THE FABULOUS MR. K.

Under GENE K's. thin shell of hardcore depravity, lived a good and decent person.  However, due to his polarizing peccadilloes, others who knew him might not agree.  After all, a wise man once said, "WE ALL RELATE TO THE SAME PEOPLE...DIFFERENTLY."  Oh wait, I said that...so scratch off the wise man comment.

                                                                           

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Way before the, "FABULOUS MR. K" earned his ritzy nickname, he was just Eugene or Gene from 99th Street.  He and I lived, in Brooklyn New York, between the same avenues, four blocks apart but because we went to different elementary schools, I didn't know of him until middle school.

He remained a nameless face in the crowd until we became acquainted, in September 1970, (our sophomore year at Canarsie High School).

Gene and I had nothing in common.  He wasn't athletic when that was an important part of my life and because he was a quiet kid, I assumed he was a nerd.  In tenth grade, we wound-up in the same English class. The teacher had given us a spelling quiz and had us arbitrarily grade each other's exams. Gene's paper fell into my hands.  Curiously, he left out the "i" in three words, (convenience was one). Way before the term, "random act of kindness" was in vogue, it was simple for me, to insert the extra letters for this stranger.

In private, I told Gene what I did.  Days later, he showed his gratefulness for taking his C+ to an A- by giving me a small token of appreciation. Forty-five years later, I still have it.

GENE WAS AN AMATEUR MAGICIAN.  HE BOUGHT THE (above) *BOGUS "TWE DOLLAR BILL," XEROXED TONS OF COPIES AND USED THEM IN HIS ACT AS PRIZES.      *TO EMPHASIZE ITS FRAUDULENCE, THE BILL INCLUDES TERMS LIKE, "U. CAN'T CASHITT" AND "UNITED STATES OF ANEMIA."

For the rest of high school, Gene and I were limited to passing nods in the hall.  But by the time I entered Brooklyn College, we discovered that we had mutual friends.

One-on-one, Gene was  funny, intelligent and had an out going personality.  He was down-to-earth, generous and a caring person. However, in bigger groups, even in the comfort of hanging out, Gene melted into the crowd.  He and I never became close, probably because we were both too independent for our own good?

Gene got a messenger's job that was headquartered at the World Trade Center. The money he earned greatly subsidized two major vices; being a heavy pot smoker and prostitutes, (eventually his range of vices would take a quantum leap).  So despite a full-time job and living at home, he was always broke.

GENE'S GENEROSITY INCLUDED SETTING ME UP FOR AN INTERVIEW WITH HIS EMPLOYER.  WE COULDN'T WORK-OUT A SCHEDULE, SO I TURNED THEM DOWN.  HOWEVER, IT MARKED THE ONLY TIME, I WAS IN THE WORLD TRADE CENTER,  (I ONLY MADE IT UP TO THE SEVENTEENTH FLOOR).

Gene's eccentricities influenced some of our friends.  He encouraged a few guys to sell just enough marijuana to get theirs free, (I wasn't interested because I almost never indulged).  He also introduced them to the 25c peep shows in Times Square and a whorehouse in midtown Manhattan called, "The Meeting Room," or as they encrypted it, "TMR."

I was never led down the TMR path.  Gene was addicted to some pretty kinky stuff.  His stories were indeed fascinating but I was just a good listener. He  liked to call me a "milk and cookies kind of guy" because he couldn't tempt me into even entry-level meat and potatoes debauchery.

In 1975, our group decided to go, in two carloads, to some bar in the Bronx. Gene insisted that our car get diverted to Flatbush first, to a group of high-rise apartments, (Nostrand Avenue and Avenue L).  He said one of his uncles was on his deathbed and he wanted to pay his respects.

Gene came down and admitted that he never had a relationship with his uncle.  He showed his true mercenary colors by bragging about how wealthy the "bastard" was and hoped that the investment of this fifteen-minute visit might result in a big inheritance payday.

Gene and one of his friends (1977), became casino dealers in Las Vegas.  They both influenced me, to become a craps dealer.   While I was in training, at the New York School of Gambling, Gene telephoned me a couple times.  He had a surprising sensitivity and a talent for reassurance. When my insecurity oozed out, he was able to relate and soothe my misgivings.

I moved to Las Vegas in January 1979.  By that time, Gene had relocated to Reno.  We remained in contact and he landed an impressive job at Reno's MGM.  Hourly commuter flights between Nevada's two gambling meccas were $34.00 round trip.  So it was easy and inexpensive, to spend my two days off with Gene, twice, (these visits were explained in detail in previous blogs).

The first time, Gene took me around "the biggest little city in the world" in taxis.

RENO IS 500 MILES NORTH OF LAS VEGAS.  DESPITE GENE'S PROFESSIONAL SUCCESS UP THERE, I PREFERRED THE IMPLIED ENORMITY OF VEGAS.  I WAS WORKING IN TOILETS WITH NO REAL PROSPECTS OF THE BIG-TIME BUT MY CHOICE TO STAY PUT,  IS ONE OF THE BEST DECISIONS I EVER MADE.

Gene's income was high for 1979, (averaging over $100.00/day in tips...I was making $20.00/day in downtown Vegas).  But he was flat broke due to the expensive peculiarities I already knew of.  But he had developed a new corruption that took a heavy toll on his finances...being a degenerate gambler.  Far worse, Gene had no friends.  He seemed content to smoke pot all day, play craps and otherwise live like a hermit...unless he needed comfort from hookers.

GENE WAS VICTIMIZED BY THE IMPLIED EXCITEMENT OF CRAPS.  AFTER YOU'VE BEEN AROUND IT, (EVEN FOR A SHORT TIME), YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO REALIZE; THE FREIGHT TRAIN DOESN'T COME THROUGH TOWN EVERY DAY.  THAT MEMO NEVER CAME ACROSS HIS DESK.  INSTEAD, GENE WHO THOUGHT HE WAS SMARTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE, DEVISED PETTY, (AND RISKY),  SCAMS TO INCREASE HIS CHANCE OF WINNING.

