Summer 2009

Hello all. Did you have a good summer? We did - so much so that I was compelled to once again set images to music below. You would think that, after three months, I would have more to talk about - and I hope to post more regularly very soon - but for now, summer past.

July

July. My grandmother passed away on the last day of July 1989 and my grandfather died on the first day of July four years later. I have always thought how strange, how ironic, it is that they both died in the summertime because it is summer with which I inevitably associate them.

Surely there were Christmases and Easters and just plain Sunday afternoons spent with Meem and Gramps across the first forty years of my life, but no memories linger like my summer vacations. These could last from just a few days to a couple of weeks at a time and a mere telephone call home could make them even longer than they were planned to be in the first place. It was often an impromptu decision, hearing at the end of one of their visits, “If you want to come back with us, you’d better go pack your clothes”!

Better yet, there were even built-in playmates because I have six cousins on that side of the family so it was usually me and a couple of them and, maybe, after a week or so one of them would have to go home only to be replaced by someone else (or two). If I stayed long enough, I would see them all.

For my entire life, my grandparents lived in the same house on Crawford Street in Uniontown, PA. The street went uphill and theirs was the second house on the left. It stood out because it was the only house on the street that had a double lot so the lower side was a big sloping yard to play in. Sometimes just rolling like a log down this hill was a game in itself and, while I certainly don’t roll down hills any more (at least not on purpose), even walking down a hill can evoke memories of this place. So anyway, it was a big side yard. In the back yard there was a huge willow tree (you can see it in the picture above), suited equally well for climbing or for swinging, located near the garden shed and what had once been a chicken coop.

Meem and Gramps also had a grape arbor that separated their yard from their next-door neighbors, the Slaters. I remember them for two things: Mrs. Slater, a big, friendly woman who seemed to hang wash seven days a week and Mr. Slater, short and hunched over, more of a curmudgeon and also, apparently, a rabbit hunter. I still wince thinking of the day when, for reasons long forgotten (or suppressed), I walked into their basement and came eye level with a row of dead rabbits hanging by their back legs from a line strung across the room.

But the most notable place in the yard was the garden – my grandfather’s garden. Scrupulously tended in the back left corner, the garden took up about a fifth of the entire property and annually produced truly heroic quantities of tomatoes, beans and cucumbers not to mention a host of other vegetables. A walk up “to see how the garden was doing” was always the traditional start to any visit, even years later when Margie and I visited with our kids for yet another little summer vacation. The abundance that this piece of good earth produced also led to an almost ceremonial end to every stay, when we left with boxes and baskets full of something of everything. The aforementioned trio of vegetables dominated the garden but scallions, radishes, lettuce and cabbage were also represented. The tomato plants were tied to posts of all shapes and thickness, including rectangular stakes and the vestiges of bamboo rakes, brooms, shovels et al whose business ends had given up the ghost long ago but whose handles lived on to stand tall and serve.

Once summer ended and school began, several weeks or a couple of months might pass before I got back to Uniontown. It was always a jolt to look out at that back corner of the yard and see a miniature vacant lot, and in the center of it the long cooled, scattered ashes of burned tomato stalks, bean bushes and cabbage leaves. The garden was gone for another season, but only to come back and live again next year. This type of concomitant reflection and anticipation has stayed with me my entire life, this sense of, “It’s OK. It’s gone but only for awhile”. It is reaffirmation that works in all kinds of situations. Summer vacation is done, but we’ll come back next year; Christmas is over, but it’ll be here again before you know it.

Truly Do

Some photos of our fave granddaughter taken between last July and last week. Yes, that is a fish at the end - one of four she caught that day!

Life and Death in the Northern Water Tribe Nation

Our story so far ~ "The Last Airbender" is set in a world balanced on four nations - Water, Earth, Fire and Air. In each society, there are masters who can manipulate their native elements - Waterbenders, Earthbenders, Firebenders and Airbenders -- while the one person who can master all four is the Avatar.

When the current Avatar, a 12-year-old boy still learning to master his powers, seemingly dies, the Fire nation launches a war for global domination. One hundred years later, two teens discover and free the Avatar and his flying bison from suspended animation, and he must fight to restore harmony among the four nations.

My buddy Rick and I are extras in this new movie being directed by M. Night Shyamalan, the man who gave us “The Sixth Sense,”, “Signs,” “The Village” and who, somewhat oddly in light of this litany of creepy movies, also wrote the screenplay for “Stuart Little.” The set is a huge palace, covered in ice, replete with courtyards, fountains, a bridge and oh so much more. I can’t tell you oh so much more than that, however, because we are all forced to sign a confidentiality agreement – daily – promising not to take any pictures, etc.

All of this movie magic is constructed in a huge hangar at the Philadelphia Navy Yard. Other shooting has already been completed in Greenland and at the Pagoda up in Reading. [Ask yourself - when was the last time you saw Greenland and Reading mentioned in the same sentence?]

Apparently, in these four nations you are one of three kinds of people: a villager doing what comes naturally, a warrior who protects the villagers while they do what comes naturally or if you are really cool (yeah, pun intended), you are a bender possessing the ability to manipulate whatever eponymous element you have at hand.

Rick is a Water Tribe villager. He was supposed to be a warrior but when he went for his costume fitting, they said, “Rick, you’re a villager,” and so he is. I am a Water Tribe warrior. I was supposed to be a villager but when I went for my costume fitting, they said, “Dan, you’re a warrior,” and so I am.

