Long Time No Write. Time to Catch Up

Long time no write. Two weeks is an eternity for a blogger. But I have an excuse. Having Gilda at home because of her broken wrist disrupted my normal routine. However, too much of a good thing, like too much candy or cake, can be detrimental to one’s senses, though I have learned some new skills, such as how to affix earrings to her ears, how to hook up a bra (so counterintuitive to most men’s experiences). 

Gilda went back to work Monday. We resumed our chauffeur-client status, meaning I get up at 6 am to drive her to work, return home and then go back to pick her up at the end of her shift at Mount Sinai Hospital. Today we’re hoping it’s “coming off day,” as in, the cast finally will be removed from her left, dominant hand, wrist. I will still have to drive her around until she regains full use of her extremity, but we hope to see light at the end of the tunnel later this afternoon. 

Meanwhile, some updates on previous blogs and some new tidbits to chew over:

Inspired Celebration: Though she admitted she prefers harder than her mother’s matzo balls, Ellie’s Rosh Hashana batch mostly melted in one’s mouth. Even more savory were the two types of ruggelach she baked. The hit of the evening, even topping my brisket (prepared under Gilda’s watchful eye).  Ellie also reminded me she made kreplach, one of my favorite foods, for my birthday.

Rosh Hashana is the earth’s birthday, number 5775, according to the Jewish religion. For only the second time in 19 years Ellie did not sing with our cantor during our congregation’s New Year’s services. For many worshippers it seemed the holiday was a little less whole. She had good reason to demur. She didn’t want to feel queasy in front of them. For those who didn’t get my drift, Ellie and husband Donny are expecting their first child, our third grandchild, in late March-early April.

While the congregation didn’t get to enjoy Ellie’s singing, our family did during a back-to-nature communion on the second day of Rosh Hashana. Instead of going to temple, we celebrated Rosh Hashana at Croton Gorge Park and Croton Point Park. We recited prayers, read children’s books to Finley, Dagny and their cousin Elliot, took a hike to the top of the dam, Ellie sang and we blew the shofar. Gilda had bought toy rams’ horns for the kids. I trumpeted our elongated shofar. It was one of the more inspirational Rosh Hashana commemorations I have experienced.

Giant Turnaround? Perhaps I was too hasty in my criticism of the NY Giants. They’ve played much better in winning their last two games. I even picked them in one of my football pools. A good test will come Sunday against the Atlanta Falcons.

Farewell to the Captain: I’ve previously expressed my admiration for Derek Jeter, the now retired captain of the New York Yankees. His grace under pressure and ability to conquer the moment separated him from other players, many who were more talented and skilled than he. But as I wrote back on September 12, 2009,  

“Watching Jeter year-in, year-out brings joy to any true baseball fan. Sure he’s had a full reel of highlights. But it’s the everyday work ethic and performance that impresses me.

“During the early Joe Torre years it seemed whenever we needed a late score, if Jeter led off an inning he ignited a rally. Because he was not a home run hitter, or exceptionally fast, or had the best arm or range at shortstop, Jeter made you feel comfortable, made you feel that you too could do his job if only you had dedicated your life to his career choice, to baseball. But then he’d corral a pop up into short left field with an over the shoulder, back to the infield catch and you’d say, ‘I couldn’t do that.’ or he’d glide into the hole and do one of his now patented jump throws to first, and you’d say, ‘I couldn’t do that.’ or he’d hit a home run when you least expected it, as he did to become Mr. November in the Series against Arizona in 2001, and you’d say, ‘I couldn’t do that, not under the pressure, the constant pressure, he’s under.’”

I won’t recount his exploits during his last game at Yankee Stadium or the last game of his career at Fenway Park in Boston. Suffice to say, I doubt there will be another player who will make as many favorable memories as Derek Jeter did during his 19-year career.

Shoah. Showa: Reading an Op-Ed piece in Tuesday’s New York Times (“Hirohito: String Puller, Not Puppet”), I was struck by the similar sounding names Shoah and Showa. Showa, the author wrote, is how Emperor Hirohito is known in Japan. During his reign from 1926 to 1989, Japan modernized and militarized. During the Showa period, wrote Herbert P. Bix, Japanese aggression “took the lives of at least 20 million Asians (including more than three million Japanese) and more than 100,000 citizens of Western Allied nations, primarily the United States and Britain.”

Shoah is the Hebrew word for the Holocaust when six million European Jews were killed by the Nazis and their collaborators. 

Ready When You Are, C.B., (as in DeMille): My acting career has hit a scheduling bump. Show Me a Hero, an HBO mini-series filming in Yonkers, alerted me my services as an extra were wanted. But the date they offered conflicted with another appointment, so I must now wait for them to find a mutually convenient time slot. At least I’m not waiting tables until my big break comes, unless, of course, you consider all the cooking and cleaning I’m doing during Gilda’s convalescence from her broken wrist. 

Keeping Memories Alive

Around sunset tonight I will light six memorial candles, two for my parents, two for Gilda’s, two in honor of our uncles and aunts who have passed away. On the last day of Passover tomorrow, Yizkor will be recited. Yizkor is the prayer of remembrance, said four times a year in honor of the departed. 

Last week the Colombian, Nobel laureate author, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, passed away. He was 87. Among the many passages quoted in his memory, this one touched me deeply: “What matters in life is not what happens to you—but what you remember and how you remember it.”

Perhaps that’s why I have recently been obsessed with the fantasy of getting a dog. For a year when I was 11, we had a dog, a puppy. Dusty. We were told he was a border collie but he probably was of mixed parentage, at least part golden retriever, which accounted for his thick yellow coat and his size. My sister, brother and I still talk of Dusty. They both had goldens when their children were young. Lee has since had two other dogs. She took home Ollie from the rescue shelter a few weeks ago.

Gilda’s not buying into my fantasy. She doesn’t believe I’d be willing to walk a dog early in the morning and late at night, when it’s cold, snowy or rainy. And I readily acknowledge I would not like picking up after it. So I think back on my 12 months with Dusty (10 actually, as two months we were separated while I summered in sleepaway camp) and revel in my memories. 

“I think we forget things if we have no one to tell them to.” 

That sentiment describes another reason for this blog. It is from the Indian movie The Lunchbox, by Ritesh Joginder Batra. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend you don’t wait much longer as it is not the type of film that vanquishes superhero, supernatural or animated flicks for screens at the local cineplex.  

Last week an article in The NY Times provided insight into another of my childhood-to-adult foundations. Though born and raised in Brooklyn, I am a NY Yankees fan. My brother and all my friends rooted for the Brooklyn Dodgers. We went to Ebbets Field to watch the Dodgers, until they moved to Los Angeles. I always said I became a Yankees fan because my mother rooted for them, though she really favored the NY Giants. But they moved west, too, to San Francisco. The last year the Dodgers played in Brooklyn was 1957. I was eight years old.

Keep that age in mind, because according to The Times article, team loyalty for youngsters is deeply impressed when a boy turns eight, particularly if the team wins the World Series (http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/20/opinion/sunday/they-hook-you-when-youre-young.html?_r=0). Furthermore, “the odds of being captured as a perma-fan peak with those aged 8 to 12 at the time of the championship,” the article related.

Now, in 1957 the Yankees lost to the Milwaukee Braves in seven games. But the following year the Yanks defeated the Braves. And from 1960 to 1964 the Bronx Bombers played in five consecutive championship series, winning two titles in 1961 and 1962. It’s not too difficult to understand why I became a Yankees fan for life.

Snow Day Thoughts: LinkedIn, Water Pipelines, and Baseball Sans Derek Jeter

They’re coming out of the woodwork. Like characters from The Walking Dead, people I hadn’t heard from in years have been sending congratulations messages and asking to re-connect, all because I failed to update my LinkedIn profile. So, they all think I am celebrating my third year anniversary at Green Retail Decisions as director of industry relations when in truth I stopped consulting for them last summer. Still, it’s nice to know some people still care enough about me to want to keep the relationship alive ... 

I cleared 11 inches of snow from the driveway and walkway around noon today. Thank god I bought that snowblower a few years ago. Waiting for the second round of snow from this storm …

Perhaps you’ve thought of this idea as well: If we have the capability to build the Keystone XL (crude oil) Pipeline from Canada to Nebraska, a distance of 1,179 miles, with the hope there won’t be any negative environmental impacts from leaks or spills, why can’t we build a water pipeline to take the inevitable runoff of spring flooding along the Mississippi River in Iowa and points south to the parched Texas landscape, a distance of about 1,000 miles? Or maybe divert flood waters from the Missouri River to Denver? Sure, each would be a massive project, but would provide jobs and much needed drought relief. Plus, we wouldn’t have a catastrophe if a few gallons of water leaked along the way. 

I just did a Google search and found several entries outlining the difficulties of advancing these projects, from structural, financial and, even more importantly, political perspectives.  We had massive public works projects during the Depression and the building of the interstate highway system beginning in the 1950s. But it is doubtful all the stars would line up to implement any such tasks in this day and age ...

