again, no common language. However, Bonita made a "choo-choo" sound which was immediately recognized by our female driver.
Our train to Budapest left at midnight. By then the station platform was full of people waiting along with us for the train to arrive. It reminded me of a scene from Doctor Zhivago. We need not have worried about finding a place to sit on the train as, even with our limited resources, we could afford first-class tickets for a reserved cabin. When we reached the Hungarian border in the middle of the night, our sleep was interrupted when an immigration official entered our compartment without knocking. When he asked for our papers, it seemed as if I was in an old black-and-white Hollywood movie. Luckily, he didn't speak English so he couldn't ask us any questions and our papers were in order.
Budapest is actually two cities, Buda and Pest, which are divided by the Danube River. Our hotel, the nicest one we had on our trip, the only one with a private bath, was on an island in the Danube, called Margaret's Island. The island reminded me of Central Park in New York City, but with wild peacocks roaming around. There was an outdoor cafe and an outdoor movie where an American film, The Strawberry Statement, was being shown. It starred Kim Darby, the actress who, in 1969, played opposite John Wayne in True Grit. Perhaps the movie was shown because Darby's mother was from Budapest.
Outside the hotel, it seemed as if nobody spoke English. However, in my desire to eat goulash, I found a restaurant that had one waiter whose English was passable. We ate there all three nights of our stay and ordered goulash every night, even the third night when our waiter wasn't there. It was spicy, but great.
From Budapest, we took a train to Vienna which was on the other side of the "iron curtain." I could sense some of our Hungarian fellow-travelers being nervous as we approached the border. We stayed in the Hotel Fuchs in Vienna, which was a strange name, except that in English, it means fox. It is a beautiful city with some great pastry. Unfortunately, my only lasting memory there was of a livery driver kicking his horse for some perceived misdeed. Awful!
We then took an overnight train to Venice where something happened that would affect me the rest of my life. When we entered the train, we discovered it was very crowded and had difficulty finding a compartment with two vacancies. Each one had room for six people. Finally, we entered one with only four occupants, but who had strewn their bags over the remaining seats to make it appear as if there was no room for us. But, we were assertive and got the two extra seats that were face to face.We put our bags above us in the overhead racks.
Some time during the night, while all were asleep, one of our bags fell and landed on my right knee which was extended across the compartment to Bonita's seat. I didn't feel anything at the time and fell back asleep. The next morning we arrived in Venice and found a very cheap rooming house. We walked to the Piazza San Marco and its millions of pigeons. After lunch, we returned to our rooming house and rested. When I got up from a nap, I felt pain in my right knee and had difficulty walking. It got better the next day, but my knee continued to give me difficulty until I had an operation to repair torn cartilage four years later. The knee has periodically given me problems over the years. That train ride was where it all began.
Next, we traveled by train to Florence where we saw Michelangelo's magnificent statue, The David, in the Accademia Galleria.
Finally, we returned to Rome and an Alitalia flight back to JFK and the USA. Our adventure was over, but it was a big success. I'm amazed I still remember so much of it.
Sunday, June 18, 2017
Father's Day
Today, June 18, 2017, is Father's Day, at least in the United States. In Brazil, it will be celebrated on August 13 this year. But as I have no father nor children in Brazil, I will celebrate today.
When I was a child, Father's Day meant my father, Harry Lasky, born September 7, 1901 in Troy, New York, the seventh of eight children in a family of first generation Jewish-Americans whose parents had emigrated from eastern Europe. My father believed, as many of his generation believed, that being a father meant being a "bread winner." That's it. Mother did the rest. He was a good bread winner.
At home, my father was quiet, mostly uncommunicative. I don't remember him talking to me before departing in the mornings for his office at the Netherland Dairy near the western edge of town. When he would return at the end of the day, my mother would warn me not to bother him because he would be very tired from work. So, I didn't. My father would either go to his office, watch TV or read the newspaper, in silence. When my mother announced dinner (always meat and potatoes plus a lettuce and tomato salad) was ready, he would join the rest of us and eat mostly in silence. He would usually spend the rest of the day watching TV in silence.
