THE EXEMPLAR OF SLOTH...IN L. A.

In the summer of 1977, I parked in the Neponsit section of Queens with my friends, J and E.  Halfway down the beach block with the ocean breeze in our face, I found a New Yorker Magazine on the floor.

THE NEW YORKER WAS FOUNDED ON FEBRUARY 21, 1925. TO ATTRACT IT'S  TARGET DEMOGRAPHIC, THE CARICATURE OF A "DANDY," (THE EXEMPLAR OF SOPHISTICATION, EUSTACE TILLEY ), APPEARED ON IT'S FIRST COVER (above).  TODAY, THE MAGAZINE PUBLISHES 47 YEARLY ISSUES, (WITH A MONTHLY CIRCULATION OVER ONE MILLION).   ITS CONTENT CENTERS ON NEW YORK BUT CATERS TO A UNIVERSAL AUDIENCE .

My beach-going buddies and I were all under-employed college graduates.  So, maybe it was my economic prospects that compelled me to pick up the magazine.  The New Yorker was known for its highbrow potpourri of politics, social issues, art, humor, culture and counter-culture. On the cover of this issue I saw a feature called, "SEE IF YOU'RE LAZY...TAKE OUR SURVEY." When I suggested taking the quiz, J asserted, "You just disqualified yourself...by picking that rag off the ground."

Since moving to South Jersey in 1984, the person that exemplifies laziness to me has to be, forty-six year old Mystic Islander, Lew. Lew rarely leaves his apartment, is dependent on pills, has a drinking problem, squanders the little money he has left on gambling and is a chronic complainer.  Ironically, his grumblings aren't associated with his obvious shortcomings...his rantings concern his job.  He even brags about how little he does at his workplace which to him, epitomizes how backward the company is...because they tolerate or aren't sharp enough to notice his lack of effort.

Lew likes to work about sixty percent of his assigned time.  Therefore, he earns just enough to afford his habits.  Lew has never been married, has no children, no mortgage and drives a fifteen-year old Chevy Chevette that was built in Ecuador.  When I first met him (1993), he was driving (when it wasn't in the shop), the world's oldest Yugo GV with it's signature statement band-aid applique, (with the word "ouch" printed on it), covering his dented side panel.

THE 1985 YUGO GV WAS THE MONA LISA OF BAD AUTOS. IT PLACED #39,  IN TIME MAGAZINE'S WORST CARS OF ALL-TIME.  IT WAS SO AWFUL THAT; THE COUNTRY IT WAS NAMED FOR FOLDED, CARPET WAS LISTED AS STANDARD EQUIPMENT, THE REAR DEFROSTER WAS USED TO KEEP YOUR HANDS WARM WHEN YOU PUSHED IT TO YOUR MECHANIC AND RANDOM PARTS ROUTINELY FELL OFF. 

When Lew would start whining about how he hated his job, I wanted to slap him with a fish and tell him; if work was really that bad, what's holding you there?  Quit, you're not a moron, do something else.  Even if you fail, you have no responsibilities.  At that point, I would expect him to interrupt and cry, "They won't pay my benefits unless I keep up a thirty-two hour week.  That's when I'd be ready to cut him off and say, "Yeah, it must be tough being forced to make fifteen thousand more a year and have less time to waste it."

Lew's lethargic lifestyle is contrasted by Winston, (also forty-six).  He thought he had a terrible job too but Winston never complained, was an asset to the firm and was well liked.  But when he had the opportunity to expand his horizons, he absorbed the pain of tying-up family loose ends, accepted temporary financial hardships and moved to San Pedro, near Los Angeles.

Winston surprised me by moving to paradise but shocked everyone we know by turning down his new opportunity when he got there.  While its true that he's keeping his eyes open for something in his field, he has gone totally Hollywood and decided to take advantage of his two years of unemployment benefits, first.

THE HOLLYWOOD SIGN WAS BUILT IN 1923 AS A REAL ESTATE ADVERTISEMENT FOR "HOLLYWOODLAND." LONG AFTER ALL THE PROPERTIES WERE SOLD, THE SIGN'S POPULARITY, (IN ITS CURRENT SHORTENED VERSION),  HAS EARNED IT  LANDMARK STATUS AND IT IS NOW A GLOBALLY RECOGNIZED ICON.

Lew had been a Jersey boy all his life.  So this first venture (escape) to the left coast has left him anxious to soak up the sun and everything else out there. His first taste of L. A. was the typical tourist spots like movie studio tours, Hollywood Boulevard, the Walk of Fame, Grauman's Chinese Theater and the original Fat Burger.

GRAUMAN'S CHINESE THEATER IS FAMOUS FOR HOUSING GLITZY MOVIE PREMIERES LIKE, "KING OF KINGS," IN 1927, 1977's, "STAR WARS," AND DOZENS MORE IN BETWEEN.  HOWEVER, THE CASUAL TOURIST IS MORE FAMILIAR WITH THE CEMENT SLABS IN ITS FORECOURT WHICH BEAR THE SIGNATURES, FOOT AND HAND IMPRINTS OF 200 MOVIE LEGENDS.  IN MY JUNE 1983 VISIT, WAY BEFORE DANIEL RADCLIFFE INDENTED THE CONCRETE WITH HIS MAGIC WAND, I APPRECIATED JIMMY DURANTE AND BOB HOPE'S NOSE, GROUCHO MARX'S CIGAR AND ROY ROGERS' HORSE TRIGGER'S, HOOF PRINT.

Winston typified the east coast mentality when he told me that he liked the contradiction of being in Venice Beach and on Santa Monica Pier at Christmas time.  He then hit all the major amusement parks, hiked Runyon Canyon, toured the Getty Villa as well as the Griffith Observatory.

His macabre taste in entertainment included the Helter Skelter tour of Manson murders and the Dearly Departed Tours of L. A., who offer trips to the O.J. Simpson crime scene.  Next on his wish list are the crime scenes of the, "Black Dahlia," the murder of Robert Blake's wife and the case of the Menendez brothers.  Winston even implied a willingness to drive to Colorado, to check-out the Jonbenet Ramsey tour.

Closer to home, Winston wants to see the swanky Magic Castle.  It is so aristocratic that you need a referral to get a reservation.  But due to a fire in 2011, it was closed for several months. Since re-opening last month, it has become nearly impossible to get in.

THE MAGIC CASTLE IN HOLLYWOOD (1963-PRESENT), BILLS ITSELF AS THE WORLD'S MOST UNUSUAL PRIVATE NIGHT CLUB.  IN THIS EXCLUSIVE SETTING, IT FEATURES LIVE STATE-OF-ART MAGIC ACTS.

Last week, I told Winston that the last time I was in Los Angeles, I loved the La Brea Tar Pits.  He poo-poo'ed this idea before I even had a chance to tell him that the La Brea is a unique museum of worldwide acclaim.  At the turn of the last century, in what is now downtown L. A., a large, smelly asphalt pit blighted the landscape. The bones of unfortunate domestic animal stuck-out of the tar as a grim reminder of consequences of getting too close.  A man passing through town asked a local to identify the bones.  The man said cows.  While it was true some contemporary animals were stuck there, it didn't take long until a team of paleontologists were summoned and recognized the tar pits as a significant geological find.

 DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES AS IT LOOKED IN 1910.  THE OIL DERRICKS IN THE BACKGROUND WERE COMMERCIALLY MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE TAR PITS, (HIDDEN BY LEAVES AND OTHER DEBRIS IN THE FOREGROUND).

Excavation at La Brea started in 1901.  Into the 1940's, hundreds of thousands of Pleistocene period bone fossils, preserved from the usual bacterial degradation by the tar were extracted in pristine condition.  Over the years, the focus has gone to smaller animals. Soon, museums and researchers around the world overwhelmingly used La Brea as their source for the delicate bones of intact flying dinosaurs.  By the 1970's, attention switched to specimens like, insects, plants and even pollen.  More than a hundred years later, these excavations continue.

JUNE - 1983. LA BREA, IS THE SPANISH WORD FOR TAR. IN THE BACKGROUND (IN THE MIDST OF L.A.'s BUSTLE) THE MUSEUM IS SURROUNDED WITH WHAT'S LEFT OF THE ORIGINAL TAR PITS...COMPLETE WITH MODELS OF PRE-HISTORIC (8,000 TO 40,000 YEARS AGO), VICTIMS STRUGGLING TO GET OUT.

Los Angeles' changing environment is proven by the appearance of extinct animals in the pits and those that are no longer native to the area, (like dinosaurs, horses, camels, mammoths, mastodons, long-horned bison, sloths and sabre-tooth cats).