Being a warrior carries with it certain privileges, namely that I get a weapon! In wardrobe, they told me that I would get either a sword or a spear. I know what you’re thinking: Is it really wise to give someone who says things like, “Growing old is required; growing up is optional,” a weapon of any kind? Is it? Well, while I secretly wanted a sword, I got a spear, and a fine piece of weaponry it is with a sharp point, a sharp hook and, uh, a tassel. It’s a little over 6-feet long [As they say, “The longer the spear… “]. To tell the truth, I feel like one of the Winkie guards from “The Wizard of Oz” – you know, the one near the end of the movie after Dorothy throws water on the wicked witch who says, “Hail Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead,” and then gives her the broom to take back to the Wizard.

Water Tribe warriors wear a costume that can only be described as “Doctor Zhivago” meets with “The Wizard of Oz” in order to “Sink the Bismarck.” Brown suede boots give way to ice blue, cotton velour pantaloons. Dan is also wearing a blue tunic top beneath his matching knee-length, ice blue, cotton velour, ten pound (I think) coat, trimmed in fur at the bottom, around the neck and up the middle. A 4-inch wide silver belt with a buckle the size of a coaster holds the whole thing together (but the suspenders help too). The helmet – oh yeah, a helmet – is grey with fur flaps in the back and over both ears. It has a spike on top for that Kaiser-like effect. On Wednesday, it rained so our grand outfits were further complemented by a clear plastic emergency poncho and black galoshes over the boots.

The Water Tribe Nation is supposed to be pretty cold, hence the heavy clothes. As you see in the synopsis above, we are getting our ice cold asses kicked by the godless Fire Nation warriors. I mean, if they’re Nazi Germany, we’re Poland. It’s pretty bad. How bad? Well, in wardrobe, the lady told me that I will probably be killed. I don’t mind that but I don’t want to be tortured – I hate when that happens!

Despite being a future society, these guys are incredibly backward in many ways. No jewelry is allowed on set – no chains, no rings (not even wedding rings) and no watches. We all walk around saying, “What time do you think it is?” Women aren’t even allowed to wear nail polish. Something else that is particularly troubling is that no one in the Water Tribe wears glasses. Apparently, in the future, everyone’s insurance covers Lasik eye surgery. During takes, I have to stick my glasses beneath my coat and trust that the belt will keep them from falling to the floor. Of course, the “floor” is actually the courtyard of the palace, covered with snow. The “snow” looks to be something like white sawdust and they have crates of the stuff.

Much of the time – make that most of the time – is spent standing around waiting to do something, anything. Shyamalan is all over the place. By the way, don’t believe the IMDB website stat that he is 5’11”. Sorry Night (all of us in his inner circle call him “Night”), you’re 5’8” at best. On Tuesday, Night was dressed in a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans that looked worse than jeans that I threw away because they were too ratty to give to charity. But nothing succeeds like success so I reckon he can wear whatever he damn well pleases. He looked better on Wednesday – only one hole in the jeans (left knee), another black T-shirt but a spiffy red World Champion Phillies cap completed the look, so he’s OK!

Dressing down means that you don’t have to worry about spilling something on yourself at lunch. Not true, however, for us villagers and warriors and benders. Before lunch on Tuesday, they handed out lobster bibs to protect the merchandise. As we waited in line outside the holding tent, a plane taking off from PIA flew low overhead and I imagined the pilot coming on the intercom saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, if you look out the right side of the aircraft, you will see futuristic villagers, warriors and benders locked in a cataclysmic struggle to save the world from evil domination. And yes, those are lobster bibs they have around their necks.”

If you’re doing nothing on set, you stand around. If you’re doing nothing in the holding tent, you sit around. There are a few hundred of us extras including children as young as 6 years. They have a school tent set up outside the hangar. People young and old seem to find a variety of ways to amuse themselves. At our table, a spirited game of Apples to Apples was underway a couple of chairs down. Others read books or had an iPod plugged in. I found a copy of the Philadelphia Daily News and read it cover to cover. We all know that this feat can be accomplished in about 7 minutes so you won’t be surprised to learn that when I did it again about a half hour later, it took even less time and, indeed, even less than that the third (and final) time I put myself through such literary hell.

The highlights of my week came on Wednesday. Good God Almighty, I was actually in two scenes – one in the morning with just eight of us and another late afternoon with just four! The first one was just us Winkie wannabe warriors running across the courtyard with fireballs exploding over our heads. Yep, real fire – fake snow but real fire! The afternoon scene was an extravaganza in which the village is apparently under attack. Villagers – men, women, children - are running everywhere.

It looked a lot like the Acme the day before Thanksgiving.

Anyway, soldiers are running around trying to protect the citizenry. We four charge out, run down to the bridge, go up two steps, cross the bridge, go down four steps and then two more and finally stop, take a defensive position and point our spears toward the unseen enemy. Cut!

I know… you’re breathless. The trick here is that you have to know your route and where the mark is on which to stop. You also have to realize that these wacky villagers, especially the kids, don’t necessarily stay to one side of the bridge as they’re running toward you and knocking them down is considered bad form.

I’m proud to say that everyone got through it OK – each of the ten or twelve times we shot it. I also don’t mind saying that I’m proud of myself, personally, because, remember, I’m… not… wearing my… glasses! Up and down steps, zigzagging around people for about an hour. Jeez, I hope the scene is in the movie just so I can finally see what I was doing!