It was clear to me that Gene was a low-life and that he lacked a good grip on reality.  Some of his coworkers called him the, "Mad Russian," (he took it as a compliment but they weren't calling him angry, they were calling him crazy).  Others called him, "FABULOUS," (a short version of the Fabulous Mr. K.), because they enjoyed what they thought were exaggerated tales of his sexual exploits, (I wasn't impressed but I chose to believe those stories).

I soon learned of the desperation in Gene's life and lengths he was willing go...to make a "good' impression on me. For my only night in town, he wanted to treat me to Japanese food.  After dark, we took a taxi to the bus station in Sparks.

Sparks Nevada is just east of Reno.  There's a string of tiny storefront casinos, (that catered to low-rollers). But the town (less than 100,000 people) was best known back then, as the home of Nevada's biggest mental hospital.

The cab slowed as we neared our false destination.  In the shadows of the back seat, Gene showed me a ten dollar bill. The driver announced, "That'll be $3.55."  Before handing over his ten Gene said, "Cabbie, take a dollar for yourself and give me $15.45 change."  The poor soul took the bait of the disproportionate tip.  That successful "short change" gimmick marked the beginning of how our dinner was to be funded.

While looking over his shoulder, Gene hustled me into and through the bus station.  We exited a rear entrance and scurried into one of Sparks' casinos.  This saw dust joint had a ramp that led to gaming area.  Hard to believe but true, at 10:00PM, there wasn't a single customer.  Every employee was looking at us...even the short order cook watched us through the kitchen's transom.

Gene was a petty opportunist.  I didn't pick up on it right away but his plan to scrape up food money called for anonymity. We left and soon found a different target more conducive to his scam.

The casinos in Sparks had so little business that to save on salaries, the craps games frequently had no supervisors (customarily there would be two) and were manned with two dealers, (instead of three).

Gene bought some chips at a blackjack game before wandering over to craps.  I was unaware that he had already cased the joint as he whispered, "Be prepared to run."  I was so naive that I didn't realize that he had found lazy and/or inexperienced dealers and positioned himself in their blind spot. Gene waited patiently. When a seven rolled, he "past posted" the come for $20.00, (cheating the casino with a late bet after the dice landed).  He did this in two other casinos before taking me to eat.

Back in Las Vegas, my roommate was Loopy-Joe.  He struggled with the same disappointment I did of dealing craps for peanuts.  Joe wanted immediate gratification and when he heard how "well" Gene was doing, he decided to take his chances in Reno.

Joe looked-up Gene and they became friendly.  On my second trip up there, Joe chauffeured us in his 1971, dark green Le Sabre convertible, all over, including an afternoon in Lake Tahoe.

THE FIFTY-MINUTE VEGAS TO RENO FLIGHT COMES TO A GORGEOUS CONCLUSION AS IT DESCENDS OVER LAKE TAHOE.

Tehe three of us were on line to cash-out our chips out at Caesar's when Gene asked a big dude in a cowboy hat if he had a green chip, ($25.00).  He took the chip and did a series of sleight-of-hand maneuvers.  The short magic routine ended with Gene saying, "Now you see it...now you don't."   Gene turned away.  The man wasn't as gullible as Gene hoped and he didn't like being preyed upon. He grabbed Gene's shoulder and spun him (hard) around and said, "I ain't no hayseed.  Give me back my chip."  Gene looked him in the eye and said, "Tex, you saw, your quarter vanished."  Gene continued playing dumb until the man cocked his fist back and said, "I'll break your fuckin' face before I let a shit-ass wise-guy like you rob me?" Gene looked at Joe and I for support but we were dumbfounded.  He handed over the green chip and bleated, "Geez, can't you take a joke?"

Gene never confided in me but the Reno, Sparks and Lake Tahoe metropolitan area is small. Something tells me his hustling must have caught-up with him.  So it wouldn't surprise me if he took a beating from other cabbies, casino players, security guards etc., who also couldn't take a joke.  Who knows, his unsavory antics might have resulted in a police record.

On the way back to Reno, Gene led us through some beautiful back country.  Just outside town, we approached the Mustang Ranch.  Gene said, "Let me show you guys around."

IN 1979, FROM THE OUTSIDE, THE MUSTANG RANCH, "NEVADA'S MOST INFAMOUS BROTHEL," LOOKED LIKE A FEW CHEAP TRAILER HOMES CONNECTED TOGETHER.  INSIDE, THE THREE OF US WERE GREETED WITH A STRAIGHT LINE OF TEN WOMEN...WHO CHIMED IN ALL AT ONCE, "GENE'S HERE." 

Don't let the stock photo above fool you...there was NO cute one.  All the "girls" looked like typical, thirty-ish housewives.  I was twenty-four and I came up with the snap judgment that there was nothing there for me, (plus I had little money).  Simultaneously, Loopy-Joe was coming to the same conclusion as Gene grabbed a frumpy brunette and disappeared for a half hour, (Joe and I waited in the bar.  It was actually empowering to have some of these less-than-dazzling ladies try to woo me into their den of iniquity).

On the way back, Gene boasted of all the Sexual Transmitted Diseases, (STD's), he had contracted, (mostly from street-walkers).  This strange boy mentioned symptoms, medications and nearly made me puke with graphic tales of having "things" burnt off his private parts.

I moved to New Jersey in 1984.  While dealing craps, I met an old man with the same unusual last name as Gene. He was also an eccentric, did magic tricks, made petty claims, (on bets he didn't win) and NEVER tipped.   The apple doesn't fall far from the tree because that geezer wound-up being another uncle of Gene's.  I was tempted to ask who profited the most by the other uncle's death but I didn't have that kind of audacity.  However, he did say that Gene got married.

