Woodstock, Mona Lisa, Red Squirrels and a Jewish Lament

The closest I got to Woodstock was marrying a woman who had a ticket to the 1969 three day festival but chose not to attend. 

With three of her friends Gilda bought $18 tickets to the transcendental festival after seeing a poster in Greenwich Village near where she worked for Hartz Mountain during the summer between her sophomore and junior years at Brooklyn College. Delores, Karen and Gilda would travel upstate to Bethel, NY, in Barbara’s car as she was the only one with a driver’s license and a car. 

This was nearly a half year before I showed up on Gilda’s radar, or she on mine, so the fact that she was madly infatuated with another young man at the time was not a cause of concern to me. During the summer of 1969 I was enjoying another splendid eight weeks as a division head in a sleepaway camp, Kfar Masada, in Rensselaerville, NY. 

As fate would have it, Gilda’s longing for a date with her heartthrob came to fruition on the same weekend as the Woodstock concert. She chose amour over music, sold her ticket, and bid her friends happy times.

They never made it to Yasgur’s farm. Traffic, overwhelming traffic, kept them and tens of thousands others from reaching their destination. Her friends pulled off Route 17 and found a church to sleep in on the floor. They went home the second day of the concert. 

As you undoubtedly figured out, Gilda’s love interest failed to reciprocate. Our paths crossed, repeatedly, during the next school semester. We began dating in December 1969. Yes, 1969 was a very good year.

Mona Lisa, Mon Amour: August used to be a good time to see the Mona Lisa at the Louvre. Parisians generally exit the city during August, leaving tourists to contend just with ... tourists. But these days there’s an abundance of tourists—the Louvre attracted a record 10.2 million gawkers last year, way more than any other museum, anywhere—meaning time spent staring at Mona Lisa’s eyes can be no more than the equivalent of a drive-by encounter, especially now that the Leonardo da Vinci portrait has been moved to temporary quarters 

(https://nyti.ms/2MeyNdn).

I’ve gazed upon the Mona Lise several times, the first being in August 1966 when I was 17 and visiting Paris for the first time. Accompanied by my cousin’s then husband, a struggling painter who spoke no English while I, despite two years of high school instruction, knew barely enough French to ask which way to the library (“Ou est la bibliotheque”), made my way through hall after hall of the Louvre. No doubt I passed by many works by renowned masters. Sadly, I couldn’t take advantage of my companion’s expert commentary. But as I wandered around the Louvre, mostly oblivious to the treasures before me, he did manage to point out the Venus de Milo standing amidst other statues, and, after I had walked past it, he brought me back to view the Mona Lisa. Back then she was treated like any other painting, hanging nondescriptly on a wall with other works of art. 

Red Scare: I spent more than a few minutes today, I sheepishly admit, entranced by the efforts of a grey squirrel to negotiate around a large inverted plastic funnel designed to prevent the rodent and his brethren from gaining access to the bird food I assiduously hang from trees in my side yard. Most of the time the enterprising squirrel backs away or falls to the ground without clutching the suspended cage holding the desired food. If he is successful, I shoo him away, admonishing him that the food is intended for the feathered, not the bushy tailed. 

The attempted incursion is mild compared to what is going on across the pond. Seems North American grey squirrels have taken over the British landscape and are threatening the existence of native born red squirrels, a more genteel species popularized in children’s books. The reds are about half the size of their trans-Atlantic cousins who are more aggressive food gatherers and who carry a disease the reds cannot withstand. 

It’s gotten so bad that in parts of the United Kingdom bounty hunters have been hired to kill grey squirrels. It’s a scenario a nativist like Donald Trump would embrace to safeguard against an unwanted immigrant horde (https://https://apple.news/A78Qbg70wT8-GP4bZSxE-nA).

Oy, Vey Ist Mir: If you are of a certain age and Jewish, there’s an ethnic ritual your parents practiced on you. Whenever a person of distinction, be he or she an entertainment celebrity, a scientist, a professional athlete, a politician, or any position, even a hoodlum, that brought you into the public eye, your parents would point out if they were Jewish. Younger readers may recognize what I am referring to if they are familiar with Adam Sandler’s Hanukkah song that highlights members of the tribe. 

