Monday, July 27, 2009

RED KLOTZ: THE GENERAL WHOSE ARMY ALWAYS LOST !

My favorite Atlantic City trivia question is; which property from the Atlantic City-based, "MONOPOLY" board game is misspelled?

Another interesting one is; who is Red Klotz? And why was his vacant Atlantic City liquor store spared the wrecking ball as urban renewal was tearing everything else around it down?

To acknowledge the revitalization of my friendship with STU (thanks FACEBOOK), I will introduce you to Louis Herman "Red" Klotz.

Klotz, in his late eighties, was born in Philadelphia, October 21, 1921. He attended South Philly High School and starred, in leading their basketball team to consecutive championships in 1939 and 1940. He played college ball for Villanova and briefly in the NBA during the 1947-48 season. Klotz, a point guard, appeared in eleven regular season games and six more in the playoffs for the original Baltimore Bullets. At 5 foot 7, he has the distinction of being the third shortest player in NBA history.

When I was around fourteen, Red Klotz was frequently the brunt of STU's humor. But what could possibly have earned this insignificant player a place in STU's heart?

Klotz is best known for forming (owning) teams that played against and toured with the Harlem Globetrotters. Although the team played under different names, they were overwhelmingly called the Washington Generals...and Klotz was their exasperated player/coach.

Red Klotz was the Globetrotters' perfect victim of circumstance. He was a great actor and played the part of a stooge/fall-guy with tremendous verve. Whether it was the basketball that didn't bounce, the "yo-yo ball" or the phony water bucket (it was usually filled with confetti but sometimes it was water)! The Generals coupled impeccable timing while emoting their chagrin to the delight of the predominately young crowds.

In 2005, my son Andrew's birthday party included a Globetrotter game at nearby Stockton State College. He not only loved the hi-jinx but when his friend was chosen from the audience to assist the clown-princes of basketball...his friend deferred to Andrew. His friend did a great thing and Andrew keeps the memory and the un-dribbled, autographed ball proudly.

Somehow, in all the excitement, Andrew is unclear whether Red Klotz participated that day or not. Its too bad, because in addition to Klotz's funny name, his advanced age, lack of height, wild, thinning red-hair and hyper-disposition, he made the Generals the ideal lovable losers, (straight men), for the comedic icons of exhibition basketball.

RED KLOTZ (above) WAS INDUCTED INTO PHILADELPHIA'S JEWISH HALL-OF-FAME IN 2001, (I'M GUESSING THE SPORTS WING IS ESPECIALLY SMALL). IN 2007, HE BECAME THE FIRST NON-HARLEM GLOBETROTTER TO RECEIVE THE GLOBETROTTER "LEGEND" AWARD.

After striking up a deal in 1953 with Abe Saperstein, (creator of the Globetrotters), Red Klotz coached teams lost over 13,000 times, in 118 countries, over the next 42 years. Klotz claimed that he tried to win every game but in all that time, the Generals won only six games. The last of which came under the name the New Jersey Reds, on January 5, 1971, in Martin Tennessee. This rarity ended an estimated 2495-game Globetrotter winning streak and featured a Red Klotz game winning shot at the buzzer. Later, Klotz who was 50 years old at the time said, "The crowd wanted to kill me." He remained player/coach until he was 62.

I can still hear STU ragging on Red Klotz and whistling (poorly), the Globetrotter theme song, "SWEET GEORGIA BROWN." Now after I typed all this up, my only hope is that he remembers what I'm talking about. But because I know he was also a MONOPOLY freak, I'll bet he scrolled down before reading the column to find out that: the MONOPOLY game spells one of the "yellow" properties; Marvin Gardens. When it should be spelled; Marven Gardens.

http://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.youtube.com/watch%3Fv%3D0jE2g055zRA&ei=ewVuSrStEIPUlAf6qKS1Ag&sa=X&oi=video_result&resnum=1&ct=thumbnail&usg=AFQjCNGXvlaYZuRCJgSx68uAG9DsHL3auQ CLICK ON LINK ABOVE FOR THE 1980 BENNY GOODMAN VERSION OF "SWEET GEORGIA BROWN." (4 minutes)

More importantly...here's another trivia question for all you casual visitors of Atlantic City...where is the actual Marven Gardens located? Don't bother scrolling down this time STU...because you're ALL gonna have to ask me individually for the answer.

