My Link to Colorado Springs

The Black Forest north of Colorado Springs is ablaze. I've been to Colorado Springs several times, the first back in 1980s. I went there to scope out a remodeled Montgomery Ward store, part of the chain’s futile effort to make itself relevant in the latter stages of the 20th century.

I drove down from Denver. I arrived at the store hours before it opened on a Sunday. With nothing better to do, I decided to drive to the top of nearby Pikes Peak. One of the tallest mountains in the eastern Rockies, Pikes Peak is known for its challenging switchback route to the top, made all the more exciting—read that, nerve-wracking—by its lack of protective guard rails. Keep in mind that going up the mountain you're usually driving on the outer edge of the road. Woe to the driver who chooses to take in the scenery instead of keeping both eyes on the twisting roadway. As I recall, about halfway up the paved road turned to dirt. Fortunately, it hadn't rained, so there were few ruts or puddles.

When I reached the summit the view indeed was breathtaking. It also was difficult to breathe, as the crest of the mountain is 14,115 feet above sea level.

Going down was no less challenging, with signs advising drivers to put their vehicles into low gear. I made a mental note to tell Gilda this excursion would not be amenable to her as she would be fretting the whole way up and down that we would catapult off the mountainside. She'd have been especially agitated if the kids would have been in the car. I could just hear her saying, “Quiet kids, Daddy has to concentrate on driving.”

Years later, as our family drove an equally dangerous Schnebly Hill Road into Sedona, Arizona, Gilda did not disappoint. She admonished Dan and Ellie not to distract me as I navigated our rented minivan along the twisting, mountainous dirt road with breathtaking views of the red mountains surrounding Sedona.

My next trip to Colorado Springs came in 1998. My magazine helped one of our key technology advertisers host a three-day users conference at the Broadmoor Hotel, to be followed by a multi-page special report on the proceedings. We would receive $100,000 for our work, about three times our average account billing.

All went well. At the close of the last session the retailers in attendance were invited to play a round of golf in a tournament. I am by no means a golfer, so I diplomatically deferred.

The next year we again worked with the account to host its user conference, this time in Lake Geneva, Wis., at the former Playboy Club resort. Another resounding success, but this time the account’s national sales manager insisted I join his foursome for the golf tournament. He assured me he would tolerate my incompetence on the links.

To his credit he said nothing during our round. But we never received another piece of business from that account for the next 10 years, until he left the company. No one can convince me otherwise that I lost that business no later than the third hole of that fateful and dreadful round of golf.

It's Elementary

I really like Sherlock Holmes. Read all the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle stories growing up. Loved Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce's film interpretation of the Holmes-Dr. Watson team, though it hardly resembled the original manuscripts. 

I've been fascinated by some of the modern takes on the crime stopper and his sidekick, including a new one on CBS, Elementary. Too bad I really don't have enough time to diligently watch Elementary. Interesting twist having a woman play Watson. But what personalized it for me was Aidan Quinn in the role of a police detective tied to Holmes. I played a half round of golf with Quinn six years ago.

I'm not a golfer by any stretch of the imagination, but one of my magazine’s conference supporters, Morgan Stanley, sponsored a charity event and extended an invitation. The hook was the chance to meet several NY Giants players and coaches, including Eli Manning and Tom Coughlin, as well as athletes from other teams and WNBC-TV sportscaster Bruce Beck. This was the summer before the Giants won the Super Bowl against the 18-0  New England Patriots. 

Eli was not yet a proven star quarterback. He was a lot taller and fuller than I expected. I didn’t realize he was 6’4”. Coughlin was taller as well, 6’2”. He's usually bent over on the sidelines when seen on TV. Retired Pittsburgh Steeler Jerome Bettis was enormous, easily deserving of his nickname “The Bus.” Beck, on the other hand, was tiny, in the mold of Bob Costas but with broader shoulders.

Anyway, as a member of the host country club in Rockland County, Quinn was assigned to my foursome. He served as a guide and semi-official host. I told him my favorite film of his was Avalon. For nine holes he chewed on a cigar and played with us. He left us right before I drove one of my better tee shots a good 150 yards, right, that is left, into the pond guarding the par-three green. By that time I had stopped counting strokes. When asked how good a golfer I am I always say I generally hit par, as long as par is about 135.  I’m good for at least that many strokes and at least five or six lost balls per round. How anyone can find this game relaxing and enjoyable is beyond me. The game is far from elementary.

Exciting Day

Too Much CSI? Experienced a little excitement in the ‘hood this morning. Around noon our neighbors’ housekeeper rang the door bell. Seems she couldn’t unlock their front door as she’s been doing for 35 years. The lock was a-kilter, angled 45 degrees to the left as if someone had tried to jimmy it. The cylinder wouldn’t accept her key. What’s more, their golden retriever was barking in a strange way, and when she went around back she discovered the sliding glass patio door was ajar.