O Captain! My Captain! I don’t mean to trivialize Walt Whitman’s tribute poem to the assassinated Abraham Lincoln, but one of the first thoughts I had upon hearing of Derek Jeter’s pending retirement from the NY Yankees at the conclusion of the 2014 season was the opening lines of the poet’s elegy:

O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;

Nobody can play forever. Jeter’s departure, along with that of Robinson Cano in free agency and the joint retirements of Mariano Rivera and Andy Pettitte in 2013, will leave no internally grown superstar among pinstriped players. What a pity. The long line of Yankee greats, that started with Gehrig and wound its way through DiMaggio, Berra, Mantle, Ford, Howard, Guidry, Munson, Mattingly, Posada, Pettitte, Rivera and Jeter appears to be, at best, in hiatus.

My hope, probably shared by anyone who has appreciated Jeter’s professionalism, is that injury will not mar his final trip around the basepaths of major league baseball. Let’s hope that just as Mariano enjoyed a splendid comeback year after his injury-shortened 2012 season, Jeter will play to the level of 2012 when he led the American League in hits with 216.   

Front Row Seating and a Farewell to Cano

I showered twice Saturday, once of my own choosing, once not. My morning shower was part of my daily ablutions. Nothing unusual about that.

My second shower took place shortly after 8 pm as I sat in the first row of the Playwrights Horizons main stage theater on 42nd Street in Manhattan. Last week, you may recall, I recounted one of the hazards of front row theater seats when Rosencrantz, or was it Guildenstern, slipped off the stage onto my lap during a performance of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead.

Saturday night I was initiated into another peril of Row A seating. One of the actors was particularly energetic in his vocalizations. He projected more than just words. I was shocked the first time he appeared before me and sprayed forth from the lip of the stage. I was more or less ready the next time he stood before me. I cowered in my seat to reduce my exposure.

Fortunately, he next chose to deliver a long, excitable monologue from the center of the edge of the stage, affording me a profile scan of his features and an arced view of his projectile strength. To those sitting before him it must have felt as if they had a front row seat at Sea World without the benefit of plastic raincoats to protect them from Shamu’s exuberance.

It's an unfortunate byproduct of elocution for some actors. Indeed, in one scene where the sprayer and another thespian held drinks as they stood face to face, I observed the second actor place his right hand across the mouth of his glass to shield it from any more liquid enhancing his drink.

All in all, just another night at the theater.

It was a New York Yankees baseball cap like many others, different only in that it was a promotional hat embroidered with the name of the sponsor—Canon—across the center of the back. Its potential struck me immediately. I gifted the hat to our daughter-in-law Allison who realized right away that with a little deft unstitching she could change the Canon hat into an homage to her favorite Yankee, Robinson Cano. 

Despite living in the Boston area for the last 16 years, Allison remains a die-hard Yankees fan. I tried to text or call whenever Cano made a highlight reel play, in the field or at bat, that contributed to a Yankees win. There won’t be anymore of those calls now that Cano has opted to sign a free agency deal with the Seattle Mariners for 10 years and a reported $240 million. 

I’ll miss seeing Cano turn double plays with seemingly little effort, race into short right field with his back to the diamond to basket catch a fly ball as it dropped over his shoulder, range far to his right to snare a hot shot up the middle and accurately cannonball a throw to first base to deny a batter a base hit. I’ll miss how easily he could flick his bat and deposit a single or double to left field, or when the team really needed it, pull a pitch into the right field seats for a home run. I wish him success, though not when he’s facing the Yankees.   

I can’t blame him for turning down the New York proposal of seven years for $175 million. Nor can I fault the Yankees for not matching the Mariners’ offer. Baseball is a business. Cano is a superstar. But even before Cano was a superstar, before he made his first million-dollar-a-year salary, Cano revealed the true measure of his impact as a human being. Cano bought an ambulance for his impoverished home town in the Dominican Republic. He has since donated eight ambulances, medical supplies, paramedic crew training and children's toys and has plans to finance and build a hospital. 

Sports Edition: Pettitte vs. Clemens; Glickman—A Giant Voice; Midget Football

What’s in a Name? Were the Houston Astros playing with Andy Pettitte’s head Saturday? How weird was it that the starting pitcher for the home team Astros in Pettitte’s final game of his career was Clemens? No, not Roger Clemens, Pettitte’s one-time friend and teammate, both with the NY Yankees and the Astros, who is now his legal adversary in Clemens’ alleged use of anabolic steroids. Paul Clemens pitched for Houston. No relation to Roger, as far as I can research, but clearly a weird confluence of names too eerie for anyone in the Astros organization not to be cognizant of. Perhaps it was added motivation that enabled Pettitte to end his career, some might argue, a Hall of Fame career, with a full game 2-1victory. 

How fitting that two teams that have struggled all year to score runs could not end the season in nine innings Sunday. Today, the Yankees and Astros took a 1-1 tie into the 14th inning. In the top of 14th, Yankees TV announcer Michael Kay said, "For those who didn't want the Yankees season to end, you're getting your wish." You could hear the frustration in his voice as the futility of the play on the field permeated the play-by-play booth. On the next pitch, however, Mark Reynolds hit a tie-breaking home run. And then the Yanks added three more runs, giving the team a 5-1 victory, their 85th against 77 losses, not good enough to make the playoffs for just the second time in 19 seasons. 

Sunday’s finale took so long that Reynolds was shown gathering his equipment and leaving the dugout before the end of the game to seemingly rush to catch a plane home as players dispersed at the conclusion of the last game of the season. It’s been that type of season. Not even a dignified goodbye could be mustered.

A Giant Voice:  Today being a Sunday in the last third of the year, I did what I have done for more than half a century. I experienced a NY Giants football game. I say “experienced” because in the years before the National Football League lifted its television broadcast ban on home games, even those that were sold out, the only way I could indulge my fix was to listen to WNEW AM, the radio home of the Giants. Listening to Marty Glickman call the games became an addiction. Even when Giants games were telecast I would turn off the sound (sorry Jim Whitaker or Chris Schenkel) and supplant it with Glickman’s play-by-play from a radio atop the TV console. Even fans who attended Giants games at Yankee Stadium brought their transistor radios with them to listen to Glickman. 

If you’re a sports fan, sure you root for a team and feel a special alliance with individual players, especially those who played during your youth. Y.A. Tittle of the NY Football Giants (with his balding head he looked a little like my father, though one would never confuse my father’s athletic prowess with that of Tittle). Mickey Mantle of the Yankees. Ernie Banks of the Chicago Cubs. Jackie Robinson of the Brooklyn Dodgers. Willie Mays of the NY Giants. Bill Russell of the Boston Celtics. Bobby Hull of the Chicago Blackhawks. 

Yet, as powerful as those associations were, perhaps even more deep-rooted were the impressions made by the sportscasters of their time—Mel Allen who called Yankees games, Lindsey Nelson of the NY Mets, Vince Scully of the Dodgers, Ernie Harwell of the Detroit Tigers. The list can go on and on, but it begins with Marty Glickman.

I’m nostalgic for the rich tones of Glickman’s play-by-play reportage after watching an HBO documentary of his life. I knew Glickman as the announcer of the Giants during my formative years of appreciation of football. Like many, I also knew he had been denied participation in the 1936 Olympics Games in Berlin because of anti-Semitism and the U.S. Olympic Committee’s cowardly acquiescence to Nazi intimidation. Glickman and another Jewish runner, Sam Stoller, were removed from the 4x100 meter relay team the morning of the race, which the U.S. easily won. There was lots about Glickman’s life I did not know, including his crafting many of the terms we take for granted when listening to broadcasts of basketball games, such as “swish” and “top of the key.” 

Viewing Glickman should be mandatory for anyone who cares about sports, and for anyone who cares how one man can help shape an industry, for Glickman truly pioneered many of the broadcasting standards currently enjoyed in numerous sports. It wasn’t in the film, but my favorite story about Glickman happened one season in the 1960s when the down-in-the-luck Giants needed a win to gain some respectability. Late in a game, Glickman exhorted his listeners, wherever they were, at home, in their car, at the Stadium, to show their support by chanting out loud, “Let’s Go Giants, Let’s Go Giants.”

I’m not too proud to admit that as I listened to Glickman in the basement bedroom of my parents’ home, I cheered along. But what really made the moment special was hearing from my brother’s friend Jerry who was attending a NY Jets game at Shea Stadium. All of a sudden, he later related to us, Shea Stadium erupted in a “Let’s Go Giants” cheer. Jets players and their opponents wondered if they had been transported to another arena. Back then, many attending Jets games were Giants fans who simultaneously listened to the Giants radio broadcasts. 

I always thought Glickman had improvised that call-to-cheer but it turns out the idea originated with Wellington Mara, the owner of the Giants. He suggested the cheer as an in-your-face gesture to the upstart Jets organization, a way of showing which team New York fans truly loved and followed. Of course, the Jets earned a Super Bowl ring before the Giants, in 1969, but since then the Giants have won four titles and the Jets have yet to play again in the penultimate game of the year.