THE SMILODON, (THE MOST FAMOUS SABRE-TOOTH CAT),  IS THE SECOND MOST COMMON BIG ANIMAL FOUND AT LA BREA.  FOR MORE DETAILS, VISIT THE MUSEUM'S WEB-PAGE AND CLICK ON THE SABRE-TOOTH CAT VIRTUAL EXHIBIT LINK .  IN ALL, YOU'LL FIND THAT LA BREA HAS UNEARTHED 660 SPECIES THAT INCLUDE 59 MAMMALS,  (EVEN ONE WOMAN), 135 BIRDS PLUS PLANTS, MOLLUSKS AND INSECTS.

Scientists have proven that 90% of La Brea's victims were carnivores or birds of prey/scavengers.The scenario they set is, a group of meat eaters chase down their meal.  In desperation, the unfortunate soul runs into the "sanctuary" of the sticky goo...and the hunters follow and get trapped too.  Further, the animals were smart enough that this was a rare occurrence.  If only one major entrapment like that happened every ten years over 30,000 years, that would be sufficient to account for the bone volume found at La Brea.

I was disappointed when Winston said that La Brea wasn't on his A-List of day trips.  He said he was too busy organizing excursions to Catalina Island, Olvera Street and some others I never heard of.  While Winston is between these worthy destinations, I have to fight my imagination not to picture him alone, as a sloth-like couch potato, laying around his apartment, watching reruns on TV and getting fat.

THE SLOTH IS A SLOW MOVING, APATHETIC CREATURE WHO HANGS UPSIDE DOWN IN TREES FOR HOURS AT A TIME.  ALSO, SLOTH, (LAZINESS), IS ONE OF THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS.  IT SUPPOSEDLY DESTROYS THE CHARITY IN ONE'S HEART AND MAY LEAD TO ETERNAL DEATH.  IT IS SAID OF SLOTH; FOR SATAN FINDS SOME MISCHIEF STILL FOR IDLE HANDS TO DO. THUS SLUGGARDS, TALKATIVE PEOPLE AND DREAMERS HAVE BEEN CATEGORIZED AS WIND WATCHERS, FANTASY CHASERS AND PURSUERS OF OTHER WORTHLESSNESS.

I have full confidence that Winston will eventually snap out of Southern California's do-nothing, Svengali-like grip.  Just there mere inference that I am comparing him to Lew should spur him out of his tree to greatness. After all, I failed the New Yorker laziness test on my way to the beach and Winston is on his way to Catalina Island...but Lew, the personification of sloth, lives in a beach community and is so pale that he probably has no idea which direction to find the shore.

NO! NOT SENOR WENCES...SENIOR-ITIS !

I made a mistake.  I jokingly warned my son Andrew that as his high school career comes to an end that he shouldn't get caught-up in, "Senor Wences."

WENCESLAO MORENO (1896-1999) WAS A SPANISH-BORN, VAUDEVILLE-STYLED VENTRILOQUIST-COMEDIAN, WHO PERFORMED UNDER THE NAME SENOR WENCES, (SEN-YOUR WENS-SIS).  HE LIVED TILL 103 BUT HIS INSTINCT FOR, "THE SHOW MUST GO ON," MANIFESTED ITSELF IN HIM PERFORMING BEYOND HIS 90's. WHEN I WAS TEN, (HE WAS ABOUT 70),  I LOVED TO WATCH HIM ON, "THE ED SULLIVAN SHOW."  HE WAS MOST FAMOUS FOR HIS HAND PUPPET (above) JOHNNY, (YONNY) AND PEDRO, A GRUFF VOICE FROM A BOX WITH THE CATCHPHRASE, "S'AWRIGHT."  WENCES WOULD USUALLY END HIS ACT BY JUGGLING OR SPINNING PLATES WHILE HAVING A FAST-PACED REPARTEE WITH HIS CHARACTERS.

My Andrew has been working his butt off in and out of school so he didn't appreciate my inference of laziness.  Further, he thought I was out of touch with reality because I mispronounced, "senior-itis."  I explained my pun-like play on words and worsened the situation by implying that I was more aware of current trends than he was about those of the past.

In addition to Andrew's part-time job and the pressures associated with college application, he has taken on a full-plate at school with relative ease.  But he was quick to point out that this next week includes his performance (as the coachman), in the Emanon Players, (the drama club's), adaptation of Stephen Sondheim's, "INTO THE WOODS." 

STEPHEN SONDHEIM (1930-Present),  IS A BROADWAY HALL-OF-FAMER.  FOR OVER 50 YEARS, HIS LYRICS AND MUSICAL GENIUS WHICH INCLUDE "WESTSIDE STORY," GYPSY," "A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE FORUM," AND "SWEENEY TODD," HAVE GRACED THE "GREAT WHITE WAY."

Another part of Andrew's hectic schedule includes next week's visit to a neighborhood elementary school, (he and his school talent show, award-winning super-hero rappers, have been invited to reprise their positive message performance, complete with a meet-n-greet with students).  Andrew then caps his frantic agenda as a contestant in his school's highly coveted, "Mr. Absegami Competition."

THE MR. ABSEGAMI COMPETITION HAS SEVERAL PHASES THAT INCLUDE; DANCING, CASUAL DRESSED TALENT, AN INTERVIEW SESSION IN A TUXEDO, AND SOME BEEFCAKE IN SWIMSUITS.

In regard to this weekend, Andrew was quick to remind me that the seniors in drama were disappointed in the director's choice of, "INTO THE WOODS," because despite it being a lengthy production, there were few major roles, (plus a generous amount of those cherished parts went to underclassmen).  This prevented many of these dedicated senior thespians, from having a last theatrical hurrah.  Interestingly, the moral of "Into the Woods," is, repercussions and responsibility for our actions.  So a couple of kids (not Andrew) have gotten permission to write their own play, to be performed later this spring.  Thus, leaving a mark forever on the Absegami landscape while showcasing the talents of many out-going graduates.

I think that this, "finding a way mentality," is amazing.  While most of us would complain or endure the setback, these budding playwrights took the pro-active approach.  Their never-say-die mindset reminded me of two aspects from John Steinbeck's great American novel (and the movie), "THE GRAPES OF WRATH."

The "Grapes of Wrath," was a metaphor for how our whole country was effected by the Great Depression but epitomized by the plight of the Dust-Bowl Okies, (see my January 12, 2009 blog, "THE BLACK BLIZZARD.")

THE DUST-BOWL WAS A PERFECT STORM THAT INCLUDED THE DEPRESSION, DECADES OF MISMANAGED SOIL AND SEVERE WINDS THROUGHOUT THE 1930's.  TEXAS, KANSAS, NEW MEXICO AND COLORADO WERE HIT HARD.  PLUS PARTS OF ARKANSAS AND NEBRASKA BUT OKLAHOMA GOT THE WORST OF IT.. THE TERM, "OKIES" CAME TO SYMBOLIZE ALL THE VICTIMS .

The perseverance of Andrew's play writing friends, reminds me of the central theme of, "THE GRAPES OF WRATH..." the will to go on.  In chapter two, Steinbeck identified this stick-tuitive trait of the Okies, in the form of a land turtle, (oddly, this crucial point does not appear in the film).

THE MAIN CHARACTER (TOM JOAD), WHILE RETURNING HOME FROM PRISON, CAPTURES A LAND TURTLE TO GIVE HIS YOUNGER BROTHER AND SISTER.  STEINBECK CHOSE A TURTLE TO EMPHASIZE IT BEING OUT OF PLACE IN THE DROUGHT RAVAGED COUNTRYSIDE MUCH LIKE THE TENANT FARMERS BEING PUSHED OFF THEIR LAND.

I remember as a youth, reading this sequence and thinking it was a waste.  Over and over, the turtle kept escaping and getting recaptured.  Finally it prods away one last time until Joad recognizes the beast's need to be free. 

The other message I equate between "THE GRAPES OF WRATH," and Andrew's friends writing their own play, is the concept of, "the circle of life."  Steinbeck embodied this idea in the form of the Joad's eldest (teenage) daughter, Rose of Sharon, (the family simplified her name by calling her Rosasharn). 

*SPOILER ALERT*  I will NOT be giving away the end of the book...but I get pretty damned close.

Considering that Rosasharn is pregnant, it's hard to believe that she's the most unlikeable character in the Joad clan. In the midst of her team-like family being forced off their land and moving to California, she remained impatient and "inflated" by her self-importance.  In the mode of a drama queen, rather than carry her own weight, even as her family's travails worsened, her high-maintenance personality hindered the group, (physically and mentally), so that they would serve her.  This attitude is exemplified by her husband running off during their journey.

 THE ROSE OF SHARON, IN ADDITION TO BEING THE NATIONAL FLOWER OF SOUTH KOREA, IS APTLY NICKNAMED, "THE IMMORTAL FLOWER."

The artfulness of author John Steinbeck camouflages Rosasharn's strength so well that even halfway down the last page, the reader wonders; how will this end.  When it does end...for my taste...this immortal flower blossoms from the ashes of her former annoying and complaining self, to become beautiful, all giving and other worldly, to the point of being saintly.

