That Homeless Guy

On my way to the grocery store this week, I saw a person who was quite clearly homeless walking on the side of the road.
I wanted to help, but I was driving while cars were speeding by and I would have had to make a u-turn, so i didn’t stop. I felt bad about it and it triggered another memory from the mid 60’s.
I was walking with my friend James toward 42nd Street and 7th Ave. During the mid 60’s, this was not a very desirable area . Drugs, prostitution, X rated movies, etc.
We were young teens at the time and were on our way to Macys to look for new sweaters, as Autumn was close upon us. We both had part time jobs while attending High School because money was tight in both of our homes.

Just before entering the store, we came upon a guy standing off to the side of the sidewalk.

The man is standing in the heat of the day, barefoot. His beard is long and dirty looking and his skin is cracked and weather worn.He wears a dirty tee shirt and jeans that are falling apart at the seams. There is a small , dirty plastic bag beside him, in which we assume are all his possessions.
He looks like he could be no older than his early thirties.
He is shaking a small aluminum cup, asking for some help from those passing by.
He looks like he hasn’t had a good meal in a long time.

Almost everyone passing takes little to no notice of him. They keep their heads down and avoid looking at him as they quickly walk past. In those days any homeless person on the streets was just considered “a bum”.

We certainly didn’t have very much money to spare, but, between us we did have some loose change. James and I exchange quick looks to confirm what we would do. We walk up to the guy and smile weakly while throwing the change in his cup.

He smiles back, and says; “thank you so much “ .
You would have thought we gave him $1,000.

We ask him a simple , yet dumb question; “Are you ok?”

He offers a weak smile and responds; “No; things are a mess right now…… I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

The first thing that catches our attention is that he sounds like an actor or something. His voice is crystal clear and he sounds very well educated.

We continue the conversation for a while and find out that he has been homeless and living on the street for almost a year.
He has a Business Degree from Rice University and had a job as a Human Resource Manager before being terminated.

He was terminated for making a stupid mistake that could not go without consequences, especially for an HR Manger.

He was caught smoking weed on Company property.

He admits that it was a dumb, stupid thing to do and wishes he could have a “do over” on this one. He tells us to be careful in our lives because “do overs” are not all that common.

He holds no bitterness toward his former company, and realizes that he broke very clear rules. He advises us to be honest in life…. not to agree to regulations which we have no intention of abiding by.
He ends our short conversation by saying that he wishes his former Company all the best.
He wishes us a happy life as he makes his way to another corner, hoping that it will bring better luck with his aluminum can. He thanks us again for our small gift.

James and I do not move…. we stand there looking at each other while realizing that this homeless, rumpled man is far from “a bum”. He is probably more intelligent and caring than the majority of those passing by and ignoring him without giving him even a look.

Looks can be deceiving, eh?

We then continue on to Macy’s to get purchase our sweaters.

We walked home later that day without any sweaters. The money that we had saved up somehow found its way to a dirty aluminum cup.

and, here’s the thing; today, so, so many years later I realize how fortunate and blessed I am, especially as I painfully recount the number of times that I did not take that man’s advise.

Life lessons can be hard…. and that memory is one of them.

Don.

The House under the Roller Coaster.

The House under the Roller Coaster

Life imitating art? A popular movie of the Seventies had a character that grew up in a house built right under the Cyclone Roller Coaster in Coney Island. It was a fun plot point, and I am sure when people saw the film, they naturally thought it was just a comedic idea from the mind of the writer/director. But those of us who frequented the Coney Island Amusement park back in the day, knew it wasn’t just a funny idea. There indeed was a house built right under a Roller Coaster there but it wasn’t the Cyclone; it was it’s equally popular (and terrifying) Thunderbolt that sat only blocks away. It wasn’t much to look at, and I am sure many people thought it was a park maintenance building or something like that. I mean who would build a house directly underneath a roller coaster?? Well it makes a bit more sense (not by much however) to learn that the original structure was a hotel built back when Coney Island was at it’s most popular, and by that I mean the 1890’s. It was called the Kensington Hotel and it was built in 1895. And can you believe some part of it stood until 1991 when fire destroyed whatever was left of it.