Midget Football: I keep calling them Giants. So far this year they are playing like midgets. They lost their fourth straight game today. They are 0-4 after another shellacking, this time by the Kansas City Chiefs. Though they played better than last week, when they lost 38-0 to the Carolina Panthers, they still managed to be embarrassed, 31-7. 

Why, I wondered, with two minutes to go and the game clearly beyond redemption, why did the coaches risk injury to their best players by keeping Eli Manning and Victor Cruz in the game? It's not as if they needed more experience at their positions. Could it be that the coaches were just as dumbstruck as the players have been? 

It’s going to be a loooong season, one that even a “Let’s Go Giants” chant from Marty Glickman could not hasten to a positive conclusion. 

Talking in Shul, Playing Ball, Dino Sex

Gilda forwarded an article to me from, appropriately enough, The Forward, a newspaper that during its heyday at the turn of the 20th century as a Yiddish newspaper serving the mostly Eastern European influx of Jewish immigrants, dealt not only with news of the day but also with setting social mores for the “greenhorn” population (The Forward now is available on-line, in English). The article that caught her attention chronicled the efforts of Orthodox rabbis to control incessant talking in the pews during services (http://forward.com/articles/183217/rabbis-declare-war-on-chit-chat-in-synagogue/?p=all). Though a minor nuisance in Conservative and Reform temples, kibitzing, gossiping, chit-chatting is a constant background drum in Orthodox synagogues. 

I grew up in an Orthodox shul, currently am a member of a Conservative temple and have attended services in Reform and Reconstructionist houses of worship. I, thus, have reason to believe my theory of congregant conversation has legitimacy. It’s simply a matter of whom you sit next to.

In Conservative, Reform and Reconstructionist temples husbands and wives sit together. Unless they’re not on speaking terms, they’ve had ample opportunity to exchange thoughts in the privacy of their home, or in the car, or maybe over dinner in a restaurant. Sure there would be something fresh to talk about at temple, say, how the bar-mitzvah boy’s mother was dressed appropriately, or not, but by and large there’s not much new to say.

On the other hand, Orthodox synagogues segregate men from women. Husband and wife are seated next to people, usually friends, they might not see during the week. There’s lots to discuss: business, sports, politics, children, TV, movies, the list goes on and on. It’s simply a matter of being social trumping absolute devotion to prayer. Those Orthodox rabbis can pray for divine help all they want, but it will be to no avail. 

What do baseball fans want? Championships, of course. But realistically, they want to see their team play meaningful games in September. Against the odds, the injury plagued, elderly NY Yankees are  playing such games. Even the devastating losses to the Boston Red Sox this weekend could not alter the fact that the games were meaningful.

I can say the same thing about our temple softball team. Last Sunday, September 1, we had to win to make the playoffs. We did, 7-6, behind a rousing five-run ninth inning rally we almost squandered by giving up three runs in the bottom half of the ninth. Today we played another meaningful September game. We lost by a score too embarrassing to publish, but we had fun, and that’s what really counted.

Sexual Fantasies: I’ll end today with an off-beat item too amusing to pass up passing along. Ever wonder how dinosaurs procreated? Can’t say I ever did, but this link to a story from Radiolab from NPR will provide some fanciful notions on how they got it on, or  should that be “in”? http://www.radiolab.org/blogs/radiolab-blogland/2013/aug/06/subtle-mysteries-dinosaur-sex/ 

Exercise in Bed (It's Not What You Think)

For days, weeks, months, YEARS, Gilda has been hounding me to exercise, to stretch, so my lower back would not hurt. Naturally, I resisted, for what would any marriage be if a husband submitted without a fight to his wife's entreaties. I finally won a round in this continuous battle of what I say is a bulging disc but Gilda says is merely weak muscles, when Gilda agreed to buy a new bed. The Sleep Number mattress, indeed, has been much better for my back pain than the Tempur-Pedic, but I retained some residual pain. So, Friday night, as Gilda slept next to me, I downloaded three videos of recommended stretching exercises.

I'm nothing if not lazy when it comes to exercise, so the WebMD video I chose to start with had the added bonus of permitting me to stretch without leaving the comfort of my bed. As Gilda showered Saturday morning I started the first of the five stretching routines. Whatd’ya know? My back felt better, so much so that even an afternoon four mile walk across the Bridge over the Hudson in Poughkeepsie didn't bother it. 

The real test would be during sleep Saturday night and then pitching a softball game Sunday morning. I woke up 15 minutes early, slid softly into Ellie's old bedroom, lay down on the relocated Tempur-Pedic and ran through the routines. I had a twinge of pain on the ball field, but nothing to complain about. I pitched nine innings; had four solid hits in five at bats. We won.

Moral of the story: Looks like stretching exercise works. It's going to be real hard admitting this to Gilda. Even harder keeping up the regimen every day. Anyway, for those wondering which exercises worked for me, here's a link to the video: http://www.webmd.com/back-pain/living-with-low-back-pain-11/five-back-pain-stretches

Car Update: Like any new car, the Ford C-Max is prone to recalls. First, the tail lift gate needed refinement. Sometimes, when you waved your foot under the back carriage of the car, the lift gate would unlock but not automatically rise. A simple correction. 

Then, we got two notices on the same day about a week ago. Ford needed to add more interior head protection in case of an accident. I’m cool with that.

The other notice was a real shocker. Right now, for the first 6,000 miles, our hybrid car is getting a little over 43 miles per gallon vs. an EPA/DOT rating of 47. Gilda gets better mileage when she’s driving to and from work. When I drive on weekends, I get lower mileage as I’m usually on the highway exceeding 65 mph and the C-Max switches from battery to gas engine at speeds exceeding 62 mph. But Ford told us in that second notice that, free of charge, it will recalibrate the powertrain control module to operate electrically up to 85 mph! Better gas mileage, here we come.

I Plead Youthful Ignorance: While transferring VHS family videos to DVDs, I came across some film of my parents and their three children at the beach. But what's that on my head? Looks like a blue baseball hat with a capital B. A Brooklyn Dodgers cap! Sacré bleu! All I can say to my NY Yankees friends is that I appear to be about four-years-old at the time and was clearly under the influence of my eight-year-old brother. By the time I was 7 it looks like I was wearing a Yankees cap at a school outing. Phew.

The old family films also showed I disdained water from an early age. Some film of a family vacation at Takanassee, a hotel in Fleishmanns, NY, where we’d spend several weeks each summer before we were sent off to sleepaway camp when I was seven, shows me resisting my mother’s urging to get into the pool. The video shows her dragging me into the water, me holding her tightly once we are in the pool. Other footage at what I believe was Rockaway Beach has me clinging to the neck of a family friend who thought he could persuade me to test the waters on my own. 

My friend Ken still thinks he can teach me to swim. Who am I to disagree with him? But as sportscaster Warner Wolf used to say when he was on television, “Let’s go to the videotape” to see the truth of the matter.

Transitions From Legos to Purses, From Minimum Wages To Yankees and a Remembrance

This time I really do have a pretty legitimate reason for going dark over the last 10 days. For most of that period Finley and Dagny, along with their parents Dan and Allison, came down from Massachusetts to spend a stay-cation week with us. They enjoyed a trip to the Bronx Zoo, Coney Island (the boardwalk, kiddie rides, the beach and lunch at Nathan’s), Muscoot Park and LegoLand. 

But what might be considered the highlight of the visit, at least for Finley and Dan, was the retrieval from the attic of hundreds, if not thousands, of Lego pieces Gilda and I thoughtfully stored for our grandchildren some 25 years ago. I’m not sure who was more enthralled by this reclamation, Dan or Finley. Our grandson was genuinely excited by the battery-operated train, and the helicopter and police wagon with flashing lights and sirens. As much as the resurrected Legos brought back memories of Dan constructing a whole village on most of his bedroom floor during his childhood, Dan was clearly the most captivated. When all the grownups had stopped watching a movie to go to bed Thursday night, Dan stayed up another half hour, rebuilding planes, aided by the schematic instructions we had carefully saved.   

Friday morning Dan and Finley were back into the Legos. In case you’re wondering, we did not ship the Legos home with Dan and Finley. As if they needed a further incentive to visit, Finley and Dan (and when she’s older, Dagny) have another reason to venture south.

Anyone who believes racism, overt or subtle, does not exist, not just in our society but worldwide as well, was treated to another dose of reality this past week when Oprah Winfrey was steered away from looking at a $38,000 purse to a less expensive handbag in a Swiss boutique. Though the store claims it was just a misunderstanding, there’s little doubt the salesperson assumed a person of color could not afford a $38,000 purse, so why bother wasting time. 

Beyond the black humor (pun intended) of perhaps the richest woman in the world (white or black) not being treated royally, here’s my question—who really needs a $38,000 piece of stitched leather? The excesses of the outrageously wealthy over the last two decades have been grotesque, with too many buying automobiles for sums greater than many people pay for homes. Oprah is a symbol to many who struggle every day. Why would she so blatantly flaunt values that do not correlate with her core audience?

