THE MAYANS BETTER BE WRONG, 2012 LOOKS LIKE IT'S GOING TO BE A GREAT YEAR !

"THE FREIGHT TRAIN DOESN'T COME THROUGH TOWN EVERY DAY," is a gambling axiom that suggests, good fortune is fickle, rare and comes in an indeterminable size.

Luckily my son Andrew is not gambling.  In his case, since the beginning of 2012, (probably longer), he's been riding an incredible winning streak which has been based on a solid foundation of hard work, confidence, intelligence and talent...rather than chance.

I estimate that my boy's victorious ways started back in August of 2011.  That's when he was hired as a department store cashier.  By the time January rolled around, his boss rewarded him, for out-performing full-time coworkers, as a part-timer, while never exceeding a twenty-hour week.

In February, Andrew was voted his school's "RENAISSANCE MAN."  Ala Leonardo Da Vinci, this title was attained because his peers recognize his skill and knowledge in a wide range of fields.  Or as I like to put it, whatever my boy takes an interest in, he does well. 

PAINTINGS LIKE, "THE LAST SUPPER," MADE LEONARDO DA VINCI (1452-1519), ONE OF THE  GREATEST ARTISTS KNOWN TO MAN.  BUT HE ALSO EPITOMIZED THE END OF THE DARK AGES WITH HIS, "UNQUENCHABLE CURIOSITY," AND HIS "FEVERISHLY INVENTIVE IMAGINATION." IN LEADING THE RENAISSANCE MOVEMENT, HE ALSO EXCELLED AS, A SCULPTOR, ARCHITECT,  MUSICIAN, SCIENTIST, MATHEMATICIAN, ENGINEER, INVENTOR, ANATOMIST, GEOLOGIST, CARTOGRAPHER, BOTANIST AND WRITER.

Andrew will be permanently enshrined, in his senior class yearbook.  I'm thrilled that my child draws this comparison to Da Vinci and that this honor will encourage him to continually aspire to new heights.

I once jokingly called Andrew, "The First Singing and Dancing Edelblum."  While he may not be ready to hoof his way onto Broadway, he is always willing to take a challenge that would put him on stage.  For his school's February 3rd talent show, (our dog Roxy's birthday), he was a key man in choreographing and organizing, a twelve-man team in their, "EPIC RAP BATTLES OF COMIC BOOKS."  On the face of it, their act seemed like pure silliness.  But he and a select few, dedicated themselves to aiming their content at a specific target audience, maintaining a vigorous and focused practice regimen and an enthusiasm to win.

BATMAN, IRONMAN, THE FLASH, THOR, SUPERMAN AND THE OTHERS MUG IT UP WITH THEIR TROPHY.

The positive message embodied in their performance was appreciated by a teacher in the audience, from a local elementary school.  She paved the way for the rappers, (two weeks ago), to reprise their act, complete with a question and answer period, for the sixth graders at her school.

While all this is going on Andrew put in beaucoup hours rehearsing for the school's, (Emanon Players), spring drama presentation of Stephen Sondheim's, "INTO THE WOODS." The show (March 9, 10 and 11), was well received, but many seniors were disappointed that this particular vehicle featured few major roles. Plus many of those parts went to underclassmen.  So two students (not Andrew), decided to write their own play (with the blessing of the school), with the intention of giving outgoing graduates a last hurrah behind the foot lights.

IN, "INTO THE WOODS," ANDREW AND SEVERAL OTHER SENIOR DRAMA CLUB VETERANS GOT SMALL OR NON-SPEAKING ROLES.

For the new play, "MAKING THE MUSIC," Andrew auditioned and won the singing and dancing, male lead, (Jason).  It will be performed at the end of April.

On March 13th, Andrew's next great accomplishment was his acceptance into his college of choice, the College of New Jersey (TCNJ).  Whether his current winning streak is still going in September or not, I am positive that Andrew will thrive there because he and the school are a perfect match.