My friends and I used to love going to Coney Island, but the Coney Island of the 1970’s wasn’t my father’s Coney Island, that’s for sure. Part of the allure of it for us, was that is was a relic of another age in the city’s history; you could gaze upon signs painted on buildings long before you were born, pass by bars that hadn’t changed since they were “luncheonettes” during Prohibition, and yes go on a ride, the Cyclone for instance, that had been thrilling riders since it opened in 1927. Not to mention the famous Parachute Jump ride that thankfully wasn’t operating when I went, as I probably would have been stupid enough to try it. It saw the light of day at the 1939 World’s Fair in Queens. The huge Ferris Wheel, the Wonder Wheel, has been standing since it opened in 1920, and finally achieved landmark status in 1989. There was no shortage of attractions, that’s for sure; the list goes on: the House of Mirrors, the Funhouse (totally politically incorrect by today’s standards), the Circus Sideshow with it’s fire eaters, sword swallowers, and human pincushions, the Spook-O-Rama (equally politically incorrect), and let us not forget, when all else failed, you could always just seek out the block long Nathan’s and chow down on fries, hot dogs, and fried clams. 

But even with all that to see and experience, every time we visited, we had to check on the house under the Rollercoaster. We would stand there, trying to see inside, but because the house was gated off, the windows were too far away, and anyway, everything inside always looked dark. We had convinced ourselves that the house was empty, maybe abandoned, but we would see the garbage bins outside the side door full of bags, and often there was mail in the metal mailbox attached to the outside of the fence. Weird. I mean what the hell kind of address

did the place have?? #1 Thunderbolt Way??

One time when we stayed past our normal time (and would get in trouble for being late for dinner), it started to get dark with the sun setting on the ocean. We were walking by on our way to the subway station on Surf Avenue, when we saw a dim light in we thought was the living room, just beyond the front door. Aha! There was someone living there after all!!

The plot was thickening; we weren’t sure what plot but we had great imaginations and could make a mystery out of almost anything! We were determined to take a look inside. All we had to do was get inside that gate and get up close to one of the windows and have a look. So that’s what we proceeded to do, the ever darkening skies covering our approach. Well we got as far as opening the gate door and taking a step inside. That was a cue for a huge Rottweiler we had never seen before to come running from the other side of the house, barking and growling at the same time. We had about three seconds of “where did he come from??!” before we decided it really wasn’t that important where he came from so much as where he was headed, as in right for us! Time to vacate, and quickly! Nothing like being pursued by an enraged dog baring quite an impressive set of sharp teeth to convince you that you really can run faster than you thought!  And that’s what we did, and didn’t stop until we made it to the subway station.

So much for solving any mystery; sometimes the unexplained just stays the unexplained. Every time we went back, we walked past the house, its windows eternally dark; we never saw any signs of life besides that dim light, and that one time, the dog….whose dog? Who knows? We never saw it again, but then we never attempted to go past that fence again either. No, after that, we contented ourselves with going on the rides, seeing the freak shows, getting scared at the fun house, and chowing down at Nathan’s. The mystery of the house under the Rollercoaster would remain a mystery. 

It remained long after the Thunderbolt was shut down, and fell into disrepair, a rotting relic of another age. Photos from the 80’s show a lonely skeleton of what once was an exciting ride waiting for the wrecking ball, and beneath its frame, the house still standing, it too aging into oblivion, taking its place in that very strange gallery of “what was” that is a specialty of places like Coney Island. 

-Rob

How I Got My Cat

Childhood Pets and How I got my Present Cat !

