Recalling My Encounter with Peter Yarrow

 They walk among us.

No, not zombies. Rather, actors and other notables going about their daily business, walking streets, eating in restaurants, attending events. 

One such celebrity was the singer/songwriter/political activist Peter Yarrow, of Peter, Paul and Mary fame. Yarrow died Tuesday, January 7. He was 86 (https://www.nytimes.com/2025/01/07/arts/music/peter-yarrow-dead.html?smid=url-share).

I have a problem remembering names, offset by a talent recognizing faces. Often I press pause while watching TV to point out to Gilda an actor’s role in a different show we’ve seen. I’ve observed numerous notables, most often while I worked in Manhattan, including Steve Allen and his wife Jayne Meadows, Dustin Hoffman, Al Pacino, Neil Simon, Johnny Damon, Richard Lewis, David Wells, Jackie Onassis. Usually, I shake their hand, thank them for their work, and try to do so without causing a stir that might alert other pedestrians to their proximity to the famous. 

As a fan of Peter, Paul and Mary since the early 1960s, I had no difficulty recognizing Yarrow as we stood in line during an intermission of a play on, and this is truly eerie, January 8, 2011, one day shy of exactly 14 years before his death (I know the date as I posted a blog on January 9, 2011, about meeting him the night before).  

During intermission of “A Little Night Music,” I wrote, I literally ran into Yarrow. I thanked him for being one of my cultural heroes and told him of the time in 1968 I sat in the first row of a PP&M concert at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center and distracted bass player, Dick Kniss, into missing a beat in one of their songs.

Peter was most gracious, seemingly pleased to be recognized but not revealed to the throngs surrounding him. Ten minutes later, as he passed me on the way back to his seat, he said hello to Gilda and our friends and remembered my name. 

Magic Johnson Owes My Wife a Big Thank You

Magic Johnson accepted the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Joe Biden Saturday. Perhaps, probably, Johnson and the rest of the NBA, indeed all athletes on all levels, from amateur to professional, in all sports, owe my wife Gilda a resounding, “Thank You.”  

For it was Gilda who devised and conducted a study between July 1987 and May 1989 proving the HIV virus was not transmitted through eccrine sweat, thus enabling Johnson to resume his Hall of Fame basketball career. He and athletes from all sports could compete without fear of transmitting or contracting AIDS through contact with another person’s eccrine sweat, the type of moisture found on epidermal skin meant to cool down overheated bodies. 

Serving as the research coordinator for the division of Infectious Diseases and Departments of Medicine, Pathology and Microbiology, New York Medical College, Valhalla, under Dr. Gary P. Wormser, Gilda was tasked with undertaking a study on whether sweat contributed to HIV transmission. She recruited HIV positive and control subjects. 

Her challenge was to formulate a way to make them sweat so she could collect their droplets in a sterile fashion. 

Serendipitously, one of the bathrooms used by her colleagues had a shower. By running extreme hot water that raised the bathroom temperature and humidity, subjects standing outside the shower were induced to sweat. Each subject wore long sterile plastic gloves up to their upper arms. Sweat dripped into the gloves, collecting in the fingertips not touched by each subject. Gilda extracted the sweat with a sterile syringe. 

No HIV virus was found in any of the samples. Results of the study were published in The Journal of Infectious Diseases in January 1992. Dr. Wormser was the lead author. 

Magic Johnson had retired in the fall of 1991 after announcing he had tested positive for HIV. After Gilda’s study was published, Johnson played in the February 1992 NBA All-Star game, even being named MVP of the game, before taking several years off to undergo treatment. He resumed his playing career in 1996 for 32 games before his final retirement.

Fear of HIV/AIDS persisted, even to this day among parts of the population, but Gilda’s involvement in the groundbreaking study debunking the role of sweat in the transmission of the disease has kept athletes on their respective playing fields and surfaces.

Trump Makes Nice to Carter. Will It Last?

The president-elect farted today. 

What? You didn’t hear about it? With all the hot air emanating from his personhood, how could that be? The media is absorbed in his personage, his every movement, flagellation, pontification. 

Could it be the media slept through the emission? 

With the passing of former president Jimmy Carter, tributes have been forthcoming from all still-living ex-presidents, even Donald Trump, who said, “The challenges Jimmy faced as president came at a pivotal time for our country and he did everything in his power to improve the lives of all Americans. For that, we all owe him a debt of gratitude.”