I knew few intimate details of Gene's life but when I shared this knowledge with old friends I found out his marriage was old news.  One friend told me that Gene sent wifey into lesbian bars, to have her pick someone up who was into threesomes, (they called it Foo-Foo).

In August 1988, I returned for a weekend in Las Vegas.  Gene was living there again.  We spent a few laugh-filled hours reminiscing. It would be the last time I ever saw him.

IN 1991, THE BRITISH COMEDY TROUPE MONTY PYTHON PRODUCED A RECORD ALBUM OF SONGS.  THE THIRD CUT IS CALLED, "THE MEDICAL LOVE SONG."  IN THIS LIVELY ROMP, EVERY STD IMAGINABLE IS SET TO MUSIC.  WHENEVER I HEAR IT, "THE FABULOUS MR. K. " COMES TO MIND.

The last time I visited Las Vegas (2009), was with my wife Sue and son Andrew.  I made it a point to see another friend, Ciro the Hero.  I had introduced Ciro to Gene way back when.  During our meeting, I realized that Ciro had gone from hero to zero.  That's when he reminded me that Gene was living in town said, "Let's call the Fabulous Mr. K."

I spoke to Gene.  He wanted to get to together but my meeting with Ciro the Zero was such a disaster...and considering that Gene and Ciro were cut from the same cloth, I decided against it.

Seven years would pass.  Sadly, in late January 2016, the Fabulous Mr. K. passed away.  One of my Canarsie buddies told me that it was from colon cancer.

While we all tend to relate to the same people differently, Gene was a rare case in which all the old friends shared the similar, "likable but shady" opinion of him. I'd go as far to say that his deviant behavior served to unwittingly teach me by example...to do the opposite of what he did.  But the bottom line was, under that superficial veneer of strangeness, Gene was a sensitive, kindhearted person. That's why I regret missing that one last chance to see him.

When I was asked if I had any recollections of him...this blog/eulogy, packed with mixed feelings, was the best I can do.

PLEASE! DON'T PUT IN A ZIPPER.

Ten years ago, I whined to my friend LUCKYJT that I tweaked my back. He looked me in the eye, "I'm sure you'll be okay, but you should never complain about pain.  There's always someone who has it much worse."  LUCKYJT of course had just come back to work from a heart attack.



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I had hernia surgery in 2008 and again in 2013.  So I guess, I was overdue for a third.

MY "BEFORE" PICTURE IN HAWAII, (DECEMBER 2015), I DID MY BEST TO HIDE MY BELLY BUMP.  BUT THIS PROFILE MADE ME LOOK PREGNANT.

This past Tuesday, (Groundhog's Day), I had another hernia taken care of.  I am counting on the phrase, "the third time is the charm," to represent closure to this tedious topic.  But because of the hex from the 1993 movie, "GROUNDHOG DAY," I must admit that the thought of going under the knife, over and over till they get it right, had crossed my mind.

For to personal reasons, (laziness and cynicism wrapped in stupidity), I refused to address my latest bellyache. To prove how much of a stubborn knucklehead I am, when my employer dropped our medical insurance benefits, I didn't run out and take this last ditch advantage of my coverage.  With sour grapes I can say, I was misinformed...that under my circumstance, with the new Affordable Health Care Act, such a procedure would be of negligible cost.  That did NOT happen!

I'll skip other boring circumstances and forge ahead to this week's medical road trip to Rockville Maryland.

My memory of my 2008 and 2013 gut cuts, were easy and routine.  In both cases, I felt so strong afterwards that I was surprised that I wasn't permitted to drive. This time was different.

My new doctor, Alan Kravitz specializes in hernias and has performed countless procedures.  His bedside manner was confident and calming, (twice over the past few months, he personally returned my phone calls...which is something few doctors do).  Plus he has surrounded himself with office staffers, like Betsy and a kind, professional and thorough team, at the Montgomery Surgical Center.

BETSY WAS KIND ENOUGH TO HOOK US UP WITH A DISCOUNTED RATE AT A NEARBY MOTEL.  IT WAS THE FIRST TIME I WAS ABLE TO TRY THIS OLD GAG.

Later when I came out of the anesthesia, I was disoriented and in pain. While I was in recovery, the nursing staff reminded us to make a stop or two on our long drive back to New Jersey.  My wife Sue took the wheel and thrust us face-first into Washington DC rush hour traffic.  Somehow, the Gods of I-95 were with us and spared us the typical bumper-to-bumper nightmare that highway is famous for. Even as we jousted for space with new commuters in Baltimore, we kept up a decent pace.

At the staff's suggestion, in the car, I did toe exercises to reduce the risk of blood clots in my legs. We stopped in Delaware so I could walk around, (I was so slow that Tim Conway's "Old Man" character would have whizzed by me).

TIM CONWAY (1933-PRESENT) WAS KNOWN FOR CRACKING UP HIS FELLOW ACTORS ON THE, "CAROL BURNETT SHOW."  HERE AS HIS SLOW WALKING, OLD MAN, HE TESTS HARVEY KORMAN'S SELF-CONTROL.

That rest stop was tough.  Just navigating out of the car was difficult.  My mind wasn't clear, I was in pain and sleepy too.  But the sneakiest side-effect hit me on the way out, an acute sense of nausea. Even in my sorry state, I thought if I lost my (non-existent lunch) that stretching the stitches in my stomach would kill me.  To reduce that stress, I somehow remembered breathing techniques.  It worked and I subdued the pending catastrophe, (in the same regard, I'm so glad I didn't have a sneezy cold or cough).

We stopped again, at our Wal-Mart, (Mays Landing NJ).  Sue filled my percocet prescription and threw in some extra strength Motrin. She wanted me to wait in the car, but the doctor said I should walk around.  The meds took twenty minutes to process. At Tim Conway-speed, I did a lap around the store.

MY "AFTER" PICTURE.  WHILE WAITING IN WAL-MART, I FOUND A NEW PRODUCT THAT IS GUARANTEED TO GET ME BACK TO MY SWEET OLD SELF.