I would guess that if you were fortunate enough to have a pet when you were a child, most of those memories are very pleasant.
The first pet that I ever had was a small, tan colored dog. He was a Pekingese named Rusty and his coloring looked a lot like rust; thus his name.
My most vivid memory is of him simply laying on the floor next to me while I was playing with my Slinky or Silly Putty( those from the 60’s remember those, don’t you?) or while I was watching Howdy Doodie or Captain Kangaroo. ( Now, I know that you must remember those!) He was always just content to lay there and let me pet his adorable head. He crossed the Rainbow Bridge when I was still very young.

Over the years the variety of pets we had was quite wide. Most of this was due to my younger brother and the fact that Dad didn’t want another dog and go through the pain of loosing it.

My brother and I are both animal
lovers and I well remember his turtles, fish, parakeets and hamsters and guinea pigs. My favorite was his beautiful pale blue parakeet, Prince. What a personable, affectionate and funny little bird he was!

It wasn’t until I had move out on my own that I had dogs again, and I loved them all. I’ve had a few cats as well, but unfortunately, I was allergic to them, so it was kinda hard.

However let me fast forward from a childhood in 60’s to adulthood in 2014.
If you were not aware of it, August is International Cat Month, and that makes it the perfect time to share the rather enchanting story of how my wife and I became the chosen humans for our very own feline overlord, Owen.
Picture this: It was Christmas of 2014, and we were still relatively new faces to the Texas community we were living in. Our son, who lived in Oklahoma, was visiting for the holidays. Our two daughters lived in Virginia and Seattle, respectively, and were unable to visit.
This trip was already a bit of a whirlwind because just a few days prior, he’d dropped a massive bombshell on us – he was joining the U.S. Navy! We were completely blindsided; it was definitely not something we’d ever seen coming from him.

He arrived a few nights before Christmas, and we decided to treat him to dinner at a nice restaurant we had become very fond of. As always, the food was absolutely delicious.

However, as we were winding down with coffee and dessert, he suddenly got really quiet. We could tell something heavy was on his mind, so we gently asked if everything was alright.

That’s when he started to tell us. Just half a year earlier, he’d rescued this absolutely gorgeous black kitten, whom he’d lovingly named Owen (a nod to the Owen sisters from the move, “Practical Magic,” how cool is that?). He adored Owen with all his heart, but with his Navy departure looming, he just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him with an uncertain future. His big question, delivered with a hint of desperation, was if we would consider taking Owen in.

Now, there was a tiny complication, and he was very much aware of it: As previously mentioned, I had serious cat allergy issues. We’re talking breathing issues, coughing , sneezing, the whole kit and caboodle. I’m sure he saw the skepticism etched across my face, and the sad, sympathetic look on his mom’s.
Then, it happened. I watched a single, glistening tear fall from our future sailor’s eye. And just like that, game over. My heart melted. Owen was coming home with us.

The pure joy and relief that lit up our son’s face in that moment were truly beautiful. Owen was officially part of our family. I was a Cat Dad.

Fast forward to today: Owen just celebrated his 12th birthday! And here’s the crazy part – I have never, not even once, had an allergic reaction to him. Not a sniffle, not a sneeze! He has been my steadfast companion through all my cancer treatments, always there, curling up beside me, and even waking me with his gentle purrs at 3:30 in the morning. He’s my precious baby, my furry little good luck charm, my “Fair Winds and Following Seas.”
And honestly, I love that cat more than words can express.

Don.

The City in Song -Part Two

The City in Song – Part Two

Welcome back to this fun exploration of the city (you know which one) celebrated in music and song. This time let’s start with a classic, a romantic tune from the 1930’s that endures to this day. It’s been covered hundreds of times, attesting to its durability and appeal. It goes like this:

“Autumn in New York

Why does it seem so inviting?

