When I Was 55

I found this in my writings, and decided to post it here. (Be forewarned: it's long, and since for continuity sake, it should be read in one reading, allow enough time.)

Think I've the same philosophy 16 years later??

LIFE: OBSERVATIONS AT 55 10/12/93
"Lions and Hyenas" the PBS program was called; "enemies forever" intoned the narrator as the video cameras (operated by obviously demented professionals with no regard for personal safety) followed these savage animals as they tracked and ripped and feasted on any species unfortunate enough to cross their path. With the spraying of urine, each pride and group staked out their territory for their own, and then fought, to the death at times, each other for the spoils, and also by instinct, just because they are different.
I watched spellbound the matriarch of the hyena group chase a lioness up a tree where she stayed all night, out of fear. And then as the male lion returned from wherever male lions always seem to wander to, he chased the hyena, and at just the right moment, in full speed, stretched a paw out to catch the rear leg of the hyena and tripped it, and then with his mighty jaws around the matriarch's neck, broke it. And a dead hyena is then sniffed by her group, and the remaining female hyenas fight for the newly vacated matriarch position. Any young offspring of the dearly departed may at this point be attacked and forced to leave the group. With some luck, some other group may possibly allow the offspring to join, albeit after numerous attacks.
Various phrases went through my mind: "Harmony of Nature", "Life's Cycles", "Survival of the Fittest", etc. And then the news came on and I watched the sad fiasco in Somalia, and in Bosnia, and the recovery efforts still under-way in India from the latest natural disaster to hit that area, this time an earthquake killing an estimated 25,000 people randomly selected by nature to be unfortunate enough to be born in the region and without means and/or desire to leave. Add to this depressing scenario the perennial flooding in Bangladesh, in Japan, and in our own Midwest. And then add again the daily doses of domestic violence: the latest tourist killing in Florida, the drive-by shootings in Los Angeles, and Brooklyn, and Salt Lake City (Yes, Salt Lake City, Utah), and Denver, etc. Now mix in the sexual assaults by adult men on females, ranging in age from one month to ninety years of age. AIDS, Cancer, Starvation, Riots, Knifings, MS, PMS; the list of horrors seems endless.


I remember growing up in the 40's and 50's in New York City, and if memory serves me correctly, it was a great time in which to live. True, there was World War II until 1945, and the Korean "conflict" in the 50's, but they only affected adults and the families of those who were killed or wounded.But my immediate family was not affected, nor amazingly, any of my friends. Yes, my mother had relatives in the German army, some of whom may have put some of my father's Jewish relatives in Poland in Auschwitz or another concentration camp. And my father's brother, my Uncle Murray, saw action in the Pacific against the Japs (to be "politically correct", the Japanese). But he came home, with stories unlike those of Vietnam Vets, and in a moment of extreme altruism, gave me a baseball signed by Babe Ruth, and Joe DiMaggio. (Could that be right - were they around together? Or is my Uncle still laughing over that one?). And even though I was a Brooklyn Dodger fan and hated the New York Yankees for their annual beatings of my team in the "Subway Series" (the World Series for non-New Yorkers), I treasured that ball. (No, I don't have it any more - it was lost in my parents' move from my childhood Flushing, Queens home). (Yes, I know, Simon and Garfunkel also grew up in Flushing, a few years behind me, and, NO, I did not know them).
Yes, there were gangs in each neighborhood, and you had to be careful when you rode your bike out of your own neighborhood, or went to the Aquacade, the pool used for water shows in the 1939 World's Fair, and then a NYC pool located in Corona, Queens, an area dominated by the Italian Corona Dukes regulars, juniors, and seniors. (Corona itself was an "ethnic" neighborhood, known to us at that time as an Italian neighborhood, and made famous later in a Paul Simon song about Julio and I down by the school-yard..."Queen of Corona".. went one of the lines. But, I could, and did, take the Flushing IRT subway or the Jamaica IND line into "the city" meaning Manhattan.And Jamaica itself at that time was THE shopping mecca for Queens, and the home of Jamaica High School where Frankie Lymon of "Why Do Fools Fall In Love?" fame went to school.
Alan Freed on WINS 1010 was the high school students #1 choice for listening while doing home-work, or Friday night dances (which I, like many others, did not get to because of the need to work after school and weekends). Freed was the self-proclaimed "King of Rock and Roll" with his live shows in Brooklyn at the Paramount - a place "neutral" to gang interests. And kids from all over the city would pack the place - whites, Negroes, Puerto Ricans. ("Hispanic" was not known in NYC at the time; neither was "Black" or "Afro-American").