I wonder, though, how long it will be before Trump the Grump assails Carter for signing the treaty that passed ownership of the Panama Canal to Panama. He has, after all, been crying out loud that Panama is squeezing the United States by allegedly charging America more for passage than other countries. The soon to be commander in chief has issued not so veiled threats to retake the canal if Panama doesn’t recompute our shipping bills. 

Businessman Trump has been known not to honor contracts, to welch on agreed upon prices. He’s also expressed dissatisfaction with treaties past presidents and the Senate have ratified. To Trump, a treaty is no more potent than a piece of toilet paper, which might explain why he stashed some of the documents he took from the White House in 2021 in a Mar-a-Lago bathroom. 

Interestingly, after Trump offered kind words in Carter’s memory (he called him a “terrible president” while he was alive), many in his MAGA camp were disappointed he spoke humanely of the deceased. What can you expect from your followers when your candidacy and presidency is based on denigration?

A truer test of Trump’s egotism and social manners will come January 20, after he is sworn in to office. To honor Carter, President Biden has ordered American flags to be flown at half-mast for 30 days “at all federal buildings, grounds, and naval vessels throughout the United States and its territories and possessions,” as per regulations of the Department of Veteran Affairs. The time period overlaps Trump’s inauguration. 

Will Trump immediately reverse longstanding American policy and command flags be fully raised to honor his inauguration? 

We’ll see if an angel or devil has the last word inside Trump’s head. 

Presidential Thoughts

I met Jimmy Carter before he was elected president. It was the fall of 1976. Carter was running for president as the Democratic Party nominee. I was serving as press secretary to the late Michael J. Adanti, Democratic candidate for Congress from Connecticut’s then 5th District against a formidable Republican incumbent, Ron Sarasin. 

Adanti and I were backstage at a Carter campaign rally in Waterbury, the largest city in the 5th District. We wanted a picture of Adanti with Carter. Something, however, had ticked Carter off. He was in no mood to be reconciled. The photo shoot was nixed. 

Carter went on to win his election. Adanti did not. Carter, 39th president of the United States, died Sunday. He was 100. Adanti served two terms as mayor of Ansonia and 19 years as president of Southern Connecticut State College. He was 65 when he died in 2005 in a traffic accident while on vacation in Sardinia, Italy.

Back in the Saddle: In Patti Davis’ poignant New York Times remembrance of her father Ronald Reagan’s last years suffering from Alzheimer’s and the reverberating discussion surrounding President Joe Biden’s mental capacity, she recalled a day she and her dad went horseback riding when she was young. 

“I had fallen off and was scared to get back on. I wasn’t hurt, it wasn’t a bad fall, and he told me that it’s important to get back on after you fall so that fear doesn’t set in and so that the horse doesn’t sense that you’re scared” (https://www.nytimes.com/2024/12/28/opinion/joe-biden-presidency.html?smid=url-share). 

I had my own experience off suddenly leaving the saddle. When we were 16, two summer camp friends and I went horseback riding in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park. We had never ridden before. Our guide cautioned to keep a tight rein on our horses, to keep them to the right of the trail. But no matter how hard I tugged at the reins, my horse kept drifting to the left.

When we reached the midway point, my horse decided to entertain everyone by doing his impression of a camel. He folded his legs and started to crouch down. I’d seen this maneuver in too many westerns; I knew the next move would be to roll over and crush my leg, so I jumped out of the saddle, screaming.

To the rescue rode the guide, who proceeded to whip the horse with a burlap rope for a minute or so before telling me to get back on. I told him I didn’t think that was a good idea as the horse would think I was the one who whipped him. When it appeared the guide was getting ready to whip me, I jumped back onto the saddle. The ride back to the stable was mostly uneventful, except for the time the horse purposely carried me under a low hanging tree limb, forcing me to bend tight to his neck like a jockey in a stretch run.

I’ve saddled up only one more time, during a visit to Arizona about 30 years ago. But I did drive a Mustang for a couple of years when in college. Does that count as an equine experience?  