Every time we came back to our start positions to do it again, we were standing right next to Shyamalan and the crew and he would be watching the take, nodding his head, talking about it with someone. I kept waiting for him to say something like, “What’s with the guy in the middle – is he blind or something,” but he didn’t. The second assistant associate co-director who was in charge of our little group said we did very well. I hope so. I hope he doesn’t just say that to all the Winkies.

The newspaper headline says it all:


At a Petticoat Junction press conference last December, Shady Rest Hotel owner Kate Bradley announced that she had lost millions in the Bernie Madoff investment scandal but expressed optimism at the time that swift legal action might head off complete bankruptcy. Just days later, she traveled to Hooterville to meet with agricultural activist, Grange leader and former attorney Oliver Wendell Douglas.

Mr. Douglas, in turn, contacted former associates at his Park Avenue law firm in New York but by then the case was in the hands of federal attorneys. “One thing I’ve learned from working with Mr. Kimball (Hooterville county agent),” said Douglas, “is that once the government gets involved, you’re pretty well screwed.”

Now that there are no other options available, Bradley is stoic. “I still have my health and, of course, the girls,” she said. “That’s more than some others can say.” She obviously had in mind friend and former owner of Drucker’s General Store Sam Drucker. Another Madoff investor, Drucker threw himself in front of the Cannonball Express late one night before Christmas. “I didn’t see him ‘til the last second,” sobbed engineer Charley Pratt. “I slammed on the brakes but by then it was too late.”

The tragedy was compounded when conductor Floyd Smoot, knocked off balance when the brakes were applied, fell from the caboose and struck his head on one of the posts of the water tower, killing him instantly. The impact was so forceful that several petticoats fell from the tank onto the body, hiding it from investigators for several days. Early this year, Homer Bedloe, vice-president of the C&FW Railroad and owner of the Express, announced that the branch line was finally being shut down.

Ironically, Mr. Douglas finds himself the target of investigators now that the FBI has learned that his wife Lisa is Ruth Madoff’s first cousin and apparently maintained constant contact with the disgraced financier’s wife throughout the years of criminal activity.

“She was up and down that ‘phone pole outside their place more times than I can count,” testified Eustace Haney, a former Hooterville resident but now residing in Crabwell Corners. “She always said that New York is where she’d rather stay, but I don’t think it was because she was allergic to smelling hay,” he quipped.

To be sure, FBI agents searching the Douglas home found drawers full of expensive jewelry and closets stuffed with designer dresses and formal wear. “They don’t sell stuff that good even at the Stankwell Falls Mall,” Mr. Haney observed.

Rural investors are not the only ones suffering. In Milwaukee, the family of former hardware store owner Howard Cunningham gave an interview to the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel and talked about the patriarch’s struggle with Alzheimer’s. They are bringing him back to their home on North Clinton Drive because they can no longer afford the fees at Shotz Manor, the assisted-living community where Mr. Cunningham has lived for the past 14 years.

“He doesn’t understand why he has to leave his friends,” said wife Marion, choking back tears. “He just keeps saying, ‘If it’s a Fonzie scheme, then tell Fonzie to fix it.’”

“It’s sad,” sighed their son, Lieutenant General Richard “Richie” Cunningham, “just really sad.”

Berwyn Hardware, 1955-2009

If there was an obituary, it would probably be something simple, like this:

Berwyn Hardware, 54, passed away on Saturday, February 28th after succumbing to a long illness. It died peacefully, surrounded by many of its friends and customers. In its heyday, Berwyn Hardware was the anchor of several kindred businesses in the village of Berwyn that included Fritz Lumber, Berwyn Glass and Industrial Valley Plumbing & Heating, the latter predeceasing it several years ago. In lieu of flowers, patrons are asked to settle their accounts.

Berwyn Hardware was a real… hardware… store. As other stores increasingly added items like housewares, towels and toys to their inventory, Berwyn Hardware was true to itself, the go to place for nuts and bolts, 8-penny nails, paint remover, electrical outlets, leaf rakes, sandpaper, batteries, L-brackets, caulk, bird seed, drill bits, spackle, door knobs, keys made and most other things that anyone might need on a Saturday afternoon.

It wasn’t a fancy store; in fact, customers might have wondered if the carpet had ever been really vacuumed but, to me, this only added to its charm. If you need a new trap to go under your bathroom sink, who cares if the rug is swept?

Berwyn Hardware was born in 1954, the proud creation of Ed and Sue Dalton who ran it as a family hardware store catering to the needs of residents, contractors and businesses in Chester, Delaware and Montgomery counties. At one time or another, every member of their family worked there joined by a tight group of employees including the "A" Team: Doug, Vince and Joe. Doug’s last name is Burnett and I guess that the other guys had last names too but to this day I don’t know what they were and, besides, last names aren’t important when you need advice on the relative merits of shellac versus varnish.

Such was the beauty of Berwyn Hardware. Not only did it sell the products but it had people who knew – really knew – how to use them and were willing to explain it as many times as it took me to understand it.

We started going there in 1974 when we bought our first home. Our family had an account at the store so it never seemed that what we were buying was actually costing us anything until... well, until the monthly bill came. Sometimes it was a couple hundred dollars and other times it was six dollars. If I needed something in the middle of a job, I could jump in the car and be there in three minutes without a dime in my pocket (since I wasn’t in the habit of carrying my wallet with me when I was installing a ceiling fan). I got what I needed, they wrote it up and home I came. Sometimes I would need a half-dozen 8x2½ inch wood screws or something which came to, oh, maybe 48 cents plus tax. “Get you later,” they would say. Sometimes they did, sometimes not.