When I was young, our relatives and family friends would put a dollar inside any new wallet my brother, sister or I received. Lee double-dipped when she received a new purse. It was always a nice surprise to find the cash inside our new wallets and purses. I wonder, how much does Stedman have to put inside Oprah’s new pocketbooks? Anything less than a cool grand would seem rather cheap, don’t you think?

Speaking of cheap, I’m pretty supportive of fast food workers seeking a more livable wage. One of my first big stories in trade journalism for my former company dealt with efforts to raise the minimum wage back in 1977. The restaurant industry railed against it, claiming any increase would shove operators over the brink, forcing them to close down, resulting in fewer foodservice employers and employees. My publisher wanted me to write a story supporting those assertions, but the facts, as I researched them, showed otherwise. That story wound up winning a corporate prize as the best news article of the year.

You might have heard Fox Business News anchor Neil Cavuto last week rant that too many people disdain working for fast food eateries. “It’s like jobs aren’t enough these days,” he opined. “They damn well better pay well or folks just really aren’t going to apply for them at all. Did I ever tell you that when I was a kid, you’d be grateful for any job you could find. Now a lot of kids are just the opposite, turning up their nose at fast food jobs that go begging at 11 bucks an hour. It’s true!”

The 54-year-old commentator said that when he was 16 he eagerly took a minimum wage job at $2 an hour at Arthur Treacher’s in Danbury, Conn., the first rung on his ladder of success. But as Mother Jones pointed out, Cavuto has a problem with math, which kinda kills his credibility as a financial expert. His $2 an hour in 1974 adjusted for inflation would be about $9.47 today; “Cavuto made the equivalent of $1.22 per hour more than the current minimum wage in Connecticut today and $2.22 per hour more than the current federal minimum wage (of $7.25).”

Mother Jones noted “Cavuto's riff also misses the larger point, which is that the living-wage fight isn't about 16-year-olds with no kids whose parents cover their basic living expenses. The median fast food worker is 28 years old, and the median female fast food worker is 32. Their wages have dropped an average of 36 cents since 2010. And they're making less than Neil Cavuto ever did.”

On another fast food point, I stopped in McDonald’s a few times recently. The Golden Arches might still be considered fast food, but I can vouch that service is definitely NOT fast. With its extensive and growing menu McD’s has a real systems problem from the time an order is placed until food is delivered to the customer. 

It’s hard to watch the NY Yankees these days, even when they win, which they don’t do often enough. Forget about the A-Rod mania. No one will come out ahead in that fiasco. Friday night’s and Sunday’s games versus the Detroit Tigers showed how fragile the Yankee season is. Mariano Rivera blew two saves (three in a row going back to last Wednesday in Chicago against the White Sox, the first time Mo has done that in his illustrious career). In 54 previous innings against the Tigers he had yielded just two home runs. He gave up three in two appearances this weekend. 

If Yankee fans can’t count on Mariano to nail down victories, who can they rely on? For the moment, it seems to be Brett Gardner, both in the field and at bat. He made a game-saving catch Sunday against Torii Hunter and then belted a game-winning home run in the bottom of the ninth. This after getting the game-winning hit Friday night after Mo blew the save. 

Gardner’s heroics would have been appreciated, and Rivera’s travails lovingly tolerated, by Herb Bilus who passed away August 1, a week after his 92nd birthday. Herb loved the Yankees, the NY Football Giants, politics, current events, poker and other card games, his community of Bloomfield, NJ, and, most of all, his family.   

Even to funerals I rarely wear ties these days. Yet it would have seemed disrespectful not to wear one to pay my last respects to Herb. So there I was in tie and suit, at the service and then internment in a cemetery with a picturesque view of the New York skyline. Herb was one of the Tom Brokaw-coined “greatest generation,” a Coast Guard veteran of the D-Day landings. As the last of the vanguard who made our world safe for democracy die off, taps reverberates through the grassy knolls of their final resting places. Often it can be a recording. For Herb, a solitary live trumpeter played the soulful notes as an honor guard saluted and then rolled up an American flag that draped his coffin.

I knew Herb for just 25 or so years. He was the father, father-in-law and grandfather of some of our family’s closest friends. Here’s a reprise of what I wrote about Herb on the 66th anniversary of D-Day:

Surrounded by two of his three daughters and their husbands, three of his six grandchildren, two great grandchildren, a grandson-in-law and a couple of friends of the family, Herb Bilus had steak for dinner Sunday evening. Sixty-six years ago to the day, June 6, 1944, Herb enjoyed another steak off the shores of Normandy after his Landing Craft Infantry (LCI) #96 delivered its first load of soldiers to Utah Beach as part of the greatest invasion in history.

Hard to believe Ensign Bilus and his cohorts would stop for a hearty meal while the fighting raged, but his commander had promised steak for all officers if they came through their first mission successfully, and so the officers, perhaps even the total crew of 22 Coast Guard sailors, celebrated their good fortune before going back to secure another load of 120 4th Army infantrymen bound for the beaches of France. Herb’s LCI was part of Flotilla 4, a group of 24 LCI ships. They made their initial drop during the sixth wave, roughly six hours after D-Day landings began. By the end of the day, four of their ships were lost off Omaha Beach.

It was off Omaha Beach Herb witnessed true courage, and fear, under fire. It was the task of each LCI to deliver its precious cargo of fighting men as close to the beach as possible, close enough so they could wade ashore without being sucked under by the weight of their packs. Anyone who has seen the first 30 minutes of Saving Private Ryan may remember scenes of GI’s dropped off too soon. As they hit the too-deep water, they sunk to the bottom, drowned before firing a shot. Saving Private Ryan was closer to D-Day reality than any other movie, says Herb.

On one of their runs at Omaha Beach, under heavy incoming fire, a high ranking Navy officer ordered Herb’s ship commander, a Coast Guard lieutenant, to lower his ramps to drop off troops. The lieutenant disobeyed the direct order, arguing the water was too deep. While the Navy man dropped off his load to a watery death, Herb’s skipper steered his ship closer to the beach, giving his soldiers a chance to get to shore “safely,” if such a term can be used to describe any landing that day.

The lieutenant, Marshall was his first name (Herb recalls his last name but I’m going to leave it out for what will be evident shortly), was unusual for a couple of reasons. Jewish by birth, Marshall refused to use his last name. It was too ethnic. Even when a telegram came for him under his full name, he would not acknowledge it.

Herb also suspects Marshall was gay. He was a real dandy, going off by himself during shore leave, wearing felt gloves and carrying a swagger stick. An artist, Marshall painted a mural about Flotilla 4 in the English estate house provided to them in Dartmouth by the author Agatha Christie.

They lived in close quarters aboard LCI #96. Herb has trouble reconciling current opposition to lifting the ban on allowing homosexuals to serve openly in the armed forces.

In a few weeks, Herb will be 89. He’s considered a youngster at his independent living residence in downtown White Plains. They don’t start counting your years until you’ve completed nine decades. Herb’s full of life and stories. Those interested in reading more about Herb’s exploits can do so by linking to an oral history he provided Rutgers University: http://oralhistory.rutgers.edu/alphabetical-index/31-interviewees/804-bilus-herbert.

For those who don’t know, Herb’s daughters are Jane Gould, Pat Lager and Fran Bilus Feldman.

  

Derek Jeter to the Rescue?

“Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? 

A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.” 

Today's “Mrs. Robinson” lyric might substitute Derek Jeter for Jolting Joe.

Derek Jeter might play again for the NY Yankees this weekend. It’s not just the Yankees who need his bat and presence back in the lineup. Major League Baseball needs Jeter. With his clean cut image and, to the best of anyone’s knowledge, his drug-free career, Jeter will be called upon to rescue America’s one-time pastime from its steroid and performance enhanced nightmare. 

Forty-five years ago, when Paul Simon included Joe DiMaggio in his iconic send-up of Mrs. Robinson, it perplexed many, including DiMaggio. Simon, who attends many games at Yankee Stadium, explained in a March 9, 1999, New York Times Op-Ed piece after the “Yankee Clipper’s” death a day earlier, that the line was meant as a sincere tribute to DiMaggio's unpretentious heroic stature, in a time when popular culture magnifies and distorts how we perceive our heroes.  

"In these days of Presidential transgressions and apologies and prime-time interviews about private sexual matters,” wrote Simon, “we grieve for Joe DiMaggio and mourn the loss of his grace and dignity, his fierce sense of privacy, his fidelity to the memory of his (former) wife (Marilyn Monroe) and the power of his silence” (http://www.nytimes.com/1999/03/09/opinion/the-silent-superstar.html).