My hike exhausted me, so I sat on a bench near the entrance.  Then I couldn't get up because the seat was lower than the car's and the strain on my stomach muscles were pure agony.  Seconds after standing, I was forced to repel another round of nausea.

At home, I didn't take the pain meds right away.  Getting into bed took forever.  Then I got no sleep. In the morning, like a turtle struggling to get off his back, getting out of bed took forty minutes.

I was gripped by other side-effects.  The petty ones included: the general malaise caused by cabin fever, random body aches, the feeling that I smelled and general itchiness, especially around the bandages.

COVERING MY BANDAGES, I MUST WEAR AN ABDOMINAL BINDER 24/7 FOR TWO WEEKS, (OTHER THAN SHOWERS).  IT'S UNCOMFORTABLY TIGHT, AS YOU CAN SEE, MY SKIN HAS ALREADY TURNED BLUE.

The side-effect I hated the most was the soreness caused by the anesthesia tube in my throat.  I also had no appetite, so I was living off antacids to relieve my trapped gas and heart burn. To get some level of normalcy, I took a stool softener.  It worked too well!  A gazillion times that day, I would have knocked down any obstacles on my way to the promised land; including Tim Conway's Old Man.

The biggest thing that got me through the pain, discomfort and boredom of Wednesday and Thursday was the support of Sue, other family members and friends. I had been invited to a Super-Bowl party on Sunday (today) and as late as Thursday, I doubted I would go.

Luckily, Friday was a significant bounce back day.  Maybe it had to do with my first shower or that the anesthesia was 100% out of my system or that the healing had really begun, (perhaps all three...and for you realists, never under-estimate the value a solid bowel movement).

Friday was such a breakthrough that I went cold turkey from my pain management regimen of four times a day, down to one.

Yesterday, (Saturday), my improvement allowed me to do a slower and reduced-sized power walk. I got in and out of my little car with ease, (to reduce pain, up till then, I had been using Sue's SUV). By 2:PM, I had successfully weaned myself down no meds for 12+ hours.  AND, I got enough of an appetite to go refrigerator grazing.

This morning despite the 24 degree temperature, I did my walk again.  Additionally, my 12+ hours of no meds is now up to 36 hours, (I'd rather be in a little pain with no drugs...then in no pain with them).

There is no doubt I will be going to the Panthers versus Broncos Super Bowl party tonight!  GO BRONCOS! 

THE MAIN REASON I NEVER RISK MONEY ON SPORTS IS, I BET WITH MY HEART, NOT MY HEAD.  THAT'S WHY I WANT TO SEE PEYTON MANNING RIDE OFF INTO THE SUNSET, ON A GALLOPING THOROUGHBRED.  BESIDES, MY PUPPY ROXY SAID, "I DON'T ALWAYS BET UNDERDOGS BUT I ALWAYS BET AGAINST CATS!"

I'm going to take another week off to recuperate. I don't want to get too cocky, but if I keep improving, I might have to erect a statue of Dr. Alan Kravitz or at least write a testimonial letter to him. But I'll wait until a few months because this surgery was only necessary because the mesh covering my second hernia undid itself.  If I need another hernia repaired, to avoid the "GROUNDHOG DAY," hex, I'll have them install a friggin' zipper.



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Special thanks to MIKE123 and Alice for turning me onto Dr. Kravitz and HJ and his wife Margi who came out on a frosty Monday night in Rockville as they were still digging out of, thirty-one inches of snow.

IN THE EARLY STAGES OF THE JANUARY 30th BLIZZARD, HJ TOOK THIS SHOT. 

Feel good everybody, knowing that I feel good.  And, if LUCKYJT still reads, "MORE GLIB ThAN PROFOUND," I hope he noticed that I never once whined about the pain!

Also, let's not forget the one major positive side-effect of my operation, I lost five pounds!  I doubt I'll keep it off, but I'll try, by NOT eating at tonight's party.  Yeah right, like that's gonna happen !

BAD DAY AT HAWAII'S BLACK ROCK

Pittsburgh Pennsylvania is situated at the "confluence" of three rivers.

THE ALLEGHENY AND MONONGAHELA MERGE AT PITTSBURGH, TO FORM THE OHIO RIVER.

This article has nothing to do with Pittsburgh!  Instead, it has to do with the "confluence" of carelessness and over-confidence, to form stupidity.

                               

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In 1995, a former employee of mine went on vacation to Barbados.  In this slice of Eden, he went snorkeling, had a heart attack and drown.  It's wrong to speak poorly of the dead. So without all the facts, I'm not implying that stupidity was a variable in his death.  Out of common decency and respect, I'll call him Jonny.

Oddly, this article has nothing to do with Jonny either.  But I flashed back to his demise during my December 2015 vacation in Hawaii.  That's when my carelessness and over-confidence merged into stupidity and netted me an all too real, near-death experience.


                                                                   
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I'm no stranger to vacation carelessness.  In December 1995, my wife Sue, baby son Andrew and I landed in San Diego.  Friends picked us up and drove us an hour, to their house.  When we got there, the return tickets (that I was entrusted with) were missing.  Together with our host, I returned to the airport.  We actually found the specific luggage cart that brought our bags to their car but the tickets were gone.  Unfortunately, they weren't turned-in to lost and found either.  In addition to costing me an extra sixty dollars each to re-buy them, I had cost my host over two hours of his valued leisure time.

Twenty years later, (last month) I accidentally tried to re-enact that screw-up. Sue and I celebrated our mutual sixtieth birthdays with a trip to the Hawaiian island of Maui. Unless you are a frequent flyer, with all the new TSA procedures cemented into your memory bank, just getting on the plane can be daunting.

THE TRANSPORTATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION (TSA), IS AN EXPEDITED AIRPORT SECURITY SCREENING PROGRAM. TO THE UNINITIATED (ME), IT'S AN UNFORTUNATE YET NECESSARY,  COLOSSAL PAIN IN THE ASS. 