Martin Block, dean of the DJs was on WNEW, then moving to WOR with his "Make Believe Ballroom". After he left WNEW, there were two "Make Believe Ballroom" shows - WNEW kept using the title with William B. Williams as DJ. And there was also Scott Muni on WMCA, Herb Oscar Anderson, self-proclaimed "MorningMayor of New York" on WABC, Peter Tripp, "the Curly Headed kid in the third row with music and song to help cheer your day along - music strictly off the records on "Your Hits of the Week"" coming in on WMGM. And let's not forget "Jocko" on WLIB, and Jack Lacey on WINS with all those Friendly Frost fire sales on Cross Bay Blvd or was it Rockaway Blvd.?
In the mornings I woke up to Klavan and Finch on WNEW on my GE clock radio after falling asleep the night before to Art Ford - "The Milkman's Matinee". (Is that Klavan the same guy as Gene Klavan, the occasional host on cables' American Movie Classics channel?) My father listened to WOR with John Gambling - Sr. at first, then Jr. - with news and live music. I still remember the "Pack Up Your Troubles in an Old Kit Bag" theme. Others listened to Bob and Ray on WINS, these two also the voicesof the Piels Brothers beer commercials. I can still see the little cartoon character saying to the cop when he got pulled over for speeding: "I'm sure you've heard of me - I'm Bert Piels".
And other commercials were such a part of my life: RheingoldBeer with their Miss Rheingold subway posters, and Schaefer (is this the right spelling?) beer which, if I remember right brought Red Barber and the Brooklyn Dodgers to us, or was it the N.Y. Yankees and Mel Allen? I can hear their jingles now: .."My beer is Rheingold the dry beer.." to the music of Wagner; and .."Make it real, make it Schaefer"..and Pabst Blue Ribbon, which I remember as sponsoring "Life of Riley" with William Bendix. (No, I don't remember Jackie Gleason as Riley - Gleason was, and still is, Ralph Kramden on the "Honeymooners".
Cigarettes were also a part of my cultural life. I can still see the Old Gold dancing girls with the announcer who Hugh Downs reminds me of, but I know it was Dennis James. And Chesterfields had the "Soundoff" (no, not the video stores -video was used only as in "Captain Video") theme. Lucky Strike had the auctioneer's "LSMFT", Philip Morris had the small (politically correct "vertically impaired") bell hop Johnny who ran through hotel lobbies yelling "Caaaall for Phileeep Morriisss" while "On the Trail" from the "Grand Canyon Suite" played in the background.
I played the violin so I knew classical music, but my friends learned it commercially: "On the Trail" was the Philip Morris song, and Rossini's William Tell Overture (which quite co-incidentally is playing on my CD as I am writing) was the Lone Ranger music. (And CD was just two letters in the alphabet then).
I got sidetracked, didn't I? I was lamenting today and it's woes and took a sentimental journey, or at least part of one - I could have mentioned all the newspapers in the New York area: the Daily News (with Ed Sullivan's Toast of the Town column), the Daily Mirror (with Walter Winchell's column, and whose voice all of us still hear on re-runs of the Robert Stack "Untouchables" as the narrator), the Herald-Tribune (which we got free once a week in P.S. 163 as part of Civics), the New York Times (which none of us, or our parents, ever read, except on Sundays when it was heavy and thick and it's magazine section had all those bra adds). Then in the afternoon, there was the Journal-American, the World-Telegram and Sun (which all my teachers at P.S. 163 got), the New York Post (which though a "rag" didn't yet know how low it was yet to sink - even at that time I always thought Alexander Hamilton must be turning over in his grave in the cemetery around the Trinity Church at Wall and Broadway). And then there were the others: Newark Star-Ledgerfor the Jerseyites, the L.I. Press and L.I. Star Journal in Queens, the Brooklyn Eagle, and finally, Newsday in Nassau and Suffolk on Long Island.
I know - I hear you: get back to today. Recently I vacationed in Florida While walking on the Miami Beach boardwalk, I had the absolute pleasure and thrill of shaking hands with President Clinton and Hillary; a pleasure because regardless of political agreement or disagreement, they are both extremely charming people; a thrill because he is the President of our country. And exciting, with the police and the Secret Service agents, the Coast Guard boats in the ocean, the helicopters overhead, the jeeps on the beach. From the smilesand enthusiasm of everyone around, my feelings were obviously shared. I just felt good.