Autumn in New York

It spells the thrill of first nighting

Glittering crowds and shimmering clouds

In canyons of steel

They’re making me feel

I’m home” *1

My favorite version is (big surprise I know) by Frank, but Ella and the great Billie Holliday both are superlative as well with this one. I must admit to, at first, not  quite knowing what “first nighting” was, but I came to the conclusion it had something to do with the new season on Broadway each Autumn- duh. Anyway, it’s a wonderful composition, full of emotion, the most prominent being the promise of finding new love with the new season, something shared by each  successive generation since the Thirties; the commonality of our humanity. 

On a lighter note, this next one is about a place near and dear to my childhood heart. I so looked forward to our visits uptown to Central Park, to this magical place where a city boy could gaze upon Wonders from around the globe.

“Something tells me it’s all happening at the Zoo

I do believe it

I do believe it’s true.

It’s a light and tumble journey from the East Side to the Park

Just a fine and fancy ramble to the Zoo

But you can take the cross town bus if it’s raining or it’s cold

And the animals will love it if you do.” *2

Paul and Artie capture the joyful experience of a visit to the Central Park Zoo, one of the oldest in the country dating from the 1850’s. Along with the Museum of Natural History, it was my favorite place to visit in the city as a kid, and every time I hear that song, I am back on the A train heading uptown, Mom at my side, eager to once again see all my friends at the Zoo.

One of the most unique, colorful, joyous and just plain fun experiences to be had in New York City is the annual Halloween Parade in Greenwich Village. I wrote about it before, probably more than once, but this song revisits it in all its glory and for a time, sadness. Set after the horrible Aids crisis devastated the area, everything had changed;  it wasn’t all fun and raves. 

The fun first……

“There’s a downtown fairy singing out “Proud Mary”

As she cruises Christopher Street

And some southern Queen is acting loud and mean

Where the docks and the badlands meet”

Then the sadness…..

“This celebration somehow gets me down

Especially when I see you’re not around” 

“In the back of my mind I was afraid it might be true

In the back of my mind I was afraid they meant you.”*3

Beautiful and heart breaking capturing the soul wrenching sorrow that affected so many we knew; friends we would see every day on the streets of the Village, and then one day, they weren’t there anymore. It is appropriately from Lou’s album elegantly and simply entitled New York.

Another take on the city however is not so poetic, not so soft. According to Mick and the boys, New York was exemplified by:

“Pride and joy, and greed and sex, that’s what makes that town the best

Pride and joy and dirty dreams, and still surviving on the street”

“This town’s been wearing tatters….”

“I can’t give it away on Seventh Avenue..”*4

Of course he was writing that song in the Seventies, and I can attest to feeling quite often that the whole town was indeed in tatters (never had any problem on Seventh Avenue though). 

There’s a song for every mood, every neighborhood, every character, every season; the music’s vibe is the street’s vibe, the city immortalized in verse and composition, in bombast and in nuance; it is, or can be, all things to all people, and that’s why people still flock here each year, to be a part of the show, not just watch it; to experience it first hand, and for many, to start that new life. 

I’ll give the last words to some familiar voices:

“New York, you’ve got money on your mind

And my words won’t make a dimes worth of difference

So here’s to you New York.”*5

Indeed, here’s to you New York. Couldn’t have said it better myself.

-Rob

*1 – Autumn in New York by Vernon Duke 1934

*2 – At the Zoo by Paul Simon released as a single 1967

*3 – Halloween Parade by Lou Reed for his album New York 1989

*4 – Shattered by Mick Jagger & Keith Richards for the album Some Girls 1978

*5 –  A Heart in New York by Simon & Garfunkel for the album Concert in Central Park 1982.

Rob.

At the Beach and Those Wonderful Sea Shells

As we are officially in the “dog days of summer”, I often times find myself remembering my childhood and summertime in the early 60’s!
As a city kid, I remember the excitement and fun of going to the beach. It wasn’t a regular treat, but when we were able to do it with our extended family it was a major treat for me.

The beach that we would go to was Jones Beach in New York, on Long Island.To this young kid,
It was the most beautiful white sand beach ever! It had a wonderful Boardwalk with two bathhouses and, as I reflect, I can almost hear the seagulls and the waves hitting the shore. It was definitely one of my favorite places of my childhood.