Many thought Ryan Braun of the Milwaukee Brewers was cut in the mold of Jeter. We have learned otherwise. We already knew Alex Rodriguez was no Derek Jeter. Fans of the NY Mets and baseball were caught off-guard when pitching sensation Matt Harvey said in recent interviews that he wanted to be like Jeter, not the Jeter who has conscientiously led his team to five World Series championships without a hint of scandal or bravado, but rather he wanted to date fashion models like Jeter, to own the best bachelor apartment in Manhattan like Jeter, to sign a $200 million contract like Jeter (http://www.nydailynews.com/sports/baseball/mets-ace-matt-harvey-derek-jeter-model-article-1.1401745). Some have excused the 24-year-old’s comments as the musings of a still immature player who has yet to complete his first full year in the big leagues. Of course, Jeter never publicly made any such pronouncements after he joined the Yankees just before his twentieth birthday. Harvey also posed nude for ESPN The Magazine. Harvey seems to be channeling A-Rod, not Jeter.

Jeter is not the only star who can soften the glare of the negative spotlight baseball is under. His teammate Mariano Rivera, who received the adulation of fans and other players during last week’s All-Star Game, showed again why he is respected. WFAN reported Wednesday that when Rivera noticed a portrait of 2011 MVPs Ryan Braun (National League) and Justin Verlander (American League) hanging in the visitors’ locker room of the Texas Rangers Monday, he told an attendant the picture should be removed. It was gone the next day. 

It might be, probably is, asking too much of Jeter to be an impact player during the last third of the season. He’s already a freak of nature for performing at the level he has these last few years as he approaches his fifth decade of life. Perhaps we should be content that Rivera has defied Father Time. Jeter has earned his place as an honored and honorable face of baseball. Then again, unlike Alex Rodriguez, as the post-season has shown, Jeter does not let pressure affect his game. He just might be the catalyst the Yankees and baseball need to make this season memorable in a good way.

Sex and the City (Politic), Curse of the Cursive, Summer Memories

I blame the Yankees. 

You might have noticed I'm blogging less often these days. It's not for lack of something to say, but rather because I'm spending hours watching NY Yankees baseball games. I had every intention of blogging Sunday afternoon but wound up hooked on the Yankees-Orioles game. After Mariano Rivera blew his second save of the season by giving up a two-run homer to Adam Jones in the top of the ninth, I was too depressed to write. 

That explains Sunday. What about the rest of the week? Well, most Yankees games are in the evening, so I while away (some would say, waste away) my time staring at the TV screen. I better finish this blog and post it before the first pitch this evening. ...

Sex and the City: Now that Eliot Spitzer has declared his candidacy for comptroller of New York City on the heels (stiletto heels?) of Anthony Weiner’s bid to become mayor, it is not too presumptuous to say the Big Apple has a taste for scandal-plagued politicians. I don’t mean that disrespectfully. I never really followed Weiner’s rise (pun intended) to stardom, but I was a fan of the former governor. Two years ago when Spitzer appeared on Real Time with Bill Maher and began writing Op-Ed pieces I foresaw his return to politics. You might not agree with his zeal or holier-than-thou attitude (not really tempered since his fall from grace), but one cannot deny that his positions are progressive and that he voices noble sentiment for the masses not often heard from most politicians.  

Will Weiner’s and Spitzer’s sexual indiscretions hamper their electability? Doubtful. Even in socially conservative areas like South Carolina and Georgia voters supported Mark Sanford and Newt Gingrich despite their failure to live up to their wedding vows. And many New Yorkers still like Rudy Giuliani despite his less than faithful allegiance to his former wife. 

Bottom line—As long as their campaign platforms don’t undermine their name recognition advantage, Weiner and Spitzer are in strong positions to win their contests.

Curse of the Cursive: When I went off to journalism graduate school at Syracuse University back in the late summer of 1971, I took along for hanging on my apartment wall a copy of the Declaration of Independence reprinted on the full back page of the first section of the July 4th edition of The New York Times. (Time out for a short history lesson: for those who might not be aware of it, the Declaration was not in fact signed on July 4, 1776. Independence was voted on and declared on July 2. The text of the Declaration was adopted by the Continental Congress on July 4. Most of the signatures were affixed on August 2. And that famous picture of the delegates signing the document, which hangs in the rotunda of the Capitol—never happened. A figment of the artist’s imagination.)

Back to the point at hand. It was, admittedly, not easy reading the text of the Declaration. Written in script common to the colonial era—a large lower case “f” where an “s” would normally be, and other oddities of the day—the document is dense reading, in its appearance and content. When I left Syracuse the following June with my diploma I didn’t take the Declaration with me. No matter. Each July 4 The Times would reprint a copy. Sometimes at Independence Day barbecues my friends and I would read the text out loud, haltingly, to be sure, as we struggled to decipher the cursive writing. 

I’m not sure if this was the first year The Times did it, but it was the first time I noticed the newspaper no longer reprints the Declaration in its original form across the full back page of the first section. Instead, the reproduction is an inset while the text is printed in regular type. Sure, it’s easier to read, but is The Times sending a subtle message that our population’s script-reading skills have deteriorated to the point where a majority of us cannot read cursive writing? For a look at some of the debate on the value of cursive writing, check out these articles and opinion pieces: http://query.nytimes.com/search/sitesearch/#/cursive+handwriting/365days/

Summer Memories: While we’re on the subject of the Fourth of July, I was reminded that for 15 years I attended summer camp but cannot recall with any clarity any celebration of our nation’s birthday. True, these were Jewish, Zionist, sleepaway camps in the 1950s and 1960s, but we did raise the American flag every day and pledged allegiance. 

What I do vividly recall is another commemoration, more somber. Tisha B’Av. The ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av, the day attributed to many calamities that befell the Jewish people through the ages, including the destruction of the First and Second Temples in, respectively, 586 BCE and 70 CE. 

Tisha B’Av is a fast day, and since Jewish days begin at sunset, we’d eat dinner early. After the meal the staff would rearrange the dining hall, turning benches over on their sides. Lights were shut off. On top of every bench, four to a bench, candles inside scooped out potatoes, were placed, to provide light by which we sang the Book of Lamentations. You can imagine the first impression this austere ceremony had on a boy of seven, and my subsequent years at camp. The fireworks of the Fourth of July did not hold a candle to the evocative sorrow of Tisha B’Av. Tisha B’Av will begin next Monday night. 

Lox vs. Locks and Tuesday Movies Go Dark

Your faithful correspondent and his wife returned home shortly after 3 am today from a week-long trip to California, first to visit my sister Lee and her husband David in Los Angeles and then to attend a wedding in Laguna Beach where the weather couldn’t have been better—the whole weekend a balmy 71 degrees with a slight ocean breeze. That compares quite favorably to the mid 80s and high humidity in White Plains today.

My only complaint about the trip was I never got an opportunity to watch any episode of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart or The Colbert Report. Here’s an example of why I miss those two shows:

When you’re a Jewish comedian as Stewart is, you run the risk of telling an “inside” joke your gentile guest has no idea you’re making. During his interview with actress Ellen Page Monday night, Stewart couldn’t contain his positive feelings about Canada, especially Halifax, Nova Scotia, Page’s home town. He concluded his gushing by saying, “and by the way, the lox that they make ...” To which Page immediately responded, “I know, you can’t break the locks.”

I laughed at Stewart’s ethnic culinary joke and even harder at Page’s non sequitur response. To his credit, Stewart didn’t flinch. Though he tried to salvage the joke, the conversation quickly moved to another topic. No doubt, when he reviewed the tape of the show he mused and was bemused by the shmeared exchange.

It’s Tuesday Free Movie Day: Only until the end of May. My fellow senior citizens and I have been dealt a cruel blow. In the same week The NY Times came out with its summer movies preview section, we received notice that free Tuesdays and discounted-films-all-other-times at Clearview Cinemas we qualify for as part of our Cablevision Optimum Triple Play package will terminate by the end of the month. 

Cablevision has sold Clearview Cinemas. Until the company follows through on a promise of new movie deals, this will be a looong summer. Not just for me but for many seniors who took advantage of the free movies on Tuesdays. The promotion was not restricted to those in the sunset years, but we have been the major beneficiaries of the benefit. With everyone trying to stretch their bucks as far as they can, the free movie deal was a real bonanza. Consider this: Seniors normally pay $8 per ticket. You were entitled to two free tickets per week. If you went to the movies at Cleaview just one Tuesday a month, by yourself, you’d save $96. Go more often, or with a spouse, partner or friend, and the savings really added up. 

During the winter, the first screening started around 4 pm. But during the summer it was pushed up to around noon. Over the last few years I thought I’d take more advantage of the deal but something more important always came up. Now I’m feeling kinda disappointed I didn’t see more free films. 

