"MAKING THE MUSIC," BY YOU, FOR US.

What a joyride!  A couple of days ago, the Absegami High School drama department students proved that necessity is the mother of highly entertaining invention.

In the last four years, the school's Emanon Players have put on big spring shows, a production around Christmas and sometimes a spring show too.  This year's spring extravaganza followed the pattern.  However, the choice of, Stephen Sondheim's, "INTO THE WOODS," left many veteran Absegami thespians, particularly the seniors, dissatisfied.

The main sticking point was, "Into the Woods" featured a smaller than usual cast. Plus some of the roles were earned by underclassmen.  Therefore many dedicated drama kids who wanted one last hurrah on stage felt short changed.

Two students understood this failing.  They fantasized about a production that would increase the amount of premium roles while also providing Emanon's wealth of unrecognized talent, a better opportunity for a solo performance.  Their idea quickly gained momentum and soon the entire drama department was eager to proceed.  They decided to write and produce their own show.  On a shoestring budget, they enlisted the help of student choreographers, costumers, stage crew, and musicians.  More importantly, with the help of bounding enthusiasm for their craft, they got the blessing of the school administration.

In a short time, the plan was set in motion and "MAKING THE MUSIC," was born. However, the spontaneity of putting on a show -- from scratch -- is wrought with dilemmas. I'm guessing the greatest hurdle was conquering time. They had less than two months to write, cast, and rehearse it.   Everyone made sacrifices but a couple weeks before the curtain went up, putting the show together seemed like a reach.

Yet the players forged ahead.  They put other responsibilities on the back burner and resolved themselves with beaucoup hours to make the show a success.

The concept of the show mirrors the play itself. A dramatic plot is set as three kids are forced (assigned) to produce a high school play.  They are handed piles of books on the history of Broadway musicals and told to find inspiration for their own show.

In a clever meshing of diverse personalities, the three characters set about overcoming their parochial tendencies while addressing issues that confront graduating high school students, (uncertainty of the future, love, responsibility and going beyond their comfort zone). 


THE WRITERS, MOST OF THE PLAYERS, AND CREW ARE OUT-GOING SENIORS. SO THE USE OF TEENAGE ANGST ISSUES TO GLUE THEIR SONG AND DANCE VIGNETTES TOGETHER, HELPED MAKE THIS BROADWAY TRIBUTE COME-OFF NATURALLY.

I think the true cleverness of play was using classic musical numbers that kept the audience rapt.  I know my face was smiling all through, "LULLABY OF BROADWAY," and "42nd STREET."  And the way they pulled off, "ANYTHING GOES," was stunning and memorable.  Plus, I got a sense that the rest of the audience felt the same way because it seemed everyone was disappointed that the intermission interrupted the entertainment momentum.

AS GREAT AS THE INDIVIDUAL SINGING PERFORMANCES WERE, THE INTENSE PRECISION OF THE CHOREOGRAPHY IN, "ANYTHING GOES," WAS THE HIGHLIGHT OF THE FIRST ACT. 

The second act opened with a bang, in the form of, "CELL BLOCK TANGO," from, "CHICAGO."  Then it was onto, "AMERICA," from "WEST SIDE STORY."  And "LUCK BE A LADY TONIGHT," from "GUYS AND DOLLS."

IN THE LAST FOUR YEARS, I ATTENDED NEARLY EVERY EMANON PLAYER SHOW .  BUT THIS TIME, YOU COULD SEE, IN EVERYTHING THAT EVERYONE DID, THE SHEER JOY OF PERFORMING.  THIS IDEA WAS TYPIFIED WHEN HONORING, "WEST SIDE STORY."

No praise of Broadway would be complete without, "DO-RE-MI," from, "THE SOUND OF MUSIC."  And let's not forget, "OKLAHOMA."

"IMAGINE THAT, A WHOLE MUSICAL ABOUT A STATE?"  MIXED INTO THE SERIOUSNESS AND THE LYRICAL GENIUS, THE PLAYWRIGHTS LEFT ROOM FOR SOME COMEDY TOO.

Interwoven into each musical sketch there was a topical theme relating to the student's anxiety on impending adulthood. 

THAT MESSAGE WAS MOST OBVIOUS IN THE SONG, "I DON'T WANNA GROW UP," FROM, "PETER PAN."

The show's dramatic actors finally agree to make their own production and imagine them self in it.  The "Making the Music," finale includes those three, singing and dancing, in a roaring rendition of, "DON'T STOP BELIEVIN,'" from the show, "ROCK OF AGES."

