IT'S UNLUCKY TO BE SUPERSTITIOUS

Fiduciary is an odd word.

While helping my son Andrew with his SAT's, we came upon it. It shares the same F-I-D root as fidelity and therefore means, faith or trust...usually in regard to banks, investment firms, insurance companies etc. So when people name their dog, Fido...it implies that the pup is a faithful, trusty companion.

To break up the monotony, Andrew and I saw it fit to lampoon the contrast between fiduciary's moralistic definition and the funny sound of the word. A few days later, I was reflecting on that well-spent time with my boy. Then my mind wandered to two circumstances when "fiduciary" fit into my earlier life.

The first was in 1981, during my brief (okay, very brief), career as a Nevada life insurance salesman. Part of the training reinforced the requirement to act in a fiduciary manner. So much so that the licensing process included an oath, to maintain the best interests of my clients and respect their privacy, (in my case, client...singular...I told you it was a brief career).

The other (far more interesting) circumstance happened in 1976 when MPW (according to the, "Guinness Book of Records," she's currently the only professional on earth without a computer), got me an unusual gift for my twenty-first birthday...tarot cards.

DOWN THROUGH THE EONS, HUMAN NATURE HAS COMPELLED COUNTLESS PEOPLE TO TRY TO ASCERTAIN THEIR DESTINY. THAT'S WHY PSYCHIC ADVISERS, HOROSCOPES, PALM, TEA LEAF AND TAROT CARDS READINGS ARE AS POPULAR AS EVER.

The tarot is a pack of playing cards, (the volume of cards range between 22 and 78). It has many European regional influences. Therefore depending on where you are, it might be called; trionfi, tarocchi, tarock...or something else. Some people also speculate that perhaps the tarot has Egyptian roots.

In the case of a 78-card deck, there are four, fourteen-card suits, numbered from one to ten, plus a king, queen, cavalier and a jack. The names of the suits, (swords, staves, cups and coins), may vary. This section of the deck is referred to as the minor arcane. However, there is a fifth, trump (triumph) suit. The trumps consist of 21-cards. This overpowering suit, plus a single card known as the fool, make up the major arcane.

An early, trump ranking of Italy's Tarocco Piemontese deck:

• 20) Angel






• 21) *World (This is the only exception). The world card has the highest number but has the second highest power.






• 19) Sun






• 18) Moon






• 17) Star
  
  
  




• 16) Tower






• 15) Devil






• 14) Temperance






• 13) Death






• 12) Hanged Man






• 11) Strength






• 10) Wheel of Fortune






• 9) Hermit






• 8) Justice






• 7) Chariot






• 6) Lovers






• 5) Pope






• 4) Emperor






• 3) Empress






• 2) Popess






• 1) Bagatto

THE LAST ELEMENT OF THE MAJOR ARCANE IS THE FOOL, (DEPENDING ON THE GAME), IT CAN BE USED AS THE MOST OR LEAST VALUABLE.

Tarot's original definition, from Arabic to French is; to reject. Starting in the fifteenth century, the cards were used in normal games. Over the years, the use of the tarot cards evolved. By the late eighteenth century, mystics and occultists started using them to divine mental or spiritual pathways.

CONTEMPORARY TAROT CARDS AS WELL AS THE INDIVIDUALLY HAND-PAINTED ONE'S FROM BEFORE THE INVENTION OF THE PRINTING PRESS, UTILIZE ALLEGORICAL ILLUSTRATIONS TO REPRESENT A WIDE RANGE OF PERSONALITY TRAITS.

A "well-trained" fortuneteller can reveal the secrets to a client's future. They accomplish this by understanding the value of each card...with an upside down card having the opposite meaning. The depth of the reading is enhanced by understanding the change in a card's value, in relation to those previously dealt.

ALTHOUGH TAROT CARDS HAVE NEVER RECEIVED MAINSTREAM SCIENCE'S ACCEPTANCE, WORLD RENOWN SWISS PSYCHIATRIST CARL JUNG (July 26, 1875-June 6, 1961) SAID THAT THE ARCHETYPES OF PERSONALITIES AND SITUATIONS REPRESENTED IN TAROT CARDS, ARE EMBEDDED IN THE COLLECTIVE CONSCIOUS OF ALL HUMAN BEINGS.

When MPW gave me my tarot cards, we went through the instruction booklet together. On my own, I read-up on more of the basics. Soon I had a slight memory of the names of the cards, what they represent and a superficial knowledge of their relationship to each other.

For practice, I tried out my new-found talent on my parents. They knew I was blithering, but it was a lot of fun. When my confidence improved, I brought my deck to one of MPW's get-togethers, in the hope that this nonsense would help me pick-up one of her girlfriends.

The cards never helped with the ladies but I kept carrying them...just in case. At Brooklyn College's Boylan Hall cafeteria, I gave a reading to my friend Brent. He knew it was bullshit but he was entertained and wanted me to come to his apartment to do one for his new bride.

Brent's misses was smarter than both of us put together. But she recognized it as silliness and we had plenty of laughs. My tarot deck was still on the kitchen table when there was a knock on the door. It was her dad.

Her father, (Gene) was a hard-working stiff...and not particularly bright. Although he lived in one of the shantytowns along Jamaica Bay in Queens, he spoke in a harsh and stereotypical Brooklyn accent.

I met Gene once before, at the wedding. I knew little about him except for Brent's juicy gossip nuggets that centered on his father-in-law's lack of common-sense. For one, Gene may have been the first mature adult ever kicked out of culinary school, due to a lack of ability. He also lost a chunk of his life savings by investing in a worm farm in Maine and his most recent embarrassing experience, involved a flat tire during a blizzard.

In the 70's without cell-phones, Gene's flat tire forced him to trek on foot through the frozen tundra of the Bronx. He found a pay phone in a bodega. Instead of freezing, he waited inside for AAA to pick him up and take him back to his car. When they arrived, his 1975 Ford Elite was on blocks. All four tires had been stolen, a vent window was smashed and the inside was ransacked.

Another hour passed until the police came. He cursed-out the officer so badly that Gene was ticketed for blocking the intersection. He recognized the cop's spite, so in the name of principle, (not money), he fought the summons, lost and was buried by additional court fees.

You might give Gene the benefit of the doubt and call him a victim of circumstance (or as he would have said, victim of soy-cumstance). But the week before, Gene proved his status as a dimwit by mailing his daughter a St. Patrick's Day card for a nephew. Except all the St. Patrick's Day and nephew references were magic-markered-out...and replaced with a scribbled HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAUGHTER message.

BRENT'S WIFE WAS MORE DISAPPOINTED THAN INSULTED. BUT SHE WOULD HAVE KILLED HUBBY IF SHE KNEW THAT HE SHOWED ME THE CARD..

Gene's eye, as if driven by divine intervention, gravitated to my tarot deck. When he asked some questions about them, his daughter giggled. Brent said, "He just gave us great news about our dream house." His wife said, "Daddy, this is way better than our old Ouija board in the basement."

The smile drained out of his face as he said, "Yesterday, I paid some gypsy twenty-five bucks on Woodhaven Boulevard to look into her crystal ball...and all she said was, 'Come back next week, yuh inna toymoil is cloudin' da ball.'" His daughter said, "As a favor to us, Steve won't charge you." Nervously he added, "I got nuttin' to worry about, right? I ain't got no inna toymoil...do I?"

While shuffling I said, "Please remember, I am not a master." Gene nodded and began fondling his crucifix and the beads around his neck. He took from his pockets, a rabbit's foot key chain, a tattered placard of Our Lady of Fatima, an old half dollar with a golden horseshoe soldered onto the back and a plastic three-leaf clover. In my thirty-three year casino career, I never saw someone with that many lucky charms.

Gene was carefully arranging his hardware in an arc when he looked up and said, "C'mon, use yuh mojo kid. Dese are suma da tings I need tah know; am I comin' intuh a windfall? Yuh see my Aunt Marguerite is on her death bed and I wanna know, is dere gonna be any money left after my vulture cousins get deirs?" When I shrugged he said, "Will my shepherd's pie recipe make me famous?" His daughter rolled her eyes. But her expression turned to shock and she blushed when he asked, "Will I screw Nadine Rourke again?"