Days would come and go without my having any conversations with my father. And often, such conversations would be negative, as in I had done something wrong that would upset him. He appeared to me as an intimidating person, not approachable nor benevolent (like Robert Young in Father Knows Best).
I remember some days, such as when I was alone watching sports on TV, that my father would enter the room and sit and watch as well. He would try to make small talk, but I would be on edge that this would evolve negatively leading him to shout at and/or threaten me with corporal punishment (he never hit me). Typically, after some minutes of silently watching sports on TV together, he would leave and I could relax.
From age 10 to 12, I played Little League baseball on a team sponsored by the local Police Department. My father never came to see me play. When I was a teenager, I remember a few occasions when my father sought me out to tell me certain things, such as what to do after being with a woman or negative facts about my mother's family. When I went away to college, I had to discuss finances with my father, as this was outside my mother's purview. I finally found him to be approachable and accommodating.
My father had a pet name for me which he used on rare occasions, The Duke of Devonshire. Why? I don't know.
My father did serve as a role model in some ways. He always supported my mother, thus presenting a united front to us children. When we went out to eat, I paid attention to what my father ordered and did like he did. At Whalen's Drug Store on Saturday mornings, he ordered bacon (not kosher) and eggs. At Vince's, an Italian restaurant, he ordered shrimp cocktail (not kosher) and steak (never their Italian specialties).
My fondest memory of my father was one day in 1977 when, as an adult, I was visiting my parents in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. He was showing signs of dementia. I suggested that we go to a nearby spring training baseball game between the two New York teams, the Yankees and the Mets. Twice when I was a child, my father turned down opportunities to take me to a football game. It turns out the love of baseball was something we had in common, as he enjoyed playing as a child, as did I. However, this time it was as if I were the father and he was the child. I took him to our seats and bought us some hot dogs. He died four years later.
On December 7, 1975 (Rachel) and August 15, 1985 (Bret), I became a father. As a result, Father's Day took on a new meaning.
When I was on the verge of fatherhood, I saw it as an opportunity to be the father I never had. I would be more than just a bread winner to my children. I would be totally involved in raising them, along with their mother, Bonita, to be happy, well-adjusted, self-confident human beings.
When my children were born, I felt an immediate bonding with them, something I had never experienced before. I felt that I would sacrifice anything for them, without question. Raising my children became my #1 priority. I also discovered that I totally enjoyed the experience of being their father, which has been the greatest pleasure of my productive life.
I know I made mistakes. Nobody is perfect. However, I did not repeat what I consider to be the mistakes of my parents. I took what I thought they did well and rejected what I disagreed with, such as corporal punishment. I also learned from Bonita's counsel and from reading about early childhood education.
As part of raising my children, I wanted Rachel and Bret to know me, warts and all. This was important because my father and I missed the golden opportunity we had to know each other.
It's impossible to choose my favorite moment with my children because there were so many memorable ones.
My children are grown now and I am very proud of them. I consider Rachel and Bret to be the greatest successes of my life. They are also how I measure that my life has been a success.
Happy Father's Day!
__________
I will be on vacation until Sunday, July 16
When I was a child, Father's Day meant my father, Harry Lasky, born September 7, 1901 in Troy, New York, the seventh of eight children in a family of first generation Jewish-Americans whose parents had emigrated from eastern Europe. My father believed, as many of his generation believed, that being a father meant being a "bread winner." That's it. Mother did the rest. He was a good bread winner.
At home, my father was quiet, mostly uncommunicative. I don't remember him talking to me before departing in the mornings for his office at the Netherland Dairy near the western edge of town. When he would return at the end of the day, my mother would warn me not to bother him because he would be very tired from work. So, I didn't. My father would either go to his office, watch TV or read the newspaper, in silence. When my mother announced dinner (always meat and potatoes plus a lettuce and tomato salad) was ready, he would join the rest of us and eat mostly in silence. He would usually spend the rest of the day watching TV in silence.