Shockingly, due to the mores of the time and the fear that taboo subject matter would hurt the film's commercial viability, the heroic nature of Rosasharn, is not mentioned in the movie. Part of this rationale was to end the movie on a high note.  But the reality of the tragedy that sparked the last sequence, while perhaps unsettling, results in an intensely upbeat and hopeful conclusion.  To support my opinion, her skewed fertility parallels the turtle theme, included the notion that the Depression-era migrant workers shouldn't be abandoned by society and in the case of Andrew's playwright friends avoiding senior-itis, to leave a legacy of well-spent charity, good will and ultimate triumph. 

"All right?"  "S'awright!"

THE PSYCHOSIS OF LIME'S DISEASE

When I think of extreme psychotic behavior, I picture a narcissist who is so diluted by self-importance that they believe they can rule all creation.  They crave total control, have no conscience, love seeing others in pain and because they are above everyone else, they're accountable to nobody.

I am a big fan of the 1949 film noir, "THE THIRD MAN."  In it, Orson Welles plays Harry Lime, a black marketeer in post WWII Vienna.  The plot centers on him faking his own death when the authorities are on the verge of apprehending him.

THE AMERICAN FILM INSTITUTE (AFI), VOTED WELLES' PSYCHOTIC HARRY LIME AS THE #37 VILLAIN IN MOVIE HISTORY. 

In the movie's climatic scene atop the Wiener Riesenrad, (the famous Ferris Wheel in Vienna's Prater Park), Lime, tries to rationalize, to his boyhood friend, his brutality for profit which includes selling diluted penicillin...that leads to the torturous death of anonymous children.

Lime says; In Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love and five-hundred years of democracy and peace...and what did it produce?  The cuckoo clock.

Lime's rebuttal to his astonished friend begins, as if he were playing God, when he points down at the people on the ground; Would you feel any pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever?  If I offered you 20,000 Pounds (approximately US $44,000.00 in 1949), for every dot that stopped, would you really, old man, tell me to keep my money or would you calculate how many dots you can spare?

THE WIENER RIESENRAD WAS BUILT IN 1897.  IT WAS THE WORLD'S TALLEST FERRIS WHEEL UNTIL THE JAPANESE BUILT A BIGGER  ONE,  IN 1985. OH YEAH, THAT'S ME IN VIENNA,  AUGUST - 1968, POSING NEXT TO A MODEL OF  IT, IN A PAVILION ACROSS FROM THE REAL THING.

Sometimes, we feel suffocated by the actual villains of the world.  I know it annoys me that I'm not clever, brave or decisive enough to turn the tables against mine. Out of frustration, some victims escape through vice...like drinking, drugs and gambling.  But not me.  I've never understood why people fight adversity by going into self-destruction-mode.  I'd rather be free to, "run in place," vent, complain and hope that the lightning bolt of good fortune hits me, like it did Dustin Hoffman's character, Benjamin Braddock, in the 1967coming of age movie, "THE GRADUATE."

A whole new world will open up to aimless Braddock at a college graduation party in his honor.  His road to salvation begins when a friend of the family gives him career advice by whispering, "Plastics."  While that term became a catchword of the era...that exact scenario played-out at my house, nine years earlier...and played a major role in how the rest of my life played out.

In January 1958, when my neighborhood Canarsie was new and the possibilities seemed endless, my parents invited some friends over for some, day after the blizzard, cocktails. Like most gatherings of this kind, at some point the husbands splintered away from their wives. During the men's conversation, one of the guys from down the street said after his tongue was loosened by several highballs, "I'm getting in on the ground floor of a million dollar idea."

Big talk, relating to get-rich-quick schemes, especially fueled by alcohol, is met with skepticism and is easily overlooked by blue collar men.  Most of the young couples on my street were in, slightly over their heads.  And without loans through the G.I. Bill, they would have had trouble becoming homeowners.  My dad was a fledgling salesman, another worked in a print shop, there was an assistant plumber and among others, the big talking drunk, co-owned a tiny candy store with his brother.

The million dollar man's luncheonette was a couple of neighborhoods away, in the dying community of Lincoln Terrace Park.  Those residents, like refugees, flocked to Elysian-like shores of Canarsie, New York City's last frontier Staten Island, the backwoods of North Jersey or for the more affluent, Long Island. So as his customer base dwindled, his livelihood on Rutland Road making pennies at a time, had an ever- declining, bleak future.

The other men were scoffing his million dollar claim when he added, "I'm tired of living like this. I want to be in charge of my self.  Hell, I can barely afford what I have now so I'm going to take one shot, for two grand and aim at the big money...and it's a great shot!"  Nobody in the room had that kind of money to risk or the autonomy over their wives to make such a move. So the questions he was asked related to responsibility.  He then added, "If I screw-up, we'll have to move into a crappy apartment and I'll have to get a little job.  And yes it's true, maybe we'll be eating canned beans and maybe Loretta will divorce me, but deep down, we won't really be much worse off than we are now...but I won't fail and my kids will appreciate that I didn't let myself get beaten down.  That's why I'm going to see a broker as soon as the roads are clear again."

Just like in the, "GRADUATE," that neighbor said, "The wave of the future will be plastics and I have a dynamite penny stock called, 'WHAM-O PLASTICS,' and it's ready to explode." 

WHAM-O PLASTICS WAS FOUNDED IN 1948.  THEIR FIRST PRODUCT WAS A SLINGSHOT.  IN 1959, THE HULA-HOOP CRAZE PUT THEM ON THE TOY MANUFACTURING MAP AS THEY NETTED $45 MILLION.  THEIR NEXT GREAT ACCOMPLISHMENT WAS THE FRISBEE AND THEN THE SUPERBALL.  OTHER BIG ITEMS IN THE 60's WERE; THE SLIP 'N SLIDE AND SILLY STRING.

My dad and none of the others took the gamble but the drunk followed his dream.  He also held onto his crumbling business and kept buying Wham-O stock until he sold all his shares in 1970, for over a million dollars.  The story gets better because that neighbor and his bachelor brother (who made his own separate investment in Wham-O), parlayed their windfall by buying a car rental agency.  Then as a team, they bought a second one.  When the neighbor's (three) sons came of age, another car rental franchise was bought each time.  When they had five locations running well, they began selling them off. They kept the best one, made it mega for the three sons and the two brothers retired.

I knew this history in the early 80's when I was in Las Vegas, dealing craps at The Stardust Casino.  Bob, an eccentric friend/coworker told me he was investing in a penny stock called Lereck Oil.  He said he was going to his broker as soon as he opens in the morning with five-thousand dollars.  For a combination of reasons but mostly because I didn't have faith in Bob as well as my conservative nature and I was too lazy to wake up that early, I refused the offer.

A week later, I asked Bob if he went through with his idea.  He said, "I got 42,000 shares at twelve cents and sold them four days later for sixty-one cents."  While numbers spun in my head trying to calculate his lucrative return he added, " I'm taking next week off and flying down to Guaymas Mexico to do some sport fishing...wanna come?"

BOB MADE GUAYMAS SOUND LIKE PARADISE.  EVEN THOUGH THIRTY YEARS HAVE PASSED AND I NEVER HEARD ANYONE ELSE EVER MENTION THE PLACE, IT'S STILL ON MY BUCKET LIST.

That was the only time in my life that I wanted to go fishing.  But fate dropped another opportunity in my lap this past fall.  A coworker, Bill, (another eccentric), without a family started touting a company that discovered an oil field which was supposedly, the biggest untapped reserve in the world...in all places, Iraq.  With the economy tanking, uncertainty in the workplace and my son about to enter college, I was ripe to take the chance of a lifetime, but I balked at this ninety-cent stock.

I WISH BILL HAD HIT ME OVER THE HEAD WITH A 16-TON WEIGHT...MAYBE I'D BE MARLIN FISHING IN MEXICO AND LIGHTING THE BARBECUE WITH 100 PESO BANKNOTES.

Bill went on a medical leave when the stock was still under a dollar and I forgot about it.  In December, I found out that about twenty others at work took his advice.   I brought the name of the oil company to my accountant, it was trading at $2.32/share.  His research found more negatives than positives (like political unrest) and suggested that I steer clear of it. 

My other coworkers who took the plunge formed a little oil company shareholders club.  When they happily compare notes in the cafeteria, I get jealous and have pangs to go fishing.

A few weeks ago after being out for seven months, Bill returned to work.  He said that everything he said that would happen to his oil company has happened and will continue to do so.  The stock was over six dollars and he said he felt strongly that when a Fortune 500 Corporation buys them out, the value will soar to twenty dollars...maybe thirty dollars a share. 

