“You left the lights on in the computer room last night,” my good wife gently admonished me early this morning as she prepared to go to work.
“No, I intentionally left the lights on,” I replied. Why? Because from 12 am to 2 am last night a police helicopter kept circling our neighborhood. When I called the police I was told there was an ongoing police investigation in the area.
“In other words, you’re searching for someone.”
“There’s an ongoing police investigation.” So much for confirmation.
Armed with that knowledge, I decided the last place a suspect would try to break into was a house with lights on, so I kept the lights ablaze in the computer room after I posted my last blog shortly after 1 am.
Smart, huh? Except Gilda pointed out I left some first floor windows open and unlocked, making entry rather easy.
Next time I’ll play more attention to those CSI television shows.
A couple of minutes ago I checked the local newspaper’s Web site. Yup, the police were trying to locate a man who twice crashed his car into other automobiles, injuring two others, and fled the scene just blocks from our home. They caught him around 4:30 am (http://www.lohud.com/story/news/crime/2014/08/01/motorist-flees-crash-hutchinson-parkway/13464017/).
Best Sellers: Disclosure. The Bridges of Madison County. Slow Waltz in Cedar Bend. Fatal Cure. Like Water for Chocolate.
Did you know those were the top five best selling fiction novels the week of February 13, 1994, according to The New York Times Book Review? Or that the number two book in the “advice, how-to and miscellaneous” category was Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus? And that Howard Stern’s memoir, Private Parts, ranked tenth on the nonfiction list?
Am I some kind of savant to know such an obscure bit of publishing history? While I claim to be a know-it-all, the answer is quite simple—Gilda was cleaning out some “old” newspapers on her night table when even she was surprised by the age of her discovery.
Now, if I could only find a way to use this 20-year example of newspaper hoarding to justify my habit of accumulating junk. Hmmm …
From Dump to Dumbo: Oh, to be a kid growing up now in Brooklyn, to be taken by one’s parents to Brooklyn Bridge Park, to experience the joys of playing by New York harbor. It’s a wonderland to be savored, a reclaimed landscape to be treasured for its natural beauty and man-made niches (http://www.nytimes.com/2014/07/25/arts/design/hey-mister-ive-got-a-park-i-can-sell-you.html?_r=0).
When I was growing up in Brooklyn, the area now gentrified and embraced as Dumbo (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass) was to be avoided. Thanks to my father, I became quite familiar with the territory. You see, my dad had a customer near the docks for the half-slips and panties he manufactured. Near the end of Old Fulton Street, right before the water, Louis LaFlotta ran a dry goods store. My brother Bernie always called him “Louis the Smuggler,” though the only danger we experienced was the air of mystery and peril that permeated any visit to his storefront.
We’d go on the way home from my father’s factory on lower Broadway. We’d string together a dozen boxes of half-slips and panties, toss them into the trunk and drive to LaFlotta’s. It was usually dark when we’d pull up in front of the store. When I was young, my dad would go inside. As a teenager, I would be sent in to collect the cash, hundreds of dollars, with a warning to be careful. Sailors or longshoremen were considered unsavory characters.
From LaFlotta’s we’d make a left turn onto Furman Street, under the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway that invariably was backed up with traffic. Furman Street never was. It became a favorite time-saving detour of my Brooklyn-prowling days.
Now that Ellie and Donny live in Brooklyn I’m retracing many of my old stomping routes. LaFlotta’s has been replaced by trendy eateries and saloons. And Brooklyn Battery Park is a car magnet. Now, just navigating the few blocks of Old Fulton Street can take 15 minutes or more.
The old Brooklyn was definitely easier to get around in than the new Brooklyn.
Tall Dark Stranger: Flipping through the TV channels today I landed upon a rerun of Maverick, starring the recently deceased James Garner.
Sunday nights in the late 1950s at the Forseter household in Brooklyn my mother controlled the television. ABC Channel 7 at 7:30, a rotating series of westerns. Cheyenne was her favorite. She drooled over Clint Walker. Sugarfoot starring Will Hutchins she could live without.
My favorite was Maverick when it featured Garner as Bret Maverick. I wasn’t enamored of Jack Kelly as Bart or Roger Moore as Beau, but Garner’s Bret probably instilled in me a love of poker and the idea to keep a secret stash of cash for emergencies. Bret pinned a thousand dollar bill inside his ruffled shirt. That’s $980 more than I secret around but let’s not quibble about a few dollars. It’s the concept that counts.
BTW, for those who didn’t get the bold face reference Tall Dark Stranger, here are the lyrics to the Maverick theme:
Who is the tall, dark stranger there?
Maverick is the name.
Ridin' the trail to who knows where,
Luck is his companion,
Gamblin' is his game.
Smooth as the handle on a gun.
Maverick is the name.
Wild as the wind in Oregon,
Blowin' up a canyon,
Easier to tame.
Riverboat, ring your bell,
Fare thee well, Annabel.
Luck is the lady that he loves the best.
Natchez to New Orleans
Livin on jacks and queens
Maverick is a legend of the west.
Riverboat, ring your bell,
Fare thee well, Annabel.
Luck is the lady that he loves the best.
Natchez to New Orleans
Livin on jacks and queens
Maverick is a legend of the west.
Maverick is a legend of the west.