Days would come and go without my having any conversations with my father. And often, such conversations would be negative, as in I had done something wrong that would upset him. He appeared to me as an intimidating person, not approachable nor benevolent (like Robert Young in Father Knows Best).
I remember some days, such as when I was alone watching sports on TV, that my father would enter the room and sit and watch as well. He would try to make small talk, but I would be on edge that this would evolve negatively leading him to shout at and/or threaten me with corporal punishment (he never hit me). Typically, after some minutes of silently watching sports on TV together, he would leave and I could relax.
From age 10 to 12, I played Little League baseball on a team sponsored by the local Police Department. My father never came to see me play. When I was a teenager, I remember a few occasions when my father sought me out to tell me certain things, such as what to do after being with a woman or negative facts about my mother's family. When I went away to college, I had to discuss finances with my father, as this was outside my mother's purview. I finally found him to be approachable and accommodating.
My father had a pet name for me which he used on rare occasions, The Duke of Devonshire. Why? I don't know.
My father did serve as a role model in some ways. He always supported my mother, thus presenting a united front to us children. When we went out to eat, I paid attention to what my father ordered and did like he did. At Whalen's Drug Store on Saturday mornings, he ordered bacon (not kosher) and eggs. At Vince's, an Italian restaurant, he ordered shrimp cocktail (not kosher) and steak (never their Italian specialties).
My fondest memory of my father was one day in 1977 when, as an adult, I was visiting my parents in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. He was showing signs of dementia. I suggested that we go to a nearby spring training baseball game between the two New York teams, the Yankees and the Mets. Twice when I was a child, my father turned down opportunities to take me to a football game. It turns out the love of baseball was something we had in common, as he enjoyed playing as a child, as did I. However, this time it was as if I were the father and he was the child. I took him to our seats and bought us some hot dogs. He died four years later.
On December 7, 1975 (Rachel) and August 15, 1985 (Bret), I became a father. As a result, Father's Day took on a new meaning.
When I was on the verge of fatherhood, I saw it as an opportunity to be the father I never had. I would be more than just a bread winner to my children. I would be totally involved in raising them, along with their mother, Bonita, to be happy, well-adjusted, self-confident human beings.
When my children were born, I felt an immediate bonding with them, something I had never experienced before. I felt that I would sacrifice anything for them, without question. Raising my children became my #1 priority. I also discovered that I totally enjoyed the experience of being their father, which has been the greatest pleasure of my productive life.
I know I made mistakes. Nobody is perfect. However, I did not repeat what I consider to be the mistakes of my parents. I took what I thought they did well and rejected what I disagreed with, such as corporal punishment. I also learned from Bonita's counsel and from reading about early childhood education.
As part of raising my children, I wanted Rachel and Bret to know me, warts and all. This was important because my father and I missed the golden opportunity we had to know each other.
It's impossible to choose my favorite moment with my children because there were so many memorable ones.
My children are grown now and I am very proud of them. I consider Rachel and Bret to be the greatest successes of my life. They are also how I measure that my life has been a success.
Happy Father's Day!
__________
I will be on vacation until Sunday, July 16
Sunday, June 11, 2017
Best of Intentions, Chapter 12
"I don't want another big church wedding," says Rita to her cousin, Maria. "I want something simple and refined. We'll do it here at my house with a few friends and relatives."
"Whatever you want, Rita. It's your day, yours and Ben's."
"You must go with me to choose something tasteful to wear. Not white, but elegant."
For Thanksgiving, 1940, Ben goes to his brother Dave's home in Syracuse. While his wife, Peggy, cooks the traditional turkey and stuffing, Ben talks politics with Dave and his eighteen year-old son, Harry.