News Updates: Gilda’s averaging a little more than 45 miles per gallon in her Ford C-Max. She’s even logged in a 50-plus mpg drive to work (the car informs you what your mpg was each time you turn off the motor). ... A quarter of the baseball season has passed and the NY Yankees are in first place. I readily admit it, I never expected this. Nor did I expect the Yanks to be among the American League team leaders in home runs, have the best earned run average and be ranked third in team defense. All this without a laundry list of high-priced veteran stars on the disabled list. Which should make Yankee fans wonder if our pursuit of top-dollar free agents might be a mistake going forward. Perhaps all we need are hungry-to-succeed players bolstered by a Robinson Cano who is having a monster of a year. ... Did you notice that American retailers did not join in the global effort to monitor and fund work and building conditions in Bangladesh. The plan was good enough for foreign-based retailers such as H&M, Inditex (Zara) and C&A to sign on, but U.S. companies like Wal-Mart and Gap resisted, believing their individual efforts would be better. Perhaps, as well, they feared being told what to do. It’s the same mentality that scuttled U.S. approval of a proposed United Nations treaty that would regulate international weapon sales despite the treaty’s specific language guaranteeing each country the right to maintain its own internal regulations, in our case the Second Amendment right to bear arms. ... JC Penney’s new/old boss Myron “Mike” Ullman has reinstated sales and pushed an aggressive advertising campaign acknowledging mistakes and asking disillusioned customers to come back. The ads have good production quality but the problem is they don’t reflect what’s going on inside the stores. Until Penney shifts its merchandise to match its customer profile, no amount of advertising will turn the battleship around. ... Here’s another example of Target getting a pass on a practice Wal-Mart would be crucified for: A new union election has been ordered for a Long Island store after it was ruled Target  acted improperly to stifle the vote, including threats to close the store if the union won certification. Wal-Mart’s constantly being harangued for its anti-union attitude. But few if any of the “sophisticates” who prefer “Tar-zhay” to Wal-Mart reconsider their patronage of the Minneapolis-based discounter.  

Signs of Spring

With a new storm set to tumble across our area in the next day one might not agree with me that this has been a mild winter in New York. Gilda, for one, disagrees. She says it’s been colder than normal. All I know is I have shoveled less snow than in years’ past so I'm okay with this season. I’ve also got my own built-in system to gauge the weather. I have numerous winter coats worn depending on how cold it is. A different coat for every 10 degrees of change. I can remember just a few days this season when my extreme wardrobe was called into action. 

Some think robins are harbingers of spring. To me it's the return of the lustrous black grackle. They made their appearance at the feeding trough over the last week.

Another signal the seasons are changing is the migration of baseball players to Florida for spring training. For NY Yankees fans it’s not a season of new prospects but rather a time to hope creaking, aging bodies will loosen up and stay healthy for another season (latest to require a two month rest—Mark Teixiera after injuring his wrist swinging a bat). Derek Jeter. Andy Petittte. Mariano Rivera. Can they make it through another grueling season?

For at least a decade Jeter has been the face of baseball. No hint of scandal, on or off the field. Professional in every way. But truth be told, the image of baseball is changing. It is morphing into Buster Posey. Two out of the last three years the team he plays for, the San Francisco Giants, have won the World Series. Posey is the heart and soul of the Giants. If you watched any of the World Series last fall you probably saw Posey’s smiling, puckish face a few times whenever, that is, he deemed it necessary to remove his protective helmet. Posey is a catcher, perhaps the most demanding position on the field.

Catchers don't look like catchers anymore. Not like the catchers of my youth. Back then, a catcher’s body resembled a fire hydrant. Short and squat. Think Yogi Berra. Or Smoky Burgess. Or Roy Campanella. Or Johnny Rosboro. They were hardly good looking. Think Thurman Munson.

Today's catchers are trim, cute, good looking. Pitchmen for shampoos. Think Joe Mauer. Even backup catchers like Chris Stewart are lean.

Where did all the bulk go. Apparently to first base. Think Pablo Sandoval of the Giants, affectionately called “Kung Fu Panda” because of his rotund size. The 2012 World Series MVP is 5’11” tall and weighs 240 pounds. Yet he looks small compared to Prince Fielder of the Detroit Tigers. Prince looks like he ate his way to a throne. On his 5’11” inches he packs 275 pounds.

Let’s get back to Thurman Munson. He was a link in the chain of home-grown Yankees who epitomized the team. I’ll confine this discourse to the free agent era. When one thinks of Yankee greats, following Munson there was the Don Mattingly era followed by the Bernie Williams-Jorge Posada-Jeter-Pettitte-Rivera era. The problem with the Yankees of today is the absence of home-grown superstars, with the exception of Robinson Cano, who will step up when Jeter-Pettitte-Posada retire. Yankee fans like winning, so we accept the strategy of buying talent on the open market. But our hearts, our long-term allegiances, are extended to those who came up through the Yankee farm system. Sure, there are some players who have been Yankees throughout their careers. But let’s face it. Brett Gardner is a nice ballplayer. So is David Robertson. Phil Hughes. Joba Chamberlain. They may wear the same pinstripes as Jeter-Pettitte-Rivera, but they don’t measure up. 

Spring is the time of eternal optimism in baseball clubhouses and TV rooms across the country. For Yankee fans, this season has all the earmarks of 1965-redux. If you’re a true Bronx Bomber fan, you know what I mean. All the rest of you, you can look it up. 

Be Prepared

If I were president of the United States running for re-election and faced with a shifty opponent, I’d marshal all my resources in the coming days to react swiftly and humanely should a crushing blow land. I’m talking, of course, not about Mitt Romney but rather a transmuted Hurricane Sandy, or the “Frankenstorm” being predicted to strike the Eastern Seaboard and parts of Ohio and West Virginia as early as Sunday after Sandy’s winds mix with an early winter storm coming from the west. Politicians can’t do anything to prevent storms, but they sure can suffer the consequences if they fail to react appropriately (see George W. Bush and Hurricane Katrina, or New York City Mayor John Lindsay and the snowstorm that buried Queens). 

So, President Obama, forget about any planned campaign stops early next week. Your priority is to appear presidential. Get yourself to the stricken areas lickety-split. Make sure FEMA responds in a timely manner. Declare disaster areas and the availability of emergency relief funds. Don’t let Romney say you’re ignoring the pain and suffering of people in the affected areas as you care only about keeping your job. 

Speaking of keeping a job, word came yesterday that Mariano Rivera, the NY Yankee relief pitcher beyond compare, is considering retiring rather than return post-injury to the 2013 roster. Why would the all-time saves leader not want to try another run for glory? Doesn’t he want to re-unite with Derek Jeter, once he recuperates from his injury, and possibly Andy Pettitte should he decide to come back? 

Perhaps Rivera’s been pondering the team’s playoff futility record over the past 12 seasons. Eleven playoff qualifications, World Series appearances in 2001, 2003, and 2009, but just one title (2009). Better than most teams, but surely not up to the standard the Yankees set for themselves. Their hitting prowess seems to vanish all too often in the playoffs, as it did this year. Too often the team’s closer has not even entered a game, so why put oneself through more than six months of practice and games? Rivera has nothing to prove. He is the best. He already has five World Series rings.

Time to spend more time with his family. My guess is Rivera will opt to conditionally retire from baseball. He won’t come back unless his successor, Raphael Soriano, decides to leave the team or gets injured. So, Yankee fans, be prepared to never hear “Enter Sandman” ever again, except for the day Rivera’s uniform number 42 is officially retired. 

Perhaps you’ve noticed fewer posts of late. Not that there’s less to write about, it’s just I am very discouraged by the quality of the rhetoric in this campaign and the inability of too many Americans, especially women, to grasp the social changes that would transpire if Romney wins. Romney may claim to tolerate a woman’s right to an abortion in cases of rape, incest or danger to her life, but he lacks the spine to stand up to the ultra-right wingers, which include his vice presidential running mate, who want to outlaw all abortions and even believe contraception is heinous and should not be permitted. Nor does Romney champion equal pay for women. Nor does he support funding for Planned Parenthood which provides health care, not just abortion services, to millions of women who cannot afford regular doctor’s visits. Romney says hundreds of thousands of women lost their jobs during the Obama years. The actual figure is less than 100,000, bad, yes, but understandable given the economy Obama inherited. Romney blasts Obama for investing stimulus money in failed companies. He says half of the companies that received stimulus funds have filed for bankruptcy. CNN, however, points out just 8% of the stimulus companies have failed, compared to 22% of the companies Romney invested in during his years at Bain Capital. 

I don’t normally watch Fox News. I admit most of what I view of it comes from clips on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart or The Colbert Report. Snippets can be made to sound whichever way you want them to sound, but when they play an extended clip you really have to wonder how these people get away with what they say. Take, for example, recent comments by Peter Johnson, Jr. Saying that he had no evidence to back up his claim, Johnson opined the deaths of our Libyan ambassador and three other Americans were acceptable to the Obama administration if it meant militants would be appeased. What upsets me is that Johnson, or apparently anyone on Fox News, can make a claim without evidence. What upsets me more is that people take these rants as fact. That they believe the birthers. That they care about what Donald Trump says. 

In the ongoing rage over Republican comments about rape, one has to be struck by the fervor these GOP candidates possess that God intended these despicable acts to occur. Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt, that they truly believe all events are God’s will. With that reasoning in mind, why is it they deny the legitimacy of Obama’s election in 2008? Are they willing to work with him if he wins re-election, for surely God would have shown his pleasure in Obama if he triumphs a second time? Are they prepared to accept God’s mysterious ways if Obama emerges victorious from the fires of election politics and Electoral College mathematics? They may be true believers, but doubtful they have it within their souls to go that far in service of their deity.