DUE TO TIME RESTRAINTS, THESE ACTORS HAD ONLY ONE CHANCE TO NAIL THIS SINGLE PERFORMANCE OF "MAKING THE MUSIC..." AND  DID. THEY OVER CAME OTHER OBSTACLES AND PUT ON A PLAY WORTHY OF THE "BIG" SPRINGTIME SHOW LABEL.

These Emanon Players left an deletable mark on their audience.  The crowd left the theater with enthusiastic chatter on their lips and many great tunes in their head.  Though these actors may never don the grease paint together again...and after this June, many will never even see each again...the shared memories of this wonderful team effort will remain eternal.

THE EMANON PLAYERS TAKE A FINAL CURTAIN CALL.  I CONGRATULATE EVERYONE'S CONTRIBUTION TO THIS PROJECT AS WELL AS THE PAST PERFORMERS WHO PROVIDED THE FOUNDATION AND MOTIVATION OF THIS TROUPE'S COMMAND /LAST PERFORMANCE.

I blame myself for the only bit of negativity...I meant it as a compliment but it might have come off like an insult when I said, "I'm surprised how great everything came together."  It's downer connotation being, I shouldn't never have doubted them.  I should have recognized their spirit for; The show must go on!

I would hope that future seniors take this "don't stop believin'" baton and run with it.  This glorious idea of each graduating class inventing their own unique message in the form of a, by us, for you show, should became a permanent fixture at Absegami.

And please, wherever you live, support your local high school's drama department.

BENEDICT ARNOLD? OH THANK HEAVEN, FOR 711.

My last visit to the military academy at West Point, (New York), was in 1972.  My high school football team was invited to watch the Black Knights spring game, (scrimmage).

NINETY MILES NORTH OF CANARSIE, ALONG THE BANKS OF THE HUDSON RIVER, MICHIE STADIUM IS THE HOME OF ARMY FOOTBALL.

The Cadet's intrasquad game gets a sparse crowd.  So without a vested rooting interest, once the festivities got started, DRJ7 and I were free to wander the stands. Later, we settled into the first row, at the right corner of the end zone, (above...off-camera, beyond the top of the 'A' in Army).  While standing alone there, an attempt was made for a two-point conversion.  Quarterback Kingsley Fink, (yeah, with a unique moniker like that, I still remember his name), overthrew a high, arcing fade route pass. The ball fell incomplete and took one neat hop into my hands.  Catching a football in the stands was not only thrilling but was one of the happiest moments in my life.  Spontaneously, I  (poorly), broke into my own  version of an Elmo Wright touchdown celebration dance.  I finished my choreography by pointing up to the section where my teammates were seated and took a bow.


BEFORE BILLY "WHITE SHOES" JOHNSON, ICKEY WOODS AND TERRELL OWENS, ELMO WRIGHT (#17)  OF THE KANSAS CITY CHIEFS WAS CREDITED AS THE FIRST NFLer TO PERFORM AN END ZONE CELEBRATION DANCE. TOO BAD,  I COULDN'T FIND A MORE DESCRIPTIVE PHOTO.

My ten seconds of fame abruptly ended when some jerk riding the Army mascot mule, demanded MY ball back. I thought to myself; what a Benedict Arnold, as I grudgingly flipped my prized pigskin, forever away. Now, forty years later, I realize the real connection between West Point and America's worst traitor.

Imagine you are in business and the item you sell has the generic name for all products like it.  This situation is pure genius and incredibly rare.  Two examples would be to call all refrigerators a "frigidaire" and all cellophane adhesive strips, "scotch tape."  In the same vain, that's how most Americans associate traitors... they are all Benedict Arnolds.  While Arnold's treasonous actions are common knowledge few of us know exactly what he did, (tried to do).

SEDITIOUS BENEDICT ARNOLD WAS BORN IN NORWICH CONNECTICUT IN 1741.  HE DIED IN LONDON ENGLAND IN 1801.

A friend and cohort of George Washington, Benedict Arnold was a celebrated American general during the early stages of the Revolutionary War. His unquestioned valor and intelligence distinguished him at such battles as, Fort Ticonderoga, Valcour Island, Ridgefield, Fort Stanwix and Saratoga.