And then I felt bad, and sad. Many years ago, perhaps 1963, I had visited the area of Miami Beach now known as South Beach. I remember how impressed I was back then by the luxury of the hotels and the famous entertainers' names on the marquee of the night clubs, similar to the Las Vegas strip today. Having lived in Flatbush, Brooklyn in the Church Ave. area, I was amazedat how much the South Beach area looked like New York both in terms of the variety and kind of stores as well as the people shopping and walking the streets eating pizza and knishes and bagels and Hebrew National hot dogs. (I don't remember if Nathan's was in the area, although I did find a Nathan's on my recent trip in Sarasota - an absolute delight for a transplanted New Yorker now residing in Salt Lake City, which doesn't have Nathan's or Carvel, or good Italian bread or Jewish rye, but does have delicious bagels).
Got diverted again, right? Anyway, South Beach today, other than the Yuppie restaurants right across from the beach, is a disaster; unfortunately so are the Flatbush and the Grand Concourse, Bronx neighborhoods from which it was obviously copied. And I was saddened by it all and what has happened to all the nice cities of our nation and the very unique neighborhoods within them where one could stroll, and smell, and see, diversity without a pervading sense of absolute terror from the hostility, at the very least, now encountered from many of the residents, or perhaps even visitors in the areas. I say this as if we still visit all the ethnic neighborhoods of our youth - we don't: we are afraid to be there.
Just this morning on a Utah television station was a report of a hospital worker in Price, Utah (about 120 miles southeast of Salt Lake City, population 9800) who stole his supervisor's mini-van, got out on the roads doing about 70mph aiming at other cars, hit one broadside and killed the occupant of that car. We'll probably find out in later reports, hopefully?, what causedthis guy to suddenly go nuts. I say hopefully with trepidation - do I really want to know, and what will I do with that knowledge? Do an instant analysis of every person in a car aroundme, and what about the crazies who are on foot, or even bicycle? So I probably don't want to know, yet if there is no follow-up report, I feel cheated and deprived - "they" are not telling me what is going on. When I hear and/or see on the news of a house fire, I get very angry when I'm not told what started it. I want to know so I can possibly avoid it in my house. Instead I may get a lecture from the fire chief about smoke alarms. I mean I pay his salary to find out what starts these fires, not just how I could have been warned after it starts.Or, I'm told it's an "electrical fire that started in faulty wiring".
Now that helps - all I need to do is rip my walls out so I can expose the wiring, and look for what? I'm not an electrician, and if you've ever called one in to do work, they are expensive! As expensive as lawyers; at least I can avoid lawyers by never doing anything that requires their services - and that includes staying away from all other people since my interaction with them might cause them to sue me for somethingor other, and then I'd have to hire a lawyer just to defend myself against whatever.
So what conclusions have I reached in life at age 55? First,if you have kids, hope they are self-reliant, and live far enoughaway so they need to make airline reservations to visit you, which we know is difficult to do - can't get past the busy signalon the 800#. Or if they are still at home, and are teen-agers as my last two (of five) are, and mine are even good girls, yet at my age just kids I am still responsible for are a pain. But time will take care of that. On the other hand, I should avail myself of their knowledge since, as we all know, they know it all, right?
Financial conclusions? I still need money - (I like food with my meals) - enough said, except at my age if you lost your job, as I did, through corporate down-sizing, meaning get rid of middle-managers who will be in the late 40s and 50s and who make decent pay by most people's standards, but who unfortunatelymay start to impact the health plan, and retirement plan, etc. Anyway, my only conclusion offered here is as above - I still need money.
Health conclusions? I'm too fixed in my lifestyle and nothing short of a stroke or heart attack will probably change it. If cancer, of the prostrate or other area, or some other insidious disease is lurking in me, I can't spend my life in an HMO office, even though when I do go in for something or other it seems like that's exactly what you do - spend your life there. (And isn't it depressing to be serviced by your kids' friends and to see all those "old" folk in walkers and wheel chairs and on canes, and I know that in less time than it took to get from being 40 years old (like the age I remember my parents at), I may be a candidate for that walker. Now I am depressed.


Or am I? A tremendous advantage I have found at age 55 is that I know (kind of) who I am. And who I'm not. And what I'll probably not become - like a CEO or THE President, or even a lawyer or plumber. (Well I may have to be an apprentice plumberat times, because since I'm not, or won't be, a lawyer, I can't afford a plumber, even though we all know we have to at times, or we are smart enough to live in an apartment and hit the landlord with the bill. But I'm not there yet - a goal though.)So I'm more comfortable with myself then I have been since I was 16 years old. In fact at times when I think of what I look like, I picture myself at 16. Until I look in a mirror, like at the mall and the shock hits - I'm older than my old man was - and I look it.
The future? My goal is to ride my bicycle, not on hills as in Salt Lake valley, but on flat geography, like Florida, which has another advantage - no snow to shovel - but with disadvantages as well - the heat/humidity - and the fact I can't afford to live where I'd want to - in an apartment looking out on the Gulf of Mexico. (I should have financially planned better,right)? But Florida has the lottery so everything may still work out fine.
My final conclusion is offered not to be necessarily emulated, rather as a philosophical conclusion I have reached for myself, and find comforting and it is, of course, my understanding of what life is all about, and the nature of God as he (she) relates to ME. I have found myself to be not religious in the traditional sense. I don't go to church unless my kids are performing in some way. I have attended atheist meetings which seemed to me to be just another religious service,only of an Un-God. I am not an atheist because I do believe in a supreme being or beings or a creator single or plural. I consider myself to be pragmatic, logical; the complexities of nature and the solar system bespeak design, not accidental creation. Quite frankly, even if accidental, the design was in place and perhaps not perfect in execution which explains hurricanes, earthquakes, mosquitoes, and so on.
I do not believe in an after-life - I find it inconceivable that with the passage of so much time and so many deaths no one has convincingly, scientifically, come back. And I intend no offense to those who believe in resurrection or incarnation or any other form of life after death; I respect the right of each person, including myself, to find a personal level of philosophical insight to questions raised since man could think and communicate.