A wave of dread hit me when Gene grabbed the salt shaker and threw some salt over his shoulder. He then muttered a prayer and crossed his fingers. The word fiduciary wasn't in my vocabulary yet, but I realized that I wielded an unwanted power over this man and his superstitions. I decided it was my responsibility to not lead him on.

I ignored his questions and said, "A tarot card reading is only for entertainment." He responded to my disclaimer with a blank stare. I decided to rush through and be as non-committal as possible.

It was uncanny that the cards getting turned up were nearly all from the less interesting and less studied, minor arcane. I literally knew nothing of each one. Perhaps if Gene was more worldly, my charade would have been as obvious to him as it was to my friends. My guilt weighed me down. He noticed the drop off in my enthusiasm and blurted, "Is it bad news?" I hated the position I put myself in and didn't respond. Instead, I made my statements even shorter, more general, simplistic and highly positive. Even though I repeated myself a lot and didn't make much sense, Gene was bewitched and rapt on every word.

When I was done telling him nothing, he asked tons of questions. I avoided specifics and bailed out by saying, "It's up to you to decipher the reading...anything else I would say, would only be a guess."

That night, the tarot cards were banished into the farthest corner of my desk's junk drawer and forgotten. Two years ago, (thirty-three years later), I came across them and was reminded of the incident with Gene. This time around, I didn't hesitate to trash them. You might say I was being irrational or apprehensive but not me, I just think it's unlucky to be superstitious.

ELEVEN - ELEVEN - ELEVEN

On Veteran's Day, we take time to acknowledge the men and women who preserve peace, freedom and American way of life. This holiday was approved in 1919, to respect the end of hostilities in World War I, (on the eleventh hour, of the eleventh day, of the eleventh month, of 1918).
COURTESY OF DEBBEE, THE PHOTO SPEAKS FOR ITSELF.

At first it was called Armistice Day. On May 13, 1938, an act of congress declared it a legal holiday; "a day to be dedicated to the cause of world peace and to be thereafter celebrated and known as Armistice Day." In 1954, the holiday incorporated all our military personnel and was renamed, Veteran's Day.

Veteran's Day is usually observed with community parades, events and ceremonies that honor those who have fallen in battle as well as all who served. One of the great tributes to the service and sacrifice of our military, is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, also known as, "The Tomb of the Unknowns."
THE ORIGINAL MARBLE SARCOPHAGUS INTERS THE REMAINS OF AN UNKNOWN SOLDIER FROM WWI. THE THREE SLABS IN FRONT CONTAIN THE REMAINS OF A SOLDIER FROM WWII, KOREA AND VIETNAM. THE INSCRIPTION READS, "HERE RESTS IN HONORED GLORY AN AMERICAN SOLDIER KNOWN BUT TO GOD."

The tomb is located in Arlington National Cemetery, just outside Washington DC, in Virginia. Around the clock, every day of the year, this esteemed grave is guarded. It is the highest honor to be serve as a ceremonial sentinel. These select few volunteers are trained in a strict ritual with each gesture being of symbolic significance. Depending on the season or time of day and regardless of the elements, the changing of the guard occurs every thirty minutes, one hour or two hours...and is open to the public.

The Vietnam Memorial in Washington, is another venerated landmark that celebrates contributions made by the vets who fought in Southeast Asia. This aesthetic masterpiece, designed by a Yale University student Maya Lin, combines beauty with emotional power. It's three sections include, a "Three Soldiers Statue" a women's memorial and the best known part, the wall.

The wall is made of a reflective stone. Etched into it, are the 58,195 names of those killed or missing in action. The walls are sunk into the ground. The gentle ramp-effect made me feel like I was walking into an open grave. It is hard not to be touched by this feature nor is it easy to overlook the deliberate, reflective quality of stone which allows the visitor a simultaneous view of them self and the engraved names of the fallen...thus forcing them self to look deeply into them self while linking the past with the present.DEDICATED IN 1982, THE VIETNAM MEMORIAL IS NEAR THE LINCOLN MEMORIAL, IN THE CONSTITUTIONAL GARDENS, ADJACENT TO THE NATIONAL MALL.

Perhaps the most famous of all tributes to our armed forces is the Marine Corps War Memorial, also known as the Iwo Jima Statue. Located outside the gate at Arlington National Cemetery, this massive sculpture by Felix de Weldon was based the, "Raising the Flag on Iwo Jima," photograph by Joe Rosenthal.

Iwo Jima was the first WWII battle that look place on a Japanese home island. From February 19, 1945 to March 26, 1945 some of the fiercest fighting of the war took place. Despite the Americans eventual, decisive victory, a bloody price was paid. On the fifth day of the thirty-five day conflict, the momentum swung the Americans way when the highest peak, Mount Suribachi was taken.

UNVEILED ON NOVEMBER 11, 1954, THIS MEMORIAL HONORS ALL THE MARINES WHO DIED IN DEFENSE OF OUR COUNTRY SINCE 1775. BUT IT'S GENERALLY ASSOCIATED WITH THE AMERICANS WHO STORMED IWO JIMA'S MOUNT SURIBACHI AND INCURRED INCREDIBLE LOSSES.

Ninety percentage of the men who charged up, were cut down. Of the small band of survivors, five Marines and a sailor hoisted the first American flag on Japanese soil. They were; Sgt. Michael Strank, Cpl. Harlon Block, PFC Franklin Sousely, PFC Rene Gagnon, Cpl. Ira Hayes and PM2 John Bradley.

Those men, with the help of Rosenthal's photo were immortalized, declared heroes and rushed stateside. To support morale on the home front, they barnstormed the country and participated in war bond drives and made personal appearances.

Unfortunately, this new-found fame was too much for one of the men, Ira Hayes, to handle. He would be arrested fifty-two times for public intoxication. At a public appearance when asked about it he once said, "I was sick. I guess I was about to crack up thinking about all my good buddies that were better men than me...and they're not coming back. Much less the White House, like me." After President Eisenhower lauded him in a 1954 speech, a reporter asked Hayes, "How do you like all the pomp and circumstance?" Hayes said, "I don't!"

IRA HAYES, (JANUARY 12, 1923-JANUARY 24, 1955), THE REAR-MOST SOLDIER IN THE STATUE WAS A PIMA TRIBE, NATIVE AMERICAN, FROM ARIZONA .

Hayes deserves special recognition because sometimes our heroes return from combat with invisible scarring whether they were physically wounded or not.

Back then the science of mental illness or even simple awareness of it, wasn't what it is today. So I guess it was easy for someone like Ira Hayes to slip through the cracks. Few people if any realized the great toll his war experience left on him. Then once the anguish took over, all that was left was the escapism of whiskey.

Nevertheless, in the midst of his downfall, he portrayed himself in the 1949 John Wayne movie, "THE SANDS OF IWO JIMA." But nobody understood why he shunned his heroic status and avoided the spotlight. No reached out and nobody understood. He was just labeled an oddball. His deep rooted psychological problems went undiagnosed and worsened. Ira Hayes descended to alcoholism and died at age 32, as a result of it.

Since his death, Hayes has also been depicted in art and film. "THE OUTSIDER," starring Tony Curtis in 1961 and "THE FLAGS OF OUR FATHERS," with Adam Beach, in 2006. In it, director Clint Eastwood suggested that Ira Hayes suffered from post-traumatic stress syndrome. Also the song, "THE BALLAD OF IRA HAYES," was written by Peter La Farge. It's most memorable cover was by Johnny Cash who took it to #3 on the country western charts, in 1964.
BELOW IS AN EXCERPT FROM GEORGE CARLIN'S, "SHELL-SHOCK," ROUTINE. IT'S A GREAT ANTI-WAR STATEMENT AND SUPPORTIVE OF VETERANS.

In World War I, the term "shell shock" was used to describe battle-related mental difficulties. It was simple, honest and in two syllables, direct.

During WWII, the condition was changed to "battle fatigue." Hidden by four syllables, I guess they thought fatigue was a nicer word than shock.

In 1950, the Korean War went Madison Avenue. They squeezed out all the humanity, went totally sterile and buried the malady in eight syllables with, "operational exhaustion."

Thanks to a lot of lies and deceit, the Vietnam-era saw the very same condition renamed, "post-traumatic stress disorder." Still eight syllables but they added a hyphen to help bury the individuals pain, under the jargon.