Monday, July 20, 2009

THE EVER SNOTTY, MIKE "MEAT-BONE" FLEISCHBIEN

At a time when we should be celebrating today's 40th anniversary of the first men on the moon or at least the birthdays of two of my readers: LACC and BOZO...I choose instead to take a much lower road.

I'm still in the pleasant afterglow of my Vegas/Grand Canyon vacation. Its funny to me that part of the anticipation of returning to Las Vegas, was unexpectedly running into people. In my last visit these occurrences happened frequently. But now 17 years later...it only happened twice.

The first was a friend from my dealer school. My blog from last year "THE MIGHTY MACS" featured him and his wonderful family. When I referred to him in my short stories, I changed his name to John Heaverlo. In retrospect, it was unnecessary because there was nothing about his character or actions that would be embarrassing.

The other person I bumped into was NOT a friend. He was a cold-hearted co-worker who was so conceited, self-centered and selfish that it was paramount to change his name...to Mike "Meat-Bone" Fleischbien...to prevent possible slander charges.

Coincidentally, this knucklehead grew up three blocks from me in Canarsie. He was six years older so even though there was such a foundation to bond from, he was too annoying to be around.

What makes Meat-Bone such an ugly character is that he hadn't changed a smidge. In an industry that has grown to depend on hospitality, Meat-Bone remains the personification of negativity.

When I spotted Meat-Bone back in June, he was standing dead...his craps table was open but had no players. I doubted that he'd recognize me, so I nestled next to him and said, "Hey buddy, how do I get to Bagel Street from here?" Meat-Bone noticed I wasn't holding cash or chips and tried his best to ignore me. I continued, "Is Bagel Street in walking distance?"

He finally looked at me and said, "Never heard of it. But the information booth on the other side of the casino IS in walking distance!"

I think the best thing about control-freaks, arrogant people and know-it-alls, is, that they are so stuck on them self that they have no idea how much they are disliked.

While this was happening, my family was with me. So I ended the charade by naming his cross-street from the old neighborhood, "Bagel Street is between Avenue L and Avenue K." He remembered me at that point. Our ensuing pleasantries were short and went nowhere.

So with the vast wonderment of lunar exploration and the celebration of great people's birthdays, I instead focus on poking fun of Meat-Bone, one of the all-time jerks.

In a landmark achievement for my blog, today I present para-phrased excerpts about him from my short story, "A GUMMY CONSPIRACY."

Mike "Meat-Bone" Fleischbien is introduced in the story as a lonely pest who tried to invade my clique of craps dealers at the Las Vegas Golden Nugget, (1982-1983). The story takes place during the casino's metamorphosis from a sawdust grind-joint to a renown worldwide destination. In the chaotic process of converting the "toilet" into a palace many good employees were fired to clear-out space for influence peddlers. One of my group got fired that way. Meat-Bone seized the opportunity. He harassed the scheduler into accepting his bribe and weaseled a permanent position on my crew.

Rather than appreciate his emergence onto our "A-List" by taking on a lower-profile, Meat-Bone, to make a "good" first-impression on us was an immediate nuisance. Aside from starting nearly every sentence with "I," it was important to him that we knew that he was God's gift to dealing. In so doing, between his sneezing and coughing fits, he explained the significance of his next body-builder competition.

Later, he was in the middle of telling us about his membership to a tanning spa, when he was politely told to, "Cool it," by Antony Francis our beloved floor supervisor.

Meat-Bone smiled and snarled in his heavy Brooklyn accent, "Shaddup."

Antony Francis was seething and nervously pacing as Meat-Bone started arguing with the few players we had. When he got bored of that, Meat-Bone lectured me on the finer points of standing-dead.

A half hour later, I was explaining the rules of craps to two young girls when his preaching became intense, "I gotta tell ya Sonny, this ain't no 'table-for-table' gig. I'm gonna make the same scratch whether I work or not...so, let's not."

Soon our game swelled to seven players. In the middle of admiring his manicure Meat-Bone loudly scoffed, "I'll have to teach you my move for 'looking-away' players."