Second Looks at FDR, Trickle Down, Talk Radio and Yankee Playoffs

The calendar may read 2012 but take a look at this news clip from September 29, 1936 (courtesy of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart). You can speed through the first minute of the 2:30 minute video if you don’t want to hear Stewart’s cheeky analysis of Republican budget promises, but do view Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s biting sarcasm as he describes Republican interest in providing Social Security, work for the unemployed and saving people’s homes during the Depression: http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/tue-october-9-2012/democalypse-2012---vague-against-the-machine---the-numbers-guy. Oh how similar it sounds to today’s political discourse. 

Mitt Romney has been getting lots of mileage from his transformation of the anti-GOP phrase “trickle down economics” into an anti-liberal entitlement message of “trickle down government.” Are Barack Obama and Joe Biden going to be swift enough with retorts to point out all the trickle down government benefits one-percenters like Romney and Paul Ryan get from off-shoring their money while corporations get energy and farm subsidies and other tax benefits for locating businesses in specific communities? Obama blew his first opportunity during last week’s debate. There are three more head-to-head formats to challenge an ever-position-changing Romney.

It’s probably safe to say most leaders of big businesses favor Romney and his lower taxes, fewer regulations stances. But few corporate biggies, I would venture to say, are so openly blatant in their assessment of what would trickle down to their workers if Obama is re-elected. If he wins, David Siegel told his 7,000 employees, their jobs at Westgate Resorts would be at risk. "If any new taxes are levied on me, or my company, as our current President plans, I will have no choice but to reduce the size of this company," he wrote in a 1,400-word e-mail. "Rather than grow this company I will be forced to cut back. This means fewer jobs, less benefits and certainly less opportunity for everyone."  http://money.cnn.com/2012/10/09/news/economy/siegel-email-employees/index.html?hpt=hp_t2

Riding home from Massachusetts Monday afternoon, with Gilda reading from her iTouch, I listened to some sports radio. Eventually she wondered how I could listen to such drivel. She was right. It was quite banal. But I just couldn’t tolerate hearing more presidential politics from the talk shows. At least with baseball or football talk I could laugh off the stupidity and inanity of the callers and hosts. What’s the worse that could happen? The Yankees could lose the playoff series to the Baltimore Orioles. It’s not as if the nation would reverse gear and go back to the 1950s in its treatment of minorities and women. At least I hope it wouldn’t. Wait a minute ... in the 1950s the Yankees won eight American League pennants and six World Series; the NY Football Giants played in three championship games, winning one. Maybe the 1950s wasn’t such a backward decade, after all.

Seriously, all my fretting about the Yankees not making the playoffs this year is forgotten, though the reasoning behind my worries continues. Throughout the 162-game regular season the Bronx Bombers displayed an aversion to scoring unless it was by the long ball. But home runs are hard to come by in the post-season, and the first two games showed their vulnerability. With the exception of Derek Jeter and Ichiro Suzuki, they all seem to be swinging for the fences instead of practicing situational hitting. 

Alex Rodriguez, as always, is the lightning rod for fan discontent. So many fans want him demoted, either taken out of the lineup for tonight’s game or moved lower in the batting order from his usual third spot. Manager Joe Girardi won’t grant their wishes. A-Rod is batting third, followed by Robinson Cano and then Nick Swisher. 

Swisher is one of my favorites, but he has been dreadful for many years in the playoffs when batting with runners in scoring position. He has one hit in some 33 at-bats. So don’t be surprised if Girardi has the left-handed hitting Raul Ibanez pinch-hit for the switch-hitting Swisher in a critical spot late in the game against a right-handed pitcher. Even if Baltimore countered with a left-handed pitcher, Yankee fans might feel there’s more of a chance for a hit with Ibanez swinging the lumber. He did, after all, bang two big home runs to tie ball games in the ninth inning and added a game-winning single in the last week of the season. If Swisher doesn’t want to be replaced when the game’s on the line, he has to produce earlier in the contest en route to a Yankee rout of the Orioles.

Summer's Over

Another summer gone by, another summer I didn’t learn how to swim. Can’t blame anyone but myself this time. I only dipped into a pool once, despite Ken’s entreaties that he had not yet completed his self-appointed task of teaching me to frolic in deep water. 

I didn’t ride a bike again, either. And from the following headline my reluctance has been validated: 

“Meijer Stores Recalls Bicycles Due to Fall Hazard”.

The accompanying report said pedals were detaching or coming loose during use, 29 times, causing 16 minor injuries. I stopped riding some 10 years ago, not because my bike was coming apart, but rather because I kept falling. 

Softball Update: One more game in the regular season coming up next Sunday. We’ve won three games so far (out of 15), which in this league qualifies for the playoffs because, believe it or not, there’s a team more challenged than we are, and all but the last place team gets into the post-season.

I’m not a Roger Clemens fan, but it’s nice to see a geezer trying to make a comeback. I can advise him from personal experience it’s no fun discovering new injury points. My left knee, which I sprained during the last inning of one of our early wins two months ago, still bothers me and now seems to “crack” all the time, especially when I turn sharply to the left (I know, don’t do that, but it’s hard not to when the staircase to upstairs in our home veers left at the raised living room landing).

As long as we’re talking sports, the NY Yankees lost again today, 4-3 to the Tampa Bay Rays. The Yanks’ lead over the Baltimore Orioles is just 1 game, just 2-1/2 over Tampa Bay. A month ago New York had a 10 game margin. 

Throughout the year it’s been either home run power for the Bronx Bombers or futility in hitting with men in scoring position. Though they knocked in three today without the benefit of a home run, in the critical ninth inning when trailing by the tie-breaking run given up in the bottom of the eighth, they twice failed to drive in the tying run in from second and then third base.

Even more of a problem is their batters have come up with an imperfect solution to their puny performance. Over the last month they’ve had so few hits that they place relatively few runners in scoring position. 

Age coupled with the long baseball season seem to have caught up to too many of their players. I can't blame injuries. All teams have them. But few teams are as vulnerable to being tired at this time of the year as the Yankees. I am getting myself mentally prepared for October baseball without pinstripes.

Horse of a Different Color: One of my conservative buddies during the Olympics sent me an email about Ann Romney’s dressage horse. Here it is:

“So the Romneys are selfish for keeping a horse? 

- Employing a groom with a family to support 

- Paying for feed that’s sold by someone with a family to support 

- Transported in trucks by someone with a family to support 

- And manufactured in a factory by people with families to support 

- From stuff that’s grown by farmers with families to support

- And having a barn built by construction workers with families to support 

- With materials trucked by drivers with families to support 

- From factories with workers with families to support.

“Sounds to me like that one horse has done more to put Americans to

work than that horse’s ass in the White House.”

Can’t fault those conservatives for not being imaginative in their attacks. Here’s how I responded: 

“By that reasoning passing the massive Obamacare bill gave work to all those lobbyists, all those typists and collateral people who trucked the bill to Congress, all the commentators who wrote and talked about it, etc., etc., etc., and their families. 

"In the end, Romney’s horse was like him. All show on the outside, but soft inside.”

Sewer Commissions and Other Noteworthy Beats

Over the course of many years as a journalist I’ve been approached by numerous students and recent graduates enamored with the idea of becoming a reporter. In the late 1970s and into the 1980s, I attributed it to the Woodward and Bernstein effect. Everyone wanted to be a crusading investigative reporter, exposing their own Watergate scandal to topple an administration. In the most recent decade interest in journalism has been jump-started by the Internet. With a laptop, or even a smart phone, anyone who could master technology could become an on-the-spot reporter.

When asked about the profession, I would counsel that most practitioners struggle to make a living, that the life of most reporters is one of drudgery, of going to one sewer commission meeting after another. Not that sewer commission meetings aren’t important. They are extremely vital to homeowners who desire to rid themselves of septic tanks by hooking up to the municipal waste system. It’s just not a very glamorous beat. 

But leave it to Linda Greenhouse, the former Supreme Court reporter and current blogger for The NY Times, and now a senior fellow at Yale Law School, to plumb the depths of a sewer commission dispute from Indianapolis to cast some perspective on how the Court may rule in the most important case before it, the validity of health care reform commonly called Obamacare. She doesn’t project how the Court will rule, but her analysis is intriguing. Here it is: http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/06/13/when-enough-is-enough/

Weariness has overtaken me. Though an admitted political junkie, I need a break from the never-ending cycle of presidential election news, especially when Romney refuses to provide specifics about his programs and the press lets him get away with it, the most recent case being their inability to pin him down on whether he would repeal Obama’s executive action not to deport under-30 illegal immigrants brought into the United States by their parents when they were young. Barring any action that may demand immediate commentary, I plan to step back from tossing more pabulum onto the pap pile until the nominating conventions. 

I’ll be more than mildly surprised if I adhere to this intention. Perhaps to make up for leaving you with less than a complete plate of political goodies, I’ll link you to commentaries I find interesting (in other words, ones I agree with). Here’s the first, from Timothy Egan: http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/06/14/the-clown-and-the-cop/

If I’m not going to write about politics, will sports assume more importance? Nah, but I do have to admit I was guilty a few weeks ago of not remembering the baseball season is a marathon, not a sprint. Back on May 22 I lamented how long a season it might be considering how poorly the NY Yankees were playing. 