Of course, not every high profile Jew elicited pangs of pride. Mobster Meyer Lansky was no source of chest thumping, though he did make life difficult for the pro-Nazi German-American Bund before World War II. Neither was Bernie Madoff a short time ago. And Jeffrey Epstein has clouded Jewish skies of late. Oy, the shame of it all. 

I’ve seen too many episodes of Homeland to categorically discount conspiracy theories surrounding how he was able to allegedly commit suicide in a federal lockup. I’m not willing to name whom I think might be behind Epstein’s demise, but I would definitely grill all the security guards at the Manhattan Metropolitan Correctional Center. Someone(s) had to be paid off. The key, as it was in Watergate, “Follow the money.” Someone is going to start spending dollars way beyond their pay grade. It might take years before the urge to splurge surfaces, but it will. It always does. 

More Sandy, Sandy, Sandy

Three days after Hurricane Sandy, the mailman finally resumed his appointed rounds, one day after the UPS man was able to deliver a package. So much for the “neither snow nor rain ...” motto of the U.S. Postal Service, which by the way, is not an official creed of the agency. Could Romney be right? Could private enterprise function better than a quasi-governmental entity? 

Perhaps, since “brown,” FedEx and any other company probably would not have to operate under the same constrictions imposed on the Postal Service, such as requiring congressional approval for rate hikes and service-related decisions, including the ability to cut off some delivery days and routes. Free enterprise is great but we should realize there are some functions that serve our national best interest if they are either government run or at the least government regulated. For example, could you imagine what would happen if the government did not oversee nuclear power facilities? How safe would you feel living near such a power plant. Even with government oversight I’m not too comfortable living within 28 miles of the Indian Point nuclear power plant in Buchanan, NY. 

Maybe government supervision of nuclear energy is easy to accept. How’s about something simpler, such as cell phone service. To be honest, our cell phone capabilities are lousy, far behind those in most other countries, including Third World nations. It’s because the government did not set national standards when the industry began. Only recently did consumers obtain the right to keep their telephone numbers when they switched carriers. 

Reagan and his blind followers were wrong to blame government as the problem. Waste is the problem. Even with occasional delays in getting my mail—mostly bills, promos for more credit cards and mail order prescriptions—our postal service is among the best in the world. If you have friends or relatives living in other countries, ask them about their postal horror stories.

By the way, if you didn’t know any better, you’d have sworn Barack Obama and Chris Christie were the best of buddies the way they hung together and talked effusively about each other during the president’s tour of wreckage in the governor’s state of New Jersey. Some reports say Republicans are upset with Christie for praising Obama when the election hangs in the balance. Obama, meanwhile, didn’t seem to hold a grudge for recent attacks Christie has launched on his leadership. The photo-op of Obama looking presidential visiting and comforting the Sandy’s victims was worth swallowing some pride. See, Democrats and Republicans can work together, or at least give the appearance of such. 

Turf Wars: Or should I say, tree wars. I wonder, what with all the downed trees, is there a nesting war going on among squirrels and birds forced to find new homes above us in trees already staked out by their rodent and aviary cousins? (Actually, squirrels live in nests called “dreys,” usually built in the forks of trees limbs.) 

In anticipation of winter, squirrels have been packing food away all around their neighborhoods. How’s the new landscape going to impact their winter feeding? Just wondering ...

More to wonder about ... The Pied Piper legend had him ridding Hamelin of its rats by luring them with his flute to jump into Germany’s Weser River where all but one drowned. I wonder, has Hurricane Sally basement and tunnel flooding killed off many of the rats that reside in subterranean Manhattan? Just wondering ...

Today being Wednesday I usually deliver food to seniors living in Yonkers. But the social service agency couldn’t get its food shipment so the ladies will have to hunker down for another day as a delivery is planned for Thursday. They’re a pretty resilient group, these octogenarians and nonagenarians (those are 80 and 90 year olds, for those not familiar with those terms), so I’m not too concerned they’ll waste away. But I do feel responsible for checking in on them, some of whom still live in free-standing houses.