Somewhere along the line, Arnold's disillusionment with the colonist cause surfaced when he was passed over for valued promotions, as lesser officers claimed credit for some of his accomplishments. His patriotism further evaporated when adversaries brought him up on charges of corruption and malfeasance.  Congress investigated his finances and found him to be broke and in debt to them. Evidence provided in Arnold's behalf proved that he used his own money on the colonial war effort and far worse, he wasn't paid for seven years.  He was acquitted of all charges and was commissioned to command the American fort at West Point.

BEAR MOUNTAIN STATE PARK IS ALSO LOCATED IN BEAUTIFUL ORANGE COUNTY.  OCTOBER 1984, A DAY OF APPLE PICKING AND PICNICKING, MARKED THE LAST TIME I WAS NEAR WEST POINT.

West Point was strategically placed at an abnormal S-curve on the Hudson River. The Continental Army knew that the river was a key route that connected New York City with New England. So, in addition to the bend slowing down river traffic and making foes an easier target, a heavy iron chain was placed across the waterway.  This barricade was designed to impede British Naval vessels from attacking, (it was so formidable that it was never tested).

By 1780, Benedict Arnold was frustrated and bitter.  He hatched an idea to sell-out the Americans and defect to the other side.  In hope of a lump sum, ($1.3 million in today's money), and a commission as an English Brigadier General, Arnold entered secret negotiations. When the particulars of the bribe were consummated, his plan included, having an English invasion, at a time when the river chain was disconnected, while George Washington and other high ranking Americans were at West Point.  If they succeeded, the war would immediately end because the American brain trust would be crippled and the Brits would control the Hudson.

This was a time when New York City was in the hands of the British.  Luckily for the Americans, a spy ring called the Culpers used regular citizens, (oh those wacky New Yorkers), to smuggle-out English military secrets.  This information was sent by horseback, fifty-plus miles, to the north shore of Long Island.  Then by whaling boat, (ten rowers), across fifteen miles of Long Island Sound (sometimes during bad weather, in waters infested with the enemy), to Connecticut.

Interestingly, George Washington the guy famous for never telling a lie was well-versed in stretching the truth, he was the Culpers spy master.  In one of their few cypher books that survive today, he was represented as the leader and in a numeric code, as the number 711.  The father of our country might also be the first to write secret messages in invisible or white ink, between the lines of banal correspondences.  Thus prompting the term, "reading between the lines."

The go-between, between Benedict Arnold and the British was, Major John Andre. Before the dastardly deed could be set in motion, Andre was captured by American militia men.  He was turned over to the Culpers and in his boot, they discovered the specifics of Arnold's plot.  It is said that the only time George Washington was ever seen crying was when he heard of Benedict Arnold's scheme. Once the treacherous plan was foiled, John Andre was hanged, but Arnold managed to escape to the British. 

Arnold used his knowledge against the Americans and actively served as an English Brigadier General, (most notably in campaigns in Virginia and Connecticut), for the duration of the war.  Even though he never received everything promised, (the raid on West Point never happened), he was still paid, $350,000.00 in today's money.  After the war, Arnold settled in England and lived the rest of his days comfortably.

BEN FRANKLIN ONCE SAID, "JUDAS SOLD ONLY ONE MAN, ARNOLD SOLD THREE MILLION."  BENEDICT ARNOLD'S LOATHSOME LEGACY IS LONG LASTING.  A HUNDRED YEARS LATER,  IN THE 1885, "PROPER FAMILY REUNION," CARTOON, (above), HE'S PORTRAYED WITH JEFFERSON DAVIS AND THE DEVIL.  EVEN TODAY THE WEASEL'S NAME REMAINS SYNONYMOUS WITH BEING THE ULTIMATE TURNCOAT.

So, 236 years later, we owe George Washington even more gratitude than we ever imagined or as the Culpers used to say, "Oh thank heaven, for 711."  And, could it be that the boy who admitted cutting down the cherry tree, was the originator of that universal lucky number?

DEATH AND TAXES !

In the late 1980's, a senior citizen was reading his newspaper on the Atlantic City boardwalk.  When the urge prodded him off the bench, he advanced to one of the new, ultra-sanitary, public restroom kiosks, (the city aligned these small buildings at the head of every tenth street).  While sitting there, perhaps while scanning the obituaries, a high-speed police chase up Atlantic Avenue took an ominous right turn, towards the ocean. 

The would-be car thief zoomed down the beach block and came to an apparent "dead" end, (the boardwalk), but he wasn't ready to surrender.  He envisioned a bold escape, floored the accelerator and climbed the narrow ramp onto the boards.  At such a high speed, the perpetrator wove through shocked pedestrians but could not execute the sharp perpendicular turn.  The car smashed through the suddenly less than sanitary public facilities...leaving the unsuspecting victim inside, less than alive.

