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. 

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.

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.