Plastics ignited Benjamin Braddock and ushered him into a position to be seduced by Mrs. Robinson, save Elaine from a loveless marriage and heroically sweep her off her feet for himself.  On the other hand, I had opportunities to cash in on "black gold," and failed both times.  

EVEN A POOR MOUNTAINEER KNEW WHAT TO DO WHEN HE SHOT FOR FOOD AND UP THROUGH THE GROUND CAME A BUBBLING CRUDE...OIL THAT IS, BLACK GOLD, TEXAS TEA...


My only consolation is that all I want at this point of life is, to work another seven or so years and retire.  But the harsh reality is, the gaming industry is disintegrating beneath my feet.  So instead of fishing in Guaymas, I'm trapped and feel like one of the dots below psychotic Harry Lime and his army of desperate lieutenants who take joy, in randomly crushing us.

THE DEEP END OF THE GENE POOL

Let's all wish my main-man Andrew, (and I do mean main-MAN),  a HAPPY 18th BIRTHDAY!

At the time of your first child's arrival, it is easy to become awed by the miracle of birth, the concept of life, the existence of our planet and the infinite possibilities of the universe. Whether you have additional children or not, over the course of time, "the seen that...done that mentality," infiltrates our psyche and the fantastic process of the stork's delivery system fades, becomes less important and even worse...taken for granted.

I am guilty of this failing but with the aid of great memories, photos, ancient VHS tapes and having Andrew around every day, my appreciation of the endowed blessing that he represents, is never too far away. Then if I need a kick in the ass to remember what he means to me, a special event or another of his incredible accomplishments crop up.

These days, I look up at Andrew with esteemed admiration as he handles his latest whirlwind of  accomplishments.  More importantly, I look behind him and see that the trail he blazes, is not only for himself but for others, inspired by his intelligence, sensitivity and leadership.  I am certain, they gravitate to him because of his charismatic good nature, sense of fair play, humor and earthy seriousness.  These traits encourage others to aspire to higher levels of personal growth and to pursue greater self awareness and improvement.

EARLIER THIS MONTH, ANDREW'S SKILL AND KNOWLEDGE IN A WIDE RANGE OF FIELDS WAS RECOGNIZED WHEN HE WAS VOTED HIS SCHOOL'S "RENAISSANCE MAN."  ADDITIONALLY, HE AND HIS FRIEND KEVIN (above) CHOREOGRAPHED A TWELVE PERSON PRESENTATION AT THE STUDENT TALENT SHOW...AND WON.  THEIR "SUPERHERO RAP," WAS CITED AS AN INFLUENTIAL PATH OF POSITIVE VALUES BY A LOCAL ELEMENTARY SCHOOL WHO  INVITED THEM IN MID-MARCH, TO REPRISE THEIR MESSAGE ALONG WITH A QUESTION AND ANSWER PERIOD, DURING AN ASSEMBLY. 

One of the side benefits of birthday celebrations is, we reflect on that person's history.  Some birthdays have a greater implied weight because of its number and to me, Andrew's eighteenth is a major milestone. He is now a man, eligible to vote, serve his country in the military or even work in a New Jersey casino, (let's try not thinking of the latter two).  While manhood opens up a whole new world of opportunities, (he'll be starting college in six months), it also serves as an exclamation point to close his childhood as well as marking the end of organized birthday parties, (by parents).

At Andrew's first birthday party, I proposed a toast.  I raised my cup of Diet Pepsi and said, "Here's to Andrew."  Then I paused and said to the crowd, "There's nothing better than babies."

FEBRUARY - 1995. WITH THE HELP OF A KNOCK-OFF BIG BIRD COSTUME PROVIDED BY HUIED, KURUDAVE ENTERTAINED THE MASSES.

Our early kiddie parties for Andrew included, clowns, magicians and singers.  We had them at the Children's Museum, Tunnels of Fun, Diane's Tot Spot, the bumper bowling alley and McDonald's.

ANDREW'S SECOND BIRTHDAY WAS SO JOYOUS THAT HE NEARLY STRANGLED KERMIT IN THE EXCITEMENT.  NOT PICTURED WAS THE ROCKING HORSE THAT HE HUGGED AND SAID, "GREATEST!"  ODDLY, HE REGISTERED LESS THAN AN EIGHTH OF A MILE ON THAT BABY, DUE TO MOTION DIFFICULTIES.

The festivities became more sophisticated as he got older.  His Bar Mitzvah in 2007 was obviously the pinnacle of those events.  But his roller rink party and surprise fourteenth birthday party were special to him too.

LUCKILY, SECURITY APPREHENDED AND KICKED-OUT THIS UNDERAGE GATE CRASHER AT ANDREW'S SURPRISE FOURTEENTH PARTY.

In celebration of all things Andrew, I choose to digress to a nearly infamous party and honor someone other than the birthday boy.

Andrew's fourth grade birthday seems to be easily overlooked but it has left an indelible mark on me and one of...if not both of the principle characters.  The parents of one of his friends, invited him to an indoor pool party at a high school, a few communities away.  The party was such a success that my wife Sue put heads together with another mom and had a joint birthday extravaganza for Andrew and Joey, (the other kid), there.

The mom's split the cost of the package that included, up to sixty attendees, two lifeguards, a swimming safety lesson and the use of a party room.  Both boys had mutual friends from the neighborhood, school and scouts so it felt like one gigantic party...but the highlight of the day had nothing to do with an invited guest.

About forty kids, (mostly around nine years old), changed into their swimwear and met with one of the lifeguards.  The guard led a fifteen minute briefing on safety policies, do's and don'ts, diving restrictions and emergency procedures.  The lecture was just about over when a late arriving straggler entered the pool area...unescorted by a parent.

The two host families knew all the kids from the class, so this girl was welcomed in and encouraged to listen to the lifeguard.  The girl was famous in their class for two distinct reasons.  One, at a time when the average kid carried no money or at best a buck or two, she regularly flaunted big money, (over fifty dollars), around at school.  The other thing was, she was foreign and attended the English as a Second Language (ESL) Program.  We had no idea that she had zero command of English and couldn't understand much either.

During the party, I took a dip in the pool and horsed around with the kids.

 ANDREW AND I BOTH  GOT THE, LOVE FOR SWIMMING GENE, FROM MY DAD.  THAT'S THE SEA-BREEZE MOTEL, ON ROUTE-40 IN WEST ATLANTIC CITY.  IT WAS FAMILY ORIENTED  IN 1967 BUT NOW, IT'S A HAVEN FOR CRACK WHORES.

At Andrew and Joey's party, I was in the shallow end, splashing around with Bill, (an invitee's dad), when we encouraged Tony, (the other birthday boy's father to join us).  In street clothes, he said he wasn't big on swimming.  Tony also made some other lame excuses but we guessed that he wanted to save face and not admit that he forgot to bring a swimsuit. 

A shrill whistle echoed through the pavilion.  Everyone stopped for a second as one of the lifeguards caught a kid running.  That boy was penalized and was not allowed in the water for five minutes.  At the same time, Bill, Tony and I focused on the deep end where four girls were holding up the diving board line. 

It seemed three of them were loudly shaming the one having second thoughts about taking the big plunge.  Finally, the scaredy-cat got the attention she craved and routinely jumped in.  She disappeared underwater for a few seconds before bobbing back to the surface and swimming to the sanctuary of the water's edge.  In an almost identical manner, she was followed by a black-haired girl. Next, to the satisfaction of the onlookers, the blond did a colossal cannonball and backstroked to the exit ladder. 

When the area was clear, the last girl...the foreigner who arrived late...casually walked to the end of the board and jumped in.  She disappeared for a few seconds underwater...but DID NOT bob back up to the surface. Before I could even process the information and call a distress signal out, Tony took off along the side, towards the diving section.  Both lifeguards reacted to his running and before they realized what he was doing, Tony dove in fully clothed and brought the girl to surface.  The lifeguards followed, took over and got her out of the pool.  She was given mouth-to-mouth resuscitation before anyone else moved a muscle.  Although the girl was still a little pale by the time we were in the party room, she was thankfully fine.

(SUMMER - 1999, OCEAN CITY MARYLAND'S BOARDWALK).  SOMETIMES...EVEN AT A BIRTHDAY PARTY, THE MEMORY OF THE BIG CELEBRATION PAYS TRIBUTE TO SOMEONE OTHER THAN THE GUEST OF HONOR.  TONY'S HEROICS OVER SHADOWED THAT PARTY AND ARE CALLED TO MY MIND FREQUENTLY.

That foreign girl moved away about a year later, so I don't know whatever became of her.  But I do know her irresponsible parents(?), who dropped her off alone, at a swimming party, knowing she couldn't swim or speak/understand English, never acknowledged Tony's deed.

Yes, birthdays help us conjure up thoughts of the miracle of birth, respect for the blessing of life, the beauty of our planet and the endless possibilities beyond the farthest stars.  That's why I salute and appreciate Tony especially because the right people didn't or couldn't figure out how to express it. 