I remember sitting in the sand on the shoreline, as the waves would roll over my legs and sometimes reach my chest, and for some odd reason, we always felt the need to find and collect sea shells. Our parents definitely contributed to this “need” by encouraging us to go find some “beautiful shells”.

Of course, most of the time I had no idea what I was going to do with the shells once I collected them. Mom often encouraged me to bring some of them to school with me and show them during “Show and Tell”. (Please tell me that some of you remember “Show and Tell” in your early school years?)
No matter what I was going to do with them, I always enjoyed looking for them! How I remember finding a perfect shell, rinsing it off in the water and showing it to Mom. She would react as if I had just found a few thousand dollars! I felt so proud.

I collected my shells in the small pail of my pail and shovel beach set . This was fine until I had collected more shells than would fit in the little pail. Then I found myself walking along the shoreline trying to hold the shells that wouldn’t fit into the pail while also passing many unto Mom.

Soon, Mom would convince me that I simply had too many shells and that I should leave some for other kids that were trying to collect them as well. So, somewhat reluctantly, I would start putting some back into the sand, making sure that they could be spotted by the “other kids”. I threw some of the larger ones back into the water and watched the waves carry them out to sea. I wondered if they would ever be found again. I would guess many are still there…. out there, somewhere, waiting to be discovered by other kids.

The beach day always went by quickly, and before long, we had the car packed up and were headed home. Without exception, I always fell asleep in the back seat, clutching my pail of treasures… and on Monday,Mom and I would have picked out the prettiest ones for me to bring to Show and Tell.

Today I often find myself reflecting back on those childhood memories. I tend to believe that as we grow up and become adults we often don’t even notice the beautiful things lying right at our feet, such as sea shells. We become too busy to notice.

Perhaps we should refocus: spend our time here on earth noticing the beautiful things lying right in front of us. Carry them, collect them and share them with others at “Show and Tell.”

See you at the Beach.

Don.

The City in Song.

The City in Song.

“I’m back, back in the New York groove!..”*1

So I am laying on my back at my Physical Therapist’s office, getting pulled, pushed, and kneaded in an attempt to ease my back pain; feeling out of shape, old and tired and then I hear that song, that one line: “I’m back, back in the New York groove”, and a second later I am young and fit, tapping my feet together, bobbing my head in time with the music and generally getting on the “boogie” like it was 1975. Just like that. All it took was the right song. And for me, any song about New York is the right song, a slam dunk. And that of course got me to thinking of other iconic sounds and lyrics about the city, some not always so happy but all affecting.

A simple search revealed a long list that fit the bill; so many that I had not even heard of half of them. Who knew? There are a variety of different artists and styles, genres and modes. Some were grand tributes, others mentioned the city just in passing, as a setting or circumstance but then others captured the city; a street, a bar, the sounds, smells, in an inspired fashion.

Here’s one that did:

“Voices leaking from a sad café
Smiling faces try to understand
I saw a shadow touch a shadow’s hand
On Bleecker Street”*2

Anyone that has sat nursing a Cappuccino at Café Reggio in the Village would nod in recognition of that scene, Simon and Garfunkel, those kids from Queens, nailed it, just like snapping a photo and capturing a moment in time.

Or how about:

“They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway
They say there’s magic in the air on Broadway
But when you’re walking down that street
And you ain’t had enough to eat
The glitter rubs right off and you’re nowhere on Broadway.”*3

Another bulls-eye. Been there too. I’ve many a memory of walking down Broadway near 42nd Street, in awe of all that surrounded me, all that was available for the taking……if you had the green. And I usually didn’t. Heck, that’s a young New Yorker’s rite of passage; everyone needs to experience that feeling at least once, hopefully not too many more times than once.

