Russian Saber Rattling Along Ukrainian Border Prompts a List of Favorite Russian Themed Movies

For the first time in many a moon the evening national news, in this case NBC’s Saturday telecast, had no extensive reporting on the Covid pandemic. Snowstorms, a possible Supreme Court nominee, gun violence and even rumors of Tom Brady’s retirement pre-empted Covid updates.

Of course, Russia’s war mongering along the Ukrainian border commanded top attention on the newscast, so this is an appropriate moment to explore my film favorites of the movie industry’s obsession with Mother Russia, the Soviet Union and its people, wherever they may be:

Dr. Zhivago

Knight Without Armour

Potemkin

To Russia with Love

Ninotchka

The Scarlett Empress

Gorky Park

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Taras Bulba

Crime and Punishment

Anastasia (1956 Ingrid Bergman, Yul Brynner version)

Nicholas and Alexandra

Fiddler on the Roof

Yentl

Enemy at the Gates

Rasputin and the Empress

Hunt for Red October

Bridge of Spies

Reds

Stalin is Dead

The Russians Are Coming, the Russians Are Coming

Moscow on the Hudson

Dr. Strangelove

Love and Death

The Way Back (2011)

The Rise of Catherine the Great

Anna Karenina (1935 Greta Garbo)

Anna Karenina (1948 Vivien Leigh)

49 Years and Going Strong Despite Snow

 It snowed Sunday evening January 28, 1973. Forty-nine years ago. The night Gilda and I wed.

Not a major snowstorm like that expected tonight into Saturday. Just a few inches. I don’t remember the forecast calling for snow. Shortly after midnight when Gilda and I left the Madison Jewish Center on the corner of Nostrand Avenue and Avenue P in Brooklyn, we were surprised by several inches of snow on the ground.

For someone who prides himself on remembering fine details about events, I have little recollection about the affair. I do recall that the venue had only one ballroom so the cocktail hour and the dinner were held in the same area before and after the ceremony in the chapel.

During the ceremony our three-year-old nephew, Andrew, stood before the chuppah and mimicked the rabbi and cantor as they recited the blessings. His parents, Gilda’s sister and husband, were powerless to cut off his joyful dancing. They were standing next to us under the chuppah. His antics didn’t bother Gilda or me.

I fruitlessly searched for wedding memorabilia over the last few days. Did we save a menu? Did we serve stuffed derma, more ethnically called, kishke? Almost all Jewish weddings and bar-mitzvah celebrations, at least those hosted by families descended like ours from Ashkenazi European Jews, featured this textured blend of pureed vegetables, flour and oil (or chicken fat) which, back then, was cooked in thin plastic tubular casings rather than inside beef intestines as the original recipe prescribed. 

I hadn’t eaten kishke in years until a few weeks ago when Gilda prepared some from scratch. It was delicious.

I did find bills for the band and flowers, $742.50 and $260, respectively. The band’s fee included an overtime hour of playing. Total cost of the 125-150 person wedding was under $10,000. A bargain compared to today’s expense. Inflation adjusted price of a $10,000 wedding in 1973 is just under $63,000 in today’s dollars.  

Gilda and I cannot believe 49 years have gone by. We think we’ve hardly changed. Here’s how we looked that night:

Instead of Pickle Ball, How About a Game of Six Degrees of Separation?

My weekly pickle ball game Tuesday turned into a series of six degrees of separation moments with three new players.

Signing in to the recreation facility, I noticed the gentleman before me was named David Weil. Nothing special about that except David Weil, a different David Weil, was one of the Chicago advertising salesmen on Chain Store Age 40 years ago. 

This David Weil in no way resembled my former colleague. But the coincidence set the pattern for the rest of the morning. 

Between games I found out that Bill was a practicing magician. He’s familiar with a friend who’s also an entertainer, Steve Max of Simon Sez fame (Steve, whose real name is Steve Harelick, once balanced on his chin my then seven- or eight-year-old daughter Ellie while she was sitting on a chair during a summer performance at Camp Laurelwood). 

