THE MIGHTY MACS

My casino career in Las Vegas started on January 8, 1979, I weighed 185.

For those of you who didn't read my short story, "THE HEAT IS ON," it examines my first craps dealing job at the SLOTS-A-CASINO. My combined wages and tips in that toilet was $150.00 gross and I do mean GROSS!

I toiled there for three months before getting a better job but the habit of eating (gorging myself) at cheap buffets would last an entire year. By the time Christmas rolled around, I tipped the scales at 222 pounds. It was then that women's basketball changed my waistline's life.

I was invited to a friend's house for Christmas dinner. I was taken aside by his wife and encouraged to ask-out her sister, Suzette. Later, I struck up a conversation with her. She told me that she was a basketball player. When she saw my unimpressed expression, Suzette told me that she once scored all her team's points in a game. Her eavesdropping sister was quick to add that she scored the three points in a 27-3 loss.

At a more opportune and private moment, I asked her out. She said, "I don't usually go out with fat guys but I will, if you can beat me in a one-on-one basketball game." I overlooked the insult and remembered while attending Brooklyn College the time when a friend and I were challenged by girls to play basketball. It turned out to be a "touchy-feely" precursor to coupling-off. So with that in mind, I accepted Suzette's proposition.

If my life had depended on it, I never could put a hand on Suzette. In waterbug fashion, she whizzed past me for easy lay-ups or hit uncontested jumpers. In no time, I was laying on my back across the foul-line wheezing for breath when the score was 4-0. Needless to say, she and I never went out. But because of that incident, I went on the greatest diet in my life and lost 44 pounds by April 1st.

I look back at Suzette and that period of my life and wonder, when did women's basketball get to be MEGA? With the NCAA championship basketball game being played tomorrow on national TV, let's look back and trace where big-time women's basketball may have started.

Nestled in Malvern Pennsylvania, tiny Immaculatta College is an all-female Catholic University an hour or so from Philadelphia. In 1972 (and again in '73 and '74), they were the first national champions of women's college basketball.

During the tidal wave of the women's equal rights movement, the Mighty Macs as they were dubbed, went to that first tournament unclear of the format and without knowing that they were playing for a national crown. The backwardness of the times is underscored by the Immaculatta team uniform. It consisted of a white dress blouse under a billowy, skirt-like jumper.

To further illustrate the newness of the concept of women running, jumping, sweating and chasing a basketball, many women's college programs back then were still offering a "girls" half-court version of the game. Among other tweaks in the rules, try to imagine playing basketball with each player restricted to three dribbles at a time.

In addition to the theological angle, The Mighty Macs had a tremendous national following as women sought new ways to break domestic stereotypes and compete in all areas of society. However, most people who recall this phenomena remember the enthusiastic nuns on the sidelines yelling encouragement, rhythmically banging empty 5 gallon plastic buckets with drumsticks and razzing the referees in the name of divine intervention.

Immaculatta's pioneering did so much to put a face on women's college athletics yet because of a technicality (being an all-female institution at the time), they were not provided the funds that 99% of the other female college athletic programs enjoyed. Unable to offer scholarships, top high school recruits went elsewhere...and the Immaculatta dynasty slipped into obscurity.

On Tuesday night in Tampa Florida when Stanford faces Tennessee for the 2008 championship. I hope those involved take a moment to appreciate the roots of women's hoops and how it evolved into a professional sport (WNBA) as well as its explosion into our national consciousness.

And because of Immaculatta and other visionaries, women can now dribble all they want, on and off the court !

MOVE OVER HARPO MARX !

The drama club at Andrew's school (Galloway Township Middle School GTMS) has struck paydirt again! Last week, on Thursday March 27th, Friday the 28th and twice that Saturday, they performed the Broadway sensation, "ONCE UPON A MATTRESS."

Under the expert tutelage of drama department head Brian Conover, the players were double-casted to maximize student exposure to acting. The show features two female lead performers. Queen Aggravain is a femme fatale while the heroine and show stopper is Princess Winnifred...or as her friends around the castle call her, FRED! The next most prominent character is King Sextimus the Silent, played comically and engagingly by my scion, Andrew.