I'll bet, if we still called it shell shock, some veterans would have gotten more help.

So on this uniquely numbered day of 11-11-11, when we pay homage to what Veteran's Day has become as well as its origin that marked the end of WWI, (on the eleventh hour, of the eleventh day, of the eleventh month, of 1918).

The bigger picture is, we shouldn't have to wait for holidays to appreciate all the Americans who were ever killed, listed as missing in action or served. However, while we can see the disfigurements and paralysis that our servicemen and women come home with, please help, honor and respect those who suffer mentally and emotionally too.

PAT PAULSEN FOR PRESIDENT...IN ABSENTIA

Russian physiologist Ivan Pavlov (1849-1936), would be proud to know that every time Election Day rolls around, my mouth waters and the Smothers Brothers come to mind.

The Tom and Dick Smothers were singing comedians. Both were born on Governors Island, in New York City's Harbor, (Tom in 1937, Dick in 1939). They grew-up in California. Their first professional performance was in 1959. They also made several successful record albums before appearing on TV's, "JACK PAAR SHOW," (January 28, 1961). In 1964, they debuted in a dramatic (comedic) role as hoarders on, "BURKE'S LAW."

THEIR SCHTICK MIXED FOLK MUSIC WITH COMEDY. TOM (left) ON ACOUSTIC GUITAR, TOOK ON A SLOW-WITTED PERSONA. DICK (right) ON STRING BASS, WAS THE SMART, STRAIGHT MAN. THEIR PERFORMANCE WAS TYPICALLY INTERRUPTED BY AN ARGUMENT AND ENDED WITH TOM'S SIGNATURE STATEMENT, "MOM ALWAYS LIKED YOU BEST." THEY WERE SUCH GOOD ACTORS BECAUSE, I ONLY RECENTLY LEARNED THAT IN ACTUALITY, TOM (the older one) WAS CLEARLY THE LEADER, HAD SHREWD BUSINESS SENSE AND POSSESSED MORE ARTISTIC CREATIVITY.
In 1965-1966, they got their own TV program, "THE SMOTHERS BROTHERS SHOW." To their dissatisfaction, their strong point (music) was never included. Instead Tom portrayed an angel who came to earth to oversee (interfere with) his brother, a swinging bachelor.

Despite that situation-comedy's short life, CBS in 1967, gave them another opportunity with the, "SMOTHERS BROTHERS COMEDY HOUR." It started out as a hip version of the popular variety shows of its day. Headed by a team of comedy writers that included; Steve Martin, Don "Father Guido Sarducci" Novello, Rob Reiner, Bob Einstein and his brother Albert Brooks, Leigh French and Pat Paulsen...the show had a skyrocketing appeal to the younger (15-25), generation.

Soon, the CBS censors placed restrictions on the humor when sponsors deemed some of the material to be controversial and not in their best interests. However, satirizing race, the president and the war in Vietnam was the show's defining content.

Similar pressure limited the lyrics and themes of their musical guests like; George Harrison, Joan Baez, Buffalo Springfield, Donovan, Janis Ian, Peter, Paul & Mary, Steppenwolf, The Who, Simon & Garfunkel and Pete Seeger.

To protect their financial interests, CBS insisted that all scripts must be reviewed ten days prior to air. Depending who your source is, the show either worked in earnest to fit their art into the network's professional integrity standards or they were outright rebellious...and only wanted to see how far they could push the envelope. Therefore, words, concepts and entire songs were eliminated by CBS. This scrutiny also happened to comedy skits. The network even put the kibosh on a whole episode.

To baffle the censors, the writers were forced underground. To the delight of their target demographic who felt that the encrypted double-entendre punchlines (mainly from the hippie/drug culture) were for them only...and better yet, went over their parents' heads. I was too young and never picked-up on any of the coded jokes...to me, the Smothers Brothers were just funny.

EDITOR'S NOTE - For more in depth information about how the Smothers Brothers became folk heroes and their struggles for free speech, check-out the documentary, "SMOTHERED."
LEIGH FRENCH (center) HAD A MAJOR ROLE IN THE HIDDEN COUNTERCULTURE WORD PLAY. SHE PLAYED SPACED-OUT, GOLDIE O'KEEFE AND SOLOED IN A SKIT CALLED, "SHARE A LITTLE TEA WITH GOLDIE." IN THE PSYCHEDELIC 60's, THE TERM, "SHARING TEA" WAS A EUPHEMISM FOR SMOKING POT. EVEN HER NAMES, "GOLDIE" AND "KEIF," WERE NICKNAMES FOR MARIJUANA. FREQUENTLY, SHE OFFERED HOUSEHOLD HINTS LACED WITH INSIDER SEX AND DRUG REFERENCES LIKE; THE BEST WAYS TO DEAL WITH YOUR, "ROACHES."

One of the other writers, Pat Paulsen also became a common on-screen character. He was discovered and given his big break into show business when Tom and Dick spotted him performing in a San Francisco nightclub. They hired him because he sold his songs cheap and agreed to run errands.


Paulsen, (July 6, 1927-April 24, 1997), was first cast as an editorialist due to his deadpan expression and skill when delivering double-talk, on contemporary issues. The logical next step was to have him do a mock presidential election campaign. In 1968, this recurring skit injected him into national consciousness.
LIKE A PAVLOVIAN CUE, EVERY ELECTION DAY, I SALIVATE AND THINK OF THE SMOTHERS BROTHERS AND PAT PAULSEN. EVEN AFTER THE SHOW ENDED, HE "RAN" FOR PRESIDENT AGAIN IN, '72, '80, '92 AND '96. IN EACH ELECTION, HE RECEIVED A SURPRISING AMOUNT OF PROTEST VOTES.
Paulsen's anti-establishment platform was purely comedic. But over the course of twenty-five years his sarcastic zingers against mainstream politicos and relevant social problems got voters to think in new ways. Although his comments and criticisms were based on seriousness, it was obvious that his clowning was exaggerations, lies and tongue-in-cheek raillery. Some of my favorite Paulsen-isms are:

• A good many people feel our present draft laws are unjust. These people are called soldiers.




• (Campaign chant) We can't stand pat!
  
  


• I'm neither left wing or right wing. I'm middle of the bird.





• If either the left wing or the right wing gained control of the USA, we'd fly in circles.

I will never lose my appreciation for Pat Paulsen, the Smothers Brothers or their writers. But I feel that the whole concept of him running for president was stolen from, "MAD MAGAZINE."
"MAD MAGAZINE," STARTED THEIR, "ALFRED E. NEUMAN FOR PRESIDENT CAMPAIGN," IN 1960. HE NEVER RECEIVED THE VOLUME OF PROTEST VOTES THAT PAULSEN GOT BUT TO ME, HE'LL ALWAYS BE THE ORIGINAL AND BEST FAKE CANDIDATE... OOPS, I LIKED RONALD REAGAN TOO.


Ironically, the same humor that played a role in, "THE SMOTHERS BROTHERS COMEDY HOUR," getting cancelled is still considered politically incorrect, (they were actually fired after only 72 episodes, on April 4, 1969). This was proven when this "poster show for the first amendment," was re-run with plenty of bleeps, in 1993, on the E-CHANNEL.

When you consider that the Smothers Brothers and "Mad," both scoffed at the same things, I think if Paulsen and Neuman were on next year's ballot, I'd vote for Alfred E. Neuman. My reason is, "MAD" has been going strong since 1952 and because they don't cave-in to their sponsors, (they don't allow advertisements), I doubt Mr. Neuman was ever censored. But far more importantly, even though Pat Paulsen has not been with us for fourteen years...he's a perennial...which means he left a lasting impression on many people.

I'm sure Pavlov would again be proud to know, next November at election time, the mere thought of Paulsen's name will result in some disgruntled Americans having their mouth water...as they cast a write-in vote for him. And I bet its a landslide compared to what Neuman gets.

THE MOUNT SCARY LODGE

Can anything be more frightening than the disintegration of things we like?

In late October 1991, my wife Sue and I went to a Halloween-themed, adult, couples-weekend, at the Mount Airy Lodge, in Pennsylvania's Pocono Mountains.

The accommodations, food, decor and hospitality were state-of-the-art. Plus, the added dimension of organized, spooky events made our stay...a hoot!