Bits and Pieces of My Days Since Nov. 5

For some reason, Ken Follett included me Monday morning in a broadside email transmission recapitulating his eventful year, complete with pictures including his attendance at the ceremonial reopening of Notre Dame Cathedral, chatting with Queen Camilla at a luncheon, standing inside Stonehenge (a rare privilege, indeed), subject of his forthcoming book “Circle of Days”—14 pictures in all. A rather busy, impressive year for the Welsh author whose 37 novels have sold more than 195 million copies and whose historical fiction series on medieval construction of churches in Kingsbridge, England, enlightened many on the superhuman task involved during those “dark ages.”  

Most quizzical to me, however, was Follett’s failure to include a photo of his dog Nell, a black Labrador he had apparently had to put down six days before Christmas. 

I say this because Follett began his year-end review with the following paragraph:

“My old dog Nell died six days before Christmas. Her hips had been bad for years, but she was very game, struggling up and down stairs and even running in the garden with the other dogs. Sadly she got to the stage where she couldn’t stand, and after that her life wasn’t worth living. I miss her.”

Given the love affair with dogs most residents of the British Isles enjoy, I couldn’t help but wonder why Nell was not accorded justifiable visual recognition. 

I’m in a Trump Funk: Ever since November 5 I have been less than engaged in all sorts of things. I don’t get paid for writing blogs so I have let my ennui dictate my lethargy. Even some of my inanimate objects have been disappointing me:

My plug in electric hybrid car suddenly stopped running battery power. Seems it needed a software update, fortunately at no expense;

One of our dishwashers started leaking. The repair man could find no reason why for his $150 service charge;

Twice now I’ve forgotten to shut off the towel warmer after my shower. Gilda has, I believe, taken perverse pleasure pointing out my indiscretion;

My skin keeps popping out dry spots that itch like crazy despite repeated applications of ointments proscribed by my dermatologist. No relief is in sight. 

Blood Brothers: Watching the last episode of “Yellowstone,” I saw Casey Dutton and Tribal Chairman Chief Thomas Rainwater perform a ceremonial blood brothers ritual, slicing their respective palms. They did not commingle their bloods by shaking hands.  

No doubt 21st century healthcare precautions ruled the day. But back in 1950s Brooklyn, my friends and I routinely pressed our bloodied fingers together when we swore eternal brotherhood. 

And just to be clear, our hands were not clean, nor was the knife blade we used, when we became blood brothers by piercing one of our fingers.

We didn’t normally carry pocket knives. Just when we played a game called “Territory,” usually on the dirt near the Sycamore tree in front of my Avenue W home. Territory required players to stand with feet apart as an opponent threw a knife into the dirt they were standing upon. If the blade stood upright, the thrower usurped their territory from its edge to the vertical knife. The game became increasingly dangerous as one’s territory diminished. A winner eventually amassed all the territory. 

I can recall no one being injured in the process. That same knife was used to make us blood brothers. In the 1950s little thought was given to transmittable diseases. 

Clear and Present Danger Requires Action

We are living in a time of clear and present danger. A danger to our institutions. To our democracy. To individuals who oppose and criticize our next duly elected president who will have at his disposal powers heretofore thought to be finite but in light of a Supreme Court decision now are infinite, unencumbered even by the Constitution, supreme powers to enact his wishes and exact his revenge. 

Almost daily Donald Trump or one of his henchmen, some possibly with forthcoming Senate approval for top level administration jobs such as heads of our legal and law enforcement systems, promise retribution against those who challenged Trump’s actions. 

It does not matter if the cases against them are whimsical. Responding to federal inquiries and indictments requires legal representation. Resulting legal fees can easily bankrupt an accused. 

The argument that President Biden’s pardon of his son Hunter might embolden Trump to pardon those convicted of January 6 crimes is ludicrous. Clearly anyone espousing such a belief has not paid attention to what Trump has been saying for months. He views them as patriots, not insurrectionists. He was going to free them regardless of Biden’s action. He has to, to solidify his hold on the extreme conspiracy theorists who are foundational parts of his base.

Extraordinary times require extraordinary measures. Trump has hinted at declaring martial law to quell protests. Sounds crazy and extreme, no? But look no further than to one of our strongest allies, South Korea, and see that presidents can easily deny individual rights in their quest to exert unconstrained power. Though South Korea’s legislature quickly voted to lift the proclamation, and the president complied, it would be problematic to expect the Republican controlled House and Senate to reverse Trump. 

So, was Biden hasty in pardoning his son? Was he abusing presidential authority and precedent? Was he encouraging Trump to act injudiciously? 