PRINCESS "FRED" AND THE PRINCE

Andrew was in the "A" cast and performed on opening night as well as the big Saturday night finale. His role was done nearly exclusively in pantomime (until his curse was broken at the end...and then, HE HAD PLENTY TO SAY !) Reminiscent of Harpo Marx, he used body language and expert timing to mock the queen and illustrate several puns--while still finding time to regularly and unsuccessfully chase hand-maidens across the stage.

IS THAT BO JANGLES? NO ! IT'S ANDREW THE FIRST HOOFIN' EDELBLUM

THE JESTER TOLD ANDREW TO PULL UP HIS SOCK BUT HE THOUGHT SHE WAS KIDDING

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I only saw the Thursday night edition and loved it. However, I was informed that the entire cast "let it all hang out" for the Saturday night show and really out did themselves.

The truly talented actress playing the princess easily made the audience love her as she sang, danced and did physical comedy ala Carol Burnett or Lucille Ball. My favorite moment was the ensemble's performance of the "SPANISH PANIC" dance. Within this number, the princess repeatedly does the queen's task, faster and faster to the dance music. Later, I also thought she was great when Andrew's crown fell off ...she was so smooth, that the audience didn't realize she was ad libbing.


CAST "A" CURTAIN-CALL. ON ANDREW'S RIGHT, IN THE MARIE ANTOINETTE FRIGHT WIG, IS THE QUEEN. TWO TO HIS RIGHT, IS PRINCESS winniFRED

I congratulate the school administrators, faculty, performers, the students behind the scenes and everybody else involved, for an entertaining evening and a job well done.

Scroll down for additional pictures.

IT'S GOOD TO BE THE KING--ANDREW GOT TO SIT AROUND LOT.

IT LOOKS LIKE ANDREW'S JUST HANGING OUT BUT NO !!!! HE'S ACTING !!!!!!!

MUGGING IT UP FOR THE PAPARAZZI AND AUTOGRAPHS SEEKERS

THE WORLD'S MOST BELOVED AUTHOR: CLIFF NOTES !

Here's the move !

Read the book AND the Cliff notes simultaneously! I'm sure millions of people already do it but I discovered it for myself and I appreciate the art of authoring more than ever.

I chose John Steinbeck's "THE GRAPES OF WRATH" because I wrote my blog about Woody Guthrie's biographical movie, "BOUND FOR GLORY" on February 11th, and saw many parallels between them.

He also wrote "OF MICE AND MEN." I read it in junior high and didn't get much out of it. As an adult HOBOKENKID turned me onto his novel, "THE PEARL" and loved it. Now I'm sold on him.

Some critics didn't like the socialist overtones in "Grapes of Wrath." The reality is, the overtones, as the title suggests are purely spiritual. Even if you prefer to ignore the religious implications, you can't possibly come away from this book without appreciating the notion and value of the concept: GOOD WILL TOWARDS MAN!

Steinbeck, in addition to his sweeping poetic descriptions, likes to lead the reader on an apparent adventure that will take his characters to their ultimate destiny. But somewhere along the line that direct path is diverted and the characters reach a completely different zenith. Or as the French like to say; LES ENDINGS DU SURPRISE !

I consider myself to be an aspiring author. I often think my scribblings are on the right track because I actually like my blog, the short stories, novel and two screenplays. That is odd because I'm usually overly critical of myself. However, after reading Steinbeck, I really have a hard time even imagining myself with the same shingle, AUTHOR, in front of my name. To illustrate my point further...while reading "Grapes of Wrath," read the Cliff notes!

Suddenly, the chapter you just loved takes on so much more meaning as each clump of Spackle between the cracks comes alive. Now I use a lot of imagery myself, but far less efficiently. I like seeing the reaction of my readers when I tell them the significance of; a name, the color of a scarf or the angle of a shadow. But Steinbeck is a genius. There is no waste. Every word serves as a foundation to build the story and in the end, the mortar is so smooth, you can't believe there ever were any cracks.