Bill said he has family in White Plains, his brother, Andy Herz. Another acquaintance of mine. One of Andy’s stepdaughters, Rachel Koss, was in Ellie’s Solomon Schechter elementary school class.

The trio of connections continued with Norm. A first time player, Norm is a retired apparel manufacturer who sold to mass merchandisers. His major client was Walmart. 

Bingo. Once I informed him I was a retired editor and publisher of Chain Store Age and intimately familiar with most of his customers and especially Walmart and founder Sam Walton, we had difficulty ending our reminiscences in favor of playing pickle ball.

Overall, the dozen pickle ballers Tuesday morning played highly competitive games, but the personal connections made today special.  

A Divided Nation Must Rely on "Good" People

We live in parallel universes.

Our society is not simply fragmented. The cleavage runs much deeper. We are polarized.

It is not simply a Trump world versus a Never Trump world. Vaccinated versus Never Vaxxers. Science and climate change believers versus science and climate change deniers. Those who see January 6, 2021, as an insurrection against our government versus those who see it as an expression of citizens who have lost confidence in the integrity of the electoral process. 

The damage to our American experiment has many wondering how, or if, we will have enough reserve to survive a close election in 2022 and especially in 2024. 

The playbook for dismantling our democratic republic form of government is being written chapter by chapter by the Republican Party. 

By not agreeing to meet with The House select committee investigating January 6, even under threat of being cited with contempt, Representative Jim Jordan and other Trump acolytes set a dangerous precedent. Should the GOP regain control of Congress, will Democrats—elected or administration officials—feel any obligation to appear when subpoenaed? Hardly. 

Republicans have threatened to hold hearing after hearing challenging the Biden administration, reminiscent of what they did investigating Hillary Clinton’s role as secretary of state in the deaths of four State Department staffers in Benghazi. But will they get any cooperation from Democrats after Republicans have pulverized Congress’ traditional power of oversight? Doubtful.

There can be little doubt a Republican House will vote to impeach Joe Biden. Doesn’t matter on what charge. Even a trumped up charge will earn Biden an impeachment. 

Barring a shocking takeover of the Senate by more than 66 Republicans, conviction will not happen. But the injury to America’s reputation will be devastating. 

Speaking of the Senate, if Mitch McConnell has less than a filibuster-proof majority, bet on him changing Senate rules to enable a simple majority of senators to pass legislation. Democrats Joe Manchin and Kyrsten Sinema may have had scruples about upholding Senate tradition. McConnell thinks only about consolidating his power. 

Democrats, Independents and true—not Trump—Republicans have it in their power to save our republic. How? By stop being complacent. They must vote in droves for candidates who believe the 2020 election was legitimate and that Biden won the presidency. That applies to federal, state and local elections. 

The New York Times reported Sunday that “a national survey led by Robert Pape, the director of the Chicago Project on Security and Threats at the University of Chicago, concluded that about 47 million American adults, or one in every five, agreed with the statement that ‘the 2020 election was stolen from Donald Trump and Joe Biden is an illegitimate president’” (https://www.nytimes.com/2022/01/23/us/jan-6-attendees.html?smid=em-share).

Keep in mind, 81.3 million voted for Biden in 2020, of which 31.9 million were in 15 key battleground states. More than enough to reject that Big Lie. 

Last Thursday, January 20, was the 70th commemoration of the Wannsee Conference outside Berlin wherein 15 members of the Nazi regime plotted the Final Solution, the annihilation of Jewry throughout Europe. “Conspiracy,” a film re-enactment based on actual minutes of the meeting, is a chilling depiction of the proceedings. 

In his review of the 2001 film, James Rampton in The Independent wrote, “Frank Pierson’s film underscores only too well the old maxim that evil prospers when good men do nothing.” 