Fast forward to today. The Yankees are in first place in the American League East. They’ve won eight in a row. Their pitching has been exceptional. As soon as they really start hitting (that means you A-Rod, Teixeira and Martin), they have a real shot at justifying their big salaries. Saturday they finally won a game without the benefit of a home run. The summer is looking better with each passing day. 

News from the Weekend

One of the recurring themes of this year’s presidential election is the effort to portray Mitt Romney and family as being more than slightly different than the average Joe, Jane and their children. The Romneys do, after all, have a net worth in the $220 million range.

Nonetheless, I have no doubt Mitt and Ann can identify with coupon-cutting families across the country. Of course, the coupons Mitt and Ann are clipping are from zero coupon bonds, but what the heck, they have to cut along the dotted lines, as well, to get their money. 

Chilly enough for you (at least those of you in the northeast)? With temperatures barely in the 60’s, with the skies mostly overcast, I think I may have jinxed the weather for everyone by removing our heated mattress pad on Saturday for a summer hiatus. Who knew the weather gods would react so quickly? Please, accept my apologies.

The weather cooperated over the weekend, first for a Prospect Park picnic Saturday in honor of soon-to-be-son-in-law Donny’s 30th birthday (Ellie cooked delicious fried chicken with several homemade salads) and then on Sunday for Ellie’s bridal shower at our friend Linda’s house. The rains held off until the ladies had retired from the tented garden patio to the comfort of the living room to open presents and eat some scrumptious desserts.

I did the unthinkable Friday night—I switched from watching a NY Yankees game to a NY Mets telecast.

The Yankees had bulletined Johan Santana’s bid for a no-hitter had entered the ninth inning. How could any baseball fan resist being a witness to history? I must say, I was emotionally involved when Santana ended the no-hitter with a flourish, the way it should always end, with a strikeout. 

Santana’s exploits notwithstanding, I’m not ready to abandon the Yankees. But it was heartwarming, for one night, to share in the joy of the “faithful,” long-suffering Mets fan. 

One of the last decisions I pondered while at Chain Store Age in 2009 was to cut the frequency of our monthly magazine down to nine times a year. I bring this up because of an article in today’s NY Times about the choices several daily newspapers have made to trim publication down to several times a week (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/04/business/media/as-newspapers-cut-analysts-ask-if-readers-will-remain.html?_r=1&src=me&ref=business).

As it was for me, the decisions tried to balance reduced advertising revenue with the need to cultivate and inform readers on a consistent basis. Ultimately, my management team determined we could not provide monthly publication frequency. I retired before the cuts could be implemented the following year. 

Another Times article caught my eye over the weekend. It too involved my former employer and “gaydar,” the ability to detect someone’s sexual orientation by merely looking at them (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/03/opinion/sunday/the-science-of-gaydar.html?_r=1).  

In the early 1980s one of the vice presidents of our company thought I needed an executive editor. He brought a woman candidate to my cubicle for an interview. She was very experienced, but not really interested in business journalism. I enjoyed hearing her background, but we agreed it would not be a great match.

After she left the vice president settled into my office to ascertain my reaction. These were semi-"Mad Men" days, so you’ll pardon his crude choice of words when he asked “if she and I could get into bed together” (possibly in his defense, keep in mind that publications are “put to bed” when they are printed).  

Anyway, I responded “I don’t think so, besides, she’s a lesbian.” How did I know that?, he asked incredulously. Simple, she told me, including the fact she had a relationship with Betty Friedan. 

That was the last time he ever recommended any candidate to me.

Health Notes

Gilda’s far more well-read than I. She absorbs books, magazines, newspapers and Web sites at a prodigious rate. She finds way more articles than I do to pass on to her mate, especially ones on exercise, diet and health. I’m forever fed a full plate of ways to improve myself—less red meat, more exercise, more fruits and vegetables, more exercise, fewer sweets, even those with sugar-substitutes, more exercise. 

Naturally, I relish the few instances when I can defend my almost indefensible (prone) position of non-activity. Two months ago I forwarded to her an article from the NY Times on a study of how statins can cause muscle aches and fatigue. The Times said the effects may be especially pronounced in people who exercise. As I take Simvastatin to reduce my cholesterol level, I found comfort in the study. Of course, the study subjects were rats, but I’ve been called worse, so I identified with the results. 

Today, The Times front-paged more anti-exercise ammunition. “For Some, Exercise May Increase Heart Risks, Researchers Find,” screamed the headline (http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/05/30/can-exercise-be-bad-for-you/?ref=health). The article suggested 10% of the population may fall under this risk classification. Not that I’m desirous of being susceptible to increased heart risk, but there’s no reason to tempt the Fates by openly inviting their wrath through exercise. Naturally, I sent the article along to Gilda. 

Another Times article today discussed the reluctance of patients to talk about their conditions with their physicians (http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/). I generally don’t have that problem. Indeed, Gilda tells me I am too loquacious, providing extraneous data, at least in her view as a medical professional (a nurse practitioner). Could be I’m camouflaging my anxiety by talking too much. 

Anyway, my next annual physical is tomorrow. My blood work is generally good—cholesterol down to 165; HDL 41, LDL 79. Triglycerides, while still above normal, are 31% lower than six months ago. Still have to work to reduce my blood sugar levels, though. 

Here’s a headline from today I really like: “Murray Fights Through the Pain to Advance.” It’s over an article about Andy Murray advancing to the third round of the French Open despite back and leg ailments. As anyone who has played ball with me knows, I’m always complaining about sore knees, sore Achilles tendons and lower back pain. I play through it all, as well, though I don’t always win. By the way, in games I have pitched in so far this year, including a nine-inning stint a week ago, our softball team is 2-1 (overall, 2-2). 

It’s been months since I tried to see a free movie on a Tuesday. But with a new flick out titled “Bernie,” my brother’s name, I was compelled to try the other day. I arrived half an hour before the 4:10 pm showing, but the film, starring Shirley MacLaine and Jack Black, was sold out. “Sold out” is really a euphemism for senior citizens and the unemployed taking advantage of free film cards they get as part of our cable company triple-play package. “Bernie” is about a mortician who befriends a wealthy, nasty old lady in Texas who he eventually kills and stuffs into a freezer on her property. It’s based on a true story. I’m hoping it will be at least as entertaining as “Weekend at Bernie’s.” 

Speaking of my brother, he and wife Annette just returned from Vietnam, a side trip from a visit to Hong Kong. My sister Lee and husband David toured Vietnam two years ago when their son Jonathan was working in Singapore. I’m a little envious of these trips. Now, that is. I could easily have preceded them to Vietnam 40 years ago had I passed my draft physical. As I previously wrote, I flunked my physical by being underweight, the first time in my life I ever was proud of my physique. 

Here’s another sign the NY Yankees of 2012 are a shell of their former selves. Despite a recent power shortage, particularly with the bases loaded (they’re 0 for their last 17), the Yankees really need more starting pitching, given the inconsistencies of Phil Hughes and Hiroki Kuroda plus the season-ending injury to Michael Pineda. Yet, the George Steinbrenner-less Yankees did not, or could not, convince Roy Oswalt to join their staff. Oswalt signed a reported $5 million, one-year deal with the Texas Rangers, more validation that the mantle of baseball dynasty, at least in the American League, has been transferred to the Rangers, league champions the last two years. 

True, the free-agent Oswalt is coming off an injury-plagued 2011, but there is little doubt he would be at least as effective as Hughes or Kuroda. It’s painful to watch the Yankees slip into mediocrity, at best, insignificance, at worst. I never thought I’d miss George. 

It’s enough to drive a fan to drink. But in New York City, if Mayor Michael Bloomberg has his way, you’ll be restricted in the size of sugary soft drinks you can purchase in a restaurant, deli or sports arena—no more than 16 ounces of pap per serving. It’s a health issue, part of Bloomberg’s continuous war on obesity and its causes. 

It’s disingenuous to argue sugared soft drink consumption doesn’t contribute to added weight and possibly to adult onset diabetes. Bloomberg’s opponents would argue he is dictating how people may live their lives, that he’s usurping (or is it un-syruping) their rights. Yet it is also indisputable the rising cost of health care for the obese and diabetic is a silent tax on everyone, that it is in the public interest to control consumption of products that destroy lives and cost the taxpayer to medicate. It’s just like efforts to fight tobacco use, or trans fats in restaurant food.

Now, as a long-time Coca-Cola drinker—the real stuff, not diet—until about 20 years ago, I can tell you some people do not gain weight from it. I wouldn’t have flunked that draft physical if Coke had packed pounds onto my frame. But Coke did play a part in elevating my blood sugar levels. 

I’m not thrilled the public and businesses would have some of their rights curtailed. But I am supportive of a government policy that aims to improve the quality of life for everyone, even if they don’t realize it’s in their best interests.