The poor fellow was caught with his pants down and never saw this unlikely tragedy coming.  However, even under more common circumstances, few of us will ever know when or how we die...we just know, we will.  Ben Franklin said it best, "The only things certain in life are death and taxes."

IN ADDITION TO THE HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL, FRANKLIN APPEARED ON THE U.S.  HALF DOLLAR FROM 1948-1963.

We eventually all pay the grim reaper.  It's ironic that some people call the Internal Revenue Service (IRS), the grim reaper and call "Tax Day," (April 15th), the day of reckoning, (the annual, income tax submission deadline). 

 SINCE 1917,THE MAIN IRS OFFICE HAS BEEN AT 1111 CONSTITUTION AVENUE, IN WASHINGTON D.C.  THEY ESTABLISHED APRIL 15th AS TAX DAY, IN 1955 .

Interestingly, on April 15th this year, we observe the hundredth anniversary of the ill-fated Titanic. While most of us have a general knowledge of the tremendous loss of life caused by this colossal seafaring disaster, few of us are aware of one of its great heroes.  This man's cool head under impossible circumstances, cheated death by saving lives but in so doing, left his reputation, to some, in doubt.

THE NAME TITANIC MEANS, A GIANT DEITY OR THING OF GREAT SIZE, STRENGTH OR POWER. WE'RE ALL FAMILIAR WITH THE UNSINKABLE SHIP'S  "AFTER" PICTURES...ABOVE IS A "BEFORE" SHOT.

Lieutenant William Murdoch was the Titanic's first officer.  He was in charge of the bridge, on "the night to remember."  When it collided, (sideswiped), the iceberg, sections of the hull, below the water line peeled away.  It didn't take long before the "invincible" ship's maiden voyage was punctuated with irreversible peril.

WILLIAM MURDOCH, (FEBRUARY 28, 1873 - APRIL 15, 1912), WAS FROM A  PROMINENT, NAUTICAL FAMILY. HE HAD PROVEN HIS OWN VALUE AS A NAVAL OFFICER LONG BEFORE BEING ASSIGNED BY WHITE STAR LINES, TO THE TITANIC. 

When the direness of the situation became obvious, (before the age of standardized safety drills...which gained importance because of this catastrophe), passengers were largely left to their own devices. In some instances, a mob mentality took over with a mad rush for the lifeboats.  The crew tried to organize these launchings but they were overwhelmed by the sheer number of selfish people.  Therefore,  little could be done to prevent partially filled lifeboats from abandoning the ship.

William Murdoch left the bridge and went to the starboard side of the doomed vessel.  He maintained a high degree of order and was responsible for the safe evacuation of ten lifeboats with women and children.  Some reports included him ordering his men to take babies, from mothers who refused to leave without their husbands, (some of the children were thrown down to the hands of people, in lowered lifeboats).

The controversy surrounding Murdoch has to do with fighting off panicking men trying to save them self.  The fictionalized account of this in the 1997 movie, "TITANIC," was met with criticism by a nephew of Murdoch.  He felt that the film's portrayal, damaged his uncle's heroic actions, because to stem the tide of riotous men, he shot and killed two of them. 

The reality was, in the name of protecting the sanctity of, "women and children first," Murdoch fired warning shots.  This action saved  precious seconds as his crew saved more passengers.  When the horde charged forward again, Murdoch bought some more time by shooting into the crowd.  More lives were saved by this rash decision.  But Murdoch felt despondent.  Despite his motives being just, he was overwhelmed by guilt and moments later, committed suicide.

The movie's producer, James Cameron later apologized to the Murdoch family for depicting him taking a bribe. Instead, eyewitness accounts from survivors contradict that idea and acknowledge that he worked diligently until the end.  Therefore, Cameron also endowed William Murdoch's hometown school district, (Dalbeattie Scotland), in his honor.

Over 1,500 souls that night were lost in the North Atlantic.  But William Murdoch's unyielding devotion to his duty saved nearly 75% of the survivors from the grim reaper.

Like the gentleman in the toilet on the Atlantic City boardwalk, I'm certain that few guests (and crew), on the Titanic could have predicted their infamous demise.  But if you are one of the few people today who haven't filed your taxes yet, you're in luck because this year, Tax Day has been extended to April 18th.  So save yourself from the grim reaper, or at least a lot of aggravation, and git'r done.