A Hawaiian couple joined our game. Back in my day, Hawaiians gambling in Las Vegas, had the reputation (pleasant and generous) for being the best ethnic group to deal to. While another dealer was rolling out the red carpet to them, Meat-Bone was still antagonizing me. From his stickman position he proudly announced, "Kid, I'll explain what you did wrong after I 'thin-out the herd.'"

I was in the middle of setting-up this couple's bets when he tapped me with the stick and said, "Listen, I'm here to help, you understand...right? As soon as we're standing dead again, I'll finish explaining everything you need to know."

The Hawaiian woman read his name-tag and said, "Come on Mike, don't be such a downer. Smile, you only live once."

"On top of my deviated septum, I gotta bad cold," he rasped to intentionally embellish his symptoms, "I shudda stayed home."

"Then you should have stayed home. We came here to relax. This is no place to be miserable."

"I shudda stayed home home...you're right. But they have a strict attendance policy." He extended his hand and added, "But for two-hundred, I'll go home right now."

The woman was fuming as Meat-Bone stared me down and spat, "See what you started!"

When Meat-Bone was relieved from the stick, he was intercepted by Antony Francis and threatened with a "write-up."

Between his exaggerated coughing and sneezing Meat-Bone remained aloof to his players while putting-in a minimal effort. When the husband began a series of unusual place-bet presses, Meat-Bone in an intimidating manner growled at the man. In between the dice rolls, he then attacked me for allowing the game to open.

The wife came to my defense and said, "If you're sick, you're sick. But you don't have to be mean. Leave that guy alone."

The husband added, "Brudda, you need to chill out."

Meat -Bone scowled, "Chill out? I already told ya, I'm dying ova here."

The husband whispered, "Up in my room, I have some paco-lo-lo. That'll put a smile on your face."

"Look bub," Meat-Bone snapped, "I don't need no drugs to feel good."

While Antony Francis struggled to find the new, "Disciplinary Action Forms," Meat-Bone exploded with a thunderous sneeze. A two-foot long gob of mucus dangled from his nose. The meticulous Meat-Bone was mortified to look bad in front of a large group.

"Tap me out," he demanded. When no one came to his rescue, he was forced to gather his mess in his hand.

The Hawaiians were pointing at Meat-Bone and laughing the loudest, "Hana-budda, hana-budda!"

Craps procedure forced Meat-Bone to remain trapped at his base (station) so he cried out in desperation, "Francis, get me some goddamn Kleenex!"

Antony Francis hated being called by his surname. He bitterly grabbed the box. But he didn't hand them to Meat-Bone. Instead, he teasingly, he held the tissues just out of the impatient patient's grasp.

Our game came to a complete stop as Antony said, "Well."

"Well what?"

"How were you brought-up? Don't you EVER say please or thanks or apologize or..."

"C'mon a-ready!"

Antony bled every second of humiliation and said, "Say please, now...and there better be a thank you too."

"PLEASE, thank you...thank you with a cherry on top."

Antony wasn't satisfied and remained frozen. He folded his arms and tucked the box under his left bicep.

Meat-Bone grimaced in defeat and said, "Yeah, I'm an ass-hole. Now, please...give me the fuckin' tissues."

When everything calmed down I asked the couple, "What does hana-budda mean?"

They started laughing again and the wife said, "In the Hawaiian language there is no real word for it because we don't catch colds."

She started to giggle and blushingly turned away so her husband added, "Hana is our word for nose and budda...is butter.."

The couple looked at each other and wailed, "Hana-budda, is snot."

THE "BLUE PLANET," PHOTOGRAPH BROUGHT BACK BY APOLLO 8, a. k. a. "EARTHRISE," HAS BECOME AN ICON FOR ENVIRONMENTAL CONSCIOUSNESS ON EARTH. MAYBE THERE SHOULD BE A PICTURE OF MEAT-BONE FROM OUTER SPACE TO SYMBOLIZE TO POWER-JUNKIES, JUST HOW INSIGNIFICANT THEY ARE TO THE REST OF THE WORLD.

My short story, "A GUMMY CONSPIRACY" is one of 20 I have written. If you'd like to read them, my 2 screenplays or novel...please contact me and I'll send them via E-Mail or lend you a hard copy.