As for my birthday boy, I marvel at the perception that somehow, he sifted through and took on the best qualities of his mom and dad while adding a few of his own.  Now as I look at him and his Renaissance Man credentials, I see him in the future, excelling in countless varieties of greatness and continuing to inspire others to have a positive impact on society.  Then when the time is right, I have confidence that my main MAN will have his own family and his scions will continue to forge even better versions of him.

DANDY JAN

In the early 80's, when I lived in Las Vegas, I was watching the NFL's opening week highlights on TV.  At the end of a New York Jets segment, the camera focused on a celebratory fan running down the Shea Stadium aisle.  In the close-up, I saw that fan was my friend, Jan Soodak.

In 1984, while waiting for my New Jersey casino license to be approved, I moved back in with my folks in the Canarsie section of Brooklyn. In the back of my mind, I hoped to some day share that TV tidbit with Jan. But in my five-year absence, it seemed that everyone I knew had left the old neighborhood.

When summer rolled around, I revived one of my old past times by getting a lime rickey with friends, after playing stickball, at Goody's Luncheonette.  The only difference that day was, I didn't play stickball and I had my limeade alone. To my surprise, on my way out, Jan was buying a newspaper.

THE NON-ALCOHOLIC VERSION OF A LIME RICKEY (OR LIMEADE) WAS POPULAR AT NEW YORK CITY SODA FOUNTAINS...AND SHOULD STILL BE AVAILABLE, IN THE RIGHT PLACES.

My chance meeting with Jan turned out to be a long reminiscence of the good times of the past and his uncertain future.  Unfortunately, his future uncertainty revolved around strange health symptoms.  Months earlier, his concern was so acute that he was forced to cancel a much awaited try-out with a professional soccer team. Jan remained upbeat as he told me his grave news. Soon there after, he said that the doctors told him...he needed a transplant. 

A couple of years after I moved to South Jersey, I learned that the transplant never came...and Jan died.

In front of the luncheonette, we also touched on a lot of topics that all involved sports.  We agreed that we first met, (I was ten and he was eleven),  when the kids from my block challenged his gang, in street hockey.  Over the next twelve years, at different times before I moved out west, Jan was a teammate or an adversary, in countless basketball and softball pick-up games.

In organized sports, we became Golden Eagle teammates, on the John Wilson Junior High softball team.  For two years, we were rivals in Canarsie's PAL Roller Hockey League.  At Brooklyn College, Jan and I teamed-up again in the first of my back-to-back intramural floor hockey championships.  More interestingly, in the spring of 1970, we walked to our first Canarsie High School football try-out together.  Later, as teammates on both the JV and varsity football teams, we shared our best memories.

On the varsity, Jan (a senior quarterback) and I, (a junior guard) were second-stringers on a potent offensive juggernaut. That meant that we got a fair amount of late game playing time, in blow-outs.  We even scored a few touchdowns that year.  One memory in our 50-12 win over Wingate was Jan calling a quarterback sneak.  When I exaggerated my stance away from the center, Jan said out loud, (in addition to his signals for the rest of the team), "You better know what the f**k you're doing."  When I plowed my man into the defender next to him, Jan easily got the first down.

While we strolled down Memory Lane outside Goody's, we focused on our greatest moment.  It happened after the JV, (Canarsie Junior Chiefs), lost our first three games.

OCTOBER - 1970,  PRIOR TO OUR 8-6 LOSS AT HOME, IN SEAVIEW PARK, TO THE PIRATES OF TOTTENVILLE (STATEN ISLAND).  THIS IS THE ONLY JV PHOTO OF JAN (#17) AND ME (#72) TOGETHER.    (PLEASE NOTE: A RELATIVE OF JAN'S RECENTLY COMMENTED ON MY MAY 3, 2010 BLOG CALLED, "PATRICK CLARK;  #61 IN YOUR PROGRAM AND #1 IN OUR HEART,"  IN THAT COMMENT, HE SAID THAT HE NOW OWNS HIS UNCLE'S,  #17 JERSEY, IN THIS PICTURE).


In those first three losses, we mustered only two touchdowns, (both scores came on defense).

BEFORE OUR SEASON STARTED, I HAD NICKNAMED JAN, "DANDY JAN," AS A TAKE-OFF OF ALL-PRO NFLer AND FELLOW #17 WEARER, "DANDY" DON MEREDITH.

When we had three losses under our belt, Jan a true leader, blamed our team's offensive, offensive performance on himself.  He told me, "Don't compare me with Meredith, I'm more like Harry Theofiledes."

ANOTHER #17, QB HARRY THEOFILEDES HAD SUCH A SHORT NFL CAREER THAT THIS IS THE ONLY INTERNET PHOTO I COULD FIND.  IN 1968, HE APPEARED IN FIVE GAMES FOR THE WASHINGTON REDSKINS.  HE THREW 20 PASSES, COMPLETED 11, FOR 211 YARDS WITH TWO TOUCHDOWNS.  HE NEVER STEPPED ON THE FIELD AGAIN BUT WAS ON THE NEW YORK JETS ROSTER FOR A WHILE.

Our fourth JV game was against Lincoln High.  We were told that the Junior Honest Abes were better than the teams we already lost to.  Plus, they had a monster linebacker named Sanford who was renown, as a one-man wrecking crew.


CONTEMPORARY LINCOLN FIELD.  LOCATED IN CONEY ISLAND, THE SCHOOL WAS BUILT IN 1929.  SOME OF ITS FAMOUS ALUMS INCLUDE; MARV ALBERT, NIEL DIAMOND, JOHN FORSYTHE, LOUIS GOSSET Jr. LEONA HELMSLEY, HARVEY KEITEL, HERBIE MANN, ARTHUR MILLER AND NIEL SEDAKA. 


The game was played at noon, on a grim Sunday, in mid October.  During warm-ups, the strutting Sanford, stood-out like an Adonis among his boyish cohorts.  The bearded, fifteen year-old giant, gave-off an aura of invincibility. We were so psychologically damaged by his intimidating presence that before our final pep-talk in the locker room...the game already felt...lost.

To make matters worse, the best athlete on our squad didn't show up for the pre-game festivities.  We were about to take the field when H. Minis (#83), (our fastest player...and at six-foot-three, he could jump high enough to dunk a basketball), hustled in. Our coach, Stu Yaker put it to a vote whether he should play or not.  One of the captains, (swayed by the idea of more playing time for his cronies), demanded that Minis be kicked off the team.  Jan took control.  In a short speech, he eliminated the politics and bullshit and rallied the locker room in Minis' favor, (by a narrow margin, he was allowed to play).



IN 2002, TO HELP HONOR HIS GRAMMA'S 72nd BIRTHDAY, ANDREW POSED IN THE SAME JV JERSEY I WAS WEARING WITH JAN, (see four pictures above).  ALSO, MY BOY IS HOLDING MY SENIOR JERSEY IN HIS LEFT HAND AND MY JUNIOR YEAR'S, IN HIS RIGHT. 

The Lincoln Field bleachers were empty. JV games attracted few spectators, no cheerleaders and no band.  Other than a handful of family, friends and curiosity seekers from the varsity, I doubt another twenty witnesses were there to rim the side lines.  To prove the insignificance of these games even the officials were unpaid volunteers in street clothes and the scoreboard was not used.

The game was almost over and we survived without being embarrassed by a slaughter. Our defense gave a worthy effort but our offense remained stymied.  We trailed 16-2 when we got the ball back on our own thirty-five yard line with a minute and a half left in the game.  The attitude in the huddle lacked intensity or urgency as Jan called for a screen pass left.  I ran parallel to the line of scrimmage and knocked a defender on his back as DRJ (#7), caught the ball behind me and cut up field.  DRJ wove through the enemy secondary before being tracked down by Sanford, sixty-one yards later, (by far our longest gain...ever).

Jan immediately realized that with just one big play our entire season of futility was over. His resolve took a 180 degree turn and this confidence boost radiated through all of us.  He called a simple running play.  The line fired-out, our halfback N. Bitetto (#9), ran through a gap and into Sanford's arms, but he squirted free, twisted and lunged into the end zone.  That touchdown, our first EVER on offense, made the score 16-8. 

That one score was enough of a moral victory to have us all run off the field with our head's held high, as if we accomplished something.  But quarterback Soodak and flanker CHSCHIEF, (#85), kept everyone's emotions focused.  They helped us understand that we were still fighting an uphill battle.

In lieu of kicking a one-point, "extra-point," a team can run one normal play, from the two-yard.  If they succeed in crossing the goal line, they are awarded two-points. Our team didn't have a place kicker.  So under any circumstance, we would have to go for a two-point conversion.   The tension really mounted when we made it.