SIGN HUNT

When my son Andrew was three, his favorite kiddie book featured pictures of signs. On a dull afternoon, he and I got in the car to set out on a sign hunt. In the wilds of our neighborhood, he was excited to identify stop signs, no left turns and the speed limits. Our sign safari got better after we parked in beautiful downtown Absecon and strolled down New Jersey Avenue. In rapid succession he spotted; open, closed, no parking, in, out, air-conditioned, welcome, and thank you signs.

Beyond his fun of discovery and learning, I also picked-up on the power of good signage and its value...even to toddlers. It's too bad that this message isn't embraced by more people.

In 1982, at the Golden Nugget in Las Vegas, the concept of good signage slipped through the hands of a co-worker named Oscar. Oscar was an Italian national with marginal mastery of the English language. In addition to having an annoying and abrasive personality, he had little experience as a craps dealer and was a slow learner. Shunned by the entire staff, this pariah forced himself into my little clique. The only reason why he was allowed to weasel himself in was because Oscar had been "juiced" into the Nugget by someone big. So we felt compelled to put on a false-face and tolerate him.

On the job, he couldn't handle being corrected by fellow dealers. The supervisors were in a worse position because he couldn't handle their criticism. Plus, because of Oscar's attitude problems with the customers, the same bosses that hated him had to protect him. The supervisors were so frustrated by him that they took their wrath out on us.

To keep the heat off, Oscar was taken aside by several of us but he never adjusted. Instead, he mistakenly took the attention he received, as friendship. He took advantage of this misinterpretation and oozed into our social circle, outside work. Then whenever Oscar had center stage, he'd reach new, "GUINNESS WORLD BOOK OF RECORDS," levels of irritation by bragging about opening an Italian restaurant.

Once Oscar interrupted a personal conversation I was having with Nick Tucker, (Nick was a universally beloved dealer and central character of my short story, "NO HELP'S HALL.").
In broken English Oscar said, "What's a good name for my restaurant?"
Nick was polite, "I don't know. I'm busy right now. Let me think about it."
Oscar turned my stomach. I thought everything he said was B. S. and that the restaurant nonsense was just a fantasy. I had always made it clear that I disliked him so I was surprised that he asked me to suggest a name for his restaurant too.
I said, "I know!"
Nick saw it coming from the gleam in my eye and said, "Don't."

I smiled, "Oscar, are you going to be doing the cooking?"
Oscar said, "Si."
So I said, "Then you should call it CASA STRUNZA."
Oscar was offended by the Italian phrase for, "House of Shit."
In addition to never speaking to me again, Oscar didn't invite me to the grand opening of his place called, "CIAO." All my other friends were invited but they gave up before they could find the place.

First, Oscar and his brother opened their elegant restaurant in an industrial park, on Polaris Drive, (off West Spring Mountain Road). They were opened for dinner only and for the most part, the industrial park closed at five. They immediately struggled. When they discovered this error, they opened for lunch but the food was too slow to prepare, too fancy and too expensive for the overwhelmingly blue-collar clientele.

More importantly, their CIAO sign, outside the complex as well as the one on the building was written in an ornate, hard to read, cursive font.

Oscar's directions did not include an actual street address. My friends, (none of which were Italian), blew by the sign which didn't even include the word; restaurant, cafe or eatery. They got lost, searched a short time in vain and gave up. After all, even if they telephoned for information, they were typical craps dealers and would have spelled the restaurant: "CHOW." After all, what else would a moron name his restaurant.

Down through the years, business people have softened their signs. These days, the word NO is rarely used. Benign international symbols have replaced "NO SMOKING" signs, and phrases like, "SHOES AND SHIRTS REQUIRED" has replaced, "NO shoes, NO shirt NO service."

SIGNS LIKE THIS ELIMINATE LANGUAGE CONFUSION.