Monday, July 13, 2009

MICKEY MENTAL

I've always been amazed by the rainbow of color samples in paint stores. Being color-blind, I don't see what most people see, yet upon closer inspection, the slight differences...even to me, are obvious.

I may not be ready for HDTV but my opinions have been useful in the redecorating process. However, while I see and appreciate the differences...at a certain point...the specific shade is so minute that its nothing to stress over. Therefore, I do not relish buying paint. Instead, the highlight of the trip to the paint store is reading the funny names they give for each color. For example, did you know that when it comes to brownish-yellow, gourmet mustard is lighter than crunchy peanut butter and baby poop is somewhat deeper.

I guess my love of ranking words began in my pre-adolescent days. That talent developed from watching TV. When it was sharpened, I put it to superior use when insulting my friends.

Remember when Moe of the "THREE STOOGES" called Curley an ignoramus. Well I bet, he chose that word over simpleton, blockhead, lame-brain or numb skull because it fit the exact situation. In reality, Moe had countless slang words to choose from plus a dozen or so clinical variations. Years ago, I stumbled onto a list if these clinical terms. What made the find more interesting was that synonyms like; imbecile, cretin, moron, idiot and dolt were ranked in ascending order with the first word being the most severe.

I wanted to research that list for this column but I couldn't find it again. However, I did find the following chart written by French psychologist Alfred Binet in 1911:


  • MORON .......... IQ BETWEEN.......... 51-70
  • IMBECILE ...... IQ BETWEEN..........26-50
  • IDIOT ............... IQ BETWEEN........... 0-25


Unfortunately for me, the article I read with Binet's list also went on to say that since around 1970, all those words have become synonymous.

That's not good enough for me. I feel now the same way I did as a kid. You should always have a strong picture in your mind when labeling someone as a dope because dope is milder than calling them a jerk. And, if there were no adults around, you might want to call that person an ass. For me, at the tender age of seven, the real show stopper in my circles was calling someone; mental...as in mental case. Today, we'll examine two incidents of my childhood where I cleverly used it.

PART - ONE

From pre-school age, I had a friend up the street who was especially dumb. By second grade I recognized that he was brain-dead. I tried every name in the book to shunt him aside. Nothing insulted him. He finally got the message when I called him mental.

At that point of my life, I did normal 1962 Canarsie activities like; vandalize the newly constructed homes on the next street, throw mud pies at girls and go hunting for rats at the creek (with rocks...no I never caught one). Thus, I grew up to be the well-adjusted man you all know and admire.

This odd-ball kid remained strange. He once swallowed a dime, nickel and penny. Forever burnt into my mind is his little swirly tracheotomy scar at his throat and his father's quote, "At least my dimwit son is now worth 16 cents." This kid took pride in getting in trouble and never did schoolwork. He was never "left-back" in school but he was barely literate. The older bullies picked on him but this doofus just took it with an empty grin...even when they beat him up.

Years later in junior high, (1970) another kid and I were playing stickball in my driveway. Across the street, a procession of low-life, juvenile offenders from my grade knocked on this genius's door. He let them in. Some time passed and suddenly, the mental guy exploded in terror out of his own house. He jumped off the porch and ran to safety across the street. Seconds later, a full glass jar of Fox's U-Bet chocolate syrup was hurled through the glass (from the inside) of the storm door.
FOX'S U-BET CHOCOLATE SYRUP HAS BEEN A NEW YORK CITY FAVORITE SINCE 1895.  IT COMPETED WITH HERSHEY'S SYRUP AND BOSCO BUT WAS THE PREFERRED INGREDIENT IN THE FOUNTAIN BEVERAGE CALLED AN, "EGG CREAM."  IN MY CHILDHOOD, FOR IN-HOME USE, MOST FAMILIES THREW AWAY THE METAL LID AND BOUGHT A PLASTIC PUMP ADAPTER.  THE GLASS JAR WAS DISCONTINUED IN 2002 AND REPLACED WITH A SQUEEZABLE BOTTLE.

The swarm of hoodlums-in-training came out onto the porch and taunted the poor schmuck as the smashed jar, oozed chocolate sauce onto the walkway. The harsh ridicule continued as the budding criminals dared him to come back in. When they pretended to run after him...he fled.