As a consequence of my beliefs, I am asked what I believe to be the significance of life. My response is that there is none - that is the significance of life. Life is what each of us make of it, by our own design, or lack of a design. I am cognizant of the fact that most people on the face of the earth right now find life to be a struggle simply to survive; the quest for food and shelter is not too far removed from the animalworld. And in view of the extremely brief period of man's existence that has had an intellectual enlightenment, arguably less than .01% of man's (should I finally be politically correct?) "humanity's" history, it is not difficult for me to reach the conclusion that the only reason for the creation of earth AND man (humanity) was the exercise of creative artistry by the creator(s) for the purpose of pure entertainment. And lest the faint-hearted amongst my readers render shock at such a preposterous idea, I need only to point to most of the technological "miracles" wrought by mankind - TV, Stereos, VCRs, CDs, PCs, Satellites, etc. - each and every one of which has the objective of entertainment. Add Disneyland, Disney World, Epcot Center, Universal Studios; difficult to find a "real" reason for such entities to exist. They are certainly not needed to sustain life - perhaps emotionally, but not physically.
So, yes, I visualize the supreme one or many, to periodically peer down, or up, or into, or whatever, and watch a lion devour a zebra and be entertained. Or watch that species of fish just recently discovered in the Antarctic that has apparently for millions of years lived in totally black waters, yet being absolutely one of the most beautifully colored species yet found, and only because of technology now allowing video intrusion into their world, which is not that vast - just a couple seasons of swimming far enough north to be devoured by another species of fish with names no sane person would want to know. Why else, except for entertainment of the gods would such life exist? I objectively watch the nature programs on TBS, and PBS, and the Discovery Channel, and am always absolutelyamazed at the sophistication and complexities of every facet of nature. I love the bugs that are invisible to all except one predator among thousands, and the bug possesses a poisonous defense capability effective only towards that predator and only during mating season so that the species may continue. No, I don't know any of these names - I just know I saw it on "Nature" or "National Geographics Presents" - and I was fascinated.

I have also reached the conclusion that man has "progressed"far beyond what the creator(s) intended, to the point that the very existence of the earth, and the natural order millions of years old, is threatened - global warming, ozone hole, endangered species - seem all to be the work of man with knowledge attained only in a fraction of the history of man. And all by accident. I'm sure the inventor of the aerosol can did not intend to blow a hole in the ozone just so I could spray deodorant into my arm pits, yet that's exactly what happened, at least according to today's thinking. Do I know what tomorrow'sthinking will be? No. Maybe someone right now is working on it though.
I am also convinced our societal accomplishments, surpassingas they do the creators intentions, are nonetheless an unexpectedsource of entertainment. Watching our antics on the interstate highways, particularly during rush hour, from a safe distance of course, has got to provide constant entertainment. Please note, I am not saying comical entertainment because so much of what happens results in tragedy, as do the wars, and crime and so on mankind engages in - perhaps the creators use this surprise activity on earth as classroom situations for aspiring creators. I really don't know, but if I were a creator, I'd find all this earthly stuff, especially that not of my plan to be as fascinating as my own work; then again, maybe not.
This has turned out to be more long-winded than I intended, speaking of surpassing expectations; I trust you've stayed with me, otherwise I'm writing this only for myself. And if so, so what? Am I not my own best audience - I laugh and cry when I'm exactly supposed to. As Jackie Mason, I believe, may have said in some old routine: talking to yourself is good - you cut out the middle man and bring up only interesting subjects.

Which brings me to my final observation and conclusion at age 55: I don't know the answers - I don't even know the questions. And, at times, I don't care. And, I like myself. .....

I'm Restless

The gulf waves are music to my thoughts. But not gentle music...not relaxing music...enjoyable, yes, because the sound and sight of the sea is always enjoyable... also disturbing harmony, or maybe even DIS-harmony to my mind's wandering.

The past year has been tough - the loss of Mary's job, the income of which was a most significant family contribution; the failure of Jayne's bank, the loss of seniority, benefits, security, as she holds on to a most tenuous position with the possibility of it's end each day; the financial burden of 'special assessments' from our condo association, with perhaps more, much more to come; the retirement funds that have not recovered regardless of media reports of the 'health' of 'Wall Street'. And then the death of Michael...the trauma, the loss, the doubts... how? why?

And, my upcoming 71st birthday...

Mary is volunteering with SunCoast Hospice, the organization which may be one of the most altruistic, beneficial, useful, and most helpful to those who are terminally ill, live at home, and have family care-givers in need of, at times, as much, or even more, support as the patients themselves. The hours she spends results in stories brought home, and one theme, that to me, emerges most dramatically: as we age, we're obviously more susceptible to God knows what (and He isn't telling us (or She or It, or They - depending on your beliefs, take your choice)), and in more instances than I care to hear about, one day you're fine, healthy, active...and the next day, you're heading out the exit, and it isn't pretty, it isn't nice...it's laborious, draining, painful.

Choices, for all these thoughts, range from, if this, then that, if that, then this, or the other, or....no choice...





Sounds depressing, I know. And me, read my other posts: you'll find me (hopefully) to be cynical and positive, happy and hoping, accepting and looking for angles.