BAD CLAMS !

My friend, author CHARLIEOPERA, lost a full season of high school football due to severe food poisoning.  He was not only hospitalized and weakened for months, he almost died from what the doctors determined to be, bad clams.  Charlie shared this factoid with me thirty years later, so I was surprised that he was offended when I laughed.  After all, clams are my favorite food and maybe deep down inside, I was glad to know that I survived so long without knowing I was risking, death by little necks.

Eons ago, I carpooled with SHMEE, KURUDAVE and MERMAID102.  Our greatest highlight, (we led dull lives), occurred driving home at 4:AM. At a red light, on the outskirts of Atlantic City, we pulled up next to a friend who was one of our supervisors from work, (TOMD).  We honked and with big smiles, waved to him.  Uncustomarily, he shrugged and zoomed off nanoseconds before the light turned green.

The next day, in the back-of-the-house, the whole carpool team crossed paths with TOMD.  SHMEE said, "Why were you in such a hurry last night when we saw you on the White Horse Pike?"  TOMD huffed, "Because I was embarrassed that you caught me picking my nose."  MERMAID102 said, "Genius, we didn't see you picking your nose." We roared in laughter.  Even twenty years later, we still get a chuckle at TOMD's expense.

I guess it's human nature to be entertained, see humor or get some sense of satisfaction from the misfortune and shame of others.  Long ago it was true when spectators filled the Roman Coliseum to watch gladiators get mauled by lions and today, that's why soap operas and TV shows like Jerry Springer's, are so popular.  Even if a close male friend got hit in the groin, slipped on ice, farted out loud at an inopportune moment or crushed his thumb with a hammer, we wouldn't really laugh because it was funny...we'd laugh, because we were glad it didn't happen to us.

Yesterday, was a beautiful morning.  For the first time this year, I enjoyed the newspaper and my coffee on my backyard deck.  I wasn't out there too long when a bird, on a lark, crapped on my head.  A flood of horrible memories rushed through my defiled noggin but when I came back to reality, I realized that without anybody pointing a mocking finger at me, getting dirtied wasn't such a catastrophe. I mulled this epiphany while washing up.  That's when I concluded that birds have a history of dropping things on my head.

On the grounds at Camp Tioga, in Lake Como Pennsylvania, (1973), a girl (a fellow counselor), and I were limited in how we could show affection towards one another.

NOT FAR FROM THE NEW YORK BORDER AND SUCH MEGALOPOLISES AS HANCOCK AND ROSCOE, RURAL LAKE COMO WAS HIDDEN IN THE MOST NORTHEAST TIP OF THE KEYSTONE STATE.

Our big opportunity to express our fondness would be delayed until Saturday night when a big group of Tioga staff, went to the Poyntelle Inn, in tiny, rustic Poyntelle Pennsylania, (smaller than most dots on the map, but they do have their own zip code, 18454).


THE PRIDE OF WAYNE COUNTY, THE POYNTELLE INN (2008), LOOKS LIKE THEY DID A MAJOR REFURBISHING JOB SINCE I WAS THERE.

For the sake of appearances, the girl and I interacted with our friends over cocktails, before stealthily heading to the darkest corner of the parking lot. In the heart of the floodlight's range, we stopped to grope each other. We pulled apart when an owl's hoot broke our tender moment.  While continuing to a more secluded spot, presumably the same night bird crapped on me.  The large discharge side-swiped my head and soiled my ear before the bulk of the poo careened onto my shoulder.

If that wasn't enough of a buzz-kill, the girl laughed in my face.  In retrospect, I should have laughed too.  I regreted it because she probably would have helped me clean up so we could return to more romantic matters.  Instead, I got insulted and immaturely rushed back inside to tend to the mess.  She didn't follow, the magic we had was lost and I was unhappy about my reaction...forever.

I LET MY VANITY GET IN THE WAY OF A GOOD TIME.  BUT SOME PEOPLE GLORIFY GETTING POOPED ON AND BUY SHIRTS TO ADVERTISE THEIR STRANGENESS.

What kind of mentality sees glamor in getting hit with bird droppings?  Experience has taught me to avoid picnicking under a tree where a thousand magpies are chirping away. Alfred Hitchcock knew this too.  He believed that our fine feathered friends are smart, organized and bent on vengeance.

