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.

THIS MACHINE KILLS FASCISTS

I saw the movie "BOUND FOR GLORY" as part of a film studies assignment while attending Brooklyn College in 1976. An over-looked film, it stars David Carradine, from the hit TV show, "KUNG FU."

Its been 34 years since I saw "Bound For Glory" but I recall liking it. Unfortunately, that enjoyment only thrust the paper I wrote as far as a C+.

Woody Guthrie, was more than just an American songwriter and folk singer. He was an inspiration to the oppressed and stood up against the establishment of his time. Through song, he brought change and helped deliver the dormant dignity of a downtrodden nation.

Woodrow Wilson "Woody" Guthrie (July 14, 1912-September 3, 1967), died a young man. Even worse, he became stricken with a degenerative neurological disease long before he passed and wasn't productive for more than the last decade of his life.

"Bound For Glory" is the story of Guthrie's life in the"Dust-Bowl" and follows him to the land o' plenty, California. Beautifully photographed, it serves as a timepiece of the Depression.

He and thousands of fellow idealistic Okies find out that the descriptions of the "promised land" were highly exaggerated. The fruit growers throughout the area hire hundreds of pickers each day but there are three or four times more applicants than jobs. To make conditions worse, the orchard owners take advantage of this leverage and pay the select few, extremely low wages.

Guthrie is appalled by the living conditions in the shantytown village next to the orchard. He borrows a guitar and sets out to make his own way. When he retrurns, a radio personality, Ozark Bule comes by the camp to entertain the masses. Bule's lyrics carry with them a message of a better life through organization and unionization. Guthrie joins in until the rally is squashed by goons from the orchard. Guthire escapes with his life and takes up the cause.

Ozark introduces Guthrie around and soon, he is a singing radio star too. His stardom becomes tenuous because as he rises in popularity, the sponsorship wants to restrict his rabble-rousing sentiments. Guthrie turns his back on the money...family and friends too...and criss-crosses the country in support of America's suffering working class.

The movie ends there but Woody's life continued in 1940 New York City. Embraced by the leftist folk music community much of his legacy was built there. He meets author John Steinbeck whose 1939 novel, "The Grapes of Wrath" closely parallels Guthrie Dust-Bowl to California experience.

In New York, he wrote his most famous song, "This Land is Your Land." My favorite passage is:

As I went walking, I saw a sign there,
and on the sign there, it said "no trespassing"
but on the other side it said nothing
That side was made for you and me.

Oddly the original title was: "God Blessed America." Guthrie didn't like Irving Berlin classic, "God Bless America," because he felt it was unrealistic and compacent...plus he hated hearing Kate Smith sing it.

During WWII Woody served briefly in the Merchant Marines and later in the army.

After WWII, he joined Pete Seeger as part of the "Almanac Singers." They described their music as anti-Fascist songs. At that time Woody put a sign on his guitar that read: This Machine Kills Fascist.

Guthrie lived on Mermaid Avenue in the Coney Island section of Brooklyn. His famous son Arlo spent a lot of time growing up there until the Guthrie's moved to the Pacific Northwest.

Woody's health worsened and he began acting extremely erratic in the late 40's. Before he was correctly diagnosed with Huntington's Disease in 1952, he was thought to be suffering alcoholism or schizophrenia. In 1954, a freak fire seriously injured Woody's arm...he never played the guitar again. The following year he was committed to a mental institution. He was shuffled to different hopitals for 12 years and died at New York's Creedmoor Psychiatric Center in 1967.

In 2006, my son Andrew and I attended the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame. We got to see a special Bob Dylan exhibit. We learned that Woody Guthrie influenced Dylan both in his style and the theme of his lyrics. Also Guthrie is mentioned in other areas of the museum as a core contributor to the roots of Rock 'n Roll itself.

The title of this great American's autobiography is also, "BOUND FOR GLORY." You should pick it up or at least find the movie. I found it straightforward and thoroughly inspirational.
Sometimes I get sentimental in regards to patriotism and the individual sacrifices that were made to make our country great. I guess I feel that way because I'm no hero and recognize my own limitations.