A POOR MAN'S IVY LEAGUE COLLEGE, TCNJ  WAS ESTABLISHED IN 1855, (KENDALL HALL above).  THE U. S. AND WORLD REPORT, SELECTED IT AS 2012's,  #1 SCHOOL IN THE NORTHEAST.  FORBES CHOSE IT #1 IN NEW JERSEY AND KIPLINGER PICKED IT AS THE BEST VALUE PUBLIC COLLEGE IN NEW JERSEY.  ANDREW AND EVERYONE IN THE EXTENDED EDELBLUM CLAN, ARE PROUD THAT HE WILL BE ONE OF THE SELECT 7,000 TO WEAR THE BLUE AND GOLD AND CALL THEM SELF, A TCNJ LION. 

Somewhere along Andrew's hot streak, a tryout notice for the Mr. Absegami Contest was posted. Many area high school's participate in some form of this "beauty pageant" for senior boys.  Here, it is one of the most anticipated events of the year.

This highly coveted honor, is decided by a competition that concentrates on poise and personality, while combining battles of, form versus substance, the ridiculous and the sublime, as well as talent and gimmicks.

At first, Andrew was intimidated to get involved.  But even back when he was a freshman, he always considered the Mr. Absegami concept cool, so slowly, his inhibitions melted.  He was swayed by friends until his attitude morphed into a "what the hell" mode.  Then once he saw a way, his passion skyrocketed.

My boy made it through the tryouts and was one of the fifteen contestants. Andrew thought long and hard on what would be the best way to deliver a "wowing" talent. His final decision was to write a poem in the "free-verse," style.  A couple of days later, he read me the rough draft. I wasn't impressed...I was awed when I said, "Don't change a word." 

Along the way, he picked up a support team starring Sue, his mom.  Plus his friends, friends of the family and of course, the lovely, talented and generous Lexie who would escort him during the formal wear competition.

The night before the contest, the momentum of positive energy surging through my house so staggering that I dropped my usual modesty and wrote on FACEBOOK that I thought Andrew had a chance to win it all.

On the evening of March 16th, in anticipation of a sell-out, Sue and I arrived at the theater early.  Armed with cameras and a video recorder, we got front row seats. A teacher, Mr. Murray acted as emcee and set the proceedings in motion.

THE SHOW OPENED WITH A DANCE AND GYMNASTICS NUMBER WITH ALL THE COMPETITORS WEARING THE SAME OUTFIT.

The swimwear portion was next.  Many of the jocks flaunted their physiques and made the audience whistle when they struck suggestive poses.  Andrew was the eleventh competitor.  His first solo on stage was as a male, mermaid...complete with yellow scuba flippers and black socks.

ANDREW HAD THE CREATIVE CONCEPT FOR THE MALE, MERMAID COSTUME.  WITH MOM'S INGENUITY AND THE HELP OF HER FRIENDS...HE CERTAINLY MADE A NICE SPLASH.

For their talent, the other contestants were mainly musicians and singers.  However, there was a DJ, a Whitney Houston impersonator and even an extreme yo-yo exhibition.

ANDREW STARTED HIS FREE-VERSE RECITAL OF, "ONE OF THOSE NIGHTS," SEATED ON A RISER. WHILE POURING OUT HIS SOUL , HIS MESSAGE TAPPED INTO EVERYONE'S INSECURITIES AND SENSITIVITIES.  SOON HE USED THE WHOLE STAGE AS HIS PALLET AS HE FLAWLESSLY CAPTIVATED THE AUDIENCE BY NAILING A PRIVATE TOPIC, WE CAN ALL RELATE TO. 

Prior to his performance I was concerned that the audience wouldn't appreciate some of the nuances that made the poem so powerful...but they listened and understood.  On some occasions someone in the crowd would call out words of encouragement.  Incredibly, Andrew came out of his performance, remained, "in-character," and delivered, on-point one-liners addressing that issue before seamlessly continuing.  Despite my obvious subjectivity, when he was done, I think it's still objective to say, he brought down the house.

Next was the formal wear competition.  All the boys wore the same style tuxedo and their escorts wore dresses that matched.

RESPLENDENT IN CARNATION PINK, LEXIE ACCENTUATED ANDREW'S APPEARANCE.

The panel of judges tabulated their scores to determine the four finalists as one of the escorts sang in front of the participants.