BILLBOB, NO STRANGER TO MACAW EXCREMENT, WAS KIND ENOUGH TO SHARE THIS PHOTO.  UNDER THE DUSTCOVER, THE REAL NAME OF THE BOOK IS, " SHITTING ON HUMANS FOR DODO'S."

The times were far more innocent in 1963.  The Kennedy assassination caught us off guard and our first steps into Vietnam felt noble. So when Alfred Hitchcock's, "THE BIRDS," debuted, we all bought into the notion that mother nature could rise-up against humanity for ecologically despoiling the planet.

ALTHOUGH THE MOVIE WAS ENTERTAINING, IT WAS FAR-FETCHED. I SAY, RATHER THAN A FANTASY ABOUT AVIANS BANDING TOGETHER, CREATING HAVOC, ATTACKING HUMANS, PLUCKING OUT EYEBALLS AND KILLING POOR SUZANNE PLESHETTE,  A SCARIER STORY WOULD HAVE BEEN , IF THE BIRDS STRAFED CROWDS AND DROPPED FECAL BOMBS.

If profound terror can only be found in realism see how long your new, carnation pink Easter dress, remains unsullied when feeding pigeons in the park.

MARCH 2012, PLAZA DE ARMAS, AREQUIPA PERU.  "JERM ," READ MY  OLD BLOG ON PERU AND WAS INSPIRED TO VISIT THERE LAST MONTH.  HE SENT ME PICTURES AND REPORTED, (FIRST SHOULDER), THAT THE SOUTH AMERICAN PIGEON TAKES AS MUCH JOY IN CRAPPING ON PEOPLE AS HIS USA COUSINS.

If you don't mind getting laughed at, park your Thunderbird under power lines where whippoorwills perch. 

THE EVER-PATRIOTIC SHMEE, SENT ME THIS PHOTO FROM BEAUTIFUL DOWNTOWN BURBANK.  HE CLAIMS THAT THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE THEME WAS CAUSED BY CARDINALS, DOVES AND BLUE JAYS.

Back in the late-eighties, my wife and I met-up with friends (a couple, the Bickerson's), from New York, during their weekend in Cape May, (NJ).  On the beach, the woman was nauseated when a gull crapped on her blanket.  While angrily holding her tuna sandwich skyward, she called them flying rats as she cursed like a longshoreman.  Then one of the mad, dive-bombing marauders, snatched her lunch out of her hand while taking a nip out of her palm. 

If she wasn't pissed-off enough, Mrs. Bickerson went into utter hysterics when I exploded in laughter as she over-reacted to the smallest iota of blood peeking through the microscopic break in her skin.  I started laughing louder and my wife Sue turned away to hide her bursting grin when her lunatic husband started fanning her "wound" at a hyper-fast speed with his hands, as if to cool it off.   Mrs. B. squealed in misery as she voiced her irrational fear of death from her, "already festering disease."  Her husband took his cue and ran for the first aid kit in his car.  Somehow, with help of Neosporin and gauze, he ended their comedy skit by talking her down from her prediction of bubonic plague and an unnecessary trip to the emergency room.

I'm not germophobic but under a similar circumstance, I had a brush with a bird-related death.  In mid-May 1997, South Jersey had a freak, ninety-two degree day.  My wife and I decided to take my three-year old son Andrew to the Cape May County Zoo.  We sweltered so badly when we got there that we changed our plan and went to nearby Stone Harbor, for a stroll on the beach.

Sue had been brought up in a beach community, (the Rockaways, in New York).  She knew a lot of entertaining tricks that made Andrew's first exposure to the shore, fun.  One of those ideas was to dig for sand crabs.

HIPPOIDS ARE MORE COMMONLY CALLED SAND CRABS, RANINIDS OR GHOST CRABS.  THEY ARE OVAL IN SHAPE, HAVE NO CLAWS AND ARE ABOUT THE SIZE OF MY THUMBNAIL.  THEY CAN BE FOUND BURROWING THROUGH THE MOIST SAND OF BEACHES AROUND THE WORLD. 

The sand crab hunt delighted Andrew.  But we were unprepared. So the excavating was done with the omnipresent, large, clam shells that littered the beach.

BROKEN VERSIONS OF CLAM SHELLS LIKE THESE ARE EVERYWHERE.  THEY ARE BIGGER, HEAVIER AND STURDIER THAN THE OTHER SEASHELLS, WHICH MAKES THEM DEAL DIGGING TOOLS.