My only hope now...is that I get a higher grade on this column than the C+ on got on my college paper.

THE STOREHOUSE OF USELESS INFORMATION STRIKES AGAIN !

Yesterday was not only our dog Roxy's third birthday but it was the day that the prematurely anoited kings of professional football were dethroned, prior to coronation.

Deep in the heart of Giants territory, I ventured up to Central Jersey to a Super Bowl party thrown by my lifelong friends, the Zimbiodelic's. The house also served as a convalescent center as many mutual friends met to wish ZYMBOT the host, a speedy recovery from kneecap replacement surgery...ouchies!

In that hostile environment...I of course was the only person rooting for the Patriots--so as I always suggest: find out who I like and bet the other way.

On the brighter side, the patient was cheery from the company and the result of the game. His upbeat demeanor made it easier on his wife FLOWGLO...who throughout the day was her usual lovable self and cordial hostess.

I was enjoying the clam dip with RBOY when he told me that he recently had a get together with other old friends from the neighborhood. They wound up at a schoolyard and shot baskets. He made the point that despite being 53 or so...everyone's personality on the court was a consistant throw-back to being 14.

RBOY said, "Despite the best and worse that life has to offer, we can't change the root of who we are. The selfish friend who became a great businessman still never passed the ball, the cool dude whose life has been riddled with addictions and dead end jobs was still a show-off, the lazy sloth after two divorces still played no defense and stood still on offense waiting for a pass, the whiner was still petty and cried foul too often, the tough guy played dirty and the space-case lost interest right away and played video games on his cell-phone."

I guess what I forgot to ask RBOY was--how are you the same? I think he would have said that his jumper, a step inside the foul line, is still deadly. I also should have asked about me. I really don't know about my hoops personality but I do know one aspect of my life that everyone at the party has come to expect.

I am a STOREHOUSE OF USELESS INFORMATION, if it doesn't matter, I know it. And in small doses, like once every few years, my talent for superficial, free association is greatly appreciated.

The day's first bone of contention was: my mentioning the military draft prior to Vietnam... during peace time.
ZYMBOT challenged this assertion so I pointed out that many celebrities and sports figures had to put their careers on hold, to serve. I used NFL Hall of Famer Paul Hornung's story about his coach Vince Lombardi personally calling President Kennedy to use a favor, to get Hornung a weekend pass to play in the 1961 championship game, (it was called that prior to being dubbed Super Bowl).

He didn't like that example because he couldn't believe that there was ever a draft during peacetime. So I mentioned Elvis Presley.
One of the women said, "Elvis doesn't count because he was drafted during the Korean War."
I regret not not sticking to my guns because he was a nobody in '51-'53. I reseached it on Wikipedia and found out that he was drafted December of '57 and was inducted into the army March '58. In September of that year, Elvid was sent to Germany where he was stationed for the next 18 months.

My second nonsense nugget made a lot of people scoff: The Outerbridge Crossing that connects the Tottenville section of Staten Island New York with Perth Amboy New Jersey is named after someone whose name is Outerbridge.

Most people seem to think that because it was the most southern point in New York or that it was the last outpost in the state, it was named the "Outer" Bridge. But its the Outer Bridge Crossing. More specifically Outerbridge is indeed one word. I wasn't prepared to tell the whole story at the party but "Instant Recall Edelblum" (me), is ready now.

The Outerbridge Crossing was named in honor of Eugenius H. Outerbridge. He was the first chairman of the Port Authority. The "crossing" was opened on June 29, 1928 and in 2006 32,438,000 vehicles came across it.

After finishing my column, to belatedly honor my dog's birthday, I offered her a treat. She rejected it. I guess because I missed HER party, she's wasn't interested in my trifle. Either that or she smelled Cody and Casey, (two dogs who were at the Zimbiodelic shindig) and hates me for seeing other pups behind her back.