The pace was easygoing to say the least. Heck, if I needed to call home to check something, they let me use the 'phone on the wall.

It is not hyperbole to say that a store like this becomes a part of your life. It has been gone for a week and I'm already nostalgic. When I think of it, I think of all of the ways it was there when needed, sometimes when something was wrong and I was really stuck and other times when I just needed something for one of our projects.

In the end, Berwyn Hardware fell victim to the bad economy and the rise of big wholesale stores like Home Depot. “They got us,” I heard Joe tell another customer one day last week (the last time I was in the store) and indeed they had. It was like one of the traveling salesmen asked in The Music Man, "Who's gonna patronize a little bitty two by four kinda store in a little bitty town anymore?"

Well, I will.

If you are lucky enough to have a small family business near you – a hardware store, a drug store, anything - patronize it if you can and pay attention while you’re in there. It may cost you a couple of bucks more but soon it will be gone and its kind will not be seen again. When that happens, you won’t think about the money you spent at the counter; you’ll remember the little pieces of yourself that you left behind in every aisle.

Berwyn Hardware… Dark. Empty. Silent. Gone.

RIP

Ironic, isn't it?

Earlier this week, Dallas Police sealed off Daria Place, a quiet cul-de-sac in the Preston Hollow section of the city, after several neighbors called 911 complaining that former president George W. Bush has locked himself in a second floor bedroom screaming obscenities at passers-by since Tuesday afternoon.

Former President George Bush peers through curtains at his Dallas home

The Secret Service would neither confirm nor deny reports that Bush is holding his wife Laura as a hostage although one caller’s comment that, “It looks like he has the Joker in there with him, too” has led police to believe that they are indeed facing a hostage situation.

The yelling goes on day and night, particularly when Bush sees someone on the street. Pointing to his crotch, he yelled at one startled neighbor, “I got yer weapons of mass destruction right here,” as she walked her dog outside the house.

The past few weeks have been hard on the former president as the Obama White House has taken steps to reverse or delay several policies of the previous administration including canceling oil drilling leases near two national parks and other protected areas in Utah, scrapping leases for oil-shale development on federal lands in Colorado, Utah and Wyoming, seeking more stringent controls on mercury pollution from the nation's power plants, reviewing whether the EPA should regulate carbon dioxide emissions from coal-fired power plants, setting aside a draft plan to allow drilling off the Atlantic and Pacific coasts and shelving a Bush-era rule that critics say weakened protections for animals and plants protected by the Endangered Species Act.

“No doubt about it, all of this canceling and scrapping and seeking and reviewing and setting and shelving have taken their toll,” laughed former friend and vice president Dick Cheney, adding wryly, “Maybe if he had pardoned Scooter Libby, things would be different.”

Local residents, however, have another theory. “He was all set to start last Monday as a greeter down there at Elliott’s Hardware Store on Maple Street,” explained neighbor Cindy Alsnauer. “But they called him on Saturday to say that they put his job on hold for a few months because of the poor economy. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“The worst part was when he had to go and return the vest and everything,” she added.

Former President Bush returns Elliot’s Hardware vest and greeter’s badge upon word that his job was being put on hold due to the poor economy

The former president has issued a series of demands including the immediate appointment of Harriet Miers to the US Supreme Court, an apology from Dick Cheney for being “an asshole about the Scooter thing” and season tickets to Texas Rangers games, adding, “I want them first!”. He also demands that radio commentator Rush Limbaugh broadcast live from his front lawn. Finally, he wants a publisher for his memoirs. Speaking of his wife, he complained bitterly, “She’s already made a heap of money off of her book and I haven’t even found anybody to write mine yet!”

In the meantime, local police, FBI profilers and Secret Service officials agree that there are few options available to them. “Frankly,” said one agent who did not wish to be identified, “we’re hoping that ‘W’ will either give up or eventually just forget why he’s in there in the first place. It’s kind of like what the American public was hoping for last November. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Odds & Ends

It has been almost a month since I last posted something but the world hasn't come to an end, has it? Maybe a few more cracks are exposed, for sure, but it hasn't ended.

Call it writer's block, call it being a little bit busy, call it Ishmael but I haven't had a lot to say lately. Nonetheless, here are some random thoughts on some recent events that you should be just as glad I didn't spend more time on.

Octomom
God forgive me but I just want to beat this woman senseless. Of course, I'll have to conserve my strength so that I have something left for the fertility doctor. My favorite part of her interviews is when they ask her - and they always ask her - how she is going to pay for all of this and she says, "It'll be okay after I get my degree." Oh yeah, I forgot. The usual sequence for these things goes something like this: Day One, Master's Degree; Day Two, earning enough money to support 14 kids. Phew! As Butch said to Sundance just before they were gunned down by the entire Bolivian army, "For a moment there I thought we were in trouble."