Lessons on Living Longer If Not Larger

 Betty White’s legion of multigenerational fans celebrated what would have been her 100th birthday Monday January 17 had she not passed away December 31. They splashed tributes across social media.

Reaching 100 is a milestone not yet commonplace though more frequent than when Willard Scott used to single out centenarians for birthday wishes during his stint as The Today Show’s weatherman from 1980-1996 (he actually began that bit of jolly morning cheer in 1983).

Living longer, if not larger, is a global trend, as The New York Times unrelatedly reported on the day Betty White died. Citing the United Nations, The Times said “there were about 95,000 centenarians in 1990 and more than 450,000 in 2015. By 2100, there will be 25 million.” 

Until the pandemic ended my weekly distribution of kosher meals to aging seniors, I regularly engaged with men and women, mostly women, straddling the 90 year mark. Some were bedridden. Most lived independently, usually in apartments, occasionally in houses they had spent decades in as wives, mothers and widows. They resisted for as long as possible relocation to a senior care facility. 

On January 9, shortly after the December 24 passing of the last of six aging New Yorkers The Times had been following for seven years, the paper printed a moving article entitled, “Some Final Lessons on Life and Loss” (on its Web page it was called “Notes from the End of a Very Long Life”): https://www.nytimes.com/2022/01/06/nyregion/ruth-willig-oldest-new-yorkers.html?smid=em-share

There’s much to be learned from those who have come before us and from those who put their wisdoms into words. Spend a moment contemplating three paragraphs from the final article in John Leland’s series:

“How do you make a full and meaningful life when you can’t do so many of the things you once did? The pandemic has brought home how much this question applies to people at any age.

“For almost two years, no one has been able to do things they once did. We all gave up some mobility and time with people, all stopped going to places we loved and felt some degree of isolation. Everyone had to find satisfactions that were still accessible — to make lives of what they had, not what was taken away.

“The elders have been living in this terrain for a long time. Their answers — don’t brood about the things you can’t reach; live as if your time is limited; focus on the people you care about; enjoy the pleasures near at hand — are simple but highly useful, pillars on which to build a good life. Easy to do, hard to remember to do.” 

Snow's Not the Reason Syracuse is Salt City

The snow forecast for Syracuse, NY, over the next two days calls for 10-12 inches, a mere dusting in Syracusian terms. Syracuse, after all, is the snowiest city in America, averaging 128 inches a year.  

Having spent an academic year in Syracuse earning a master’s in newspaper journalism back in 1971-72, I am well acquainted with the city’s less than ideal weather, if you’re a snow hater like me. Snow is one manifestation of Syracuse’s climate. Indeed, the city averages just 163 days of sunshine a year compared to the national average of 205 days.

Snow is such an expected part of the city that it is not uncommon for a radio station to provide a prize to the person who predicts the first date a measurable amount of flakes hits the ground. A day in mid October won the year I was there. That year it snowed 133.7 inches.

With lake-effect frosty stuff all around, Syracuse has a well deserved reputation for knowing how to deal with snow.

Syracuse’s nickname is Salt City. I assumed the moniker came from the liberal spreading of salt on city streets to clear the snow. Actually, it derived from nearby salt mines. I had no idea there were salt mines until I heard a story on the radio explaining the origin of the nickname during my last week in Syracuse. 

Over Thanksgiving weekend 1971, a pounding blizzard struck New York State. The National Weather Service describes the storm thusly: 

“Heavy snow in Catskills and across the Upper Hudson Valley. This heavy snow began on the day before Thanksgiving and continued into Thanksgiving day. Albany picked up 22.5 inches with amounts up to 30” reported elsewhere. This storm turned the busiest travel day of the year into a nightmare, with many stranded travelers not making it to their destinations on Thanksgiving.  This storm was the greatest November snowstorm on record and one of the greatest ever.”  