Andrew was delighted each time Sue unearthed a tiny crab and let it walk in his hand.  He and I couldn't find any.  We didn't have the knack for it for but my boy was determined to succeed.  Suddenly he gave out a yelp!  He had cut himself on the sharp edge of a buried seashell.  While Sue calmed him down and assured him that it was a minor injury, I rushed back to our car for our first aid kit, (a bunch of band-aids in the diaper bag).

The summer season was still more than a month away, so I was lucky to have parked in the first spot on the beach block.  The only thing standing in the way of me completing my mission was a flock of seagulls.  They were all competing for the same edible prize, on the small piece of pavement between the end of the beach and my car.  When I got too close, the shore birds scattered.  I opened the diaper bag and retrieved some bandages.  On my way back, I was crossing the street when all of a sudden, there was a loud crash, like a smashed dinner platter, right behind me. 

SEAGULLS, OUT OF REVENGE OR HUNGER, ARE CLEVER ENOUGH TO TAKE LIVE SHELLFISH IN THEIR TALONS, FLY HIGH AND DROP THEM ON A HARD SURFACE, (LIKE MY HEAD),  IN ORDER TO BREAK IT OPEN TO EXPOSE THE MEAT.

In the small space between my car and me, a seagull had dropped a potential murder weapon, (an intact, over sized clam).  Some jerk walking his poodle started laughing at me.  I guess I still wasn't mature. Hell, I narrowly escaped a serious injury from the baddest of clams, (perhaps with all my pre-existing loose screws...death), and all this guy with his foo-foo dog could do, was laugh..  I focused on my agonizing son, avoided a confrontation with the moron and stormed off.  (See my January 17, 2011 blog, "TRENT DILFER SAVED MY LIFE," for another example how the grim reaper tried to get me with a flying object).  That was a close call but when the seriousness of that near miss was realized...nobody in that crowd laughed!

Jerry Seinfeld once joked, "There's no such thing as bad pizza."  It sounds funny as part of his schtick but we all now, there IS such a thing as bad pizza.  Just like I might have once said that there is no such thing as bad clams but we now know they can be lethal when taken internally or when they plunk you in the head.

ALWAYS REMEMBER, WHETHER IT'S BIRD CRAP, A SHELLFISH PROJECTILE, A GOLF BALL OR SPACE JUNK...WHEN SOMETHING HEINOUS FALLS ON YOUR HEAD...IT'S REALLY FALLING ON YOUR HAIR.  WHEN SOMETHING TERRIBLE FALLS ON MY HEAD...IT FALLS ON MY HEAD ! 

So please, please, please if you take just two things from this column please remember how great "good," clams...any style...are to eat.

RIGHT AFTER I PUBLISH THIS ARTICLE, I'M GOING TO RUN OUT AND GET A DOZEN, RAW QUAHOGS ON THE HALF SHELL.

The other thing to bear in mind is, when you see someone split their pants, pee themselves or accidentally eat a bug...chalk it up to human nature and laugh your ass off.  Unless what you're watching is happening to me...because I doubt...even at this age that I have the maturity to handle being mocked.

TAPPING INTO THE POWER OF POSITIVE THINKING...AGAIN

My lucky number is twenty-two.  My mother's birthday is August 22nd but that's not where it originated.  Coincidentally, it was my dad who put the magic in that number.

During the Depression, my dad grew up a New York Giants football fan.  His parents managed to keep their heads above water but there was no room for amenities.  Therefore, it wouldn't be until dad was sixteen, (November 12, 1944), that his friend's uncle hooked them up with freebies to a Giants game.  More importantly, the uncle's influence was so great that they were also promised the equivalent of backstage passes, (meeting the victorious players in the locker room after their anticipated shellacking of the Philadelphia Eagles...who, two weeks earlier, had handed them their only loss that season).

A wry smile always came to dad's face when he told me how secondary the game was compared to meeting his heroes like Arnie Herber, getting autographs or the ultimate jackpot, the gift of a pro football.

Of course it wouldn't be a story if everything went right...but the gargantuans of the gridiron didn't lose...they tied 21-21.  Some how, the team was so disheartened by the manner of this outcome that non-essential visitors to the locker room weren't permitted in. 

The opportunity of a lifetime...spoiled!  My poor little immature dad was pissed-off.  His disappointment was so strong that he not only turned his back on the Giants forever but he became New York City's most ardent Philadelphia Eagles fan. Even when I became a New York Jets fan in 1963, his loyalties were still flying high with the, "Birds."