11-Year Old charged with Murder
So it's Christmas time out in Wampum, Pennsylvania and this guy buys his 11-year old son a "youth model" .20-gauge shotgun. (Whatever happened to an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action 200-Shot Range Model Air Rifle?) Anyway, the boy - let's call him Jordan Brown - is living with his dad, his dad's girlfriend, Kenzie and her two daughters. Kenzie is 8 months pregnant with dad's child. Jordan is feeling jealous of Kenzie and the girls (He's not too happy about becoming an uncle either) and reportedly told friends he was going to "pop her." So one morning last week he took his Christmas present and shot Kenzie in the back of the head from about a foot away, while she was in bed, then got on the bus and went to school. Kenzie died. The baby died. Jordan has been in jail but was moved to a youth detention center charged with two counts of homicide. Now, how many things are wrong with this story? The boy? Well, sure... there's definitely something wrong there that was apparently out in the open but no one did anything about it. Dad buying a .20-gauge shotgun for a fifth grader? Oh yeah. THAT'S a big wrong (of course, let's not lose sight of the fact that he thought it through enough to buy a "youth model"). But let's leave a little bit of justifiable wrath for a company that sells "youth model" shotguns in the first place, shall we?

Look out for the cheater
I heard an interesting albeit bizarre story recently about an old 60s group called Bob Kuban & The In-Men. Back in 1966, these guys had a one-hit wonder called, "The Cheater." The chorus went like this: "Look out for the cheater/Make way for the fool-hearted clown/Look out for the cheater/He's gonna build you up just to let you down." Can't you just hear those horns? Well, the lead singer of the group was a guy named Walter Scott and years later - a couple days after Christmas, 1983 - he disappeared without a trace. After a year, his wife JoAnn petitioned to have him declared dead. She was dating a neighbor named James Williams who had been recently widowed. Well, they found Walter's body in April, 1987, floating in a cistern in James' back yard. Did I mention that he had been tied up and shot in the back? It turns out that JoAnn and James had been having an affair for more than a year before they killed Walter. JoAnn pled guilty to hindering the investigation and got 5 years. James? Well, once they found Walter they exhumed his wife's body and, you guessed it... James is serving two life sentences. As Walter sang at the end of his song, "Tough luck for the cheater/Too bad for the fool-hearted clown." Indeed. File under, "Life imitates art."

Villanova
As many of you know, I occasionally teach a course in marketing research at VU, my alma mater. I joke that it is my ultimate revenge on the university but, truth be told, I consider it a privilege. Anyway, last night I attended a networking reception at the Villanova School of Business mainly to hear the keynote speaker, Bill McDermott, president of Global Field Operations for SAP AG. There were also two marketing presentations by VSB students. One was done by two young ladies and, as it turns out, one of them was a former student of mine. She was a first semester junior at the time but she's a senior now and will graduate in May. Not that I had any input whatsoever into their presentation but I felt a twinge of pride nonetheless. I realized again my big regret in life (no, not that) - that I didn't go into education as a career.

Score one for the dumbheads

A couple of years ago, my wife and I along with some of those eclectic array of friends I mention in my profile went down to St. Maarten for some unforgettable R&R. It was particularly unforgettable for Margie and me because, while we didn't have passports, we had our birth certificates which we were assured would get us there and back.

Well, yes and no.

My wife's certificate, issued by the state of Pennsylvania, was just fine. My birth certificate, issued by Uniontown Hospital and displaying a big gold seal the size of a pie plate, was not. "A souvenir" was the way the USAir ticket agent uncharitably described it. As a result, my wife could head to the Caribbean but, alas, I could not - at least not before I obtained a state-issued birth certificate.

So I figured my choice was to (a) get a birth certificate immediately or (b) stay home. I opted for the first choice, got a certificate that day (Who knew?) and joined my wife and friends the next day in sunny St. Maarten.

But now that I have been reading about the government delaying until June the date by which television stations must broadcast in an all-digital format, I realize too late that I had a third option. Maybe I could have gotten USAir to delay the flight until I was ready to go. Little kenned I that a lot of other people could be forced to wait for me to get my act together! Sure the plane was all fueled up, the bags were stowed and all seats were in their upright and locked positions but so what?

Excuse me, I... wasn't... ready.

I knew months in advance when the plane was leaving and what I needed to do to be on it but I screwed up. Should everybody else have had to wait for me? No, I don't think so. It would have been nice but, no, I don't think so.

An article in this morning's Wall Street Journal included this: "Citing data from Nielsen Company, Rep. Rick Boucher (D., Va.) said 6.5 million households are unprepared for the shift. This represents 5.7% of all homes. 'If almost 6% of the nation's households lose all of their TV service, I think most people would declare the digital TV transition to be a failure,' Rep. Boucher said."

Yo Rick! If after two years of notification and relentless promotion, over 94% of the nation's households don't lose all of their TV service, I think most people would declare the digital transition to be a success! I'm willing to bet that no one on that plane thought that their vacation would be a failure because I wasn't there (well, maybe my wife - bless her - but that's about it).

I'm waiting for some Republican to get wind of this comment and say something like, "If almost 47% of the nation's households voted for the losing candidate, I think most people would declare the 2008 presidential election a failure." Actually, no, probably only about 47% of people would feel that way but, hey, that's the way the majority-minority provision works. And come June 12th, when 5.9 million homes are still unprepared for the shift to digital (but 108.1 million are), I hope that someone remembers that.

As for me, well, Margie and I got passports - real nice. They come in a leather case and there's pictures and pockets and everything. But I still have my birth certificate from Uniontown Hospital. I love that big gold seal!

The day the music grew

This being the 50th anniversary of the plane crash that took the lives of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and J.P. "The Big Bopper" Richardson, everyone is talking about the day the music died. I reckon that's true but I also think that when that plane hit the ground, a lot of new and great music grew from the ashes.