With all highway traffic shut down, I was forced to to wait until Monday to return to school from my parents’ home in Brooklyn. Roads were still barely plowed in New York City, but as I got closer to Syracuse the highways were almost totally clear. Even city streets were passable. I remarked to myself that Syracuse sure knew how to handle snow. I further wondered what all the fuss was about, why travel had been restricted on Sunday.

I parked in front of the gingerbread-style, three-story house on East Genesee Street where my studio apartment occupied part of the top floor. As soon as I stepped out of the car the extent of the snowfall became apparent. Snow engulfed my legs up to my hips. I struggled to reach the front stairs, then made my way up to the third floor.

I opened the door to find half my apartment covered in snow. The roof had caved in under the weight of the snow. It took several days for the landlord to repair the roof.

The rest of the winter passed without incident, though I was nervous each time I ventured out driving in the snow. My red with black vinyl top Buick Skylark weathered the winter with no dents, no fender bender, no scratches.

On a bright, warm early June day, diploma in hand, I packed the Buick up in the driveway shared with the house next door. My getaway was a few moments away. As I bent into the car to reposition my stereo, I looked out the passenger side window and saw another student’s car backing up, slowly, inexorably, toward me. I screamed, “Stop!” I waved my hands. To no avail.

Thunk! Broadsided in sunny, summer daylight in my passenger side door. I shook my head in disgust. So close to escaping Syracuse intact. 

Word Games Replace Political Diatribes

 I don’t normally tackle the daily crossword puzzle in The New York Times, reserving my grey matter for the paper’s Sunday puzzle and Spelling Bee in the magazine section. So I was caught off guard when my daughter-in-law Allison texted to ask if I had done Thursday’s NYT crossword and that I should check out the clue to 45 Across.

Retrieving the Arts section before it hit the recycling bin, I read the clue: “Suburb about 20 miles WNW of Boston.” It required a five letter response. 

Without hesitation I knew it was Acton, home town to Allison, Dan and their brood of two children, a goldfish and a Chinese dwarf hamster. I was duly impressed they live in a town crossword puzzle-clue worthy.

I have supplemented the two aforementioned weekly puzzles with three daily mental challenges. As I am usually up at midnight, I recently began to log onto the daily Wordle quiz which goes active at the stroke of a new day. 

Not familiar with Wordle? Neither was I until The Times ran an article on it 10 days ago (https://www.nytimes.com/2022/01/03/technology/wordle-word-game-creator.html?smid=em-share). I’ve been hooked ever since. I can’t go to sleep before completing each day’s puzzle, usually accomplished before 10-15 minutes. Here’s the link I use: https://www.powerlanguage.co.uk/wordle/

Shortly after 3 o’clock each morning—yes, dear reader, I often emerge from slumber at that dark hour—and, contrary to all medical sleep advice, open up my iPhone to work on the Letter Boxed and Spelling Bee challenges that are updated at 3 am daily. 

I’m addicted to the Spelling Bee which is different from the Sunday version. On Sunday, six letters in a circle surround a seventh letter in the middle which must be used in all five-letter or larger words you find. You get one point for each word; three points for using all seven letters. 

The daily Spelling Bee also displays six letters around a seventh. Four letter words are acceptable. Points are allotted based on the number of letters in each word. Your score determines your level of competence, from beginner to genius. I am determined to accept nothing less than genius, a status I usually attain even if it takes hours, though not at one sitting, er, lying down in bed. I’ll usually stop by 4 am, if necessary, resuming when I m more alert. 

Here’s a link to the daily Spelling Bee, which in all honesty, am not sure will open for you as you might have to be a Times subscriber: https://www.nytimes.com/puzzles/spelling-bee.

Between Pickle Ball, Spelling Bee and other word games, I’m spending my COVID retirement days exercising a variety of muscles. What I am not doing is spending lots of time reading news accounts of how our country is going crazy. So you’re seeing fewer political postings from me. Instead of writing diatribes in the middle of the night I’m playing word games. Works for me. Hopefully for you, too.