The Mount Airy Lodge sat on a beautiful 1000-acre tract of land.

IN 1898, THE LODGE OPENED WITH EIGHT ROOMS. IN THE 1950's THEY EXPANDED AND BECAME THE LARGEST RESORT IN THE POCONOS. THE 890 ROOM FACILITY PEAKED IN THE 1960's AND 70's.

After checking-in, we saw a piece of the lodge's storied tradition as an entertainment mecca of Northeast Pennsylvania. The wall space around the Crystal Theater entrance showcased photos of past headliners like; Bob Hope, Milton Berle, Connie Francis, Red Buttons, Tony Bennett, Nipsey Russell and Paul Anka.

We then visited the friendly concierge. She informed of the meal schedule as well as the impressive daily social agenda. Sue was handed pamphlets describing the pools, skiing, golf, snowmobiling, ice-skating, hiking, biking, archery, tennis and twenty more activities, facilities and services.

On Friday night, we participated in several Mount "Eerie" Lodge social events. Hosted by three cute and perky female employees in costume, (Mary the witch, Meg the skeleton and Maureen the sexy devil...complete with an extra short skirt and a purposely exposed, plastic derriere).

The "Ghastly Golf Putting Contest" and "Berserk Bingo," seemed farty. But because our hostesses inter-spliced a wine tasting session (from a local vineyard), between the events, we not only went with the flow but had a good time...especially watching the less sophisticated fellow-guests quickly get soused and lose their inhibitions.
STOCK PHOTO. I'M NOT A WINE DRINKER BUT I STILL SAMPLED THE CHABLIS AND ROSE. WHEN MARY SAW THE CONTORTED FACES I WAS MAKING, SHE UNCORKED A BOTTLE OF PINK CATAWBA AND SAID, "THIS WITCHY BREW IS A DELIGHTFUL SPARKLING WINE...THAT MEANS IT'S THE SAME THING AS CHAMPAGNE, BUT NOT FROM FRANCE." I THOUGHT IT SUCKED TOO.

That night's highlight was the horror movie/TV show trivia contest. Mary was the moderator, Meg played mood music cassettes with rock-n-roll songs like; "WEREWOLVES OF LONDON," "TUBULAR BELLS" and "PSYCHO KILLERS." She also had a tape with a collage of sound effects that included; macabre harpsichord music, crackling thunder, sinister laughs, screeches, screams and shrieks as well as chains being dragged and a howling wolf.

Maureen operated a movie projector and mingled with the contestants. She also served spiked gummy worms, Jack-O-Lantern candy and other ghoulish treats from coffin-shaped trays . However, she didn't appreciate several drunks, including a couple of women, pawing her exposed, plastic butt.

WHEN I GAVE-UP ON THE WINE, I STILL MANAGED TO MAKE A MEAL ON CHEESE, CRACKERS AND OTHER HALLOWEEN TIDBITS.

Mary announced that the trivia winner would receive a bottle of Chablis but if someone got all ten questions right, the special prize was Pink Catawba. Meg was quick to add, "But I put in a 'hundred buster!' If you know that extra hard answer and get all the others right too, then you deserve the bonus."

We watched a montage of horror movies snippets during the quiz. I needed to make a calculated guess on a, "DARK SHADOWS," question but the rest were easy like; Eddie Munsters' middle name, the city that "PSYCHO," opens up in and the actress that played the bride of Frankenstein.

Meg interrupted the proceedings after the ninth question, to ask the one she carefully researched. What a pleasant coincidence it was when she asked us the title of, "ALFRED HITCHCOCK PRESENTS," theme song. Just a few days earlier at work, FRANKIERIO had told me that factoid."ALFRED HITCHCOCK PRESENTS," WAS A *HALF-HOUR, TV ANTHOLOGY OF DRAMAS, THRILLERS AND MYSTERIES. CONSIDERED ONE OF THE TOP HUNDRED SHOWS OF ALL-TIME, IT'S 363-EPISODE RUN LASTED TEN SEASONS, (1955-1965). *THE LAST THREE YEARS FEATURED HOUR-LONG PRODUCTIONS. THE TWO INDELIBLE TRADEMARKS OF THE SHOW WERE, HITCHCOCK IN SILHOUETTE WALKING TO, AND FITTING INTO A SKETCH OF HIMSELF AND THE OPENING THEME, "FUNERAL MARCH OF A MARIONETTE,"
COMPOSED BY CHARLES GOUNOD, IN 1873.

Many of us got the first nine questions right. But I won because I knew the hundred-buster. Maureen presented Sue and I with our major award, (I'm guessing that all the ass-grabbing and fondling had gotten tedious because she had changed into jeans).

EDITOR'S NOTE: Somewhere in the clutter of the most remote alcove of my garage, I'm certain that that unopened bottle of Pink Catawba crap is still in my possession.

On Saturday night, we missed the horse-drawn hearse, "HAUNTED HAYRIDE." But we came down in time for the big scavenger hunt. They divided us into five groups, our three-couple team was called the, "HOUNDS OF THE BASKERVILLES."

Mary gave us added incentive by declaring that each couple from the winning squad would receive a $25.00 certificate, good for hotel services. At that moment none of us took into account that we were all checking-out in the morning. So the "generosity" of the payoff was not only superfluous but unusable, (unless you came back in the next six months).

AN ORDINARY HOTEL MIGHT HAVE STOPPED WITH VIRTUALLY USELESS GIFT CERTIFICATES...BUT NOT MT. AIRY. THEY LAVISHED THE WINNERS AND SECOND PLACE FINISHERS WITH REAL "KEEPERS"... SOUVENIR RIBBONS.

Mary, Meg and Maureen gave the same clues, in different sequences, to each team. I'm guessing it was because I was the only sober man that a redneck from Roscoe New York anointed me captain.

My team found the "raven" in the bird cage at the duck pond and "Igor's Lavatory," wound up being the men's room door, next to the arcade. Towards the end, we were stumped trying to find the, "39-STEPS." On a hunch, I led the team to the indoor tennis pavilion and started counting the stairs. The Roscoeman's girlfriend LuAnn was singing the, "MONSTER MASH," when he belched, "Shush, El Capitan is counting!" Somehow, I was able to maintain my concentration and find the final, winning clue...just ahead of the, "PHANTOMS OF THE OPERA."

In the morning, after a big breakfast, we packed and came down to check-out. We met the Roscoe couple on line. We agreed that the whole weekend was great. I said, "It's too bad the scavenger hunt prize was such useless bullshit." The man said, "LuAnn hoped to get a facial out it but we can't wait around till after noon." She pointed down the corridor towards the bowling alley and said, "But we got full use out of our certificate." He said, "On the way back from the beauty salon, we weren't thinking of food when we passed the snack bar." LuAnn said, "But I took a shot and asked if they take those stupid certificates...and they do." He said, "We have a long drive home. We got four sandwiches...to go. Plus, four sodas and some fruit...we'll have a picnic lunch in the car." Sue and I followed suit and felt like we actually won something.

We liked the Mount Airy Lodge so well that we returned two years later. The hotel was pretty boring because we had already done everything. Or what we wanted to do, like use the Jacuzzi, steam room or sauna, was no longer available. The only thing new was outside the theater, a "Starving Artist Sale." Even the concierge desk was gone. It was replaced with a "help yourself," rack of brochures for other local destinations. That's what inspired us to horseback ride and spend the next afternoon at the outlet center.EVEN STILL, OUR SECOND MOUNT AIRY GET-AWAY WAS GOOD. PERHAPS MORE SO FOR SUE...DUE TO THE 102 STORES OF THE "CROSSINGS OUTLET MALL," 1000 ROUTE 611, IN TANNERSVILLE.

I never thought I'd see the Mount Airy Lodge again but in March 1997, they advertised such an inexpensive deal that we thought it would be fun to give my three-year old a change of scenery.INDIRECTLY, THIS VISIT TO MOUNT AIRY HAD A HALLOWEEN THEME. THE HOTEL WAS SO EMPTY, IT REMINDED ME OF THE, "SHINING." EVERYTHING HAD GONE DOWNHILL. THERE WERE VIRTUALLY NO SERVICES. THE HEALTH CLUB WAS CLOSED, THERE WERE NO LIFEGUARDS AT THE POOL, THE HIGHLY PUBLICIZED INNER-TUBING MOUNTAIN WASN'T MAINTAINED WITH ARTIFICIAL SNOW...AND IT WASN'T EVEN STAFFED. FAR WORSE, ON SATURDAY, OUR ROOM WAS NEVER MADE-UP. THE HEIGHT OF OUR WEEKEND WAS TRYING TO FIGURE-OUT HOW TO USE THE BIDET...OH WAIT, THAT WASN'T WORKING EITHER.