Which brings us to our first anthem:

“Been high in the Rockies under the Evergreens
But I know what I am needing
And I don’t want to waste more time
I’m in a New York state of mind.”*4

Who better than Billy Joel to try to define just what that New York “state of mind” is. And it is indeed a state of mind; it transcends place (even if it’s your home), it transcends the concrete of the streets, the majesty of the skyline, and all the hype, both good and bad. It is a state of mind, and that keeps it always ultimately elusive, as much a theory of life as an actual location. The moody tone to the song, the plaintive honest way the lyrics are delivered evokes such a state of mind perfectly; sad, longing, knowing; the kind of song that is usually followed up with: Bartender? I’ll have another.

Ok one last one (for this installment anyway), one of the best.
Cue the Sliding Bass……..

“Holly came from Miami F.L.A.
Hitchhiked her way across the U.S.A.
Plucked her eyebrows on the way
Shaved her legs and he was a she
She says: “Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side”

“A hustle here and a hustle there
New York City is the place where they said
“Hey babe….take a walk on the wild side”*5

Is there any singer more identified with New York City than Lou Reed? Don’t bother answering, the answer is no. He didn’t just sing about it, he lived it, his accent only gave him street cred. Born and bred in the city, I remember seeing him more than once in the Village. My favorite time was spotting him sitting at a table outside of Café Figaro on Bleecker enjoying an Egg Cream in the afternoon (I wasn’t the only one who recognized him). I mean c’mon….an Egg Cream? Café Figaro on Bleecker?? Does it get any more New York than that?
Don’t bother answering that one either. Same answer. It doesn’t. Lou was the real deal.

Ok more to come but that will wrap up this first edition of reflections of the city in song. This is fun!

-Rob

*1-New York Groove by Russ Ballard 1975
*2-Bleecker Street by Simon and Garfunkel from their album Wednesday Morning 3AM – 1964.
*3-On Broadway by the Drifters from their album Under the Boardwalk- 1964
*4-New York State of Mind by Bill Joel from the album Turnstiles 1976
*5-Walk on the Wild Side by Lou Reed from the album Transformer 1972

Knicks in Five.

Knicks in Five.

A couple of weeks ago, New York City celebrated when the long suffering Knicks captured the NBA championship for the first time in fifty three years. Now for a non-fan that could be a ho-hum piece of news, but to even jaded New Yorkers, it was anything but. Taking the title did what is increasingly hard to do anywhere in this country, let alone a city of eleven million people: it brought everyone together. How many things are there that you can think of, that can do that anymore?

I mean everyone, regardless of color, status, politics, religion, whatever; everyone came together. They danced in the streets together, they partied with each other until the early morning, they broke bread together, and they certainly hoisted more than a few drinks together; they had common ground, common pride, in their team, their city and ultimately themselves. It was clear the Knicks don’t just represent New York, the Kicks are New York. When was the last time you heard a chant like:

“My Mayor is Muslim, My Bagel is Jewish, My Christian’s Dior, Knicks in four!”.

Besides being a bit witty, it summed up concisely what that city’s pride is all about. That city’s strength comes from its diversity, and its people know it.

Of course after dropping a game, that last part was changed to:

“The Pope’s on our side, Knicks in five!!”

And indeed he must have been, as it was the Knicks in five.

There were other times of course that brought New Yorkers together. I lived through two pretty major power blackouts, one in the Sixties and another in the Seventies, and in each, neighbors helped each other out, taking to the streets with flashlights and torches, directing traffic, and generally assisting each other in navigating what had become a dark alien landscape. The Summer of Sam brought strangers closer; we all pitched so that if someone felt uneasy walking the streets alone, they wouldn’t have to, someone would walk with them. Same kind of thing years later, when in the dreaded AIDS epidemic, those too scared or weak to make it to the hospital for their scheduled appointments could count on fellow New Yorkers to walk with them in both spiritual and physical support. More recently with the Covid crisis, the will was there to help, but of course it was kind of hard, as the whole idea was to keep your distance from others. So there’s a fine tradition of coming together when it is needed.