A year later that knucklehead's family moved away. We never found out what happened to the inside of the house. That imbecile could have used me and my stickball buddy as witnesses but we were never approached. I hope this dunce doesn't try to find me on FACEBOOK. This is one case where I have no curiosity to find him or see whatever happened to him.


PART - TWO

A few days ago, another former friend from grade school found me on FACEBOOK. I ignored his "friend request" because of the abrupt end to our short friendship, at day camp. After all this time, I still remember the circumstances and the exact moment we parted company.

I was always a passionate New York Mets fan. I frequently mention that in my early years, I was the kid that would become blue in the face arguing that "Fat" Jack Fisher was better than Whitey Ford and that Ron Swoboda was going to be the next Ted Williams.
"FAT" JACK FISHER'S MAJOR LEAGUE CAREER WAS SAVED WHEN EXPANSION IN 1961 AND 1962 ADDED FOUR NEW TEAMS.  HE WAS BARELY MAJOR LEAGUE PEDIGREE BUT FOR THE WOEFUL NEW YORK METS (1964-1967) HE WAS THE BEST PITCHER THEY HAD.

After the 1964 baseball season, the hated Yankees and their latest dynasty were thankfully, a thing of the past. All those years of having my lowly Mets trod upon by the arrogant Yankee fans and their tiresome sense of entitlement...were over...temporarily.

In the summer of 1967, I befriended the FACEBOOK member above. Of Eastern-European refugee parents, this die-hard Yankee fan was a chubby, non-athletic, uncool, brainiac...a Howard Cosell-type. That means he was more inclined to act as an umpire than to play ball.

When we found out that the big camp excursion was a Yankees versus Baltimore Orioles game the following week, this kid leaped (not especially high) for joy.

I tried to kill his buzz but in a fair argument, he could easily out debate me. So rather than lose, I went for his Achilles Heel, I referred to Mr. Mantle as Mickey Mental. At first, he didn't cry...which is admirable for a twelve year-old but when his emotions started getting the better of him, he scampered off, (actually, lumbered off is a better description).

Two days later, (June 27, 1967), we were supposed to go to Prospect Park in Brooklyn, to an Angling (fishing) Contest but it was postponed. I guess the camp had already rented the buses so they took us to a Mets versus Pirates game. Coincidentally, prior to the game, a sequence from the "ODD COUPLE" movie was filmed.
(ACTUAL INTERNET PHOTO OF THE EVENT). THE SCENE CALLED FOR THE PIRATES TO HIT INTO A GAME-ENDING TRIPLE PLAY TO PRESERVE A RARE METS VICTORY.  HALL-OF-FAMER ROBERTO CLEMENTE REFUSED TO DEBASE HIS IMAGE, SO FORMER WORLD SERIES HERO BILL MAZEROSKI WAS USED.  I'VE HEARD THAT THE FEAT WAS ACCOMPLISHED IN ONE TAKE.  BUT THAT'S NOT TRUE, I WAS THERE.  MAZ DIDN'T SWING AT A FEW PITCHES, HE FOULED OFF A COUPLE AND HIT SEVERAL BALLS THAT DIDN'T FIT THE CRITERIA OF A THIRD, TO SECOND TO FIRST GROUND BALL TRIPLE PLAY.  EVEN BETTER, THE METS WON THE REAL GAME, 5-2.

My "friend" and I were seated together and he naturally cheered for the opposition. I couldn't handle it so I struck up a deal. "If you root for the Mets now, next week, I'll root for the Yanks." This kid was an intelligent and fair person. I phrased it well, and he agreed.

The next week at Yankee Stadium (the only time my fanny was ever tarnished by one of their seats), we again sat next to each other. Benignly, I waited for game time as this kid, as if doing calligraphy, artistically entered the names in his scorecard. The only time he came up for air was to say, "Did you know, the Mick's playing first base this year." After I uttered a non-committal grunt, he smugly he added, "Today, he's naturally batting clean-up. Let's hope he hits one out."

I remained quiet until the first pitch was en route. Suddenly, I became especially obnoxious in rooting for the Orioles. When this kid whined in protest, "Hey we had a deal. I rooted for the Mets last week and now you HAVE to root for the Yankees!" I said, "*SCREW YOU and Mickey Mental!"