A few limbs fell off some of our evergreen trees, but for the most part we emerged unscathed from the storm. Some 30 years ago, however, in our first house, we experienced a startling tree casualty. One Sunday as I was working in our breakfast nook around 9 pm, I heard what sounded like a mortar blast in our back yard. Half of an enormous weeping willow tree in one of our neighbor’s yards had snapped and fallen across three yards, ours included. Luckily, no house was hit. No damage except to the neighbor’s pocketbook. It cost more than $2,000 to have the tree chopped down, cut up and hauled away. Willow is not good firewood, so none of it was worth salvaging. Too bad, because at the time 80% of our heat came from wood I gathered for our wood burning stove.

Springtime, Sounds and Fury

I heard today that most beautiful sound of spring—the whining and rattling of my snowblower peeling off the gasoline in its tank as it prepared to hibernate until late next fall.

Actually, despite temperatures in the 70s, I was reluctant to store the snowblower. I still believe we might get hit with heavy snow sometime in the next two-three weeks. But I couldn’t resist my wife’s entreaties, so I pulled the ripcord and ran the machine for more than 90 minutes until it drained. I surely hope Gilda was right and I was wrong.

I’m close to admitting defeat. The squirrels will not be denied. Despite raising the feeders higher than a four foot vertical jump, despite the conical shields said to guard against squirrels scampering down from above, the rodents, as Gilda not so lovingly reminds me are what they are, have repeatedly breached my defenses and gorged themselves on birdseed. Today’s attack was airborne. From a distance at least six feet away, a squirrel hurled itself at one of the feeders. Once or twice it bounced off the conical shield, but then managed to land under it, along a tall cylinder feeder. The other day another squirrel pushed the top up on a house-shaped feeder and jumped inside. I’ve stopped that ploy by fastening a bungee cord around the house. But a third squirrel (perhaps it’s the same squirrel; I haven’t been able to mark them) catapulted itself to another feeder and managed to push the top up to reach inside. The birds, not even the large grackles, meanwhile, show no interest in defending their feeding rights.

The media are full of springtime news: brush fires because of the dry winter, tornadoes earlier than normal because of the warm winter, worries about summer droughts because of the shallow snow bank on the mountains, and rising gas prices because Obama is a lousy president. Wait. Do people really think the president has anything to do with the cost of gasoline? Emotionally, for sure they do. Intellectually, probably not. But we’re in no danger in this country of letting our intellect trump our emotions. Heck, that’s why some nutcases supported Donald Trump in his Quixotic quest to be president last year and some still see him as a font of reason and political possibilities.

Getting back to Obama, he’s damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t do something about gasoline prices as his popularity plummets from a month ago. His detractors (mostly Republicans) ingenuously assert drilling for more domestic and off-shore oil would reduce prices. Perhaps, but that’s no short term solution to our current crisis. I do wonder, though, why Republicans have a problem with higher gas prices. Higher prices, after all, are simply a response to market forces (greater demand in China, India and other developing countries, plus oil speculation by financial market profiteers). Doesn’t the GOP endorse a free market? Wouldn’t it be against their laissez-faire principles for government to intervene to artificially lower the price of oil? And even if we drilled for more oil, who’s to say the oil companies wouldn’t export it? Surely Republicans wouldn’t endorse a restraint on their ability to freely trade their oil to the highest bidder?

How tiring it must be for Obama to be blamed for everything. Speaking of being tired, I’m tired of receiving emails that purport to be true and accurate reflections of the thinking or experience of real people. The latest example of misleading and inappropriate material was commentary attributed to Bill Cosby espousing social views so repugnant to what he has always stood for that he had to repudiate it on his personal Web site. Why don’t people check the veracity of these insidious emails before sending them out? It’s easy enough to do. Just pick a few key words, Google them and you’ll probably be directed to Snopes.com or some other Internet site that will authenticate the contents.

Odds & Ends

It was more than a little eerie to see Bonnie Brooks named head of Lord & Taylor on January 23 and three days later see retired L&T CEO Joseph Brooks had died at age 84. To the best of my knowledge, the two Brookses are related by last name only, but that didn’t still the willies that shuttered through my body.

Joe Brooks was one of the first retail executives my magazine profiled shortly after I took editorial command in early 1979. Four years earlier he had taken charge of Lord & Taylor, returning the specialty department store to a luster not known since the legendary Dorothy Shaver was its president in the 1930s. He restored the long-stemmed rose as the company’s corporate logo, made American designers a focal point of merchandising, and ordered the playing of the national anthem each morning in the flagship Fifth Avenue store.