You can't over-estimate the impact of Buddy Holly on popular music. I mean, here is a guy whose entire career was shorter than the time Elvis Presley spent in the army and yet, 50 years later, everyone is talking about him again - still! No less than the Wall Street Journal published a long article about him this morning!

His life, and death, touched the careers of pop and country stars alike. Buddy Holly and the Crickets were among the first groups to write and produce their own songs in the studio, a stance that the Beatles would revolutionize less than a decade later. [Ironically, like the Beatles, Buddy Holly was passed over by Decca Records after an audition. Boy, those Decca people knew what they were doing, huh?] Holly went from playing rock 'n roll in Lubbock, Texas to charting string arrangements for some of his songs in less than two years. I firmly believe that, had he lived, we would have seen collaborations between Buddy Holly and some of the top artists of the 60s and, perhaps, the 70s. You know that he and his biggest fan, Paul McCartney, would have gotten together.

The music sings for itself. "That'll be the day" was John Wayne's oft-repeated line in the movie, The Searchers (see what you can learn from watching TCM?). A few years later, a group from England called, oddly enough, the Searchers would create a popular but short string of hits sounding very much like the Crickets. Listen to "Don't Throw Your Love Away" by the Searchers and then play "Everyday" by Buddy Holly. Sound similar? You bet.

Certainly in terms of popularity and promise, Buddy Holly's death was the most pronounced. Ritchie Valens was only 17 years old and just coming into his own. He didn't want to ride the bus again so as they were walking out of the Surf Ballroom, he asked guitarist Tommy Allsup if he could have his seat on the plane. The two men flipped a coin...

I'm not sure where the career of the Big Bopper would have gone. Everyone knows "Chantilly Lace" but Richardson also wrote a couple of songs for other people, "White Lightning" for George Jones and most notably "Running Bear" for Johnny Preston. He and Jones also provided those (politically incorrect by today's standards) Indian sounds as back-up vocals. The Bopper would not live to see it become a hit in the fall of 1959.

We also can't forget the late Waylon Jennings who in the mid-50s was a disc jockey on radio station KLLL in Lubbock, a friend of young Buddy Holly. Buddy helped teach him guitar and produced his first record. Waylon was playing bass in the band on the fateful Winter Dance Party tour but had given up his seat on the plane earlier that evening (no coin toss necessary) to J.P. Richardson because Richardson had a cold and didn't want to squeeze into the bus. Buddy told his old friend, "I hope your old bus freezes up," and Waylon responded, "Yeah, I hope your plane crashes." For years, Jennings felt somewhat responsible for his death.

Bobby Vee had a band and they went on in place of Buddy Holly in Fargo on February 3rd. The odd, tragic circumstances helped launch his career.

Finally, there is Sonny Curtis, another old friend of Buddy's from Lubbock. Curtis played fiddle on a radio show called Buddy & Bob and then went on to a successful career, mainly in country music. In 1960, the surviving Crickets asked him to join the group and he did for awhile but Sonny Curtis was actually more popular as a songwriter. He wrote "Walk Right Back" for the Everly Brothers and "I Fought the Law" for the Bobby Fuller Four. The Crickets also made a recording of it. Speaking of similarities, listen to the guitar intro to "I Fought the Law" and then listen to the guitar break in "Peggy Sue." See what I mean? Oddly, most people probably know one of Curtis' most famous songs without knowing that he wrote it - the theme song for The Mary Tyler Moore Show, "Love Is All Around." So if you have ever wondered what is the straightest line between Buddy Holly and Mary Tyler Moore, wonder no more.

Paul Simon sang, "Buddy Holly still goes on but his catalogue was sold." Sold, indeed, to that big fan, Paul McCartney. Sir Paul knows a good business deal when he sees it but money aside, I can't think of anyone else to whom I would rather see the music entrusted.

The music isn't dead. Rave on.

60

Last week the candle factory burned down. Everyone just stood around and sang "Happy Birthday."

~ Steven Wright

I'm not sure how I feel about this. Yeah, I know I've said things like, "Growing old is required, growing up is optional," "It beats the alternative," and stuff like that (and those are both true, by the way) but, for some reason, I am a little bit bothered. This is not to say that I'm going to start counting in months rather than years but this is the first time that I've wondered if I'll see the next round number. When I was 20, it didn't occur to me that I might not turn 30 and so forth at 30 and 40 and even 50 but 60, well...

But wait!!! You make it to 60! You didn't think you would! So you become 21, turn 30, push 40, reach 50 and make it to 60!

~ George Carlin

I'm not where I thought I'd be by now. That's my problem. In hindsight, I never thought ahead to where I wanted to be at 60. I just went along with everything and swept up others in my path as I went by or, conversely, was swept along as others went by me.

The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time

Any fool can do it

There ain't nothing to it

Nobody knows how we got to the top of the hill

But since we're on our way down

We might as well enjoy the ride

~ James Taylor

I have very little room to complain. I am blessed with a wonderful family and the best friends any man could ask for. Despite my occasional missteps that may make her think otherwise, almost 38 years later there is no one I love more than my wife. I married well.