No, on all counts. Biden’s presidency saved lives with an effective Covid policy. He restored American international relations. His economic and infrastructure programs reduced inflation, prompted job creation and began much needed investments in new manufacturing and repairs or replacement of outdated, dilapidated public works. 

Trump has changed the character of government. It is backward to hold Biden to standards his immediate predecessor and immediate successor did and will practice. 

Three weeks ago on November 14 I called for Biden to extend pre-emptive pardons to all those expected to be on Trump’s retribution list. The other day, John Dean of Watergate notoriety expressed similar thoughts. Thursday night The New York Times reported “Biden Team Considers Blanket Pardons Before Trump’s Promised ‘Retribution’” (https://www.nytimes.com/2024/12/05/us/politics/biden-trump-pardons.html?smid=em-share). HuffPost carried a similar article Friday morning.

Momentum is building. It must be driving Trump crazy to helplessly watch his reign of vengeance potentially dissipate before his bloodthirsty eyes.

Non Political Musings

“Location, Location, Location” is the mantra in real estate, whether it be where to place a store or where to buy a home. Recently I’ve been amused by several location-based news stories.

From a posting on my residential association news feed:

“Sadly the store in Scarsdale called DAISO 

next to Amazing Savings is closing December 7, 2024.  I found it to be a unique fun store. If you have never been, you might want to take a run inside for holiday gifts etc.”

Now, ordinarily I would not find notice of a store closing to be a source of amusement. But Daiso is a Japanese -owned store. December 7 is not the best of dates to elicit feelings of sympathy for the Japanese company.  

By the way, Japan is 13 hours ahead of New York time. So when the Daiso in Scarsdale closes for the last time at 9 pm on Saturday, December 7, it will be Sunday in Tokyo. Hmmm… 

Naming Rights: On a family trip to Israel in 1990, Gilda struck up a conversation with the younger man sitting next to her. He introduced himself as Brad Berger, to which Gilda replied, “We live on the street named after you, Brad Lane.” 

Brad’s father, Martin Berger, was a cofounder of Robert Martin Company, a diversified real estate development company. Martin’s partner was Robert Weinberg.

The subdivision we live in was built in 1966, one of the first Robert Martin residential projects before the company became the premier developer of office park complexes in Westchester. 

There are three streets inside our development off Saxon Woods Road: Romar Avenue (obviously named after Robert and Martin); Teramar Way (for years I assumed this one block street was named for Terri and Martin, but I can find no record of a Terri Berger); and Brad Lane, named for the aforementioned Brad Berger who was 10 at the time our house was built. 

My musings about street names was prompted by an article in The New York Times appropriately titled, “How Do New Streets Get Their Names (https://www.nytimes.com/2024/11/30/realestate/naming-streets.html?smid=em-share). 

 

One of the rules contained in the article (for those who didn’t bother to link) is that street names should not be duplicated in a community so emergency services or just plain delivery drivers would not be confused. 

There is, however, another Teramar Way listed in White Plains, with houses built in 1964. Its houses are technically in Greenburgh, just off Tarrytown Road, but are listed as having a White Plains address. More than once a deliveryman has brought an unsolicited meal or package to one of the homes on our development’s Teramar Way.

It’s a minor inconvenience, seemingly impossible to resolve. To no avail city officials have been asked for a street name change. 

Travel Time: Somehow my Facebook feed knows I will be traveling to Argentina’s Patagonia region because I keep getting ads for sweaters, socks and gloves made with alpaca fibers. 

“Did the World Need a Hot Santa? It Got One Anyway.”

That was the headline of a Times article December 1, with an email explanation that “A new series of ads from Target features Kris K., a “weirdly hot” version of the beloved character, continuing a trend of spicing up holiday favorites (https://www.nytimes.com/2024/11/28/style/target-hot-santa-ads.html?smid=em-share).

Since many Christmas songs were written by Jewish composers (“White Christmas,” “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire,” to name just a few), I wonder if Jewish marketing mavens will pass up the opportunity to sex-up Hanukkah promotions? Can’t you visualize a buff, curly-haired Judah the Maccabee in gladiator-style skirt and armored top pitching silver menorahs, with candle wax dripping down his muscular legs? 

Well, enough stimulation. Twenty more days till Hanukkah and that other festive holiday.