I admit it, I was nervous.  In addition to all the preparation and worry about forgetting small details, Sue and I woke up at 2:AM for our frantic drive to Philadelphia, to make our 5:15 flight.

The first step in the airport, is checking your luggage.  Sue had a strong handle on that.  However, many of the do-it-yourself computer terminals weren't working.  We were getting pissed-off because others who lucked-out with working terminals, went ahead of us.  Then the actual airline employee who checked our bags, was a bitch.

Up one flight on the escalator, is the TSA checkpoint.  An agent checks your paperwork before allowing travelers into the inner sanctum of the security system.  All he asked me for was our boarding passes.  I didn't have them!  My heart sunk and it was all on me.  I flashed back to my lost tickets in San Diego and bolted down the escalator to the only place they could be.  Luckily for my sorry ass, they were right next to baggage check bitch's station.

We flew on American Airlines.  The first three and half hour leg of our epic journey took us to Dallas. I expected it to be easy to sleep but I was overcome by high anxiety. Back on the ground, we ran like lunatics from one corner of the airport to the other to find the jet to Maui.  Along the way, we stuffed crap from a 7-11 in our mouths because we learned the hard way that even our eight and a half hour flight, did NOT provide meals.

YOU CAN'T BLAME AMERICAN, ALL THE WEASELLY AIRLINES DON'T OFFER MEALS, TO MINIMIZE CONSUMER COST, (MAXIMIZE THEIR PROFIT) .  INSTEAD, THEY OFFER GARBAGE NEATLY WRAPPED IN CELLOPHANE FOR PURCHASE.  IF YOU SAW THE SHIT THAT THEY WERE TRYING TO PAWN-OFF AS A $9.50 PASTRAMI SANDWICH, YOU'D GLADLY STARVE ON PRINCIPLE. 

Dallas to Maui would be my longest flight ever.  I caught a catnap but it was nothing significant.  I finished a Sudoku puzzle and suffered through a Meryl Streep soap opera-like movie.To further emphasize the monotony, I kept looking out the window at the land below.  I knew we couldn't be making much progress until we were flying over  the Pacific Ocean.

Those first three hours were an eternity. I wanted to cheer when the brown earth below was replaced by the glistening, briny, deep blue sea.  Crazy but true, within seconds, my perceived bliss of progress came to a screeching stop!  That's when a screeching woman ran back from the front of the plane and screamed, "My husband's dying!"

 Like the movies, the stewardesses announced if there were doctors aboard.  Later, passengers with diabetic sugar sampling equipment were urged to volunteer.

The next two hours were surreal. American Airlines, to avoid liability, made a U-Turn back to Los Angeles.  We were never informed whether the man's life was in danger the whole time we were on the ground.

All the other passengers had to be careful, so nobody complained that this emergency caused extra time to be added onto our marathon flight. Just imagine a dream-fest vacation ending with a loved one (or you) sickened or dying on the way.

Hours later when our irritability and exhaustion were maxing-out, the movie screens were turned on. For the next half hour, our dulled senses were amped-up by a collage of scenic photos backed-up by relaxing Hawaiian music.

(STOCK PHOTO)  EVERYONE ON OUR PLANE BECAME RE-ENERGIZED WITH EXCITEMENT WITH THE FIRST SIGHTING OF LAND .  I CAN ONLY IMAGINE HOW THE CREW FELT ON JANUARY 18, 1778 WHEN CAPTAIN JAMES COOK BECAME THE FIRST EUROPEAN TO DISCOVER HAWAII.

We charged off the plane with ukulele music in our heads.  In the concourse, on our way to baggage claim, those wonderful sounds were replaced by Christmas music.  If we came any other time of year, we would have been better off, because the holiday tunes we were already familiar with dominated every loudspeaker, gift shop, elevator etc., for the rest of the trip.

In our first half-second outside, (3:PM), Sue and I were intoxicated by the fragrant scent and natural beauty...and we were only in Maui Airport.  Even though it was overcast and breezy (almost windy), we knew difference between eighty degrees in Utopia and forty in South Jersey.

Our hotel, the Maui Sheridan was a one-hour shuttle bus drive away.  Our burnt-out, main-lander driver gave us a history lesson, showed us points of interests and patiently answered our typical tourist questions, (so many of the male grunt workers were spaced out pot smokers).

(STOCK PHOTO)   AERIAL PHOTO OF SHERIDAN PROPERTY, (COMPLETE WITH THE FAMOUS BLACK ROCKS, FAR LEFT).

We soaked in the cultural shock as every view of the hotel grounds was greater eye candy.  I'm happy to report...that feeling never ended, the whole time we were there.  But as soon as that initial rush subsided, we came to our senses and ran out to eat.

EVERY MORNING, TEN FEET OUT OUR DOOR, WE WERE SMACKED IN THE FACE WITH THIS VIEW.  ON THE FIRST DAY, I TEXTED MY SON ANDREW, "EVERY SECOND SPENT INDOORS HERE, IS A WASTE!"

We correctly chose Maui because we wanted to do more kicking back than sight-seeing.  We swam in the ocean, took long walks on the beach and chilled in hot tubs.

THE SHERIDAN HAD "BLACK ROCK" (BEHIND US) .  VISITORS FROM ALL OVER MAUI COME AT DUSK, TO SEE THE DAILY CEREMONY IN WHICH AN ANNOUNCER EXPLAINS THIS RITUAL'S HISTORY OVER HAWAIIAN MUSIC.  AT THE SAME TIME, (EXACTLY AT SUNDOWN), A YOUNG LOCAL BOY RUNS DOWN THE BEACH, CLIMBS UP THE ROCKS AND LIGHTS ALL THE TIKI TORCHES BEFORE DIVING OFF THE CLIFF.

Beyond the Sheridan, we enjoyed long walks in both directions, in the surf or along the paved beach walk. Going south, the beach was commercialized but behind the hotel, the coastline seemed secluded and had a more pristine beauty.