This time around there were no headliners, the cute social directors and the holiday themes vanished and they fired the all the masseuses. The only added "amenity" was a fund-raiser bazaar for the Mount Pocono volunteer fire department, in the theater. To encourage customers to come, area businesses gave away key-chains, water bottles, pads, pencils and other chintzy advertising. We lasted ten minutes, (fourteen years later we still use our Cumberland County Bank jar opener).

Later, a gossipy woman told us that the Mount Airy Lodge had been cited for several health code violations...including an infestation of bed bugs, fire hazards from exposed wiring and failed kitchen inspections, (Kind of makes you wonder why she came). Then in an annoying nasal whine she concluded, "Even if you find someone to complain to, they all act like zombies."

The hotel was plummeting fast but wouldn't hit rock bottom for a couple more years. The escalating popularity of cruise ships and Caribbean tourism had a lot to to with their demise. But the final dagger in the heart was the new national fixation...gambling. So the allure of Las Vegas and Atlantic City made the less than sexy lodge, (still clinging to the memories of Bob Hope, Nipsey Russell and Connie Francis), teeter on obsolescence.

We got lucky because I'm not as tough as I seem. If I had seen nauseating creepy crawlies in our bed like that woman suggested, I would have gone bonkers. I would have been put in a straight-jacket and hauled off to an insane asylum. Instead, we were only exposed to cracked tiles in pool, horrible buffet-style dining and an acute lack of premium hotel activities and facilities.

After 1997, people all but stopped coming to the Mount Airy Lodge. The quality of the food was significantly cut. The chambermaid staff was greatly reduced and groundskeepers were almost eliminated. Then more terrible rumors about the lodge's safety and cleanliness surfaced. Finally in 1999, the Mount Airy Lodge closed it doors and went into foreclosure.

It's terrible to see the things we like die. But like a phoenix who rises from its own ashes, the self-imploded Mount Airy Lodge was demolished...and a new hotel/casino was built in its place. That might sound interesting but for a guy like me with thirty-two years of gaming experience...the new casino...is enough to scare me away.

THE STONEHENGE OF BRIGANTINE

One of our family traditions is taking our dog Roxy to Brigantine Beach. Before and after the summer, it's a thrill to take off her leash and watch her thrash around in the surf.

Two weeks ago we had a stray eighty degree day and once again, my puppy had the time of her life. What was even better was, she was attentive to when I called her. So we never stressed about her annoying strangers and we didn't have to chase her.
IF YOU ARE A TRUE ROXY LOVER, YOU'LL NOTICE THAT THIS PICTURE IS OVER FIVE-YEARS OLD. BUT THE DEEPER POINT IS, I NEEDED TO BRING MY CAMERA THIS TIME...BUT DIDN'T.

During our jaunt, I bumped into my long time friend JS. We walked together along the water's edge and he told us about a recent trip to his homeland, Peru. OUR CONVERSATION WAS DOMINATED BY WHAT HE CALLED, THE THREE TOP TOURIST ATTRACTIONS IN PERU.

This was an important trip for JS because it marked his lifetime goal of visiting Machu Picchu.
SET HIGH IN THE PERUVIAN ANDES, (7970 FEET ABOVE SEA LEVEL), MACHU PICCHU IS ONE OF THE NEW, "SEVEN WONDERS OF THE WORLD," ALSO KNOWN AS, "THE LOST CITY OF THE INCAS," THIS PRE-COLOMBIAN SITE IS BELIEVED TO HAVE BEEN BUILT FOR EMPEROR PICHACUTI, (1438-1472).

JS boasted, "No single picture could tell you its beauty. And you'd have to actually be there to appreciate its inspirational power...and in my case, the pride in my ancestors."

He also mentioned that Machu Picchu was so remote that the Spanish Conquistadors couldn't plunder it because they never found it. Once the Incas abandoned it, it was forgotten until native descendants led archaeologists to the ruins in 1911.

Roxy roamed over a dune as JS changed the subject to another tourist destination, Lake Titicaca. She was sniffing at a bunch of forgotten beach toys that were nearly buried by the sand. I called her name and she returned to my side.

JS said he had been to Titicaca many times as a kid.

JS SAID AS A TEENAGER HE JOKED, "THE VIEW OF TITICACA IS PRETTIER FROM THE BOLIVIAN SHORE BECAUSE YOU SEE TITI ON THE DISTANT PERUVIAN SIDE...WHILE STANDING IN CACA."

I lost my concentration on his description of the lake when I saw a second, fuller set of pails, shovels and other novelties that were left behind. These toys were carefully set, perhaps measured, in an intentional arc facing the sea. Something about the two plastic boats that spanned across the top of pails gnawed at me for the rest of the day.

ONLY NOW THAT I AM WRITING THIS COLUMN DO I REGRET NOT PHOTOGRAPHING THOSE ABANDONED BEACH TOYS. BECAUSE IT WASN'T UNTIL THE RIDE HOME THAT I CAME UP WITH MY BIG CONCLUSION.

Before we went our separate ways, JS told me that he's never visited Peru's third most popular tourist attraction, the Nazca Lines.

RE- DISCOVERED IN THE EARLY 1930's BY ANONYMOUS FLIERS IN AN AIRPLANE, NAZCA LINES ARE GEOGLYPHS THAT WERE ETCHED INTO THE SOUTHERN PERUVIAN DESERT FLOOR (440 A.D. -650 A.D.). THEY INCLUDE HUNDREDS OF INDIVIDUAL FIGURES, (MOSTLY ANIMALS), LIKE THE CONDOR ABOVE, (SOME ARE AS LARGE AS 660 FEET WIDE). MOST SCHOLARS ATTRIBUTE A RELIGIOUS SIGNIFICANCE TO THEM, (i.e. RITUALS TO SUMMON WATER OR FOR FERTILITY).

JS said, "The Nazca Lines can not be appreciated from the ground." Therefore, the bigger controversy is how did the native people dig-out such intricate artwork without the perspective of seeing their accuracy from above. Although my research found that mainstream scientists using the same primitive techniques could indeed re-create these wonders...many truly believe that extraterrestrial influence was needed.

When JS referred to Eric von Daniken, (1968 best selling author of, "CHARIOTS OF THE GODS?" ...62 million copies sold plus other, less popular books on the subject), he said that the Nazca Lines were ancient runways for alien spacecraft. When JS saw my surprised reaction he said, "The mystery of Nazca makes it the Stonehenge of South America."
WORLD RENOWN STONEHENGE, IS A PREHISTORIC MONUMENT IN ENGLAND'S WILTSHIRE COUNTY. IN THE MIDDLE, EARTHWORKS ARE SURROUNDED BY A CIRCULAR SET OF LARGE STANDING STONES, (see above).

More enigmatic than Nazca, archaeologists estimate that it took 500 years to build and complete Stonehenge, around 2500 B.C. The site apparently served as an astronomy observatory, a religious site and as a burial ground. The monument was produced by a culture that didn't have a written language therefore its mode of construction is highly debatable.

Unlikely as it might seem, scholars believe that humans with the technology of that period could devise the idea, find the materials, engineer a way to import them to the proper area and position those enormous and heavy pieces...even across the top of others...into celestial accurate spots. Others like Eric von Daniken propose that those ancient people could not have possibly imagined, developed or constructed such an incredible project without supernatural intervention.

On our car ride back from Brigantine, Roxy calmly laid on the floor while my wife Sue texted the world about our outing. Alone with my thoughts, I couldn't get the shape of the beach toys left in the sand out of my head. That's when I remembered what JS said about Stonehenge.

My mind wandered to all the scientific speculation of Stonehenge's specifications. I bet that place has been measured millions of times and the data has been fed into computers tens of thousands of times...and the inconclusive results...reveal a gazillion possibilities.