But when the Knicks won, I was surprised at first to hear what some people said when interviewed and asked about the last time they could remember when so many citizens of the city found common cause. Many cited September 11th. I had to think about that a bit; it certainly didn’t seem the two events could be compared, but as folks continued talking, it became clearer. Besides what it initially says about the importance of the Knicks win, and how strong the reaction was, it speaks to what it means to have a collective experience at all. These fans were so happy, they felt that the celebration for the victory was a kind of “reverse 9/11”. That event united the city in tragedy, this one united it in unbound joy and brotherhood. This was the positive the city’s people needed, and they certainly waited long enough for it! It wasn’t a feeling of vindication, but one of absolution; the washing away of a past collective sadness, replaced with the sharing of pure joy. I finally understood – so many of the times before, maybe all of them, we came together because of some threat, calamity or tragedy; this time we were coming together to celebrate something good, something joyous.

But it even goes a bit further than that. In a time when all we are fed is the notion that what separates us, our divisions, are how we are now defined as a people. But watching those crowds, it seemed the message coming back loud and clear was: “divided huh? Do we look divided??”. Suddenly everything was real in a world fast becoming virtual; the city seemed to be sharing life, not just interests. In those crowds and watching from afar, I felt I was a part of something; the city as a real living organism with a shared spirit; strangers now not looking away but engaging in conversation. All at once “the greatest city in the world” wasn’t just a empty boast, it was a real place, right there in front of me, happening now. I didn’t see anyone phone scrolling in the videos I watched, people were too busy being part of the party; sure folks were recording it, recording themselves in it, part of it; no one was checking their e-mail. When I asked friends who still live there, and attended the celebrations, they confirmed what I observed. All said they had not experienced such a shared sense of community as far back as they could remember.

And therein lies the bigger lesson: we must remember to be a part of life, to live it, not just observe it; to get in the game so-to-speak. And most importantly of all, we must reject what divides us, and take strength from what unites us, which is more than we realize.

Not a bad life lesson from a bunch of guys playing Basketball.

“Start spreading the news……”

-Rob.

Operation Sail

Operation Sail

It was what the city needed. At a time when a fiscal crisis, high inflation, rampant crime and major job losses were plaguing the city and it’s people, it turns out what was needed was a party, a big celebration, and what better reason to celebrate than the fact that the nation had actually survived for two hundred years. Yes, established in 1776, the Bicentennial Celebrations held on July 4^th, 1976 were just what the doctor ordered. Planning started months before the actual event, and it was decided that the crowning attraction would be Operation Sail, a flotilla of sailing ships, boats and naval vessels from around the world that would sail from the Verrazano Narrows Bridge and make its way up the Hudson River. There were plenty of other events planned for that busy day, ticker tape parades, fireworks displays, block parties, but the most ambitious by far was Operation Sail. Countries from all over the world were invited, including some pretty hostile ones at the time, the point being to make it a coming together for even just the one day. At the time, the planners had great worry that no one would show up or care about the whole thing, after all there were plenty of problems people were dealing with on a daily basis; they might not be in a mood to cheer on a bunch of fancy foreign boats. Then of course there was the always constant fear of traffic nightmares, immobilizing crowds (if indeed they showed up), and even more criminal activity preying on the spectators. There was no end to the list of all that could go wrong.

And you know what? Nothing did.

The weather was perfect, and people, lots and lots of people showed up (how about six million? the largest crowd in New York City history up to that time); they lined both shores of the great Hudson River and happily watched as the ships came into view. One of the first was the huge aircraft carrier Forrestal, carrying among others, President Ford, Vice President Rockefeller and Secretary of State Kissinger, along with the Prince and Princess of Monaco. In all over seventy five foreign ambassadors and naval chiefs from thirty five countries took a ride that day, an eighteen mile journey for the two hundred plus sailing ships attending.