The score was 16-10 as Coach Yaker gathered us during a time-out.  After a ton of rah-rah stuff, his exact quote was, "Does anyone know what an onside kick is?"  Due to limited funding, the JV only practiced once a week.  So this rarely used tactic was never rehearsed by us.  C. Avitto, (#8),  like an inspired kid answering a question in school, raised his hand and his exact quote was, "I do coach!  And I can do it!"

An onside kick is usually a desperate ploy by a losing team, to get the ball back.  The rule is, after a kick-off travels at least ten yards, it is a free ball...and whoever recovers the ball, similar to a fumble, gains possession. 

ON FEBRUARY 7, 2010, IN SUPER BOWL XLIV, NEW ORLEANS SAINTS COACH SEAN PAYTON, SHOCKED THE INDIANAPOLIS COLTS AND THE FOOTBALL WORLD BY OPENING THE SECOND HALF WITH AN ONSIDE KICK.  HIS STRATEGIC GENIUS, (THE FIRST ONSIDE KICK PRIOR TO THE FOURTH QUARTER IN SUPER BOWL HISTORY),  CHANGED THE MOMENTUM OF THE GAME AND LED TO AN IMPRESSIVE WIN.

Onside kicks, especially from an inexperienced player, tend to be soft taps into, "no man's land." The result looks like a demolition derby as eleven players from each team crash together, in a frenzied attempt to recover the ball.  That's what I was expecting as I watched from the near side bench.

I was directly behind Avitto as he took a diagonal path to the ball.  To my surprise, the kick was a classic, skip, skip, pop-up.  Along the far side line H. Minis jumped, snatched the ball and raced, untouched for a game tying touchdown.  BUT NO!  The volunteer referee correctly disallowed the kicking team (us) from advancing an onside kick.  But we were awarded possession of the ball, forty-five yards from more paydirt.

Jan didn't think a total comeback win was abstract or implausible.  But his Harry Theofiledes opinion of himself centered on his awareness that he did not have a rocket for a throwing arm.  So by being a realist about his shortcomings, instead of trying to throw an expected bomb into the teeth of a prevent defense, Jan confidently called another screen pass to DRJ.  We didn't get the same rich success as the previous sixty-one yarder but we got down to Lincoln's twenty-five yard line.

Jan called our last time-out.  While we were in our huddle, the referee said, "Boys, this will be the last play of the game."  Jan was left with no other choice but to go for broke.  By NFL standards, the twenty-five yard line is almost close.  But to "Dandy" Jan, twenty-five yards was the high end of his throwing distance range. So, in the era before the phrase, "Hail Mary," came into popularity, all he could do was give the ball, the old heave-ho...and pray.

The line gave Jan plenty of time.  When the ball was released, I disengaged my defender and watched its high arcing, wobbly flight and lame duck descent.  In the right side of the end zone, all I saw was a school of white-shirted ball-hawking piranhas, waiting to feast on his pass.  Then suddenly from out of nowhere, like a single, blue, killer whale at the Sea World show, Minis leaped over the waves of defensive backs and snared ball like a tasty treat...TOUCHDOWN !

We were happily shocked to tie the score at 16-16.  Lincoln was stunned!  But Jan knew there was still work to be done.  He huddled us together for the two-point conversion and swiftly called a quarterback sneak.  We charged up to the ball...our rivals were back on their heels.  Off a rarely used quick count, the Canarsie Junior Chiefs all surged forward. 

I was tangled in a heap of bodies as I heard the final whistle.  In the surreal next three seconds, I was disoriented as I tried to free myself from the mass of humanity.  The first thing I saw when I was freed from the pile-up, was the referee's hands and fingers pointing, straight up.  Then I saw the hulking figure of Sanford which had obliterated Jan's dark blue #17 jersey stand up.  It was only then that I pieced together the significance of Dandy Jan's torso, straddling the goal line.

To this day, I'm not certain whether I got more satisfaction over the unlikely finish to our first win, 18-16...or  how upset Sanford was and seeing other Lincoln players actually cry.

Jan was the first friend of mine that died.   It's too bad that during our last conversation in front of Goody's, I forgot to tell him that I saw him on the TV highlights...it would have brightened that part of our chat.  But I'm glad we got to rehash our first organized football victory...because I like telling that story and by telling it, it helps keep my dandy memories of Jan alive. 

LOUIS C. MONEY AND FORTUNATE FINN

It was five minutes before midnight, on Wednesday May 4th when the squawk of the police radio stirred one of "New York's Finest," Louis C. Money.  During his nearly six years on the force, he had digressed into a well-accomplished goof-off.  On quiet nights these, he liked to nap in his prowl car, in the secluded alley, between Great Jones Drive and E Street.

The sleepy officer opened one eye and disregarded his dispatcher's call because it was for another unit.  He yawned and stretched before turning down the volume and checking the time.  Then he set aside his last doughnut and brushed the crumbs and powdered sugar off his bulbous belly from the half dozen he "muscled" from the bagel store owner. Money took the last swig of his now cold coffee and tossed the Styrofoam cup out the window.  After a deep sigh, the malingerer decided to stay put in his oasis for another few minutes, as if to start the new day (Thursday), right.

The policeman lit his last Camel and flicked the spent match and empty pack onto the already littered pavement.  He took a long drag and stared off into space as his mind wandered from one grim topic to another.  He agonized the longest, on losing his part-time job earlier that day, (as a security guard at the bank on Texas Avenue).  Money was fired without warning when his boss caught-on to his extended, unsanctioned breaks, at Off Track Betting (OTB). 

IN 1970, OTB OPENED AS A LEGAL HORSE BETTING PARLOR IN NEW YORK CITY.  AT THE HEIGHT OF ITS POPULARITY, (LATE 80's), SEVERAL HUNDRED LOCATIONS WERE SCATTERED THROUGHOUT THE FIVE BOROUGHS,  IN DECEMBER 2010, OTB CEASED OPERATION, DUE TO LACK OF PROFITABILITY.

While Money continued to milk every gold-bricking moment, he removed several losing, OTB tickets from his wallet, tore them in half and tossed them into the gutter. All that was left of tangible value in his bill-fold was his decrepit, "lucky" two-dollar bill...and three ones.  Then he spotted the edge of his son Kevin's photo, under a divorce lawyer's business card.  A lump formed in Money's throat when he remembered that his estranged wife (Karla) had filed for a restraining order which would prevent him from coming into his Kindergartner's class, to attend his boy's Cinco De Mayo-themed, birthday party.

To fight the regret, Money perked-up for a second when he recalled his greatest victory at the track.  He once won twelve-thousand on a trifecta at Aqueduct and that nest-egg, gave him the confidence to propose.  His bubble of happiness burst seconds later, when he realized that he only won because his friend who placed the bet, screwed up the numbers and accidentally bet, 8-7-6 instead of 7-6-5.

Louis C. Money's expression soured when he thought of his two nicknames.  Around the precinct, his brethren sarcastically called him "No-Money" because he was always broke and trying to borrow.  And his in-laws began calling him "Lou-Zerr" shortly after his expensive honeymoon.  That's when he squandered the little he had left on the ponies and started his downward spiral, into heavy-duty debt.

Before getting back on the job, to ease his boredom, Money wished he had the next issue of, "THE DAILY RACING FORM." He wanted it so bad that he closed his eyes and his body trembled.  It would have looked like he was meditating or having a seizure as he summoned all his powers of positive thinking to produce it. Then he looked out from his squad car and was actually disappointed that his faith didn't magically have one appear in the street.

ESTABLISHED IN CHICAGO ILLINOIS, (1894), "THE DAILY RACING FORM," IS STILL ACTIVE AS A TABLOID NEWSPAPER PROVIDING STATISTICAL INFORMATION ON HORSE RACING.

Money was not a religious man but during financial swoons, he prayed long and hard...just in case.  He was not smart either and was famous for poor decisions that weren't well-thought through.  So it was common for him to take a careless plunge after convincing himself that the law of averages was on his side and that he could not POSSIBLY fail again.

Of his many get-rich-quick schemes, the worst was a multi-level marketing (pyramid), fiasco.  It required him to buy thousands of dollars of an off-brand, car engine fuel additive and encouraging friends (soon to be ex-friends) to do the same.  That stupidity was the final straw that caused Karla to leave him after he lost their down-payment on her dream house.

Money didn't believe in the para-normal either but in his most desperate moments, he wasted salary, time and energy, in palm readings, the occult, horoscopes and numerology.

A PYRAMID SCHEME,  IS A NON-SUSTAINABLE BUSINESS MODEL THAT INVOLVES PARTICIPANTS PAYMENT OR SERVICES, PRIMARILY FOR ENROLLING OTHER PEOPLE INTO THE SCHEME, RATHER THAN SUPPLYING ANY REAL INVESTMENT OR SALE OF PRODUCTS TO THE PUBLIC.