My mind wandered even deeper when I imagined spacemen, (in flying saucers made of rock), so advanced that they quarried the Stonehenge stones. Then delivered them to the construction zone and assembled them in such a sturdy way...on top of each other...that they stood the test of time and the barrage of two millenniums of weather, to remain what we see today.

Then my mind latched onto next year's end of the world prophecies. My thoughts wandered far deeper than ever before. I considered, what would happen if the earth indeed was destroyed by such a cataclysm that it took twenty-thousand years for civilization to rebound to our current level of sophistication?

My mind's eye took me back to Brigantine Beach. I envisioned a future generation of archaeologists rummaging through the desert wastelands of the former, ocean front property. Suddenly a college intern gasped. Buried in the cement-like sand, a tiny bit of a bigger, smooth, fluorescent amber object glistens in the sunshine.

Workers chisel around the area, toss aside clumps of earth and brush away finer particles. When the dimensions were clear, an ancient representation of a smiling sun, forged from a baffling foreign material is fully visible. Experts are certain that this bauble is the personification of a beneficent God. But the greater enlightenment is that this detailed artisan's rendering proves that an advanced culture once inhabited the Earth. Within months, this five by five foot area will be fully excavated.

Scientists will win awards by linking this find to the evolution of mankind. But a lifetime of intense research won't give them a definitive answer of how the toys got there or their purpose.

Astronomers plot the formation and find similarities with the constellations in the night sky. Archaeologists refer to the earthworks as being surrounded by a semi-circular set of blue, red and green beveled pillars, (fatter at the bottom that taper to a flat top). In two places, facsimiles of boats straddle the top of the pillars. Other odd-shaped objects suggest to anthropologists a spiritual overtone. These questions will be studied for another hundred years without a meaningful conclusion made.

Meanwhile, this Stonehenge of Brigantine will be measured, the data fed into computers and no satisfactory explanation for the non-biodegradable, shiny, smooth material dubbed, "plastique" will be reached. It will never be found again in nature or artificially replicated in a laboratory. However a small faction of kooks, believe the descendant of Eric von Doniken. To hype-up his latest book...he theorizes that extraterrestrials manufactured this substance on their planet when in 2012, they wiped-out 99.9% of all earthlings, eons ago.

THE NINE LIVES OF WILLIE POTATO

WARNING!  THIS BLOG HAS BEEN FLAGGED BY ITS ADMINISTRATORS DUE TO CONTENT THAT MIGHT NOT BE SUITABLE FOR YOUNGER OR SENSITIVE READERS.

At Atlantic City's Atlantis Casino, (1986), Willard Francis Potaki, a.k.a., "Willie Potato,"was punished for poor judgement and exiled to my shift (nights). My impression of this veteran floor suervisor was; he consistently spoke too loud, reeked of tobacco and came off as dopey. Still, up against the caliber of the casino workers that I had become accustom to, he was a decent enough fellow.

During his first week, he was overseeing my craps crew when we were severely brutalized, for hours, by a pair of out-of-line low-lifes. In appreciation of our team effort under acutely harsh conditions, the pit boss wrote "comps" for two free drinks for us and our supervisors.

At the bar, I wound up sitting next to Willie. Immediately, he was chain-smoking, as he chased two, double Jack Daniels with two Heinekens (twice the free allotment)...while I was still nursing my first screwdriver.
WILLIE PULLED A 1956 BILLY MARTIN BASEBALL CARD FROM THE BREAST POCKET OF HIS DRESS SHIRT. HE HAD BOUGHT IT AT A SPORTS MEMORABILIA SHOW THAT AFTERNOON. THE PRICE SEEMED EXPENSIVE FOR A CARD THAT WAS BADLY BENT. HE SAID, "IT MUST'VE GOT MESSED-UP IN MY POCKET. BUT THE GUY THREW IN THIS OTHER CARD FOR FREE." I SAID, "HE 'BILL HALL' LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU." WILLIE THOUGHT I WAS CRAZY.

Willie slipped the bartender a bribe, hidden in a matchbook and ordered himself more free drinks. Then...not because he was intoxicated but because he was an anti-Einstein... he mispronounced and used the wrong words while telling me an insulting story about a female pit boss from day shift who recently went to the adjacent Trump Plaza Casino on a break and won $20,000.00 playing slots.

This was a time when Atlantic City casino workers weren't permitted to gamble in town. So when she had to show identification, she confessed her illegal situation. Despite her efforts to circumvent the law, the slot department representative offered her the courtesy of two choices. The first was to accept the money and run the high risk of losing both her job and state gaming license or...decline the winnings.

To the joy of the casino, she turned down the jackpot and returned to work. Willie then made a stale Polish joke at her expense. I read his nametag and said, "Potaki, isn't your name Polish?" He responsed, "No! My people were European!"

I told that story a few days ago. Five friends and I from the now defunct Atlantis had a long overdue reunion. Once we sat down, I was shocked that Willie was already dead ten years. Then similar to the 1984 movie, "BROADWAY DANNY ROSE," we had a round table discussion about the old days but Willie Potato dominated the conversation.

THE OPENING OF THE MOVIE WAS SET IN THE CARNEGIE DELI WITH COMEDIANS REMINISCING. EVENTUALLY, THEY STICK TO ONE TOPIC, THE WORST THEATRICAL AGENT EVER..."BROADWAY" DANNY ROSE.

Everyone in our forum agreed that Willie Potato was legendary for "lighting a candle on both ends," and for having an odd fascination with baseball player/manager Billy Martin. However Willie's high octane lifestyle eclipsed his idol and brought about a far too early death. Upon deeper examination, Willie Potato was lucky to have lasted as long as he did.

Willie's downward spiral and ultimate demise was fast-tracked due to; chain smoking more than two packs of Pall Mall a day, alcoholism, regular use of recreational drugs and a gambling problem.  He also hated his nickname "Potato" which had to be related to a load of psychological complexes such as; persecution and Napoleonic.

Before understanding the party animal Willie Potato, we must first understand his hero, Billy Martin.

Alfred Manuel "Billy" Martin Jr., (of Portuguese and Italian ancestry), was born in Berkeley California on May 16, 1928. Despite being small in stature, his aggressiveness helped him in 1950, to become a major leaguer with the Yankees. During his seven so-so seasons in New York, he was dwarfed by stars, all-stars and future Hall-of Famers. However, he forever etched his way onto the team's all-time icons list, by performing well (.333 batting average), in his 28 World Series games and being named the 1953 World Series MVP.

In 1957, Martin's undoing in New York was his 29th birthday celebration at the Copacabana Night Club. He was already on ownership's version of "double secret probation" due to his excessive drinking and rowdy behavior when teammates, (most notably Hank Bauer, Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra...and their wives) became embroiled in a highly publicized brawl.

Some drunkards were hurling racial insults at the headlining entertainer that night, Sammy Davis Jr. When the offensive gentlemen refused Hank Bauer's request to tone it down, the ensuing fight resulted in plenty of embarrassment to the Yankee front office.

THE MAJORITY OF THE PRINCIPALS PRIOR TO THE COPACABANA FIGHT.

The reports I read on the Copa incident agree that Billy Martin had no role in instigating the melee. Nevertheless despite being manager Casey Stengel's, "boy," Martin was scapegoated. He was deemed a bad influence on stars like Mantle and Whitey Ford and was immediately traded to Kansas City.

A Yankee at heart, Martin never achieved much success with other teams. In 1961 he retired with a .257 career batting average and was a one-time all-star in 1956. Eventually he became a successful manager. However, whatever coaching greatness he attained was blighted by the same detrimental behavior that scarred his playing career, fighting.

FURTHER EVIDENCE OF HIS DYSFUNCTIONAL MENTALITY, THE HOT BLOODED MEDITERRANEAN ACTED IN COLD BLOOD WHEN HE EXTENDED HIS LEFT, MIDDLE FINGER WHILE POSING FOR THE 1972, TOPPS, #33 BASEBALL CARD.

Martin's polarizing personality resulted in the absurdity of managing the Yankees on five separate occasions, (that means he was also fired five times). I saw my favorite Martin-ism live on TV when he removed Reggie Jackson from a game in mid-inning. Tempers erupted in the dugout and the face-to-face verbal clash which nearly came to blows, is now a classic.