After checking out all her details, I advised we call the police. Neither of us desired to enter the house to discover anything untoward. We’ve all seen too many TV crime shows. They weren’t going to find my fingerprints in that house. 

We waited 15 minutes for a patrol car to arrive. After hearing our story, the policewoman called for backup. This was getting real interesting. 

We waited another 15 minutes for the second squad car to arrive. As we cooled our heels in the backyard, the officers entered the house, searched all the rooms, looking under the beds and in the closets, even in the crawl space in the basement. No bodies found, nothing tossed about, they declared the house safe to enter.  

CNN’s Worst Nightmare: In case you missed it, the U.S. Supreme Court this morning issued a ruling on the Affordable Care Act, the so-called Obamacare. 

Want to know who missed it? Or more precisely, who got it wrong? CNN. And Fox News.

At 10:09:03, CNN sent out a “Breaking News” email alert with the following message: “The Supreme Court has struck down the individual mandate for health care—the legislation that requires all to have health insurance.”

All that planning for the biggest story of the year to date and CNN, which has billed itself as “the most trusted name in news,” got it WRONG.  It took nine full minutes before CNN corrected itself. And then it compounded the error by making another mistake, this time not saying the Medicaid extension provision had been declared unconstitutional: “Correction: The Supreme Court backs all parts of President Obama’s signature health care law, including the individual mandate that requires all to have health insurance.” 

(My thanks to Casey for sending me these email alerts.)

Not to be outdone, Fox News also reported the individual mandate had been declared unconstitutional. 

Interestingly, as I was watching special CBS News coverage of the decision from 10 to 10:30 am, I wondered how NBC News and ABC News were handling the story. NBC, turned out, was airing a segment of The Today Show on swimming pools, while Rachael Ray was in the kitchen on ABC (sorry, I didn’t linger long enough to discover what she was cooking).  

I guess the news business just ain’t what it used to be.

And neither will women’s tennis, if a no-grunting rule is implemented. There’s no agreement on the civility and gentility of players grunting when stroking a ball, but the Women’s Tennis Association  “plans to launch an initiative in conjunction with the International Tennis Federation and the Grand Slam Committee—timetable to be determined—to teach young players breathing techniques to avoid grunting and to eventually adopt a rule against noises deemed too loud, with the help of a decibel meter to be designed for use by chair umpires,” ESPN reported.

Women grunting has been around at least since 1962, but those who feel it is unseemly can’t wait for a new generation of players who are silent on the court. I hadn’t given it much thought till now, but I don’t agree with those who believe some sports, like tennis and golf, demand absolute quiet from fans when a serve or shot is taken. 

Are golfers and tennis players lower forms of athletes than basketball players, baseball players, and football players that they need total silence to focus all of their concentration on the serve or shot at hand? After all, taking a free throw with the game on the line is one of the more tension-filled moments of a basketball game, as is lining up a game-deciding field goal, or pitching a baseball with the bases loaded, yet we don’t expect fans to sit placidly as the action unfolds. Let’s stop coddling these so-called “athletes” who stare down talkers. Let them learn to zone out the noise, be it from the stands or from their opponents across the net. 

Grunting may not be feminine, but if that’s what it takes for some women to play hard and win, let them do it. 

Giving a Mulligan

Do you get a mulligan—a golf term for a do-over for a bad shot—for ill-advised comments if you’ve served in the military?

That’s what Tony Bennett is hoping after the 85-year-old singer and WWII veteran made some injudicious remarks on the Howard Stern radio show last week suggesting the 9/11 terrorists might have had reason to attack us.

“They flew the plane in, but we caused it. Because we were bombing them, and they told us to stop,” said Bennett, a native New Yorker. Subsequently, Bennett apologized if anyone misconstrued his words, adding, “I am sorry if my statements suggested anything other than an expression of my love for my country, my hope for humanity and my desire for peace throughout the world.”

I have no reason to doubt Bennett’s patriotism. He put his life on the line for all of us. He’s earned a mulligan, as this is the first instance I know of where he stumbled publicly. He’s different from other communications-challenged celebrities like Mel Gibson who is a multiple affronter.

What Bennett does provide, however, is a civics lesson on our expectations of public figures, especially politicians. As a nation we’ve arrived at a point where we demand perfection and strict adherence to dogma, even if it’s disseminated by a small, vocal minority.