A few minutes after twelve, Officer Louis C. Money resumed work.  He put his cruiser in drive, turned on his searchlight and slowly examined every crevice in the blackened alley. Suddenly, the dispatcher's voice crackled, "Car fourteen, respond to a possible 505 in progress, at the Pentagon Stock Tower." 

Money grabbed his radio's microphone and said, "One-four, on the way.  What's up Paddy?" 

"Night watchman didn't report in at midnight and isn't pick up the phone."

In a short time, Money arrived at the scene.  He shined his spotlight at the front door and reported back to headquarters, "Nothing out of the ordinary at the main entrance.  I'll circle around back and investigate the rear."  At the back, he saw a glint of light between the door jamb and the door.  He reported his findings, asked for backup and kissed the two-dollar bill in his wallet for luck.  Money got out of the police car.  He drew his service revolver and readied his flashlight before reluctantly advancing to the five-storied warehouse.

He pushed through the ajar door.  Inside, the only thing that broke the silence was his soft foot steps.  The ground-floor was dominated by an empty garage, a loading dock and a set of huge elevators that could transport trucks upstairs.  Money tip-toed to the lit reception area up front and its adjacent business offices.  He heard dim country-western music and inched towards the louder sound of Johnny Cash.

Money was at a bad angle to see inside the outer office.  The coward chose to linger there in the hope that his back-up would arrive.  When they didn't, the image of his son's party later that day flashed through his mind as he pounced across the threshold with his weapon ready to fire.  At the secretary's desk, he discovered the night watchman slumped over, his throat slashed. 

A quick scan of the bloody crime scene revealed that there was something wrong with the victim's right hand...all his fingers were mangled.  In his left hand, there was a white, #2 pencil with its point snapped off.  Under his left forearm was that day's, "DAILY RACING FORM." 

Money was not a good policeman but he was savvy enough to avoid tampering with evidence.  But, he was swayed by the mystic arrival of the paper and rationalized that fate was on his side.  Plus, his curiosity to get a scoop from the corpse's racing notations, got the better of him.

Money kept a diligent ear open for his back-up as he gently slid the newspaper out from under the weight of the dead man's arm.  On that page, he found a single semi-circle was drawn around one item.  Money guessed that the guard was murdered while completing the circle.

He flipped through all the pages and returned to that semi-circle before realizing that it was on the fifth page, around the fifth horse, in the fifth race...and was the only mark, in the entire booklet.  The mounting coincidences involving the number five didn't strike him until he saw that the horse, Fortunate Finn was going off at five-to-one...even the unknown jockey's names, Edgar and Mills, both had five letters.

Louis C. Money took these developments as a sign of Divine Intervention.  It never crossed his mind to hunt-down the perpetrator(s).  He didn't even call the station house.  Instead, his mind raced, to find a way to bet this, "lead pipe cinch, lock of a lifetime." 

The phone system at Pentagon Freight Forwarding had five out-going lines. Money decided to call Lefty, his bookie, from the last one.  His bookie would know he didn't have two nickels to rub together, so he had to come up with a plausible way, to make the bet on credit. 

Before dialing the telephone, Money shut off the watchman's transistor radio as the headline news story featured President Nixon. While the phone rang, he looked down at the decedent's deformed right hand and wondered, if they called him Lefty too.

The bookie picked up and Money said, "I want a thousand on the nose.  On the number five horse, Fortunate Finn in the fifth, at Santa Anita." 

The bookie said, "Okay Lou, but you gotta pay up front." 

"Lefty, you know I'm good for it..."

 "No you ain't...you gotta bad history and there's no percentage in me chasing down, dead beat cops." 

"How's about I drop off my Caddy, the registration and title...the whole shebang...as collateral, at noon." 

"I don't want that puke-colored heap for grand." 

"Lefty, it's worth over two...and it's kelly green." 

"Kiddo, right now you got no action, capisce? I hear it in your voice that you're all hyped-up.  I say, cool off...and if you don't come to your senses, see me tomorrow.  And to prove I have a heart, maybe, I'll let you have five Benjis for the car." 

Money said, "C'mon, make it five hundred and fifty-five and you got a deal!" 

Lefty said, "Whatever?" 

Money heard screeching brakes outside and said, "See ya."

Money hustled to the rear entrance and ushered in a sergeant, three other cops and the warehouse owner. Money reported, "I secured the building.  I took the elevator to the top floor and worked my way down." 

The owner whispered to the sergeant, "The elevators are shut off at night." 

The sergeant's right eyebrow arched as he ordered two officers upstairs and the third to the office.  Then the owner said, "Where's the night watchman and the custodian?" 

Money stammered, "Custodian?  I-I-I was upstairs and didn't see him." 

The cop in the office called for them.  The sergeant told the owner wait right there but he followed them anyway. Money tried acting surprised when he saw the body.  The owner turned, winced and went into his private office.

The sergeant said, "We tried calling you on the phone."

Money shrugged, "I was upstairs...I probably couldn't hear it." 

"But the dispatcher said the line was busy..."

Before Money could conger-up an excuse, one of the policemen from upstairs came running in and said, "The janitor is in the locker room, his throat's been..."  He saw the dead security guard and gulped, "slashed."

Seconds later the owner came out and said, "I've been robbed and Friday's payroll is gone too!"

At the precinct, Money spent five hours that morning being interrogated by his lieutenant.  The proceedings were finally over at 10:00AM. At that point, he was informed that he was suspended pending further investigation and was asked to forfeit his gun and shield.

Two hours later, in civilian garb, Money was all smiles as he entered Quint Coyle's Tavern and said to the bartender, "Lefty's expecting me."  The barman pressed a button and Money pushed through a door to the back room. Lefty was there with a brutal-looking collector named James.

Lefty didn't look up and said, "Louie, you still wanna go through with it?"

Money jiggled his car keys, extended the title and registration and crowed, "I'm parked by the fruit stand, I'll be back for it and my $27,750.00, tomorrow."

The goonish henchman smirked when Lefty said, "Einstein, check your math, you only stand to win twenty-seven hundred and fifty bucks..."

Money blushed as he gave up his car and said, "Umm, uhh.  I knew that.  I was jus' kiddin'."

On the way out Money wanted to shake hands but Lefty refused, "I ain't no gentlemen and we ain't friends.  If you lose, I don't want the whole fuzz department up my ass.  So don't even think about charity or begging for special favors." 

James smashed his fist into his palm and said with a sickening grin, "Ya know, the hand represents all the elements on earth." 

Money said, "Heh?" 

James admired his freshly buffed fingernails and said, "Yeah, the four fingers are for fire, water, air and the land...and the thumb, is the spirit."  Money quivered as he thought of the night watchman's hand.

MONEY PICTURED HIS OWN HAND MUTILATED AND SAID,  "IF I LOSE,  I WON'T CAUSE YOU ANY TROUBLE."

James opened the door as a cue for Money to leave.  The disgraced policeman was passing him as James said, "Five is the symbol of the Man-God.  Jesus had five wounds on the cross...five is the number of grace...don't risk your fingers."

At 2:00PM, all that was left in Money's wallet was his two-dollar bill when he showed up at his son's school.   Karla controlled her rage as the dutiful father slapped palms with his son before handing the delighted birthday boy, a chintzy pinwheel with a five-pointed star.

In private, Money tried to tell his wife how everything is going to be all right.  He apologized for the time he pushed her down and for his "meaningless," violent threats.  She had heard so many variations of the same nonsense and tuned him out.

Karla ducked out for a minute as Money resigned himself to eating tacos and happily looking on at the festivities.  A little later, Karla and the teacher were organizing the Pinata game when two uniformed men in blue, appeared at the door.  They caught Money's attention and signaled him into the hall.

Money ranted at the police and struggled with them while getting handcuffed.  He was locked-up over night.  Late the next morning, Money walked back to his efficiency apartment and drank his last beer for breakfast.  He was so excited that he couldn't wait to call Lefty, collect his winnings and get his life back in order. 

When noon finally rolled around he called Lefty and confidently said, "So how did my five-to-one shot Fortunate Finn, the number five horse, do in the fifth race?" 

Lefty said, "He came in fifth."

THE TRUE SUPER BOWL

The granddaddy of all football games is starting in a couple of hours.  I'm sure it would be exciting to attend but I'm sorry to say, I haven't been to a live, professional football game in almost thirty-one years.  Even worse, I've only been to four, ever!



SUPER BOWL XLVI, PITS THE GIANTS AGAINST THE PATRIOTS.  I'LL WATCH THE GAME AT VEGA44'S HOUSE BUT I DON'T CARE WHO WINS BECAUSE THEY ARE MY SECOND AND THIRD LEAST FAVORITE TEAMS.  THE ONLY SCENARIO WHERE I WOULD EVER ROOT FOR ONE OF THEM WOULD BE IF THEY WERE PLAYING THE MUCH HATED COWBOYS...(aka, THE JUNKEES OF THE GRIDIRON).  THEREFORE, IF THE COWBOYS WERE PLAYING THE MARTIANS...I'D ROOT FOR THE MARTIANS.