GOING NORTH, ON THIS LONELY STRETCH OF BEACH, THE MAN WHO TOOK THIS PICTURE, HAD JUST TURNED HIS BACK ON THE CALIFORNIA RAT-RACE. HE WAS BETTING IT ALL,  ON A MICRO-BREWERY, (HE WAS OPENING LATER THAT WEEK).  IT'S EASY TO SEE WHY PEOPLE GIVE UP THEIR WORK-A-DAY MAIN-LAND LIVES, TO BECOME SURFERS BEACH-BUMS OR IDYLLIC IDLERS. 

We saw unusual critters like, black crabs and a seagull-like bird with a duckbill.

WE LEFT THE ISLAND WITHOUT FINDING OUT WHAT SPECIES THIS ODD-BOID WAS?

The worst animals were the omnipresent vultures trying to sell you shit along the southern arm of the beach walk.

MEET FRANK.  HE'S A JACKSON'S CHAMELEON.  THE ANNOYING TIMESHARE SALESMEN USED HIM TO LURE US TO THEIR BOOTH.   INSTEAD, WE USED THEM FOR THIS PHOTO-OP.

We later learned that Jackson's Chameleons are native to East Africa but have been introduced to Florida and Hawaii.

(STOCK PHOTO)  A CLOSE-UP OF A JACKSON'S CHAMELEON.

I got it in my head that giant sea turtles are all over Maui.  We heard that two miles south of our hotel, they love to hang-out every afternoon on the beach.

HOW BIG WERE THE TURTLES SUPPOSED TO BE IN THAT SPOT...BIGGER THAN THIS!  HOW MANY DID WE SEE...NONE!

On all but two mornings, before sun-up, I did a ninety-minute power walk.  Hard to believe, even at that hour, the beach walk was clogged with runners and walkers. To avoid the congestion, I went different ways and scouted out cool places to show Sue.  Along the way, I came across one celebrity.

I SAW ALAN DERSHOWITZ (1938-PRESENT),  HAVING BREAKFAST AT AN OCEANFRONT RESTAURANT.  A LAWYER,  AUTHOR,  POLITICAL COMMENTATOR AND DEFENDER OF CIVIL LIBERTIES, HE'S FAMOUS FOR REPRESENTING; MIKE TYSON, PATTY HEARST AND JIM BAKKER.  HE ALSO HELPED OVERTURN CLAUS von BULOW'S MURDER CONVICTION AND  WAS AN APPELLATE ADVISER ON O. J. SIMPSON'S DEFENSE.

The Sheridan offered a great perk, a free, hourly *shuttle bus service to the next town, Lahaina, as well as shopping centers.  Lahaina has a tourist destination called Front Street.  For us Front Street was the laid back confluence of Greenwich Village meeting Bourbon Street.  We went there on three nights and loved the restaurants, quaint curio shops and art galleries.

* The Hawaiians are so laid back...that when our shuttle bus, (at a stop) was slightly run into (a hit-and-run), our driver didn't get out to access the damage.

ON FRONT STREET, IT LOOKS LIKE I PICKED A PERFECT TIME TO WEAR MY WO HOP SHIRT.  EARLIER, A COUPLE FROM NEW JERSEY STOPPED ME AND CALLED IT,  "THE PRIDE OF NEW YORK CITY'S CHINATOWN."

The concierge at the Sheridan recommended a restaurant with a whole lobster special.  It was on the last block of Front Street and over a mile walk.  Of course when we got there, the bait-and-switch bastards said they were out of lobsters. We wound up at Bubba Gump's and had a blast.

AT BUBBA GUMP'S, WE WERE SEATED AT THE OCEAN'S EDGE.  THE FOOD WAS TERRIFIC AND THE WAITER LIKED US SO MUCH, HE DIVULGED THE SECRET OF THIS CUP STACKING MAGIC TRICK.

Sue and I also went on two tourist excursions.  The first was a two-part adventure to the volcano at Haleakala (Holly-ock- ala), State Park.  Followed by a 26-mile bike ride down to the beach town of Paia, (aka Hippie-Town)..

AT 10,000 FEET UP,  SUNRISE IS SUPPOSED TO LOOK LIKE THIS.  WE DID NOT SEE ANYTHING LIKE THAT.

To get to Haleakala, we woke up at 2;AM.  A van picked us up and whisked us away in the star-filled night, ninety minutes away, to the "the upcountry" and the mountain.  The native Hawaiian driver was quick to point out how perfect the conditions were to see an immaculate sunrise.

Halfway up, their business office, was across from a property called "Cloud-Ten." It was built and owned by George Harrison of the Beatles. Inside, we were introduced to Jack our guide and shown a safety video on biking down the mountain.  He provided us with gloves, a coat and pants because the temperatures at the mountaintop might be near freezing.

Further up at 6700 feet, the clear skies and crisp air was sweet ambrosia for the soul. We were told on the way back down, that our bike trip would start at that spot.  Later, as we twisted up the mountain road, it started to sprinkle.  Soon the wind picked up and a hard rain blew horizontal.

At the state park's main gate, it felt like we driving through a hurricane.  A ranger who was having trouble holding his ground while hold down his Smoky the Bear hat, told us that the peak was experiencing wind gusts of 80 MPH.  He added that the information station was closed at the time.

In the dark, I saw that the parking lot was empty at the top.  While the wind howled and the rain pelted down, I told these guys funny stories until I needed to pee. Jack had to get out and hold my door, to protect its hinges from being bent back the wrong way.

Outside, I could barely see ten feet.  In no time, I was freezing and drenched despite being all covered up...and, it didn't help that I stepped in a deep puddle.  Soon tons of buses and cars filled the lot. People went to the observation deck and braved the conditions, to be where the spectacular sunrise would have been seen, (I know that because I went too).