To the entertainment of guys like me, foreigners...like Oscar, still haven't gotten the memo. This point is proven by this year's sign of the year. It is hanging right now, in the window of a gourmet (expensive) Indian restaurant, in one of Atlantic City's casinos.

I preface this statement with the following politically correct disclaimer. I mean no disrespect to my Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi and Sri Lankan friends, coworkers and customers. My "glibness" is aimed specifically at your cuisine...more specifically at the disagreeable smell of curry...To demonstrate my food sensitivity/strangeness, I feel the same way about bananas, strawberries, Brussels sprouts and liver. You put me on "FEAR FACTOR" and while everyone is hesitating about eating manatee eyes, I'd disqualify myself before the threat of the first scent of beets wafted my way!

I am guessing that this particular Indian restaurant has its own customer base...but for the life of me, I've never seen anyone inside. Perhaps it has to do with the sign on their front door...
"NO FOOD OR DRINK BEYOND THIS POINT."

Even a less than entrepreneurial three-year old would find that funny.

THE HARLEM RENAISSANCE

We can all relate to this because --whether you have a child or not--99% of us were children once ourselves.

Your kid comes home and you ask, "What happened at school today?"
Unless some girl was whacked in the head at lunch with a flying chocolate pudding, invariably, the answer is a standard, "Nuthin'!"

This happened recently in regards to my son Andrew's literature class. In recognition of black history month, his class was assigned a project on the flowering or rebirth of intellectualism and culture in American black people. This movement occurred roughly from 1919 till 1935. It was called, the Harlem Renaissance or the Black Literary Renaissance.

Today, Harlem is a predominately black slum in upper Manhattan. What most people don't realize is that it was once a thriving community of middle and upper middle-class blacks. Harlem attracted famous African Americans artists, activists and philosophers. During that time, the National Organization for the Advancement of Colored People, (NAACP) and the National Urban League were founded there.

The ultimate goal of the renaissance was to not only prove to the world that blacks were entitled to equality but that they were capable of doing anything that anyone else could do and that they deserved their own cultural niche within mainstream America.

So I find out through channels that my son is researching Jamaican born poet/civil rights activist Claude McKay. Andrew showed me his findings and read me some of McKay's poetry. He and I discussed some of McKay's imagery. I came away feeling enlightened and Andrew had a fuller understanding of McKay's message. He received an excellent grade...case closed....
P-A-U-S-E...NOT!

Weeks go by and I ask Andrew, "What happened at school today?"
Naturally, he says, "Nuthin'."
A little later I see him feverishly writing and ask, "What's up?"
"Oh I have to re-write all this dialog for Thursday (February 21st)."

It was at that point, I found out the true scope of Andrew's Black History Month project and how his subject, Claude McKay fit into it.

Each student not only researched an individual from the Harlem Renaissance but they were required to work in committees, write out skits and then perform them. In this play-acting, their characters would come alive and interact with each other to identify their accomplishments.

In sets of three, eighteen prominent blacks including: Billie Holiday, Booker T. Washington, Louie Armstrong, Countee Cullen, Langston Hughes and W. E. B. DuBois were portrayed. These skits were inter-spliced with a multi-media production orchestrated by the advanced literature teacher Ms. Barbara Rodilosso. To add to the realism, some of the students went to the trouble to wear clothing consistent of the 20's and 30's.

LANGSTON HUGHES

LOUIE ARMSTRONG

ELLA FITZGERALD

MARCUS GARVEY

Performed in the school library, this hour-long presentation was shown four times throughout the day, enabling the entire GTMS student body to see it. The show opened with a short film of Harlem street scenes during the renaissance with an establishing narration over it. Then between the students' vignettes, a four-piece combo (featuring three teachers and a parent) played live music of the period. Sound bites and slides were also incorporated into the show. Additionally, one of the students sang Billie Holliday's, "Stormy Weather" and Ella Fitzgerald's, "A Tisket a Tasket." The house was brought down when four students spontaneously paired-off and danced along to the music.