Long ago I heard the song that lovers sing to me

And through the days with each new phrase I hummed that melody

And all along I loved the song but I never learned it through

But since the day you came along, I've saved it just for you

~ Don McLean

So why my discontent? Let me put it this way. I watch a lot of old movies and when I look at the credits, I always recognize the names that are listed first and second and, usually, third. But there are many times when I look at a name that is fourth or fifth on the list that is unfamiliar to me and I think about that person. They were nice looking. They knew their lines. They probably thought that, boy oh boy, they were really on their way; after all, being billed right after... but something must have happened. Or not happened. Now they're gone - long gone - and they never got higher than fourth or fifth billing.

Then I think about me and not being wherever it is I wanted to be having just made it to 60 and all. I'm not even sure where I am in the production.

And the seasons they go round and round

Painted ponies go up and down

We're captive on the carousel of time

We can’t return, we can only look behind

From where we came

And go round and round and round

In the circle game

~ Joni Mitchell

Still and all, my choice is stark. I can either wallow in ennui or, as I'm sure Loretta Castorini would admonish, snap out of it. I choose the latter. Maybe I am listed 14th in the cast; on the other hand, maybe I'm 4th - and climbing!

No point in worrying about growing old. I'll get over it eventually.

I told you my reasons for the whole revival

Now I'm going outside to have an ice cold beer in the shade

Oh, I'm going to listen to my 45s

Ain't it wonderful to be alive

When the rock 'n' roll plays, yeah

When the memory stays, yeah

I'm keeping the faith

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, keeping the faith

~ Billy Joel

Will Robinson is on his own now

Sad news as we bid farewell to another boomer icon. Bob May passed away last Sunday, January 18th. He was 69. You probably don’t recognize the name but you’ll know him when you see him here:

Bob played the robot in the hit 1960s television show "Lost in Space." However, he didn't provide the robot's distinctive voice; that was done by announcer Dick Tufeld.

Mr. May's robot was the Robinson family's loyal sidekick, warning them of approaching disaster at every turn. His line to one of the children, "Danger, Will Robinson!" became a national catch phrase.

"He always said he got the job because he fit in the robot suit," said June Lockhart, who played family matriarch Maureen Robinson. "It was one of those wonderful Hollywood stories. He just happened to be on the studio lot when someone saw him and sent him to see Irwin Allen about the part. Allen said, 'If you can fit in the suit, you've got the job.'"

In a related story, the two terms of George W. Bush ended on Tuesday, January 20th. He was 62.

George played the title role in the 43rd presidency of the United States. Mr. Bush was the vice-president’s loyal sidekick, waving his arms and warning of approaching disaster at every turn. His line to the world on board the USS Abraham Lincoln in 2003, “Mission Accomplished” became a national catch phrase.

Pundits suspect that Bush did not provide the distinctive voice of the administration. In fact, most assume that aides tried to keep his speaking parts to a minimum although sometimes he got away:

"This morning my administration released the budget numbers for fiscal 2006. These budget numbers are not just estimates; these are the actual results for the fiscal year that ended February the 30th." -- On the fiscal year that ended on Sept. 30 (Washington, D.C., October 11, 2006)

"Then you wake up at the high school level and find out that the illiteracy level of our children are appalling." -- Washington, D.C., January 23, 2004

"I'm the commander - see, I don't need to explain - I do not need to explain why I say things. That's the interesting thing about being president." -- George W. Bush, as quoted in Bob Woodward's Bush at War (2002)

Many people believe that Bush got the job not because he could fit into the suit but because of how he fit into a lawsuit. He himself provided a bit of insight into his feelings about seeking the presidency in a speech in New Hampshire during his first campaign:

"This is Preservation Month. I appreciate preservation. It's what you do when you run for president. You gotta preserve." -- Speaking during "Perseverance Month" at Fairgrounds Elementary School in Nashua, New Hampshire, January 28, 2000

True statesmanship is the art of changing a nation from what it is into what it ought to be

My theory has always been that if we are to dream, the flatteries of hope are as cheap - and pleasanter - than the gloom of despair.

Thomas Jefferson, 1817

He that will not apply new remedies must expect new evils.

Sir Francis Bacon (1561-1626)

We ain't got a black president, Jefferson, because God ain’t ready for that yet.

Archie Bunker to George Jefferson, "All in the Family" @ 1975

Obama said Sasha, who is 7 years old, stared at Lincoln's second inaugural address and said, "Looks long." She asked if her dad's speech would be that long.

To which Malia, 10, replied, "First African-American president, better be good."

Washington Post, January 15, 2009

Bartlet: Why are you doing this? You are a player. You are bigger in the party than I am. Hoynes would probably make you national chairman. Leo, tell me this isn't one of the twelve steps.
Leo: That's what it is. Right after admitting that we are powerless over alcohol and a higher power can restore us to sanity. That's where you come in.
Bartlet: Leo....
Leo: Because I am tired of it. Year, after year, after year. Of having to choose between the lesser of Who Cares. Of trying to get myself excited over a candidate who can speak in complete sentences. Of setting the bar so low I can hardly look at it. They say a good man can't get elected president. I don't believe that. Do you?
Bartlet: And you think I'm that man?
Leo: Yes.
Bartlet: Doesn't it matter that I'm not as sure?
Leo: Nah. 'Act as if ye have faith and faith shall be given to you.' Put another way, 'Fake it until you make it.'

The West Wing, "In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, Part II," 2000

Bartlet: What's on your mind?
Toby: 'The era of big government is over.'
Bartlet: You want to cut the line.
Toby: I want to change the sentiment. We're running away from ourselves and I know we can score points that way. I was a principal architect of that campaign strategy right along with you and Josh. But we're here now. Tomorrow night we do an immense thing; we have to say what we feel, that government, no matter what it's failures in the past and in times to come for that matter, government can be a place where people come together and where no one gets left behind. No one... gets left behind. An instrument of good.