And that's the restlessness...all my plans, schemes, hopes, dreams, are being challenged - well not all, but enough. And yes, I also know, comparatively, my life and my immediate family's is so far removed from so so many others facing 'REAL' challenges, and then add in those who are victims of 'Nature's ceaseless 'toying' with us (support for my 'real' belief: God did not intend for us to be on Earth - it was His 'Experimental' planet.. Adam, (and Eve.. remember, he, Adam got lonely with only God as his companion (a lesson in here somewhere??) so God thought - okay, if I'm not enough of good company, I'll give him a companion alright..) were indeed meant to be the caretakers as Genesis says, operating out of the Garden, however, alas, ..good for us, I guess, although we probably wouldn't have known about that, this, or anything relative to Earth, other than reading about in the Celestial Times, the Heavenly Pre-existent newspaper (come on: admit it, what an imagination!!) Adam, or rather Eve, was 'seduced' by a new 'diet' food, and motivated Adam (wonder how she did that) to go along...) ... anyway, back to 'Nature's' 'toying' with us..in Samoa, India, the Philippines (why is it always 'the' Philippines??), Indonesia.. all those in the 'current' news who have lost literally everything, and whose family/friends have drowned, been buried, etc...I know, for those of you who are LDS, you don't 'appreciate' this line of thoughts, particularly right after Semi-Annual Conference...yet, these events are not fiction, they are as real, and much more 'invasive' than the well-intentioned words of "love your neighbor, be of good cheer"....all of which ARE of real value and use, and yet... yet, do indeed pale by comparison in impact on lives. Sorry, unpleasant, and true.

At this point, the thought occurs to some: 'How does this guy find Joy, and Happiness, and so on, in Life ??

And my answer: I DO !!

So watch and listen to the sounds and sights of the sea ... find your own significance.....





.....

A St. Augustine Street Man

He knew she was looking at him. He didn't even look up, just kept scratching his leg – well, it itched: probably some insect bite of some kind. St. Augustine was warm for an April day – mid 80s, the voice said from an open car window; no wonder the insects were out. The usual crowds were out on St. George Street eating ice cream french fries, drinking everything from water in bottles,to soda in cups and booze in plastic wineglasses. The pizza and hamburger joints were busy as well as all the fancier places. He didn't understand all the talk about the bad economy since it seemed just as many people were spending the same money as in other years. But then, his personal economy was always bad, and he also spent the same money as in other years, the same income from street-begging (he liked 'pan-handling' better) limited by the time in-between the cops on the bikes' telling him to 'move it'. He always smiled at that: 'move it' meaning move to the next store-front? the next street? the next county? The next state? The cops never told him, never went beyond 'move it'.
He wandered south on the street to the Cathedral Basilica, and joined the wedding party inside. It was crowded , and he always was given a lot of personal space – maybe something to do with the lack of washing up or showering for a week now – pure laziness on his part: he could have gone out to the beach and used the showers there – just didn't.
Back out on the street, he saw this guy leaning against a beautiful car – his photo being taken by a pretty lady with one of those digital cameras, while another pretty lady watched. Some guys have all the luck, he thought. In truth, the guy was better looking than him, and probably smelled better.
He loved all the sights in this historic area of a city that's been around since 1565. He watched a group of nuns, 'sisters' he used to call them in school, the Dominican Order, he heard one of them telling those same two pretty ladies. The 'sisters' were young and cute, and friendly, nothing like the teachers at the parochial school when he was a kid. Where had he been a kid? Growing up where? And when? He couldn't remember any more. Seems like he had thoughts at times of wives and kids, but wasn't able to get any detail in his mind – no specific memories. He told himself a man should be aware of a history, a previous time and place, experiences, but every attempt drew only vague and hazy responses.
He'd spent part of the afternoon outside the Castillo de San Marcos fort – cost $7 to get inside now – and saw the volunteers in hot woolly uniforms marching and then heard the cannon they shot as part of the entertainment you got for your $7. When it was free, there were no cannon shots or people in uniforms. (Other than the cops who are telling him, again, 'move it').
The plaza and gazebo in front of the Cathedral Basilica was where he 'moved-it' to, his home for the night.

A LAWN MEMORY

It feels like it's going to rain. The wind (sorry Chamber of Commerce - it is not a breeze - it's a wind) has picked up - against me, of course - as I ride my bike home coming from the Gulf Beaches Library. It was sunny going there - even also against the wind - (YES, it turns around whenever I head in the opposite direction, not just here, also in Salt Lake, there a hot & dusty wind). But, as usual, I take a long time at the library - books to sample, just the smell of a library is great - and I'm out just in time to hit an afternoon thunderstorm coming in.

Riding my bike is, and always has been, a 'fantasy' experience. It seems I've been riding a bike every day of my life. As a kid on a tricycle, I played 'bus' - pulling small leaves from hedges - used as money. Escaping my school-yard friends by getting on my bike in my pre and teen years, also as a bus going to the Fresh Meadow Terminal, or the Field Terminal heading home, or being a 'motorcycle' on the dirt frontage road of Horace Harding Blvd or in Kissena Park.

And even delivering groceries on the strange-looking bike with the big basket over the small front wheel - a basket I also rode my little sister Kathy in - after lunch, and before heading back to Harding Food Center for another delivery to 'ElecChester', the Electrical Union's Housing

Co-Op of about 10 buildings, each 6 stories tall with 6 apts - hundreds of apartments, or to the other big housing project - Pomonok (it's an Indian - 'Native-American' - word, a tribe that I guess centuries ago lived there), a NYC Housing project for low- and low-middle-income families, also probably over 400 apartments in the city 'housing project' as it was called.