"So, Ben, have you accepted that Roosevelt will be president again, for the third time?"
"Of course. I believe in democracy. I just hope he has enough wisdom to keep the American people from getting involved in the war."
"It won't be the same with you so far away, Ben. I guess we won't see you for a while."
"I promise I'll come back as often as I can. I'll miss all of you."
Harry adds that, "I think it's kind of neat you're be going to live in Mexico. Can you speak Spanish, Uncle Ben?"
"I'm gonna learn."
On Christmas eve, Ben walks toward the entrance of his church in Oswego as snow is gently falling. There is about an inch of accumulation on the ground. Traditional Christmas music emanates from inside. The street is empty as he arrives late. On the steps of the church Ben notices a solitary figure approaching from the opposite direction. It's his ex-wife, Paula. When she sees Ben, she stops and they stare at each other for a moment, without either saying a word. Then Paula continues towards the open doorway followed at a short distance by Ben. After they both enter the church, the door closes behind them.
Soon it will be 1941 and much will change for Ben and the rest of America.
"Whatever you want, Rita. It's your day, yours and Ben's."
"You must go with me to choose something tasteful to wear. Not white, but elegant."
For Thanksgiving, 1940, Ben goes to his brother Dave's home in Syracuse. While his wife, Peggy, cooks the traditional turkey and stuffing, Ben talks politics with Dave and his eighteen year-old son, Harry.
"So, Ben, have you accepted that Roosevelt will be president again, for the third time?"
"Of course. I believe in democracy. I just hope he has enough wisdom to keep the American people from getting involved in the war."
"It won't be the same with you so far away, Ben. I guess we won't see you for a while."
"I promise I'll come back as often as I can. I'll miss all of you."
Harry adds that, "I think it's kind of neat you're be going to live in Mexico. Can you speak Spanish, Uncle Ben?"
"I'm gonna learn."
On Christmas eve, Ben walks toward the entrance of his church in Oswego as snow is gently falling. There is about an inch of accumulation on the ground. Traditional Christmas music emanates from inside. The street is empty as he arrives late. On the steps of the church Ben notices a solitary figure approaching from the opposite direction. It's his ex-wife, Paula. When she sees Ben, she stops and they stare at each other for a moment, without either saying a word. Then Paula continues towards the open doorway followed at a short distance by Ben. After they both enter the church, the door closes behind them.
Soon it will be 1941 and much will change for Ben and the rest of America.
Sunday, June 4, 2017
Emily
One Saturday night in the fall of 1964, I went alone, as usual, to a theater in center city Philadelphia to watch a popular movie of the day, the name of which I have completely forgotten. However, much to my delight, I got to see a second film, a surprise screening of a new release, The Americanization of Emily, a film I have never forgotten. It starred James Garner and Julie Andrews. Garner had become a TV star from the popular western series of the 1950s, Maverick, where he portrayed "an articulate cardsharp." Andrews had just finished the film, Mary Poppins, for which she would win an Academy Award for Best Actress.
The Americanization of Emily initially caught my attention as a rare black-and-white film of that era. It also appeared to be another typical World War II drama, taking place in London, just before the D Day invasion (June 6, 1944 - 73 years ago next Tuesday). However, this was not the usual picture glorifying war. It was an anti-war film.
Garner, as Lieutenant Commander Charlie Madison, is a "dog robber," a highly efficient aide to his Admiral. His job is "to keep his boss supplied with luxury goods and amiable women." Needless to say, Charlie is the best dog robber in the U.S. Navy.
Andrews, as Emily Barham, a driver from the British military motor pool assigned to Charlie, "has lost her husband, brother and father in the war." A hopeless romantic, Emily falls in love with Charlie because (1) his job keeps him far from danger and (2) she is both fascinated and disgusted by his access to expensive material goods while England endures wartime rationing.