The storm continued as the obscured, rising sun failed to penetrate the thick fog.  Defeated, the van drove down from the summit. Minutes later, the cloudless skies reappeared.  Behind us, the one huge dark gray cloud crowning the Haleakala's peak reminded us that it was still crappy up there.

At 6700 feet, the bikes were brought out and for a short time ,we zoomed down but Sue didn't like it.

SUE REMAINED IN THE VAN AND TOOK HIS SHOT OF MY POSTERIOR.

The ride was 95% coasting.  For me, it was fun and easy.  I wished Sue would have joined me.  We finished at the beach town of Paia.

AT PAIA, (HIPPIE-TOWN).  BEHIND ME, BEYOND THE SUGAR CANE FIELDS, THAT'S WHERE WE STARTED, HALEAKALA, TWO MILES ABOVE SEA LEVEL.   

The next day, we rented a car and took another excursion to, "The Road to Hana."  Hana is a tiny town on the furthest end of Maui.  The only way there, is a slow drive around the back side of Haleakala.  This magnificent, heaven-on-earth, side trip includes the most scenic mountain road imaginable.  Every place you stop, there's an opportunity to hike the trails, swim in lagoons and find one Kodak moment after another.

SUE AT A RAINBOW EUCALYPTUS TREE. WE HAVE MANY ROAD TO HANA PICTURES BUT YOU REALLY HAVE TO BE THERE BECAUSE OUR SNAPSHOTS REALLY DON'T CAPTURE MOTHER NATURE'S FINEST MOMENT.

Sue took a gazillion selfies of us.  Luckily a family came by and took this shot.

OUR CAMERA MISERABLY FAILED TO CATCH JUST HOW DROP-DEAD-GORGEOUS THIS WAS.

We had a picnic lunch, at another slice of perfection.  A man came by and said, "I came all the way back here because three hours ago, I tripped over this wall and fell down the embankment."

SUE IS GESTURING THAT SHE WON'T GET CLOSER TO THE LITTLE WALL.  THE MAN FELL OVER IT.  IF HE DIDN'T GRAB ONTO VEGETATION AND CLIMB BACK UP, IT SOON BECOMES A SHEAR DROP.  CAN YOU BELIEVE IT, ANOTHER NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE ON OUR TRIP. 

We took tons of photographs; waterfalls, trees, flowers and ourselves.  But for the sake of brevity, I just included my favs.

IT LOOKS LIKE A STOCK PHOTO OR A POST CARD...BUT IT ISN'T.

We put in seven hours on the Road to Hana. On the way back to civilization, we stopped for dinner and do some shopping, in Paia.

PAIA (aka HIPPIE-TOWN), REALLY MAKES YOU FEEL LIKE YOU'RE IN A "TWILIGHT ZONE," EPISODE, SET IN 1970,  DURING THE FLOWER-POWER ERA.

Sue and I were amazed that modern-day hippies hung out in clusters, smoked pot on the beach or sat in circles on sidewalks, humming their mantras.  Curiously, while the streets were uncluttered by people, Mana Foods, (the one food market) was jammed with young, spaced-out people, (it looked like a convenience store from the outside but inside it was a throwback 1960's mini-supermarket).  It had narrow aisles, rickety wooden floors and a claustrophobic room filled with health foods, vitamins and supplements.

We also went to Makawao (aka Cowboy-Town).  It was smaller and more rustic than Paia but far less interesting.

In the morning, we drove to Slappy Cakes for breakfast.

SLAPPY CAKES WAS A CUTE PANCAKE HOUSE WITH THE GIMMICK OF COOKING YOUR OWN FOOD, ON THE BUILT-IN GRIDDLE ON EACH TABLE.  WE LEFT OUR EATING DESTINY UP TO THE CHEF IN THE KITCHEN.

Our trip was winding down.  We took one last beach walk and poked our heads in at two rival hotels, the Westin and Hyatt.  They were equally Polynesian but more corporate than the Sheridan.  The Westin featured live flamingos in their humongous koi pool but we liked the Hyatt better because they had a pen with South African, black-footed penguins and several huge parrots.

ON THE HYATT'S WALKWAY BETWEEN THE PARROTS AND THE PENGUINS, THEY HAD A BOTANICAL GARDEN FEATURING NATIVE PLANTS AND TREES.  HARD TO BELIEVE BUT TRUE, PINEAPPLES WERE HARD TO FIND IN HAWAII.  BUT THAT'S A WHOLE OTHER STORY.

Perhaps it was an omen of what was to come.  At the Westin, I met up with a trash talking tiki statue.

TIKI TOTEM POLES ARE HAND-CARVED SPIRITUAL FIGURES WHOSE SCARY, EXAGGERATED EXPRESSIONS ARE USED TO WARD-OFF EVIL. IN PREPARATION OF FLYING HOME, MY INNER BROOKLYN CAME OUT IN THIS ARGUMENT.  REMEMBER...NOBODY CALLS ME EVIL! 

At the Sheridan, Sue and I decided to do some snorkeling.  The rental station is at the base of Black Rock.  I was excited because the buzz in the crowd included talk of turtles feeding along the shore.

Sue and I waited behind a Barbie and Ken couple (early 20's) getting their equipment.  The girl was truly a knockout and I confess to checking her and her minuscule bikini out.  The illusion was burst when she copped an attitude and refused the snorkeling fins and face mask, in favor of an inflatable raft.

I do have snorkeling experience.  In 1992, Sue and I did it in the Bahamas.  Like swimming in an exotic fish tank, it was unbelievably cool. My memory of it was was so pleasant, that because I was over-confident, I didn't ask for a refresher course.  In my defense, because it's so basic...none was offered.

I was getting into ocean when I noticed Barbie (later I found out that her name was Hannah) was knee-deep in the water, holding the raft.  Just before I got in the water, a smile came across my face as I leered watched her mount the raft as Ken swam beneath her.