DURING THE SWIMWEAR PHASE, ANDREW'S GOOD FRIEND "H," A GIFTED MUSICIAN WAS LATER SELECTED AS A FINALIST.



Another close friend of Andrew, "S" was the third finalist chosen.

DURING SWIMWEAR, "S" ANOTHER FUTURE FINALIST, SCORED WELL.

On one hand, I thought Andrew making into the final round was a slam dunk, but I must admit after the first three were chosen, I was more nervous than ANYTHING Andrew related, since his birth.  I decided to be optimistic so I went for broke and focused the camcorder on Andrew and risked photographing his disappointment.  But my positive instinct was proven right when he WAS picked to be a finalist.

The emcee, Mr. Murray gathered the final four and asked them to select an interview question from a hat.  Andrew went last.  All three previous answers were okay without being fantastic.  Andrew was then asked, "What was the best advice you were ever given and why?"  Andrew didn't hesitate and said, "That's a no-brainer."  Then with the poise of a well-rehearsed speech, he rocked the house while complimenting Sue and I.  In effect, his answer turned out to be a sort of acceptance speech...as a spontaneous chant of, ED-EL-BLUM, ED-EL-BLUM was initiated in the audience.

WHILE WAITING FOR THE FINAL RESULTS.  "A" (far right), "H," (next), "S" AND ANDREW, (far left).

When the final votes were in, Andrew and "S" stood side-by-side.  The emcee, Mr. Murray did a great job in prolonging the agony as he teased the auditorium with well-timed delays. 

MR. MURRAY'S CLEVER SHENANIGANS TORTURED, "S" AND ANDREW WHILE KEEPING EVERYONE ELSE ON THE EDGE OF THEIR SEAT.

When "S" was chosen first runner-up, the Andrew joy fest went into high gear.

MR. ABSEGAMI 2012,  IS SWARMED BY THE OTHER CONTESTANTS.

This honor highlights Andrew's high school career and will forever remain a warm and enduring memory.

YOU CAN'T GO BY ME BECAUSE I USED TO CRY AFTER MONTY HALL ANNOUNCED THE BIG WINNER ON, "LET'S MAKE A DEAL." BUT WHEN HIS RIVALS HOISTED ANDREW UP, I CRIED LIKE A BABY.

Sue and I were approached by reporters from the local newspapers and posed for photographers.  The ATLANTIC CITY PRESS wrote a small item.  But the GALLOWAY CURRENT telephoned Andrew  the next day and filled in all the personal information for their magnificent full page spread, during a forty-five conversation, (see Andrew's picture on the over and story on page 31 of the Current of Galloway Township, March 22, 2012  VOL 15, NO. 49).



A GREAT MOMENT IN EDELBLUM HISTORY.

Every day is a great day to be an Edelblum but some days are even better...and the night of Mr. Absegami was definitely one of the better days.

Long after the audience left the theater, a large group of Andrew's friends lingered with Sue and I while waiting for him to get back into street clothes.  My heartbeat was just about back to normal when some of the kids started singing, "WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS," by QUEEN.  The greatness of the night seemed like it would never end until the janitorial staff asked us to leave.

OUTSIDE THE SCHOOL, THE GIANT, ENORMOUS, COLOSSAL MEGA-TRON SIGN PULSATES SO FAST THAT IT TOOK ME THREE SHOTS BEFORE I PHOTOGRAPHED THIS MESSAGE.

My first hope is that Andrew's winning streak lasts forever.  He is hyped-up to finish his high school career on a high note and he's even more stoked about starting college in September.

My other hope is that the Mayans December 21, 2012 doomsday prophesy is wrong!  Humanity has ridden the, "freight train," for centuries but we now know that given the earth's long history, its good fortune can be fickle, rare and of a indeterminable size.

I'M AN ETERNAL OPTIMIST.  DID ANYONE EVER THINK THAT THE MAYANS CHOSE SUCH A SPECIFIC DATE BECAUSE THEIR STONE CALENDAR RAN OUT OF ROOM?  I SAY, USE THE OTHER SIDE, I BET CIVILIZATION CAN SQUEEZE OUT ANOTHER 50,000 YEARS.