* MY MEMORY IS A LITTLE FUZZY..."SCREW YOU" (EVEN AT TWELVE YEARS-OLD) MIGHT NOT HAVE BEEN THE WAY I PHRASED IT !

Earlier this week, his FACEBOOK request was the first time I had heard from him since that afternoon. I still can picture his huffy attitude as he shuffled away to another seat.

The moral of these two stories are; sticks and stones may break their bones but harsh words are easier to use and more fun. And if that's too corny remember this...whether it's well chosen foul language or the paint store calling light beige; "desert sand", "autumn straw" or "three week old mashed potatoes in Santa's beard," in the end, they're all pretty much the same !

Saturday, July 4, 2009

VEGAS VACATION - 2009

This year our family vacation was in three main parts. Las Vegas for 4 nights, the Grand Canyon for 3 nights and while there, a day trip to the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest.

KURUDAVE was kind enough to drive us to the Philadelphia Airport. His funny stories made the usually dull ride the fastest ever.

Tightened security at the terminal resulted in our feet getting strip searched. Sans footwear our ordeal worsened when our mousse and sun-screen were confiscated from our carry-on luggage.

I stress the carry-on phrase because USAIR in an attempt to keep their airfares low, charge $15 for your first suitcase and $25 for each addition piece. This compels you to carry a ton of crap that normally would be stowed in suitcases. Luckily LEFTYDEE warned us about carry-on weight restrictions or we would have paid a lot more unnecessarily. However, we were not prepared in regard to liquids and aerosol cans that were seized from our carry-ons.

To further minimize their overhead, USAIR does NOT provide a free meal, movie or even pillows. The plane we flew is nicknamed an "Air-Bus" and I would guess that a Greyhound would have been roomier. This notion was emphasized by the narrow aisles and the struggle to navigate through them by the less-than-spry stewardesses and their 747-size butts.

On the ground we were met by FRANKIERIO who not only showed us around downtown Vegas but agreed to give us a full tour the next day.
FRANKIERIO WAS A CHARTER MEMBER OF MY POKER BUDDIES. HE MOVED TO VEGAS IN 1996. BACK THEN HE LOVED TO TAKE TOYS OUT OF ANDREW'S CRIB AND PLAY WITH THEM.

Don't get me wrong all the major casinos are beautiful and if you can afford it, they offer ANYTHING you could possibly want.
I DON'T KNOW WHATS MORE INSANE, A FERRARI DEALERSHIP IN THE WYNN CASINO...OR THE $10 FEE TO COME IN AND BROWSE FOR NON-FERRARI/MASERATI OWNERS.

The irony is that despite the upscale casinos having different themes...in the end...unless you're really observant, they are hard to differentiate from one another. One shining star was the brand new M Casino. In the middle of nowhere (the furthest southern point on the strip), it caters to locals and doesn't get at all caught up in the commercialism like the others. Coincidentally, several of our (Frank and me) former Atlantic City coworkers are there and we got a comp (freebie) to their lavish buffet.

IT WAS AT THE M CASINO POOL THAT ANDREW FOUND OUT ABOUT MICHAEL JACKSON'S DEATH. IT TOOK HIM QUITE SOME TIME TO FIND THE RIGHT WORDS TO BREAK THE NEWS TO ME.
AT THE VENETIAN, MADAME TUSSUAD'S WAX MUSEUM WASTED NO TIME IN GETTING A MICHAEL JACKSON TRIBUTE OUT INTO THE STREET.

Our casino hopping extended till after 1:AM with the outdoor casino shows at the Bellagio, Mirage and Treasure Island.

THE BELLAGIO'S FOUNTAIN SHOW SYNCHRONIZED WITH OPERA MUSIC WAS THE BEST AND MOST BEAUTIFUL.

The next day we set out on our own (about 10 miles) to Red Rock Canyon.

ITS NOW WRITTEN INTO A CONTRACT, I MUST REFER TO ANDREW IN ALL SHOTS SUCH AS THIS AS; "MR. BEEFCAKE."

THE NEXT DAY WE FOUND OUT THAT A HIKER IN RED ROCK CANYON FELL TO HIS DEATH RIGHT AFTER WE LEFT. THAT'S WHY, IF YOU SQUINT, YOU'LL NOTICE THIS DANGEROUS SHOT WAS POSED BY A PROFESSIONAL STUNT DOUBLE. NEXT TIME I'LL PONY-UP THE FEW EXTRA BUCKS AND RENT ONE WITH LESS OF A GUT.