When I was eight, Dad wanted to indoctrinate me into being an Eagles fan.  Ever so clever, he incorporated a visit to the Eagles training camp with a vacation to Hershey, Pennsylvania.  That day I got a ton of Eagles autographs.  Through all the time and moving around the country, I still have this treasure.

AUTOGRAPH COLLECTING WAS FAR LESS SOPHISTICATED 49 YEARS AGO.  SO WHILE THIS TEN-PAGE HERSHEY'S BROCHURE CONTAINS MANY SIGNIFICANT SIGNATURES, THE FACT THAT THEY ARE  SCRIBBLED OR WRITTEN ON A PRINTED PAGE REDUCE IT TO MERELY SENTIMENTAL VALUE. SOME OF THE LEGIBLE SIGNATURES INCLUDE, MAXIE BAUGHN, PETE RETZLAFF, KING HILL AND NATE RAMSEY.  I'M SURE THERE'S MANY OTHERS BUT THEY ARE UNINTELLIGIBLE .

The one autograph that I know is there but I can't make out, is Timmy Brown, (#22).  I know its there because he was my father's favorite player.  Dad would ramble on about Brown's exploits so strongly that soon he became my favorite. When we got home, dad even painted green Eagle-like wings on my red, toy football helmet with the number twenty-two printed in the back.

AR FRANKLIN FIELD, TIM BROWN WAS A SLASHING SCAT BACK, AN ADEPT RECEIVER AND A FEARED KICKOFF AND PUNT RETURNER.

Unfortunately, most kids my age and their older brothers never heard of Tim Brown.  Therefore, I was told that I was wrong that the great running back was not Tim Brown #22 but Jim Brown #32.

MY CURRENT OPINION THAT HALL-OF-FAMER JIM BROWN IS THE GREATEST RUNNING BACK IN NFL HISTORY IS COMMON.  HIS COMBINATION OF POWER, SPEED AND DETERMINATION MADE HIM A FEARED AND LASTING ICON.  BUT BACK THEN, I WAS TOO YOUNG TO COMPREHEND THAT THERE COULD BE TWO MEN WITH SUCH SIMILAR NAMES, NOTORIETY, UNIFORM NUMBERS AND FOOTBALL POSITIONS.

Through the embarrassment of being told that I was crazy for telling the world that Tim Brown was the best, I stuck to my guns even when I received my reality check.  I remained stubborn even when I understood that there was a Timmy and a Jimmy Brown.  I proved that by remaining loyal to Tim and the number twenty-two for nearly half a century.

The significance of my lucky number has again risen up.  Almost to exact day of this post, I reached the twenty-second anniversary at my job.  While the economics of the day have hurt the joy of working there...a new and improved rival is ready to open its doors.

I applied.  I went through the wringer of the process and believed I took a top-notch interview.  Srill, I was rejected.  I felt so strongly that his was the right path for me, that I re-applied for a lesser position.  Again, I went through the close scrutiny of the interview process.  While waiting for the good news, I did not pray or hum my mantra ad nauseam.  Perhaps I should have because I was not accepted, again.   

Unhappily, I accepted being left behind.  Then out of the clear blue, I was invited to re-interview for the lesser position.  I feel that I understood what they were looking for and felt that I did an even better job in making myself look alluring for their purposes.

I WAS ABLE TO TAP INTO MY 1974 DISNEY TRAINING WHICH IS WHAT THEY WANT.  TO ME, IT WOULD BE A PRIVILEGE TO IN A PLACE WHO'S VERY NAME MEANS, "MERRIMENT."  I JUST HOPE I MADE MY POSITIVE ATTITUDE AND EXPERIENCED ABILITIES CLEAR.

The new place is ready to open tomorrow.  I was told that I would be notified within two weeks.  So atypically, I have reached-out to high-ranking people in their organization, to help carry me over the last hurdle.

TIME IS RUNNING OUT.  BUT I WILL REMAIN OPTIMISTIC.  MAYBE IN THE FINAL DAYS, I'LL ADOPT THE MANTRA OF HUMMING, "TWENTY-TWOOOOOOOOOO."

I am one hundred percent ready for this change.  I just wish I wasn't typing this column on April Fool's Day...but I am.  So maybe the joke is in me?   To counteract superstition, perhaps the best idea would to get all my readers (or at least twenty-two of you), to spiritually hold hands and sing, "Kumbaya." 

If you're not included in this extravaganza, please do whatever you gotta do help me succeed.  I know you can do it.  When it works, my next blog will include me wearing a new uniform and an ear to ear grin...thanks to you.