It’s not a new story. In 1976, President Ford misspoke during a debate with Jimmy Carter when he said Poland, Rumania and Yugoslavia were not under Soviet domination. The gaffe cemented thinking Ford was not intellectually worthy of earning a full term as president.

Under the klieg lights and pressure to perform, candidates may stumble. As long as they don’t do it repeatedly, thus showing a lack of education and historical context, as Sarah Palin continually does, we should be tolerant of their mistakes. Give them a mulligan, when warranted. We’re too judgmental if we think they are not fallible. Choosing a president is not like voting for the best vocalist on American Idol. What we’re seeing today, from both sides of the presidential field, is a beauty contest of personality rather than ideas, a talent contest of sound bites versus careful exposition of principled positions, a my-way-or-the-highway evaluation of candidates.

I cringe at the prospect of a Rick Perry presidency. But I find myself sympathetic to his plight. He is not a good debater. Like most politicians, he takes credit for achievements that should be shared. Most of his policies would be repugnant to me. But I agree with Perry’s views on the need to integrate the children of illegal immigrants into our society so they can become contributing members and not burdens. I also believe his advocacy of a vaccination of young girls against the human papillomavirus was in the best interests of his state’s citizens.

Yet, because Tea Party Conservatives do not share those beliefs, and because they are so powerful in today’s Republican party, Perry has seen his candidacy suffer. The narrow base of the Republican party choosing the GOP standard bearer demands 100% adherence to its narrow-minded platform. It will accept no independent thinking.

Left wing Democrats express similar disdain for President Obama for deviating from the programs they espouse and which they thought he should implement. They do not accept Obama’s willingness to compromise, to govern from the center.

Given the state of our politics today, when neither side appears willing to work with the other, we seem to be at a tipping point. Will we choose our next leaders based on a clash of ideas or a clash of one-liners? A discussion of principles or a popularity contest? A thoughtful analysis of our national strengths and weaknesses or an emotional appeal to return to an era no longer relevant to our current and future global standing?


Wednesday night marks the beginning of the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, followed 10 days later by Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. It’s a period of reflection intended not just between humans and their concept of an Eternal Being but also, mainly, as a time when men and women must focus on and seek forgiveness for any wrongs they might have done to other people. It’s a Jewish version of an interpersonal mulligan. You’re supposed to request forgiveness in person, but this being the Internet age, let me ask your indulgence if during the past year this blog, or any personal contact we might have had, offended you in any way.

A happy and healthy New Year to all.

Springtime Musings

Is it true? Has spring finally arrived? Is it time to turn on the attic fan and replace the front storm door with the screen door? Sunday was a tease, Monday an encore, with temperatures in the 70’s. But I’m still a little leery about the actual arrival of spring. It’ll take several consecutive nice days to convince me.

Gilda and I did take advantage of the mild weather Sunday, before it poured, to walk around parts of nearby Scarsdale (for those unfamiliar with the burgh, Scarsdale is one of the more upscale communities in the country, let alone Westchester county). As we ambled along, admiring many of the enlarged and renovated houses, we kept up a running dialogue as to which older homes would be spruced up or knocked down and recast as mansions befitting the corporate and Wall Street elites who can afford a Scarsdale address these days. Somewhat perversely I also I also postulated the grown children of the parents living in those older homes can’t wait for them to move out or die off so the lots can be sold for tidy bonanzas. I guess it’s the cynic in me cultivated by years of reporting.

If spring has indeed arrived it came a few days too soon. How can I say that? Well, it’s purely a selfish response based on a purchase over the weekend of a heated mattress pad. Gilda and I are tired of subjecting our feet to cold sheets at night, so we invested in a heated mattress pad, as opposed to an electric blanket. We tried it out Saturday night, it worked fine, but one night is not a definitive test.


Cap Day: In his fourth season with the NY Yankees, Joba Chamberlain no longer looks like a kid brought up from the minors who didn’t have time to do anything but grab a new cap from the equipment manager. Fans might have noticed the dough-boy from Nebraska has shaped a slight arc into the bill of his cap, instead of keeping the flat-brim look favored by rappers from the 'hood.

Not that the new fashion statement helped his pitching Sunday. He gave up a 2-run home run to the host Baltimore Orioles in the seventh inning, enroute to Mariano Rivera’s second straight blown save in the ninth. We’d be talking about more important things than a baseball hat if the Yanks hadn’t come back to win in the 11th inning.


Scratch Me If You Can: I’m what I call a scratch golfer. That is, whenever I succumb to outside pressure to take club in hand, I prompt people, including myself, to scratch their heads wondering why this idiot is out on the golf course, hacking away to no avail, making an enjoyable round impossible for his foursome and for any playing behind him.