That night we went to the Mandalay Bay Casino and saw the touring company production of Broadway's "LION KING."

Our last Vegas day was a photo shoot and visit to every gift shop in town.
ICONIC "VEGAS VIC" HAS LURED GAMBLERS INTO THE PIONEER CLUB CASINO SINCE 1951. UNFORTUNATELY, ITS NOW AN ESPECIALLY SEEDY TEE-SHIRT SHOP FEATURING A TIME-SHARE SPIELER IN FRONT !

On our way to the Stratosphere Casino gift shop, we encountered one of the greatest examples of substance over form. This casino features amusement park rides on its lofty tower roof. We figured we'd go up to the "penthouse" just to take pictures. With the rides having a separate price, they have the audacity to charge $15 per person just to go up, (it was still $12 for hotel guests). Our ten minute look-see would have cost us $45. Conversely, substance once again prevails because a seven-day admission to the Grand Canyon is $25 per car.

AT THE SITE OF THE FORMER JOLLY-TROLLEY CASINO, THE SELF-PROCLAIMED, "WORLD'S BIGGEST GIFT SHOP" HOLDS SWAY. PERSONALLY, ALL IT IS, IS A VEGAS-THEMED SPENCER GIFTS. AND TRUST ME, LIKENING THIS SCHLOCK STORE TO THE GIFT SHOP AT HERSHEY PARK, SIZE-WISE, IS LIKE COMPARING RHODE ISLAND TO ALASKA.

We finished our trip's Vegas segment with a near-disastrous trip to the outlet center. Sue was on the clock for 90 minutes and went her own way. While Andrew and I cased this outdoor mall in the early evening 102 degree swelter, I stopped at a bench to get a pebble out of my sneaker. When Sue was done, I volunteered to get the car. At the car I realized I didn't have the keys. I didn't panic because I knew the only place Andrew and I stopped was that bench...I hurried back, but they weren't there. While Sue searched for a lost and found and security...I stupidly decided to re-trace all my steps. I'm guessing the forces of evil went back to hell to cool off because a little farther up from where I THOUGHT I stopped...was an identical bench and the keys were there.

The Grand Canyon when you drive a rented, 4-cylinder Ford Focus at 90 MPH, is less than four hours. To break-up the trip we had a "pit-stop" in Ash Fork, Arizona.

MOTHS LIKE THIS WERE UBIQUITOUS AROUND THE GAS PUMPS. WHEN I ASKED THE ATTENDANT WHAT THEY WERE SHE SAID, "THEY'RE SOME KIND OF BUG."

I visited the Grand Canyon in 1976. I was young and dumb, and figured I'd take one look and leave...I took one look and stayed three days. Afterwards I told people; no picture will ever do it justice, the Grand Canyon is something you have to see to appreciate.
READ THE SMALL PRINT AT THE TOP. SEE, I WASN'T ORIGINAL, THIS SIGN IS POSTED OUTSIDE WHERE THE GRANDVIEW, (THE FIRST GRAND CANYON HOTEL), WAS BUILT - 1898.

The National Park portion of the Grand Canyon's south rim stretches about 50 miles east to west. Every picture you take has unique beauty. We went to two sunsets and were rewarded both time.