Think about it, today's world weather patterns are erratic with tsunamis, tornadoes and earthquakes all over.  Plus the threat of global warming, solar flares knocking out our electricity and the populous turning on themselves, make our immediate future seem bleak.  But I choose to keep the camcorder of life focused on my son Andrew...I say, stay positive, stick with a winner, (him), and we'll all be okay.

THE EXEMPLAR OF SLOTH...IN L. A.

In the summer of 1977, I parked in the Neponsit section of Queens with my friends, J and E.  Halfway down the beach block with the ocean breeze in our face, I found a New Yorker Magazine on the floor.

THE NEW YORKER WAS FOUNDED ON FEBRUARY 21, 1925. TO ATTRACT IT'S  TARGET DEMOGRAPHIC, THE CARICATURE OF A "DANDY," (THE EXEMPLAR OF SOPHISTICATION, EUSTACE TILLEY ), APPEARED ON IT'S FIRST COVER (above).  TODAY, THE MAGAZINE PUBLISHES 47 YEARLY ISSUES, (WITH A MONTHLY CIRCULATION OVER ONE MILLION).   ITS CONTENT CENTERS ON NEW YORK BUT CATERS TO A UNIVERSAL AUDIENCE .

My beach-going buddies and I were all under-employed college graduates.  So, maybe it was my economic prospects that compelled me to pick up the magazine.  The New Yorker was known for its highbrow potpourri of politics, social issues, art, humor, culture and counter-culture. On the cover of this issue I saw a feature called, "SEE IF YOU'RE LAZY...TAKE OUR SURVEY." When I suggested taking the quiz, J asserted, "You just disqualified yourself...by picking that rag off the ground."

Since moving to South Jersey in 1984, the person that exemplifies laziness to me has to be, forty-six year old Mystic Islander, Lew. Lew rarely leaves his apartment, is dependent on pills, has a drinking problem, squanders the little money he has left on gambling and is a chronic complainer.  Ironically, his grumblings aren't associated with his obvious shortcomings...his rantings concern his job.  He even brags about how little he does at his workplace which to him, epitomizes how backward the company is...because they tolerate or aren't sharp enough to notice his lack of effort.

Lew likes to work about sixty percent of his assigned time.  Therefore, he earns just enough to afford his habits.  Lew has never been married, has no children, no mortgage and drives a fifteen-year old Chevy Chevette that was built in Ecuador.  When I first met him (1993), he was driving (when it wasn't in the shop), the world's oldest Yugo GV with it's signature statement band-aid applique, (with the word "ouch" printed on it), covering his dented side panel.

THE 1985 YUGO GV WAS THE MONA LISA OF BAD AUTOS. IT PLACED #39,  IN TIME MAGAZINE'S WORST CARS OF ALL-TIME.  IT WAS SO AWFUL THAT; THE COUNTRY IT WAS NAMED FOR FOLDED, CARPET WAS LISTED AS STANDARD EQUIPMENT, THE REAR DEFROSTER WAS USED TO KEEP YOUR HANDS WARM WHEN YOU PUSHED IT TO YOUR MECHANIC AND RANDOM PARTS ROUTINELY FELL OFF. 

When Lew would start whining about how he hated his job, I wanted to slap him with a fish and tell him; if work was really that bad, what's holding you there?  Quit, you're not a moron, do something else.  Even if you fail, you have no responsibilities.  At that point, I would expect him to interrupt and cry, "They won't pay my benefits unless I keep up a thirty-two hour week.  That's when I'd be ready to cut him off and say, "Yeah, it must be tough being forced to make fifteen thousand more a year and have less time to waste it."

Lew's lethargic lifestyle is contrasted by Winston, (also forty-six).  He thought he had a terrible job too but Winston never complained, was an asset to the firm and was well liked.  But when he had the opportunity to expand his horizons, he absorbed the pain of tying-up family loose ends, accepted temporary financial hardships and moved to San Pedro, near Los Angeles.

Winston surprised me by moving to paradise but shocked everyone we know by turning down his new opportunity when he got there.  While its true that he's keeping his eyes open for something in his field, he has gone totally Hollywood and decided to take advantage of his two years of unemployment benefits, first.