Both of these housing developments were built on what was previously the Pomonok Gulf Course - a great place for sleigh riding, playing 'soldier' and 'making out' with Mary Lou Simione (that's another story). The west side of the golf course was Kissena Blvd, where Queens College was, and a number of un-occupied huge old 'haunted' mansions ideal for playing all kinds of games (even some without Mary Lou!!). The mansions area later became part of an expanded Queens College campus, where my Dad in 1956 wanted me to go, but I wasn't smart enough - you needed above a 96% cumulative high school grade to get in - it was free. So I got a music scholarship to Brigham Young University. Which brings me back to my bike ride.

As I'm riding home, thinking I'm a teen-ager (ignoring, obviously, that reflection in the windows of cars I pass), I smell one of life's most enjoyable scents along with ocean and mountain pines:

the smell of fresh-cut grass - a newly mowed lawn, and I'm down memory lane to when I was a teenager, 14 years old, and I mowed the lawn of the new - still being-built - Queens Ward - the summer of 1953. I rode my bike from home in Flushing out to Little Neck, east out Long Island, singing 'No Other Love', 'Doggie In The Window', 'P.S. I Love You', 'Don't Let The Stars Get In Your Eyes', Istanbul', 'Rags To Riches', among so many others, all of which I still remember all the words to, (and so probably do my kids).


In those days, the members of a ward (parish/local congrgation) paid for and essentially built with alot of their own labor, their own buildings. (And, that building still stands today, 57 years later). I cut the lawn, dug ditches, trenches, and so did my Dad. (For some reason I don't remember my brother Bob there) (this was also where Dad was the care-taker of the ward-house 1956-1957 to earn the money to keep Bob on his Windsor Canada LDS mission).



So the lawn scent brings these memories, and then since church and violin are interwined, reminded me of playing my violin for President George Albert Smith at October Stake Conference at the Manhattan Ward/Stake house in 1950, for which I got a thankyou note from the stake president George H Mortimer, for the violin and a talk my mother made me give ("If everybody said 'No' like you would if I, your Mom, let you, what kind of meeting would it be??") SHORT!!

Then the rain hit, my memory lane trip ended, and I pushed against the wind to get home.

(You know, you'd think with all that church activity, HE would have turned the wind to help me, and brought the sun out... wait.. melanoma... the rain was better...).

........

TIME WILL TELL

My Dad was told by my Mom: "If you want to marry me, you need to be baptized a Mormon". (He was a non-religious Jew). On January 2nd, 1938, a month before they were married, Dad was. In Mom's history to Diana, she writes: "At his baptism, he was asked how he liked his new-found religion, his answer was 'Time Will Tell'." As Dad was extremely quiet (I can recall perhaps only 3 or 4 times in my life a conversation with him beyond a few short sentences), a man of few words, who rarely ever expressed his opinions or observations, what his answer ultimately was, is unknown to me. Mom, of course, more than compensated for Dad's lack of verbiage. Except apparently at his job, where he worked over 30 years with the same guys (unheard of today) and I had witnessed on visits there, he was 'conversant', his life was lived with little, if any, social interaction. And friends of mine, even in the house, never mind for a meal, was nonexistent. I, certainly over the years, have become my 'Mom's son', although I have also exhibited during my parenting years, that same exclusionary life-style, e.g. when I moved to Long Beach in 1966, I deliberately lived down the street from the school-yard - that's where my sons were to play with their friends. And in Utah I dreaded parties, sleepovers, 'dates' visiting, Home Teachers, Visiting Teachers, etc.

Somewhere over the years, becoming 'too talkative', 'too opinionated', 'too curious' re: people's reason's for doing what they do, and asking them!, has been my personal challenge. And I have failed miserably. I could partially fault others, as when I have tried to be 'quieter', I'm asked: "What's wrong?", "Something's wrong", "Why are you acting like this?", etc. But that's nonsense to even partially fault others - I'm responsible for myself - Exaltation is an individual event, as is so many others in our experience.

I will become my father's son. I will be quiet. I will be non-opinionated. I will, essentially, avoid personal interaction with others; I will 'cocoon' myself (yes, even more). I will find even increased joy and pleasure (if that's possible)' in music and reading, and day dreaming as I gaze out my back-yard over the Gulf of Mexico. I will somehow avoid family household dissension and arguments in my goal of isolation - 'my home is my cave' - I am a recluse - leave me be.

Will others be upset, mad at me, take any of this as a personal affront? I hope not. Will I be reminded of responsibilities and obligations to others? If so, I may perhaps respond: "My life is not an apology - it is my life".

Many decisions in my 70+ years of life - all of which, without exception, would be made exactly the same way - (Inane thought - life is not 'replayed') - have caused those I love and care about, pain, sadness, and disappointment - I hope also joy and happiness and well-being- but I'm addressing the problems, both deliberate and inadvertent, I've caused thru my exercise of selfishness, self-centeredness, persuasion, control, theatrics and manipulation, raising questions to myself as to who I am, what do I want, how to achieve, and thus retreating within myself, with minimal, only as 'absolutely necessary', interaction external to myself.