OUR SECOND SUNSET WAS AT THE SCENIC OVERLOOK CALLED "THE ABYSS." THEY DON'T ALLOW PRIVATE CAR TRAFFIC TO THE WESTERN END OF THE PARK SO YOU HAVE TO USE THE FREE SHUTTLE. WE WANTED TO GO ALL THE WAY TO THE END...TO THE BEST PLACE TO SEE THE SUNSET, "HERMIT'S REST." BUT BECAUSE WE HAD TROUBLE PARKING, WE WERE RUNNING LATE. INSTEAD WE BAILED-OUT AT THE ABYSS. AS WE GOT OFF, THE DRIVER INFORMED US THAT THERE WERE ONLY TWO MORE BUSES BACK TO CIVILIZATION. AS THE BUS PULLED AWAY, WE REALIZED THAT WE WERE THE ONLY PEOPLE THERE...ITS KIND OF SPOOKY BECAUSE THERE ARE CROWDS EVERYWHERE. ABOUT 10 MINUTES LATER, ANOTHER BUS CAME JUST BEFORE THE SUN WENT DOWN. WE EXPECTED THE NEXT BUS...THE "LAST BUS" ANOTHER 10 MINUTES AFTER THAT. WELL IT DIDN'T COME. IT GOT DARK AND SWARMS OF GNATS ATTACKED. SOON HUNDREDS (one at a time) SMALL BIRDS STRAFED JUST ABOVE OUR HEADS. I THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO NOT MENTION THAT THEY WERE BATS. SOON, SUE WENT INTO AFRAID-OF-THE-DARK MODE AND STARTED TO PANIC. SHE WANTED TO WALK THE 3.5 MILES BACK TO THE CAR. I SOMEHOW TALKED HER DOWN. IN THE ENSUING 40 MINUTES, I TOLD HER THAT THE LOW FLYING BIRDS WERE BATS. SHE WAS TOO WORRIED ABOUT GETTING EATEN BY BEARS AND/OR MOUNTAIN LIONS TO CARE. WE WERE THERE ABOUT AN HOUR WHEN THE LAST BUS INDEED SHOWED UP.

The highlight was the hike down into the canyon. Its 9 miles to the bottom (Colorado River). We decided on the mile and a half route...about 2 hours round trip. We followed the safety suggestions and understood that its a lot harder coming back up. We didn't quite make it to our goal. Still, the slow walk up was terribly exhausting...but we all proudly survived the challenge. At the top I proclaimed, "Diet Cherry Pepsi for everybody!"

A RARE SHADY SPOT...ITS A GOOD THING I MADE RESERVATIONS THAT DAY. ON THE OTHER HAND, MULE RESERVATIONS MUST BE MADE A YEAR IN ADVANCE. ON THE WAY UP, I WAS INCREDIBLY TIRED BUT THE AWFUL DUNG SMELL MOTIVATED ME TO KEEP GOING.

On two separate nights, we attended outdoor lectures. Afterwards, at 9:30PM, the park is virtually empty. Seemingly alone on the road back to our hotel, the RED FEATHER LODGE, (10 miles away in scenic Tusayan Arizona), I was spotted by a park ranger. He told me that I rolled through two stop signs. I was convinced that I was getting a summons because it took so long to process my info...but he let me slide.

We finished our stay with a jaunt to the Petrified Forest and Painted Desert...a three-plus hour drive. The Grand Canyon is a tough act to follow and although these are beautiful places and we have great memories...they were rather dull.

SUE WAS UNIMPRESSED AND SAID OF THE PETRIFIED FOREST, "IT'S A BENT HUB-CAP AWAY FROM LOOKING LIKE A JUNKYARD." AND ANDREW SAID, "WE CAME A LONG WAY TO LOOK AT GIANT, CUT UP HOT DOGS." I LIKED IT MORE THAN THEM BUT DEEP DOWN, I COULDN'T HELP BUT AGREE.THE PAINTED DESERT HAD IT'S MOMENTS BUT BY THIS TIME, ALL WE WANTED WAS LUNCH.

Our last stop on the way to the Las Vegas (McCarron) Airport was Hoover Dam. Highway-93 runs across the top of dam. Due to heightened security, cars are spot checked. The traffic back-up along the steep, twisty road was awful. To reduce the chance of sabotage and to relieve the traffic crunch, a new bridge spanning the gorge is being built. Please notice the cables and partially completed roadway in the background of the photo below. Hoover Dam is much lower and can't be seen from this angle.

WE ONLY TOOK A COUPLE OF SNAPS THERE BECAUSE IT WAS 110 DEGREES.

Our flight back to Philadelphia was smooth...except for the old woman with a loud coarse voice behind us that kept harping on the death of TV pitchman Billy Mays...who died three days earlier...when his USAIR "air bus" had a rough landing and baggage fell out of the overhead compartment and onto his head. He seemed okay but two nights later he didn't wake-up.

Our great vacation was over. Kurudave faithfully picked us up in Philly and of course it was raining.

EDITOR'S NOTE - An additional 25 different vacation photos...with snappy captions...can be found on my FACEBOOK page.