During the ceremony when his number (1) was retired Martin said, "I may not have been the greatest New York Yankee to put on the uniform but I am the proudest." That statement also appears on his tombstone.

In a Johnson City New York hospital, on December 25, 1989, Billy Martin died from injuries that occurred in a slow-speed, one-car accident. Despite much speculation, a forensic examination of the tragedy proved that although Martin was drinking, he was the passenger. It was his friend who skidded on ice and crashed outside Martin's home in Port Crane New York.

For some reason, Willie Potato decided to not only emulate Billy Martin's shortcomings but to surpass them.

In 1952, Willie was born in Weehawken New Jersey. He was ashamed of both sides of his Portuguese and Polish ancestry and tried to pass as Italian.

Willie dropped-out of high school but rose up through the casino ranks and crested as a craps floor supervisor.

Like Billy Martin, Willie was short.

WILLIE WAS 5 FOOT 2. HE WORE MOTORCYCLE BOOTS WITH A LARGE HEEL AND WAS RUMORED TO ALSO USE "LEG LIFTS." DURING OUR ROUND TABLE DISCUSSION WILLIE'S CLOSEST FRIEND, "B," REMINDED US THAT TO "HONOR" HIM, THEY USED TO CALL THE CHILDREN'S URINAL AT WORK, THE "POTAKI."

Willie was forced to compensate and frequently demeaned underlings and undesirable customers. While he took himself serious, most of his colleagues viewed him as a clown or an ass.

The reason he was sent to my shift was because after two burly security guards wrestled an irate patron to the ground, Willie jumped into the fray and got in a few sucker punches after the accused perpetrator was subdued.

Everyone at my table agreed that it was hilarious that Willie (even when he was sober), misused big words especially when unsuccessfully hitting-on unapproachable women, (which sometimes included begging for sex).

IN AN UNCOMPLIMENTARY WAY, WILLIE WAS COMPARED TO COMIC-ACTOR LEO GORCEY, (1917-1969). GORCEY WAS ONE OF THE BUSIEST MEN IN HOLLYWOOD FROM 1937-1956. IN THAT TIME, HE APPEARED IN 69 FILMS AS THE DIMINUTIVE, PUGNACIOUS, MALAPROPISM SPEWING LEADER OF, "THE DEAD END KIDS," "THE EASTSIDE KIDS," AND "THE BOWERY BOYS." HIS PROTOTYPICAL YOUNG PUNK CHARACTER WAS PORTRAYED UNDER SEVERAL DIFFERENT NAMES LIKE; ETHELBERT "MUGGS" McGINNIS AND TERENCE ALOYSIUS "SLIP" MAHONEY.

Willie routinely stood out to all hours. At night, he drank until he passed-out and after a few hours of sleep, used amphetamines to get ready for work.

Another former coworker "W," said that Willie regularly gambled on his breaks. He'd leave his suit jacket at the hotel's front desk, remove his tie and put on a Yankee cap and sunglasses. Then he'd go next door for twenty minutes and play a few hands of blackjack while swilling as much alcohol as he could. To prove his stupidity, despite his high-tech attempt to mask his identity, he risked his livelihood much like the female pit boss that he spoke so condescendingly about.

I could understand why he felt tortured by Polish jokes when he was young. But as an adult, it was obvious that he wasn't bright enough to see that he'd become the personification of that type of humor.

Everyone was laughing when "B" said, "Losing his casino license would've been nothing to a guy like Willie. It's like he had a death wish or something because I think he used up more lives than a cat." "T" cut him off, "Remember his boating accident?  He took his neighbor out on his new cabin cruiser.  They were all drunked-up (fishing) when they saw bad weather coming fast. The casino skyline seemed so close so they didn't head back. In no time, the wind and waves picked up. The storm made them lose control. Even if Willie was sober, he was still inexperienced. They smashed into a buoy, his boat took on water and overturned. If a random fisherman didn't happen by and save their butts, they both would have drown."

STOCK PHOTO. A METAPHOR OF HIS SHORT LIFE, WILLIE'S BOAT, "THE BILLY MARTIN #1," CAPSIZED IN THE BAY, A HALF-MILE OFF BRIGANTINE.

"R" blurted, "In the 90's, he was always broke and sponging money." "A" interrupted, "Being broke was why his ex ran him down with their car. It's hard to believe that he only broke his collar bone...because she really tried to kill him." "That's right," "W" said. "Their relationship was so messed-up because they were co-dependent.  Shit, he didn't even file charges. They divorced a year later but that was because she cheated on him." "T" said, "As soon as she moved out west, he became more of a dead-beat loser and never paid that whore alimony."

We were were all smiles when "B" reminded us, "The dude survived brain cancer." Those smiles evaporated into a spontaneous moment of silence. I was imagining him having a golf ball-sized tumor cut out of his head when "T" changed the mood, "Don't forget the gang-bang with Nadine, the pit clerk. Remember, he was with her when the husband burst in the bedroom. Willie led a charmed life because that moron would have murdered him for sure. But Willie only sprained his ankle when he jumped from the second floor balcony."

"T" said, "Don't forget the riot Willie started in the casino softball league. He was pitching batting practice to the other team and a couple of shots came close to hitting him. He always thought everyone was out to get him so he MF'ed the batter and accused them all of a conspiracy against him. The umpire actually had to break-up the profanity before it led to a free-for-all."

"A," said, "During the game, the other team kept razzing Willie. The escalating insults reached its peak when the light-hitting Potaki came to bat.  The opposing pitcher turned to his outfielders and motioned them to move in.  He couldn't take the pressure and hit a weak dribbler to the mound to snuff out a rally." 

"T" added, "Yeah, a minute later, Willie was cursing the other team as he got ready to the start the next inning.  On the poor bastard's second pitch, he took a line drive off his chest. All hell broke-out!   I remember Willie on the bottom of the pile getting his head stepped on with spikes."THE ONE YEAR I PLAYED FOR THE TEAM, WE HAD OUR PRE-SEASON MEETING AT THE ABSECON VFW'S BAR.  DRUNKEN WILLIE BECAME ENRAGED BECAUSE THE ONLY SMALL-SIZED SHIRT CAME IN WITH #20 ON IT, (INSTEAD OF HIS BILLY MARTIN INSPIRED #1).  HE STOLE THE #19 SHIRT, TOOK IT HOME AND CUT OUT THE #1. HE SLOPPILY SEWED A BLANK PIECE OF MATERIAL OVER THE NUMBER  #20 AND SEWED A THIRD LAYER WITH THE #1 ON TOP.

"R" said, "Once the game calmed down, the umpire said if there's one more problem, he'll declare a double-forfeit."

"A" said, "Double-forfeit?  It wasn't an official game yet.  The ump was full of shit because he wouldn't have gotten paid."  We roared with laughter as he added, "I But I'll never forget Willie pitching that game with a bandanna under his Yankee cap with blood oozing through it."

"B" changed the subject, "I think when he lost his job...it killed him." His strike three (probably strike ten), was getting caught smoking pot on the property and was fired. Willie hopped from one part-time dealer job to another. He hated being the low man on the totem pole and got into many arguments...and like Billy Martin, kept getting fired.

"B" continued, "He convinced a bank to lend him some money and bought a small, one-man operation business on the cheap." "A" said, "He didn't have a shopkeeper's mentality. All he knew was casino work." "B" said, "That's right. He was such a schmuck. He was drunk or high most of the time and couldn't be bothered by his own customers." "R" said, "I heard he used business money to score coke." "B" said, "Yeah. He couldn't handle the pressure of creditors in his face every day. Maybe dying from a heart attack was the easy way out."

We all left the round table shaking our heads. It was hard to believe that the likes of Billy Martin lasted till 61 and Willie Potato only made it to 49...

IT'S NOT ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA...THE REAL PENNSYLVANIA DUTCH...TREAT

On Thursday evening, April 24, 1991, I experienced quite a coincidence.

A friend of my wife Sue gave us primo New York Mets tickets, for a game at Philadelphia's Veterans Stadium. A few days earlier, a former employee of mine, DENG, got tickets to the same game from a client. To complete this oddity, another friend, KURUDAVE had tickets left to him at the will-call window, by one of players.