"Time Will Tell". Thanks Dad.

.....

WHERE DID HE GO

Where Did He Go ??

He had an Italian accent, sounded like some character from The Godfather, and talked thru a hole in his throat..."..Sum F------ J-- doctor needed a new fur coat for da wife, so he took out my F------ voice box to pay for it..!!.." he said while he watered the beautiful flowers in his family's nursery at the corner of Coney Island Avenue and Beverly Road in Flatbush Brooklyn. "yeah, I know, they said it wuz f------ cancer and had to be cut out.." And he used his hanky endlessly to keep from spitting on anyone around him thru that hole in his throat while he talked, and then would laugh at Michael, who was giggling through all this. Two year old Michael was this guy's favorite. We lived next door in a three story house turned into three apartments: us on the first floor, Miss Corrigan, a retired school teacher who coughed all night while she smoked cigarettes and paced - we could hear every wrack and step on the floor above us - till she dropped dead one night, and on the third floor another young family like us, a guy, his wife and two kids, in his case two girls, the guy was Louie DaGrossa, who was a butcher - get it? I always cracked up when we'd see each other and I'd always say.."Hey, how're ya doing, Louie DaGrossa da butcher?.." Anyway, when their mother and I wanted to walk down to the stores on Flatbush Avenue without the boys, the guy with the hole in his throat would take care of Michael while his wife watched 4 year-old Gene. And when we came back, Michael would giggle for hours more - I guess he still heard the guy's 'voice' in his head. Actually, Michael must have heard the 'voice' years later because 'f---' became his favorite word when he talked with and at kids on the school yard basketball court down Hudson Street in Long Beach. It became so frequent a word in his vocabulary I had to take him up to the Long Beach Boardwalk one day and sit in the middle of all the 'stoned-out' would be hippies - (this was the late 60s now) - and tell him to listen; all you heard was "mu---f-----" this and "m---f---" that. After a few hours, walking home, I asked how it sounded. "Stupid", he said, "Like they don't know how to talk". "Yeah.." I said. ( He still used the 'f' word afterwards, but at least in moderation, like his father.)

Michael, my second born, my son to whom I gave my favorite name, a name I'd given to a doll I had as a little kid -- (yes, you read it right - a doll -).. David .. as a middle name. Michael, who was born three hours before the funeral for my Dad was to begin, in Provo, Utah. The hospital was Utah Valley Hospital, (the same hospital where 16 years later my third daughter would be born, fortunately not on the morning of anyone's funeral. (Well, actually it's reasonable to assume there were funerals in Provo that morning, but no one I knew)).

Where did Michael go? Into Utah County Jail, among other places during the 'rough' years, (one of my favorite stories is this : I get a call from my Mom who lives in Provo, and she says: "What do you hear from Michael?" "Not much" I say. "Do you know where he is?" she asks innocently '. Now I had had a call from Michael just the day before telling me he was in County jail, but I didn't want to tell his grandmother this.. so I lied: "No, I don't" I lied (Yes, to my Mom, I lied, but with good intent, right, so permissable, right?) "Well, I do", she says. "In fact I visited him this morning!!". She'd read his name in the Provo Daily Herald newspaper, you know, in the section called 'Police Blotter' or 'Crime Statistics'...) on we go... into the U.S Army, then into the U.S. Navy serving on an aircraft carrier in the Far East and then off-shore to Kuwait during the 1st Gulf War. And then the 'rough' years returned, and into and out of VA facilities, until this past winter...

Where did Michael go, my Michael who brought such joy, and sadness, laughs and tears, intelligent, and banal argumentative conversation, to me over long periods of time, much of which, too much, with no contact at all...

"What's a 'wh--e' Dad - like in the song 'The Boxer' by Simon & Garfunkel?" "Ok, let's get in the car" I said. And in to Manhattan, New York City, I drove, to the 40s streets around Times Square, and pulled into a parking spot that miraculously appeared (Anyone who has ever lived or driven into NYC and needs to park the car, knows what I'm talking about. Living on that Beverly Road in Brooklyn at the start of this story, many times, I would NOT go anywhere because I didn't want to give up my parking space, and some times I parked so far away, I had to take a subway home -TRUE!! )anyway.. I pulled into the miracle space, pointed out some ladies in extremely short dresses, alot of make-up, sitting on stoops or 'parading' in front of apartment buildings, and said: "Watch them .. they'll talk to men walking past, and then go into the apartment with them, and very shortly come out, and start the whole thing over again". And we watched it happen just like I said it would. Then I played 'The Boxer' on an 8-track. "That's a 'wh-r-'" I said, and we drove back home.

Where did he go, my Michael, my curious, intelligent, articulate, care-free boy, unhappy man, father of two daughters, neither of which he raised, yet loved dearly.. where did he go, this contradiction of personalities, this irresponsible reflection son of another boy, ..my Michael.....where did he go??....

.........