The West Wing, "He Shall, from Time to Time..., " 1999

Official Pitcher

My dad died 11 years ago today. He was 79 years old, born on Mother's Day, 1919. That's him in 1983, only about 4 years older than I am now.

He was a good guy and people who knew him say that we are a lot alike. Maybe so, but such was not always the case. Thanks to him, we came from very different backgrounds. He was one of 13 children and their family didn't have much; dad saw to it that our family had everything he could give us. He was something of a character in his early days and there are apocryphal stories told about how my grandfather wasn't too keen on this guy marrying his daughter. True or not, he didn't go to the wedding. There's another difference: I'm sure that Margie's father never had any qualms about me. [Oh, all right, maybe a few - but at least he was at the wedding!] Regardless of any in-law misgivings, we both married well.

When it came to sports, I'm sure that I was a disappointment as a kid. I wasn't much of an athlete. Whenever there were softball games on the playground, dad was always the "official pitcher" meaning that he pitched to both teams. Other kids would come to our door asking if he would pitch, and he always said yes. What does it say when kids come to ask if your dad can come out and play? I didn't realize it then but I suspect that he agreed because it was the only way I would get picked for a team.

He was a sales rep for General Cigar Company and a pretty good one at that. However, he rarely smoked cigars except when the boss was in town. The boss was Edgar Cullman, a Yale man. I say that because one of my favorite memories of dad happened one autumn Saturday afternoon when Yale played Penn here in Philadelphia. Now, whenever Yale played here in town, Edgar would fly in with his son on the corporate jet and dad would meet him and they would all go to the football game. Well, one year, Edgar's son was days (or hours) away from being a new father so I drew the golden ticket. We sat on the Yale side and, friends, I can't imagine that there has ever been so much tweed in one place before or after. Anyway, there we are sitting with the Yalies and not much is going on. All of a sudden, dad leans over to me and says, "They're gonna hate me for doing this." Hardly had these words left his lips than he jumped to his feet and yelled, "GO QUAKERS!" This made the tweed rustle for a few seconds and Dad loved it. Penn won that day so he probably also made a few bucks off of the chairman of the board. I'm sure he loved that too.

Most of the companies he called on were candy and tobacco wholesalers in towns like DuBois, St. Marys, Hazleton et al. Many of the people who ran them were minorities - African Americans, Jews, women - and this was back in the day when minorities were just starting to really stand up for themselves. They all liked dad and he liked them. He told me once that there are good and bad people in the world of every kind and color. Never judge others just by what they look like or where they go to church.

I can hear him saying this now as though it was this morning and I have never forgotten it. I may not always succeed but I try to live my life this way so, if he and I are alike, I hope that this is one of the ways.

Did we have our differences? Uh, well... yes but he always stood up for me. He was always my official pitcher. If I wasn't quite the boy he expected, I hope that he was proud of the man I became.

Thanks dad. You were right about Sinatra (but I was right about the Beatles).

That old feeling

Happy new year everyone! The presents are opened, the cookies eaten, the champagne drunk, the ball dropped and perhaps, in some cases, the tree already packed away to the attic or thrown to the curb, as the case may be.

The end of the Christmas season is always a little depressing for me because there isn't much to step into the cold, dark void that it leaves behind. Back to work or school and slogging it out until spring is the lot of most of us.

When I was a kid, our family always went to my grandparents' house for Christmas (in fact, for just about every holiday but Christmas for sure). When it was inevitably time to go, I would fall victim to an uncomfortable feeling of melancholy and dread at the thought of leaving, wanting to stay a lot, or even just a little, longer. "Don't go home," Meem and Gramps would always say sadly knowing, of course, that we must. It was part of the farewell ritual.

My grandparents would walk out to the car with us and then stand at the top of their front steps. They lived on a hill and dad didn't like to make the left turn into traffic from the bottom of it so he would drive up the street, over one and then down that street to make the turn from there. Thus, we would always drive past their street again and look back up the hill to their house. They would always wait for us to go by so there was the requisite slowing down, horn honking and waving followed by miles of me sitting in the back seat fighting that uneasy feeling.

Those days are long gone of course but, in my mind's eye, I see Meem and Gramps standing there at the top of the steps, waving. I like to think that they are standing there still, waiting to welcome us back.

For the past three-and-a-half decades we have always had Christmas at our house. This year, however, we spent Christmas with our daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter and had a great time. Ashton took about seven hours to open her presents, apparently needing to savor each one before moving on to the next. The rest of the week flew by enjoying a host of activities not the least of which was watching Ashton's favorite movies. We found Nemo daily, sometimes twice a day. We cheered on Shrek, Shrek 2 and Shrek 3 (pray God this is all there are). Shark Tale, Toy Story, Ratatouille, you name it and if Pixar made it, we probably watched all or part of it. Say what you will about TCM but at least the characters are human!

Anyway, we had a wonderful week that went by way too fast.

On Tuesday, we packed the car and headed for home. Missy, Matt & Ashton walked out with us to say good-bye. Since their townhouse is an end unit, we drove down the parking lot and then up and around so that we went past them again standing at their front steps. Of course, there was the requisite slowing down, horn honking and waving.

And suddenly, I felt an old familiar feeling all over again.