 It's hard to imagine but in my entire life, I've only attended one playoff game...but it was baseball.  I remember the circumstance well.  I was at Brooklyn College (BC) with a friend and his two friends. An hour before game time, we heard there were still "good tickets" available and impulsively decided to cut class.

DESPITE MISSING A CRUCIAL REVIEW IN UNDERWATER BASKET WEAVING-101, I STILL GOT THE "C," AND EVENTUALLY GRADUATED BC...ON TIME.

The Mets were playing the Cincinnati Reds, (October 9, 1973) in the National League Championship Series.  That day, we could have eliminated the much heralded, "Big Red Machine," with a win.  So it was shocking that with so much riding on that single game, (the other major storyline was, Pete Rose had beat-up a Mets player the day before), that we could walk-up to the box office and get seats.  The Mets were heavy underdogs and of course, when I went, they annoyingly lost, on a Pete Rose homer in the twelfth inning, (but won the next game and went to the World Series).

The three things I came away from that game were, the Mets did better without me in attendance, Pete Rose had a haircut like Moe from, "THE THREE STOOGES," and despite 50,786 fans in Shea Stadium...the twenty-four, half-inning breaks, were enough to keep the lines for the men's room manageable.

On the other hand, the lines to the bathroom are never manageable at football games.  I learned this lesson early when my school trip in third grade, (December 14, 1963...three weeks after the Kennedy assassination), was to the antiquated Polo Grounds, (the New York Jets lost to the Buffalo Bills, 19-10). It would be the last pro game played there before that old rattle trap was torn down.

LOCATED AT WEST 155th STREET IN MANHATTAN, THE POLO GROUNDS WAS BUILT IN 1890, AS A...GROUNDS FOR POLO...DUH!  THEREFORE ITS ODD CONFIGURATION WAS CRAZY FOR BASEBALL...AND BEST KNOWN FOR ITS CAVERNOUS, 505 FEET TO CENTER FIELD.  NO HOME RUN EVER MADE IT THAT FAR BUT MOST OLD-TIMERS REMEMBER WILLIE MAYS' SENSATIONAL, OVER THE SHOULDER CATCH OFF VIC WERTZ IN THE 1954 WORLD SERIES...IT WAS A CRAPPY FOOTBALL VENUE TOO .

During the preceding summer, I had been to the Polo Grounds, (Mets games), twice with my dad.  I was eight, so for security reasons, he always escorted me to the men's room.  But on the school trip, I was left to my own devices.  So during the only break in the action, (half time)...I joined a polar stampede version of,  "The Great Oklahoma Land Rush," to the urination station.  A mere 6,526 people attended the game because it was nineteen degrees, the field was frozen and the Jets stunk. Nevertheless, it seemed like every one of them, went to pee at the same time.

IN 1963 THE HOME ATTENDANCE FOR JETS GAMES TOPPED OFF AT 22,000.  LINEBACKER LARRY GRANTHAM ONCE SAID, "THE CROWDS WERE SO SMALL THAT IT WAS EASIER FOR THE FANS TO INTRODUCE THEMSELVES TO THE PLAYERS."

The Polo Grounds had another feature that required my dad to be my wing man. From beneath the stands, a narrow, rickety catwalk led to the washroom.  The slightest vibration made me feel like I was on one of the rope bridges with wooden slats, from jungle movies.  I didn't have a fear of heights but looking down at the spectators below was completely out of the question. So, bravery had nothing to do with my motivation to solo across this span...that's how bad I needed, "to go."

The situation got worse because the line was out the door.  I was ready to explode as I inched closer to relief.  Then between the huge (adult) overcoat-clad bodies, I caught a glimpse and remembered the immense, white tiled latrine on the floor that I was expected to do my business in.

At the head of the line, elbow to elbow with men, I was afraid that I'd fall into the golden canal.  Harsh voices, using angry sounding words that I was unfamiliar with, threateningly "encouraged" me from behind.  I tried, but nothing came out.  It was a sad case of performance anxiety.  I was embarrassed when I failed to launch and soon relinquished my spot.  Seconds later, I was dying to go all over again.  Luckily, even with the putrid stink, I survived...when a drunk vacated the sanctuary of a lockless stall.

I LOOKED THROUGH 80 GAZILLION GOOGLE PHOTOS AND NONE DID THE POLO GROUNDS' TROUGH URINAL ANY  JUSTICE.

I went to two more Jets games, (1965 and 1977).  In both cases, I was savvy enough to go potty way before (after) half time.

The last NFL game I went to was on November 15, 1981.  My wife Sue and I were living in Las Vegas and we flew up to San Francisco, to see SLW.  To spice up our visit, he got us 49ers tickets, for a game against the Cleveland Browns.

*JOE MONTANA LED THE 49ers THAT YEAR TO THEIR FIRST SUPER BOWL CHAMPIONSHIP.  DURING THE REGULAR SEASON, THEY WON TWELVE OF THEIR LAST THIRTEEN GAMES, (OF COURSE, WE SAW THE 15-12 LOSS TO THE BROWNS).  *MONTANA WOULD GO ON TO WIN ALL FOUR OF HIS SUPER BOWL APPEARANCES WITH SAN FRANCISCO.

Tons of rain hit the Bay Area, in the days leading up to our game. On that Sunday, we woke up to a raw, breezy, drizzly morning. Even worse, we found out that the Candlestick Park parking lot was closed due to flooding.  The TV news urged ticket holders to use public transportation. 

SLW drove us to a special service bus stop, at a strip mall in San Leandro...in his black, 1959 Volkswagen Bug. When our bus finally came, the dampened three of us shoved our way in and further discomforted the other packed-in sardines.

When we got off, we could see that the empty parking lot was underwater.  However outside our gate, makeshift accommodations were made for about fifty side-by-side buses.

SUE WAS NEITHER A FOOTBALL FAN OR A LOVER OF INCLEMENT WEATHER. SO SHE GLADLY RELEGATED HERSELF TO WANDERING AROUND WITH THE CAMERA OR MAKING HOT CHOCOLATE RUNS IN THE FIRST HALF AND BEER RUNS IN THE SECOND HALF.

The 49ers were the hottest team in the league.  They were expected to shellac the Browns but the wind, rain and poor field conditions helped keep the score down.


  I LEARNED THAT IT WAS BAD JUDGEMENT AT HALF TIME, TO TRY TO GET PICTURES OF THE PLAYERS.  ALSO, I'LL HAVE TO ASK SLW WHAT HE'S HOLDING? 



 Early in the fourth quarter, my beverage intake and the psychological trauma of the liquefied elements took their toll on my bladder. The game was getting exciting so rather than miss any of the building excitement, I made a childish decision to squirm in my seat rather than take care of my business.

The 49ers got the ball back with a minute and a half to go.  A sudden squall dropped sheets of sideways rain on us as I jibed Sue, "If they drive at least thirty yards and kick a field goal, we're going to overtime..."  It was one of the few times she ever physically abused me.


WHEN SUE MUSSED ME UP, IT WAS TWO YEARS BEFORE RALPHIE IN, "A CHRISTMAS STORY," WAS WARNED THAT HE'D SHOOT HIS EYE OUT, IF HE GOT A RED RYDER BB-GUN.  OF COURSE MY MANHOOD REQUIRED ME TO LIE ABOUT MY FACIAL INJURIES AND SAY, "THE 49ers WENT INTO THE SHOT-GUN AND IT BACKFIRED ON ME."



In the closing seconds, Joe Montana indeed led the team into field goal range but another player's stupid personal foul penalty, ended any hope of even trying to tie the game.  When the final gun went off, I bolted to the men's room.  I think all 52,000 people were ahead of me.  I was forced to use, "PLAN-B."  Through my yellowing eyes, I told Sue and SLW that I'd meet them outside and ran down the ramp.  I remembered the sea of buses outside and made it my mission to find nirvana between them. 



AT THE BACK OF THE SECOND LAYER OF BUSES, I FOUND A CONVENIENT CLUMP OF BUSHES.  IT WAS IN THE PRIVACY OF THIS EDEN-LIKE SETTING THAT I PREPARED TO END MY DISCOMFORT. 



A nanosecond before releasing, "the hounds," someone appeared in my peripheral vision.  My mind went into damage control and like a sluice gate clamping down on my urine valve, I painfully shut down my waterworks. At the point of exhaustion without spurting even a drop, I turned to face the expected arresting officer.  Instead, it was Sue focusing the camera. After a good deal of friendly two-way profanity, I used the parking lot floor as the true super (toilet) bowl.