Best Company

I consider myself to be totally honest with myself. My discussions with myself surpass those with my favorite others, and no slight intended. I agree with myself, I disagree with myself, I laugh with myself at myself, I interrupt myself. I enjoy input from others, am receptive probably to anything and everything, for a time: nonsense (obviously as defined by me), I will dismiss; wisdom and thought-provoking words, whether written or spoken (if I can hear them with my tinnitus/bad hearing), I will ponder, and decide, over time, whether it is applicable to and for me.

I consider myself to be a pragmatic agnostic. as defined at wikipedia.org/wiki/agnosticism i.e. "the view that there is no proof of either the existence or nonexistence of any deity, but since any deity that may exist appears unconcerned for the universe or the welfare of its inhabitants, the question is largely academic anyway."

I am aware this view is contrary to that of most of my family and acquaintances, as well as my own upbringing and earlier beliefs (which could be indicative of possible future view change??). Thomas Henry Huxley, 'credited' (depends on your own belief system) with coining the arbitrary label Agnosticism, also stated (among obviously literally hundreds of thousands of other statements (probably to himself as well as others)): "I neither affirm nor deny the immortality of man. I see no reason for believing it, but, on the other hand, I have no means of disproving it".

And Robert G. Ingersoll, another 'famous' (or 'infamous' - again depending on your own belief system) agnostic, in fact known as 'The Great Agnostic', said: "...there is no supernatural power that can answer prayer - no power that worship can persuade or change - no power that cares for man....Is there a God? I do not know. Is man immortal? I do not know. One thing I do know, and that is, that neither hope, nor fear, belief, nor denial, can change the fact. It is as it is...." ( Ingersoll apparently liked the word 'that').

I don't necessarily agree with .."One thing I do know" statement.. I personally would state: "One thing I do believe" .... As a matter of fact, I believe he may be possibly contradicting himself. Alas, he's not available for a 'chat'. (For the complete quote again see: wikipedia.org/wiki/agnosticism ).

Now you may ask (go ahead - ask -) "What does the discussion of 'agnosticism' have to do with being honest with myself ?" And I'll answer, to me, just about everything I think about, again probably due to my upbringing, my curiosity, my cynicism, the deaths of parents, son, friends, mortality in and of itself, meaning(s) of life, etc. etc.

Huxley states, "In matters of the intellect, follow your reason as far as it will take you, without regard to any other consideration. And negatively: In matters of the intellect, do not pretend that conclusions are certain which are not demonstrated or demonstrable" (Huxley, Agnosticism, 1889). While A. W. Momerie, (an English Christian Writer and a Reverend b.1848 d.1900) has noted that this is nothing but a definition of honesty, Huxley's usual definition goes beyond mere honesty to insist that these metaphysical issues are fundamentally unknowable.

I understand there are those who read this and will say: "Gene, Get a Life" or "Gene You've too much time on your hands" (same thing, right?), or "Gene You are Right On", or "Gene You need to get a set of beliefs" or "Gene Your life without a knowledge of God must be sad and empty". And my response to all would be, as per a reflection on the life of Thoreau: "He found greater joy in his daily life than most people ever would." And might hope for a review such as, again a reflection of Thoreau: "His work is so rich, and so full of the complex contradictions that he explored, that his readers keep reshaping his image to fit their own needs. Perhaps he would have appreciated that, for he seems to have wanted most to use words to force his readers to rethink their own lives creatively, different though they may be, even as he spent his life rethinking his, always asking questions, always looking to nature for greater intensity and meaning for his life.....". (I personally would change 'force' to 'encourage', and 'nature' to be an expanded definition beyond the normal Walden Pond 'nature', rather all encompassing).

Enjoy....

HEART SURGERY 12/30/96 AND RECOVERY
Gene Field Start 1/23/97
The New York City subway 'F' train hurtles under the East
River going from Queens to Manhattan. The 14 year old boy sits
on the straw seat facing forward - that is, the seat faces
forward - the boy is looking sideways at his reflection in the
dirty window under the dim lights of the IND system of the
Transit Authority. Maybe he just imagines he sees himself and
what he actually sees is the look in the mirror of the peanuts
machine, the Chicklets gum machine, any other mirror on any
station platform - checking his hair. Is it combed the way he
wants it to look before he gets to the 3rd Street Settlement
Music School off 2nd Avenue for his violin lesson, and the
Orchestra (and Cora Gordon)? Did the wind from the train mess
it up, even though he always tried to minimize this by standing
where the first car would stop, which really didn't help because
the train "pushed" the musty tunnel air into the station.
And was his hair still there? His Dad would laugh watching him
spend literally hours in the bathroom getting it "just right".
He'd point to his bald head - "Came out when I was 21 - and
so will yours". But it didn't - at 58, (and, amazingly, even now at 70)

the former boy still has his hair.
What he did inherit from his Dad, who died of a heart attack
at 61, is the emotional and physical devastation of emergency
open heart surgery the day before New Years Eve.
Wasn't it Eddie Fisher that sang, in 1954, "Green Years,
where have you gone to; wonderful green years, where did you
go? Your April kiss promised me that you'd always live on.
But youth is a dreamer, and when I awoke, my Springtime was
gone"
Is this what happened to that 14 year old riding the subway?