I admit, I attended by accident. my son led me to believe that it was just a simple in-class project, (in reality, I came in only to discuss my own writing with Ms. Rodilosso). I'm not sure why the word never got out to the public (very few non-students saw it) because it was a learning experience and a terrific show.

To avoid missing out on great things at school, grill your kid every day and never accept "nuthin'" as an answer! You wouldn't want to waste an opportunity to be entertained and educated at such a high level.

To see some event photos go to the Galloway Township newspaper, "The Current" at:

http://bonus.shorenewsnowtv.com/

For more details about the Harlem Renaissance, either GOOGLE it or visit wikipedia.

SAINT ANDREW? FOURTEEN AND GETTING BETTER EVERY YEAR !

Today, February 25th, is Andrew's fourteenth birthday! Its hard to imagine that a year has past since his Bar Mitzvah. In many ways, we are all still basking in the warm afterglow of that epic event. So it seemed natural to celebrate this birthday on a lesser scale. But when you have such loyal friends as Andrew...

Two of Andrew's female friends decided to throw him a surprise party! They began preparations before Christmas, made all the invitations, picked the FIESTA theme, Mexican menu and festive "south of the border-style" decorations. PLUS, one girl opened her home to us.

In all, twenty blabbering invitees and dozens of ancillary personnel were privy to the proceedings and somehow, nobody gave away the secret. It should be noted that Andrew will never be confused with Sherlock Holmes and although there were many slip-ups, he never pieced the puzzle together, (I must confess, I almost gave it away myself).

The plan worked perfectly Saturday night, (two days before his birthday). His friends suggested going to the movies and Andrew our "sitting-duck" was driven by mom, to the hostess' house. We all waited in the garage. The kids were so noisy, I was afraid they might give it away...until one of the girls shrieked directly into my ear, "SHADDUP!!!!!"

The doctors say, I have an excellent chance to eventually get some of my hearing back...thanks Amber!

The hostess' mom came outside to greet them when they pulled up. For effect, she brought with her a pail and mop. She spilled the water out for Andrew to see and said, "Please go through the garage, the floor is still wet."

The giggling inside the garage rose as the door slowly went up until the collective, deafening scream of, "SURPRISE!" Andrew was shocked. Tears welled-up in his eyes as well as his mom's. Mobbed by his friends, everybody went inside and the party officially began.

ANDREW IS OVERWHELMED AND CAN'T DECIDE WHETHER TO LAUGH OR CRY

UNABLE TO DO BOTH AT THE SAME TIME, ONCE THE CRYING ENDED, ANDREW LAUGHED

A MRS. FIELDS CHOCOLATE-CHIP COOKIE CAKE FROM THE MALL. WE WERE PRE-WARNED AND HAD AN ENGLISH SPEAKING ADULT HANDLE OUR ORDER.

CAN'T YOU JUST FEEL THE HORMONES BURSTING FROM YOUR COMPUTER SCREEN.

ANDREW IS BRACKETED BY THE PARTY ORGANIZERS, THE HOSTESS IS ON THE LEFT.

SOME KID CRASHED THE PARTY. HE STOLE SIX BALLOONS AND DRANK ALL THE MILK BEFORE GETTING KICKED OUT.

NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED DURING THE PINATA CEREMONY HOWEVER ANDREW, UNAIDED BY STEROIDS, DID TAKE OUT THE LIGHT BULB WITH ONE MIGHTY SWING

AFTER THE OPENING OF THE GIFTS...ANDREW GIVES HIS ACCEPTANCE SPEECH...AT THIS POINT, HE'S BEGINNING THE SECOND HOUR AND IS THANKING THE "LITTLE PEOPLE."

INSIDER INFORMATION HAS INDICATED TO ME THAT ANDREW IS WISHING THAT THIS GREAT NIGHT WILL NEVER END.

BACK AT HOME, ANDREW SHARES THE INTIMATE DETAILS OF THE PARTY WITH HIS CONFESSOR.