Joe Brooks was very mindful of image. Accordingly, he refused to carry “see-through lingerie” and “hooker shoes,” footwear with very high heels and platforms. Lord & Taylor no longer abides by those restrictions.


For the Record: I hate making mistakes, but my last two posts contained numerical errors, both since corrected on the blog site. My Monday entry on the Florida primary incorrectly stated the number of delegates awarded the winner of the Sunshine State Republican presidential primary. It is 50, not 55.

Tuesday’s Super Bowl forecast put the final score as New York Giants 24, New England Patriots 17. It should have been Giants 25, Patriots 17. The Giants will score two touchdowns (12 points), two points after touchdown (2), three field goals (9) and one safety (2) for a total of 25.


Weather Indicator: Temperatures topped 60 degrees today, sufficiently abnormal to fool even hibernating bees into awakening from their dormancy. With the car window rolled down I caught one taking a rest on my left thumb as I waited at a red light.

Birds have provided another natural indication of our topsy-turvy winter weather. They aren’t eating as much seed or suet as in years’ past as they have been able to find organic delights in the absence of snow cover. Mind you, I’m not complaining. Nor are the squirrels who have become quite aggressive lately. One in particular has figured out how to get into two feeders.

Denied entry from above because of a squirrel baffle, he’s shown Olympian dexterity in doing a standing high jump of about four feet to the bottom of the metal hanging cage housing the seed bowl. He grasps it and hoists himself up and over the side into seed heaven for the few moments before I shoo him out. To thwart this athletic assault I’ve changed bowls, suspending a plastic bowl that doesn’t need to sit in a wire cage. I hope it works.

The squirrel has a second way to get to the goodies. He shimmies down the chain suspending the bowl from a tree limb, but instead of trying to get around the baffle to get inside the bowl, he leaps to a nearby birdseed house, pushes up the roof which slides up to permit more seed to be stored, and jumps in for a meal unseen by any of his compatriots. I was flabbergasted when I saw this and quickly had to shift the location of the birdseed house to a spot I hope is too far for his acrobatic legerdemain. Again, I hope this works.

Altered State

Soon I’ll be traveling to Tucson. I don’t think I look Hispanic, so I don’t anticipate any problems with Arizona’s new immigration law. But even after the shooting of Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, 12 others and the killing of six innocents, Arizona has gun-loving activists who would make it legal to carry concealed weapons anywhere and everywhere. Visitor beware!

I couldn’t begin to match the satire Stephen Colbert produced on the Colbert Report Tuesday night in response to this initiative. Instead, here’s a three-minute clip that excoriates Arizona state representative Ron Gould who advocates unfettered gun-toting. Watch it and shake your head in astonishment, and appreciation, that we live in a country where such inanity (Gould’s, not Colbert’s) can flourish: http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/374400/february-15-2011/mr--smith-goes-to-the-state-legislature--then-later-possibly-washington---ron-gould (don’t give up if the clip doesn’t load the first time; it’s worth re-trying).


Another interesting note about the Arizona shootings—I’m never not bemused by the random confluence of similar (sounding) names in high-intensity news stories. Two weeks ago I noted how the name “Tripp” appeared in the alleged scandal involving Todd Palin’s supposed dalliance with a prostitute (Shailey Tripp), his grandson (Tripp Palin) and the Monica Lewinsky affair (Linda Tripp).

Now my attention is drawn to the Arizona shooter’s public defender, Judy Clarke. Though her last name ends with an “e,” I can’t escape noting the similarity to the prosecuting attorney in the O.J. Simpson murder trial—Marcia Clark.


Speaking of shooters, I’m seriously considering buying a BB gun. The squirrels are pushing me to the brink. No matter what I do they successfully breach my bird seed feeder defenses to gorge themselves (I’m not actually serious about getting a gun; maybe a good slingshot, though).


Spring Sprig: Like the hand that rises up from the water at the end of the movie Deliverance, a single sprig of green from our front yard evergreen shrub has pierced through the snow that has covered the lawn since Christmas.

What a glorious day Thursday was, so good I abandoned my no-exercise regimen and did a brisk 30-minute afternoon walk around our neighborhood, followed by some shoveling to rid our two-car wide driveway of snow and ice that had reduced access to a single lane.