There is some wonderful dialogue in the film which was written by Paddy Chayefsky, a winner of three Academy Awards: 1955, Best Adapted Screenplay, Marty (see blog post, Marty the Movie); 1971, Best Original Screenplay, The Hospital; and 1976, Best Original Screenplay, Network.
"You American-haters bore me to tears, Miss Barham. I've dealt with Europeans all my life. I know all about us parvenus from the States who come over here and race around your old cathedral towns with our cameras and Coca-Cola bottles... Brawl in your pubs, paw at your women, and act like we own the world. We over tip, we talk too loud, we think we can buy anything with a Hershey bar. I've had Germans and Italians tell me how politically ingenuous we are, and perhaps so. But we haven't managed a Hitler or a Mussolini yet. I've had Frenchmen call me a savage because I only took half an hour for lunch. Hell, Miss Barham, the only reason the French take two hours for lunch is because the service in their restaurants is lousy. The most tedious lot are you British. We crass Americans didn't introduce war into your little island. This war, Miss Barham, to which we Americans are so insensitive, is the result of 2,000 years of European greed, barbarism, superstition, and stupidity. Don't blame it on our Coca-Cola bottles. Europe was a going brothel long before we came to town."
"War isn't hell at all. It's man at his best; the highest morality he's capable of. It's not war that's insane, you see. It's the morality of it. It's not greed or ambition that makes war; it's goodness. Wars are always fought for the best of reasons: for liberation or manifest destiny. Always against tyranny and always in the interest of humanity. So far in this war, we've managed to butcher ten million humans in the interest of humanity. Next war it seems we'll have to destroy all of man in order to preserve his damn dignity. It's not war that's unnatural to us. It's virtue. As long as valor remains a virtue, we shall have soldiers."
"I don't trust people who make bitter reflections about war, Mrs. Barham. It's always the generals with the bloodiest records who are the first to shout what a hell it is. It's always the war widows who lead the Memorial Day parade. We shall never end wars, Mrs. Barham, by blaming it on the ministers and generals, or warmongering imperialists, or all the other banal bogeys. It's the rest of us who build statues to those generals and name boulevards after those ministers. The rest of us who make heroes of our dead and shrines of our battlefields. We wear our widow's weeds like nuns, Mrs. Barham, and perpetuate war by exalting its sacrifices."
"I don't want to know what's good, or bad, or true. I let God worry about the truth. I just want to know the momentary facts about things. Life isn't good, or bad, or true. It's merely factual, it's sensual, it's alive. My idea of living sensual facts are you, a home, a country, a world, a universe. In that order. I want to know what I am, not what I should be."
"Well, you're a good woman. You've done the morally right thing. God save us from all the people who do the morally right thing. It's always the rest of us who get broken in half. I want you to remember that the last time you saw me, I was unregenerately eating a Hershey bar."
Garner and Andrews enjoyed working together so much they did it twice more: 1982, Victor/Victoria (a musical comedy about a woman pretending to be a female impersonator) and 1999, One Special Night (a made for TV movie about a widow and a widower who take refuge together in an abandoned cabin one stormy winter evening).
Sunday, May 28, 2017
Best of Intentions, Chapter 11
Sunshine seeps into Sunshine Cabin number 7, not far from the southern shore of Lake Ontario, just west of Oswego. Ben and Rita, both naked, are asleep on their bed with Rita's tussled hair across Ben's right shoulder. When light finally hits his eyes, he awakens and stares at the beautiful woman lying next to him. Finally, she opens her eyes and smiles.
"Good morning, Rita. I love you."
"I love you, too."
"I'm so relaxed," said Ben. "I haven't felt this way...since forever. What are we going to do? See each other every six months? I couldn't bear it."
"What should we do?"
"There's only one solution. I can retire at the end of the year, move to Mexico City and we'd get married. It'll be easier for us that way. Marry me, Rita, please!"
"Yes, my love, I'll marry you."
They embrace again, start kissing again, and start making love all over again, in the same passionate way they did the night before, as if they have all the time in the world.