If you run over to Andrew's school, Galloway Township Middle School (GTMS) his name appears on the marquee along with a birthday message. His history teacher (Mr. Evans) is in charge of that (for a fee). Mr. Evans likes Andrew so well that he has dubbed my boy THE SAINT and included that moniker on the sign.

Let's all raise our goblets of Nestle's Quik and wish Andrew a *HAPPY BIRTHDAY with many happy returns, (trust me, he's NOT always a saint...but close).

While your at it, please also wish BADLANDS a HAPPY BIRTHDAY, its her big day today too.

BURNT OUT, IN CENTRALIA, PENNSYLVANIA

We had a hot time in the old town on the night of Valentine's Day. Andrew and I took our Valentine (Mommy) into Atlantic City to a new steakhouse with an odd name; RUTH'S CHRIS.

Ruth's Chris is an elegant chain restaurant that is truly excellent...pricey but excellent. Their main gimmick is to serve the entrees on plates that are supposedly 500 degrees. Whether or not that's really important or even true is secondary--but I know my dish was still radiating long after it was set down.

The harsh reality is, for the same money, I'd rather eat off the cold plates at the OUTBACK three times, than go back to Ruth's Chris once.

After everyone fell asleep that night, I settled into an evening of hot entertainment that included the double feature, "THE DEER HUNTER" followed by "PLATOON." Nothing warms the soul better than five hours of flame throwing action and napalm hi-jinx.

I had never seen either one all the way through, so when it was all over at 3:AM, I was unsettled and in a bit of shock. While channel surfing, I came across the History Channel's tribute to the states. They were discussing Pennsylvania and the weird story of the small town of Centralia.

Centralia Pennsylvania is in the mid-eastern part of state, about 120 miles northwest of Philadelphia. The closest I ever got was thirty miles east when I was at Jim Thorpe PA.

Deep in the heart of coal territory, Centralia was literally built on top of the mines. But now, nearly everyone has left this once a thriving community. At first, the residents moved away voluntarily. Those who opted to stay were eventually forced out.

The town's woes started warming up, in May 1962 when five volunteer firemen were hired to clean-up a landfill, located at an abandoned strip mine.  The accepted practice was to set the dump on fire, allow it to burn and professionally extinguish the blaze.  Their standard operating procedure went according to Hoyle except for one minor detail...they couldn't put out the fire.

The fire remained burning in the lower depths of the trash and spread...down through gaps in the rock pit and into spent mine shafts below Centralia. The amount of coal left behind was meager on a commercial level but there was enough down there to sustain the fire and allow it to grow.

In the next few years, many attempts to put out these fires continued throughout the 60's and 70's, but failed. More time went by and the fires below were largely ignored until residents began experiencing adverse health issues from the carbon dioxide being produced.

In 1979 with the fires still spreading, the seriousness of the situation was made more apparent when a filling station owner reported the temperature in his underground tanks at 172 degrees. Large amounts of people evacuated the town.

Centralia received national attention in 1981 when a young boy got sucked into a crater filled with noxious fumes. Luckily, his cousin saved him from the sink hole. This incident helped propel a new campaign to re-settle the straggling townspeople elsewhere.

In 1984, Pennsylvania began buying out the remaining residents. Despite warnings from the state, some Centralians still refused to move. These people cited a conspiracy to evict them from their property in order to steal the valuable mineral rights, (the town's mines boast deposits of rare anthracite, which makes up 2% of all coal).

The fires were still blazing in 1992. So, Pennsylvania claimed eminent domain on the whole town. All the buildings were condemned, the deteriorating main arteries to town (Pennsylvania highway 61) were detoured and Centralia died. In 2002, the town's zip code (17927) was revoked by the US postal service.

So whenever you think of the phrase; burnt out, please consider the 46 year (and counting) plight of Centralia Pennsylvania and its FOUR remaining residents (according to 2007 tax records). Because there are no solid plans to attack this fire and experts are certain that the 3700 acres of coal reserves beneath the town is enough to continue feeding the flames for between 250 and a 1,000 years.