Snorkeling is the ultimate relaxation.  Just breathe normal, gently kick your feet and brush the water with swimming strokes to steer.  Side-by-side with Sue, my first two minutes were full of visual ecstasy, (from the fish).  I don't know why but I lost the coordination on biting down on the mouthpiece.  My lungs filled with water so I popped up to the surface.

I was too deep to stand so I tread water until I understood the problem.  I tried again but the same thing happened immediately.  My spastic ridiculousness happened about five times.  By the last time, I had become arm weary. I was frantic to reach the rocks...to rest.

Sue wanted to know if I was okay.  That's when my over-confidence about not using the proper breathing technique collided with carelessness.  To prove to Sue that I was fine, I gave it another try. But rather than going closer to the shore, I put myself in deeper water.

I thought I had the procedure down pat but a minute later, I was again taking-in giant gulps of water. That's when I had a Jonny drowning in Barbados flashback, I recalled the man on the plane needing an emergency landing in Los Angeles and the poor fellow who might have died after falling from the cliff, on the "Road to Hana."

When I decided that the snorkeling fun factor couldn't out weigh the risk, my previous carelessness and over-confidence morphed into stupidity.  I swam to the farthest end of Black Rock where the once high stones, are at water level.  Setting myself atop the rocks was an incredibly moronic place for this whale to beach himself.

Temporarily, I was safe as I sat up.  I was so far out, I didn't see anyone and because everyone was focused on the people jumping off Black Rock, (closer to the beach) no one noticed me.

Jesus H.  Christ, suddenly a crashing wave knocked me over.  I understood the power of the sea...so pardon the pun, I really thought I met my Waterloo.  I tried to stand, to get on higher ground.  I was knocked down.  It occurred to me that if my ankle got caught in one of the nooks and crannies during a fall, the force could crush my head against the rocks.

I was further immobilized by the fins. In a panic, I managed to stand on the precariously uneven stone and rushed to get one off. I was knocked down again.  I dropped the one fin and my snorkel mask.  The tide picked them up, they were floating away. I was reminded of the movie, "CASTAWAY," when Tom Hanks' character saw his imaginary friend Wilson (the volleyball) drift away in the current.

WHAT AN IDIOT, OUT OF A FALSE SENSE OF RESPONSIBILITY TO RETURN ALL THE RENTED EQUIPMENT, I IMPULSIVELY LUNGED BELLY FIRST, BACK TOWARD THE OPEN SEA.  I TOOK ONE SWIPE AND RECOVERED BOTH ITEMS.

My arms were exhausted. A great chest pain signaled my water-logged lungs.  With one flipper still on and encumbered from holding the other and the mask, I maneuvered onto higher rocks. At the crest of Black Rock, I saw the divers getting ready for their turn to jump in the water.

I was halfway up when Hannah saw me awkwardly inching up.  She offered help.  My pride got in my way, I turned her down.  In the next five minutes, I had navigated a mere three feet higher.  I asked a random kid, "Is there a path up there to walk along the rock, back to shore?"  He looked down at me and said, "No, you gotta come up a little higher, jump down and swim."

I made it to that lowest ledge when Hannah was coming back up from her jump.  She said, "You're as white as a sheet.  If you jump down, I'll help you back to shore."  I agreed.  She jumped in.  I threw down both flippers and my face mask.  She gathered them up and told me when it was safe to jump.

My arms were like rubber and my chest was pounding, After a few seconds of swimming, I confessed that I couldn't do it.  That's when my life saving mermaid grabbed the inflatable raft that she wedged into the rocks.  Together, we doggie paddled to safety.

Sue was on the shoreline.  She was had no idea where I had been.  She was on the verge of calling the National Guard. I called out to Hannah and told Sue, "She saved my life."  Hannah smiled and swam back out to Ken. I was glad that my first impression of Hannah being a drama queen or a stuck-up princess was wrong.

I DON'T THINK SUE REALIZED THAT I WAS IN SOME DEGREE OF SHOCK.  I SAT IN THE FIRST CHAIR I FOUND .  I DECIDED TO NOT GET UP UNTIL THE PAIN IN MY LUNGS STOPPED.  BUT THAT TOOK HOURS.  ON THE BACK TO THE *ROOM WHILE CONSOLING ME, SUE PISSED ME OFF MY SAYING, "RIGHT AFTER I LOST TRACK OF YOU, A GIANT TURTLE SWAM RIGHT PAST ME."

* I stayed in the room.  Sue took one last dip and was knocked over by a wave.  She fell on her arm and a month later, it's still giving her trouble.


Luckily, my bad day at Black Rock was only a close call.

BUT THE MORE I THINK ABOUT IT, THE LOCAL KID HAD NO TROUBLE SCALING THAT WALL AND WALKING TO THE END.  MAYBE IT'S ALL FOR THE BEST, BUT I WON'T MAKE A GRATUITOUS WET-DREAM JOKE, AT THE EXPENSE OF MY SAVIOR.

Sue packed our bags that night for our noon flight.  In the morning we loaded up with Subway sandwiches so we wouldn't starve on our return.  On the way back to the Sheridan, we received a wonderful, beautiful farewell from the aloha state.

ON THE WAY BACK TO OUR ROOM, WE SAW THIS AMAZING RAINBOW.  WE HAD SEEN LESS SPECTACULAR ONES, SHOOTING STARTS, COOL CRESCENT MOONS AND EVEN SOME MONGOOSES.  BUT THIS PERFECTLY TIMED SYMBOL OF WONDERMENT CAPPED OFF THE GREATEST VACATION OF OUR LIVES.

All that was left was to go back to room and head to Maui Airport.

BUT FIRST WE HAD TO COMMISERATE.

While waiting for the shuttle, there was still time for one last selfie.

WHEN WE'RE TALKING NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCES, I COULDN'T LEAVE YOU WITH A FROWNY-FACED PICTURE.

One more thing to remember, don't let anyone tell you...that you get the same vibe in the Caribbean without the expense and distance as you do in Hawaii.  Trust me, it's worth it!