A few months later, Ben is sitting at his desk in his empty classroom at OHS looking at the papers his students have just left him to grade. Marilyn enters looking perturbed. She closes the door behind her and walks over to Ben.
"I heard you put in your retirement papers. Why? You love teaching. It's all you've got."
"You're wrong, Marilyn. I've found someone. I'm going to get married and move away."
"What? I don't believe you. When did this happen?"
"I met a woman...a wonderful woman...and in January I'm moving to Mexico City. I'm very much in love."
"That's crazy. You've lived here your whole life. How could you give it all up and move to another country for a woman you just met? People love you here. You don't have to go."
"You're a friend, Marilyn. I appreciate that, but I'm in love for the first time since what happened to Frank. It's a second chance at life and I'm going for it with everything I've got."
"That's the first time I've heard you say your son's name since the accident."
"Yes and I don't have those terrible dreams anymore. It's because of Rita."
"You're full of names today. I'm sorry you didn't give me a fair chance. I love you and I know I could make you happy and you wouldn't have to give up everything."
Frustrated, Marilyn storms out of the room and slams the door behind her.
Meanwhile, Miguel is in Rita's bedroom, pacing as he talks.
"It's crazy. It won't work. I give it a month and then he'll leave you. No American's going to abandon his precious country, even for a woman."
"I don't agree, but even if it's true, I must take this chance. I've been alone for too long. I can't give him up. What would you have me do, go live there? Ben's willing to try. Give him a chance, my brother. Please."
"Of course, I'll give him a chance. I'll do anything for you. And if you love him, he must be special. I just don't want to see you hurt."
"Sometimes you must risk getting hurt to find happiness. I love Ben very much."
"Good morning, Rita. I love you."
"I love you, too."
"I'm so relaxed," said Ben. "I haven't felt this way...since forever. What are we going to do? See each other every six months? I couldn't bear it."
"What should we do?"
"There's only one solution. I can retire at the end of the year, move to Mexico City and we'd get married. It'll be easier for us that way. Marry me, Rita, please!"
"Yes, my love, I'll marry you."
They embrace again, start kissing again, and start making love all over again, in the same passionate way they did the night before, as if they have all the time in the world.
A few months later, Ben is sitting at his desk in his empty classroom at OHS looking at the papers his students have just left him to grade. Marilyn enters looking perturbed. She closes the door behind her and walks over to Ben.
"I heard you put in your retirement papers. Why? You love teaching. It's all you've got."
"You're wrong, Marilyn. I've found someone. I'm going to get married and move away."
"What? I don't believe you. When did this happen?"
"I met a woman...a wonderful woman...and in January I'm moving to Mexico City. I'm very much in love."
"That's crazy. You've lived here your whole life. How could you give it all up and move to another country for a woman you just met? People love you here. You don't have to go."
"You're a friend, Marilyn. I appreciate that, but I'm in love for the first time since what happened to Frank. It's a second chance at life and I'm going for it with everything I've got."
"That's the first time I've heard you say your son's name since the accident."
"Yes and I don't have those terrible dreams anymore. It's because of Rita."
"You're full of names today. I'm sorry you didn't give me a fair chance. I love you and I know I could make you happy and you wouldn't have to give up everything."
Frustrated, Marilyn storms out of the room and slams the door behind her.
Meanwhile, Miguel is in Rita's bedroom, pacing as he talks.
"It's crazy. It won't work. I give it a month and then he'll leave you. No American's going to abandon his precious country, even for a woman."
"I don't agree, but even if it's true, I must take this chance. I've been alone for too long. I can't give him up. What would you have me do, go live there? Ben's willing to try. Give him a chance, my brother. Please."
"Of course, I'll give him a chance. I'll do anything for you. And if you love him, he must be special. I just don't want to see you hurt."
"Sometimes you must risk getting hurt to find happiness. I love Ben very much."
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