In addition to the later coincidence, I thought this was funny because KURU wasn't a sports fan. Even though he had his benefactor's name written down at home, he couldn't remember the ticket-bearer's name. Even funnier, he had no idea which team the player was on. To be on the safe side, I reminded him that he was taking a big chance of being embarrassed in front of his new girlfriend, if after the long ride, the guy was a bullshitting impostor.

The true coincidence may have never happened because the sky that afternoon was shrouded by thick gray clouds. During our hour-long drive to Philadelphia, the floodgates opened. At five o'clock, while crossing the Walt Whitman Bridge, the storm forced me to use my hyper-speed windshield-wipers. Although the ballgame was jeopardized by a rain out, Sue and I clung to our original dinner plans and headed to Philly Cheese Steak-Heaven.AN AUTHENTIC CHEESE STEAK CONTAINS; FRIZZLED BEEF, GRILLED ONIONS AND MELTED CHEESE, ON A LONG ROLL. BUILT TO SUIT, VARIED INGREDIENTS GIVE THIS DELECTABLE COUNTLESS VARIATIONS. I LIKE MINE WITH PROVOLONE, SAUTEED MUSHROOMS AND TOO MUCH KETCHUP.


In South Philadelphia, not far from the Italian Market, on the corner of 9th and Passyunk, two giants of the cheese steak world are situated across the street from each other. The person who gave me the directions picked one over the other solely on the basis that they invented the sandwich, in the early 1930's. However, he was quick to point out that they had pretty much evolved into the same thing...he wouldn't know just how right he was.

At our destination, it was still drizzling. Sue and I stood in the street, under a portico surrounded by empty, litter-filled picnic tables. We were intoxicated by the aroma of grilled onions as we advanced to the transom to place our order. I was holding a twenty-dollar bill as I glanced up at the menu and asked the clerk, "Where's the bathroom?" He pointed behind me at a fenced in, open field and said, "Go in the park!" I wasn't peeing outside and was insulted by the idea. Sue and I took our business across the street. You'd think it would be impossible for the same attitude to be duplicated but we got the exact same, "Go in the park," treatment.
THERE'S ONLY ONE WORTHWHILE CRACK IN THE "CITY OF BROTHERLY LOVE." SO I DIDN'T NEED TO HEAR ANY MORE FROM THESE TWO GENIUSES.

A little further up the street, we found an unheralded and less independent purveyor of cheese steaks, (I wish I remembered their name because they deserve the free advertisement). Despite cleaning his ear hole with his pinkie while we spoke, the representative behind the counter had people skills that were light years beyond the other two dimwits. This place also had a welcome mat in front of their restroom and clean, indoor seating. Our outlook brightened. We enjoyed our meal and were further pleased to learn that the rain had stopped.

At the stadium, the chilly, damp weather combined with the game's early season unimportance and the Phils inferior squad, to minimize the crowd. I joked that with so few fans, they could save time if the players came into the stands and individually introduced themselves to everyone. Later, they posted a paid attendance of 15,214, but I'm sure most were no-shows.

Luckily, we never needed our umbrella. But Sue and I snuggled in our sweatshirts, on field level, directly behind home plate, in seat one and two of row "J." The big coincidence occurred when we spotted DENG amid the sea of vacant seats.  He was a few sections away, up the right field line.

While the Phillies were batting in the second inning, KURUDAVE and his date were ushered to their seats behind third base. I was able to yell out his name and got his attention. Through a series of gestures, he was able to pantomime that Mets pitcher Wally Whitehurst had given him his tickets.

In the fourth inning, there was a public address announcement of a contest. To this day, it is unclear what the prize was. But we perked up when we heard that the winning seats were on our level. We actually got interested when the search was narrowed down to our section. When they said row "J," Sue and I reflexively looked to our left. The entire row was empty except for the last two seats. Then the announcement for seat 22 and 23 was made.

The final crescendo from, "STARS AND STRIPES FOREVER," blared on the sound system as ushers, a couple of men in suits and cute girls in Phillie windbreakers, carrying maroon and white balloons, hustled down the concrete steps. After some fanfare, the smiling lucky stiffs waved bye-bye and the entourage whisked them away. They never returned to their seats.

Even though we watched the second half of the game from the first row behind home plate, the Mets won and I saw my friends at the game, I still had the taste of sour grapes in my mouth as we started the second half of our journey.

Instead of going home, we continued west for an over night in Lancaster County...a.k.a., Pennsylvania Dutch Country.
PENNSYLVANIA DUTCH, REFERS TO DESCENDANTS OF IMMIGRANTS FROM SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY WHO SETTLED IN FARMLANDS AROUND PRESENT DAY LANCASTER COUNTY. TOURISTS ARE DRAWN BY THE OLD WORLD CHARM OF THE AMISH AND MENNONITE PEOPLE WHOSE CUSTOMS HAVE CHANGED LITTLE DOWN THROUGH THE YEARS. PLEASE NOTE THAT THE WORD "DUTCH" IS DERIVED FROM DEUTSCH, THE GERMAN WORD FOR GERMAN...FOLKS FROM THE NETHERLANDS, AREN'T PENNSYLVANIA DUTCH.


At midnight we got a room in Souderburg, on the Lincoln Highway (Route-30). The next morning was beautiful. While getting back in the car, it was so nice that even though our motel was surrounded by pastures...and the noxious methane odor associated with cows, we loved it.

On the road, we saw the famous horse drawn buggies. I had visited this area a few times in my youth but it was Sue's first time. I took her to a restored village where they show how the Amish live while teaching visitors of their beliefs.

Our next stop was the Strasburg Railroad. Along the way, we thought it was funny that in an area known for being conservative, many of the tiny municipalities had sexually suggestive names, like; Intercourse, Blue Ball, Mount Joy, Lititz, Bareville, Bird-in-Hand and Paradise, (I'm guessing these erotic names are a coincidence too, because even Google didn't have a definitive answer).

Since 1832, the town of Strasburg has boasted the longest continually run railroad in the USA.THAT'S EIGHT-YEAR OLD ME IN THE MIDDLE. SOMETHING TELLS ME THAT SINCE 1963, THEY'VE HAD ENOUGH LAWSUITS THAT THEY NO LONGER ALLOW THEIR LOCOMOTIVES TO BE USED AS JUNGLE GYMS.

Sue enjoyed the train excursion through the countryside.YEARS LATER, ON MAY 23, 1997 , WE TOOK MY SON ANDREW AND GRANDMA ON THE SAME TRAIN RIDE. BY THAT TIME, THE CARTOON "THOMAS THE TRAIN," WAS MEGA. SO IN THE SHADOWS OF THE STRASBURG DEPOT, AN INGENIOUS ENTREPRENEUR OPENED A HUMONGOUS "THOMAS" STORE.

We still had two stops left before going home. The first was Intercourse...just to say we were there, take pictures and buy souvenirs. Then for more of my own personal nostalgia, we returned to 2811 East Lincoln Highway, to the town of Ronks, for dinner.

Miller's Smorgasbord (buffet), opened in 1929. My parents made it a point to take us there every time we visited. I still have a few seconds of poor quality, 8mm home movies (they have been transferred to the equally obsolete VHS format), taken inside Miller's dining room in 1960. Unfortunately, there are no photos.

Miller's prided them self on everything being home made and delicious. And that night twenty years ago would be no exception. I bellied-up to the steam tables and gorged myself.

While trolling for more entrees, I breezed past the deserts. A little sign that read, Chocolate Pecan Pie caught my eye. I was still concentrating on my dinner so I set aside this enticement, took stock of the five portions there and ate more braised beef and fried chicken.

When I returned to the scene of the crime, the cupboard was bare. I must have had a dumbfounded look on my face because a young hostess dressed in a pinafore dress and an Amish-like bonnet asked, "Are you okay?" I was embarrassed because I had opened my belt and must have looked like a glutton as I said, "Are they bringing out any more chocolate pecan pie?" She smiled, "I'll get you some." A few seconds later she returned empty-handed. She said, "They don't have any more in the kitchen but if you give me a minute, I'll go across the street to our bakery and bring back a bunch."

I watched her through the window. In the dark, I could see the epitome of another coincidence. The bakery was in a building surrounded by a fenced in open field. When she came back with the best pecan pie I ever ate, I couldn't help but be reminded that this Pennsylvania Dutch treat would NEVER happen in South Philly, unless I got it myself.