Now, some of you conversant with the nomenclature of golf might know the true definition of a scratch golfer is one who plays a round at par or better. By that definition I’m still a scratch golfer, at least in my mind, as I set par at 135 and dammit, I usually come close to beating it.

Of course, golfers at all skill levels reveled in the misfortune of Kevin Na, who carded a 16 on the par 4 ninth hole at the recent Valero Texas Open. Watch the YouTube video from the Golf Channel for this humbling experience. Keep in mind that Na is ranked 65th in the world: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWTXoNzuk8c

When I played golf semi-regularly back in the late 1970’s, I would wind up in the woods just like Na did. So did the rest of my threesome, but while Dave and I would own up to a (fudged) 11 or 12, Rudy would triumphantly report a 7. Pretty soon it no longer was pleasant playing with Rudy. Then Dave moved back to England and my playing days were over, except for an occasional corporate outing.

During one such adventure, I almost bonked one of our company's other publishers in the head with an errant tee shot. She thought she was safely standing to the right of me, about 15 degrees north of the tee. But my slice almost beaned her, much to the chagrin of her staff who intensely disliked her.


Act Your Age: I’ve often been told I was immature. Now here’s confirmation—I’m a loyal viewer of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and The Colbert Report. Since their target audience are 18-34 year old males, I must be younger than my 62 years, at least mentally. My friends will tell you that physically my body, at least my complaints about it, make me more of an octogenarian.

Golfers, Beware

Warning to my golfer friends—you’re no longer safe on the links. I have been licensed to play without fear of penalty or lawsuit.

The New York State Court of Appeals, like other state courts, has ruled a duffer is not liable if his shot strikes someone not in their intended path. Since my balls never go where I want them to, I am free to hit and maim anyone out for a peaceful, uneventful round of golf. I don’t even have to sound silly and scream out “fore” before stroking the ball (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/22/sports/golf/22golf.html?_r=1&src=me&ref=general).

Golf has never been one of my passions. During high school and college I played a few rounds at the pitch and putt course at Riis Park in Belle Harbor, Queens. After my marriage, my Uncle Harry gave me one of his old sets of clubs, but I never really used them until Dan was born. While Gilda shared play dates with two of Dan’s toddler friends’ mothers, I would hook up most Fridays with the fathers for a round at the local public course.

None of us were good, which meant 18 holes took nearly six hours to complete, a long time to leave our young families alone. It didn’t help matters that while Dave, Rudy and I were swinging through the brush on most holes, only Dave and I were recording anywhere near actual stroke counts. I’d come out of the rough proud of my "six," Dave would say five and together we’d be bewildered to hear Rudy claim a three—and he was an accountant by trade! Dave and I shortly agreed it was more fun to share times with our kids and wives. We rarely saw Rudy after that.

About 20 summers ago my company ran an employee golf outing. I have two vivid memories of that day. First, I made a huge mistake wearing shorts as the mosquitoes attacked in force. Second, my sliced tee shot off the first hole almost boinged a fellow publisher standing roughly 85 degrees to my right. Fortunately, she didn’t see the ball whiz by her head, though her staff was disappointed I missed her as they did not like her at all.

I avoided further mishaps on the golf course by staying away, but got roped into playing at the Grand Geneva Resort & Spa, once known as the Playboy Club & Resort, Lake Geneva, Wis. In 1999, my magazine co-produced a retail conference for Siemens Nixdorf (SN). The meeting at the hotel ended with a golf tournament. Though I begged off playing, SN’s national sales manager insisted I join his foursome. We’d be playing a scramble format, requiring each player to be be responsible for at least one shot per hole.

Now, golf is said to be a great sport for bonding, for building up relationships and business contacts. I recently heard Jack Stephens of The Stephens Group, a company that was an early bankroller of Wal-Mart, say, “Golf lets you observe and size up somebody over 4–4-1/2 hours.” Well, in the course of those hours, Siemens Nixdorf went from being a $100,000 annual account to dropping all contact with us for the next 10 years. My only explanation is that SN’s national sales manager did not take kindly to losing his own tournament because I could not hit a decent shot all afternoon. We finally won back some business a few years ago, but only after he left the company.

The last time I golfed it was also at the request of an account, Morgan Stanley, at a charity tournament it ran in Rockland County in 2007. My foursome included two of my magazine associates along with the actor Aidan Quinn (really nice guy). The tournament attracted several NY Football Giants players and coaches including Eli Manning (taller than he appears on camera) and was emceed by WNBC-NY sportscaster Bruce Beck (shorter than he seems on TV). The Giants went on to win the Super Bowl that upcoming season.

Perhaps now that it’s safe for me to play golf again the Giants will go on to another Super Bowl victory.