It was broadcast live to millions of people around the country. And indeed, it was a sight to see! And we did from our perfectly situated windows on the twenty third floor of the Projects overlooking the river. They all passed right by below us, regal, majestic, impressive. I remember at first being my usual cynical smart aleck self (hey I was twenty years old and a junior in college!), but I also remember after a while, watching in pure awe, and yes even getting a little misty eyed. It was the sheer spectacle of the thing, the inspiring unity of it; here were ships from Norway, Denmark, West Germany, Spain, Portugal, Argentina, Chili, Columbia, and Japan. But there were others too, from non-Western nations, 

ships from Poland, Romania and even the Soviet Union. They were all invited to take part in the celebration, and they all said “we’ll be there- wouldn’t miss it for the world!”.  Each vessel was a proud symbol of their native land, and all participated as equals on this one very special day in July, 1976.

I remember this now, as our country prepares to celebrate its two hundred and fiftieth Anniversary. Well, it’s not the Seventies anymore and sometimes I don’t know if that is good or bad, but I hope that again, ordinary people will come together and make some important, peaceful, and meaningful memories again to celebrate the unique and now threatened grand experiment that is America.

But you know, that was then, and this is now; I am not twenty anymore, and the country, well the country has changed, and not necessarily in a good way. But I will do my best to check my cynicism at the door, and hopefully enjoy the show. 

-Rob

Next week is Father’s Day

Next Sunday, we will be celebrating Father’s day.
I grew up in the 60’s and was one of the lucky ones who was blessed with a wonderful Father. It saddens me that everyone is not able to say that. I knew a kid that lived fairly close to us in New York that had a very mean, cruel farther, and today, someone very close to me suffered at the hands of an abusive father, and that is heart wrenching.

However, next Sunday,let’s celebrate the great dads out there!

My Dad was a World War Two Vet and by today’s standard he would definitely considered “old school”. I’m positive that many of you reading this can relate to having an “old school dad” and I would bet, in hindsight, that it was a good thing.
Dad worked extremely hard to provide for his little family, at times working three jobs to ensure that we just had the basic necessities of life. I never heard him complain or resent his circumstances. I knew that he simply wanted to get home to his family, put on a Sinatra album and enjoy dinner with us sitting at our small dinner table. There were no cell phones distracting us from communicating with each other, and I’m fairly certain that there had been, Dad would have tossed them out the window.

He was adamant about making sure that his kids learned to do the “right thing” in life.

Sound familiar?

Now, the “ right thing” in our family was what he said the “right thing” was. What went on in other families was their business; what went on in our family was his business.
So, here are some of “ the right things” that dad expected of us. Can you relate to some ?
-Family first: you took care of family.

• If you were going out to a restaurant, no matter the status of that establishment, you would dress nicely.
  -Sloppiness was considered unacceptable.
  -Respect; you had to show respect to your elders , teachers and anyone else in authority.
  -Manners: you would say please and thank you. You would write thank you notes for gifts. You would sit properly at the table. You would pay attention when spoken to. You would give a response when asked… other than that, simply listening was the more prudent action.
  -You always held the door for a lady, and you stood up when a lady came to the table.
  There was more, but that’s a pretty decent sampling.Im sure that you can add to the list.
  Dad was a Marine, and the saying “once a Marine, always a Marine” could not be more true than when speaking of Dad. He was a member of the Greatest Generation and fought that horrible war in the Pacific.We never heard too much about what he experienced, but it was at his funeral that we found out he had saved the life of a fellow Marine. That Marine showed up at the funeral and cried at dad’s casket.
  I would imagine that some form my generation that may be reading this will remember this song by Paul Peterson in 1962. He played Jeff Stone on “The Donna Reed Show”
  These lyrics hit home;
  🎵 My dad, now here is a man
  To me he is everything strong
  No, he can’t do wrong, my dad
  My dad, now he understands
  When I bring him troubles to share
  Oh, he’s always there, my dad”

I hope all the Dads out there have a happy and blessed Father’s Day.

Don.