THE HOLLYWOOD SIGN WAS BUILT IN 1923 AS A REAL ESTATE ADVERTISEMENT FOR "HOLLYWOODLAND." LONG AFTER ALL THE PROPERTIES WERE SOLD, THE SIGN'S POPULARITY, (IN ITS CURRENT SHORTENED VERSION),  HAS EARNED IT  LANDMARK STATUS AND IT IS NOW A GLOBALLY RECOGNIZED ICON.

Lew had been a Jersey boy all his life.  So this first venture (escape) to the left coast has left him anxious to soak up the sun and everything else out there. His first taste of L. A. was the typical tourist spots like movie studio tours, Hollywood Boulevard, the Walk of Fame, Grauman's Chinese Theater and the original Fat Burger.

GRAUMAN'S CHINESE THEATER IS FAMOUS FOR HOUSING GLITZY MOVIE PREMIERES LIKE, "KING OF KINGS," IN 1927, 1977's, "STAR WARS," AND DOZENS MORE IN BETWEEN.  HOWEVER, THE CASUAL TOURIST IS MORE FAMILIAR WITH THE CEMENT SLABS IN ITS FORECOURT WHICH BEAR THE SIGNATURES, FOOT AND HAND IMPRINTS OF 200 MOVIE LEGENDS.  IN MY JUNE 1983 VISIT, WAY BEFORE DANIEL RADCLIFFE INDENTED THE CONCRETE WITH HIS MAGIC WAND, I APPRECIATED JIMMY DURANTE AND BOB HOPE'S NOSE, GROUCHO MARX'S CIGAR AND ROY ROGERS' HORSE TRIGGER'S, HOOF PRINT.

Winston typified the east coast mentality when he told me that he liked the contradiction of being in Venice Beach and on Santa Monica Pier at Christmas time.  He then hit all the major amusement parks, hiked Runyon Canyon, toured the Getty Villa as well as the Griffith Observatory.

His macabre taste in entertainment included the Helter Skelter tour of Manson murders and the Dearly Departed Tours of L. A., who offer trips to the O.J. Simpson crime scene.  Next on his wish list are the crime scenes of the, "Black Dahlia," the murder of Robert Blake's wife and the case of the Menendez brothers.  Winston even implied a willingness to drive to Colorado, to check-out the Jonbenet Ramsey tour.

Closer to home, Winston wants to see the swanky Magic Castle.  It is so aristocratic that you need a referral to get a reservation.  But due to a fire in 2011, it was closed for several months. Since re-opening last month, it has become nearly impossible to get in.

THE MAGIC CASTLE IN HOLLYWOOD (1963-PRESENT), BILLS ITSELF AS THE WORLD'S MOST UNUSUAL PRIVATE NIGHT CLUB.  IN THIS EXCLUSIVE SETTING, IT FEATURES LIVE STATE-OF-ART MAGIC ACTS.

Last week, I told Winston that the last time I was in Los Angeles, I loved the La Brea Tar Pits.  He poo-poo'ed this idea before I even had a chance to tell him that the La Brea is a unique museum of worldwide acclaim.  At the turn of the last century, in what is now downtown L. A., a large, smelly asphalt pit blighted the landscape. The bones of unfortunate domestic animal stuck-out of the tar as a grim reminder of consequences of getting too close.  A man passing through town asked a local to identify the bones.  The man said cows.  While it was true some contemporary animals were stuck there, it didn't take long until a team of paleontologists were summoned and recognized the tar pits as a significant geological find.

 DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES AS IT LOOKED IN 1910.  THE OIL DERRICKS IN THE BACKGROUND WERE COMMERCIALLY MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE TAR PITS, (HIDDEN BY LEAVES AND OTHER DEBRIS IN THE FOREGROUND).

Excavation at La Brea started in 1901.  Into the 1940's, hundreds of thousands of Pleistocene period bone fossils, preserved from the usual bacterial degradation by the tar were extracted in pristine condition.  Over the years, the focus has gone to smaller animals. Soon, museums and researchers around the world overwhelmingly used La Brea as their source for the delicate bones of intact flying dinosaurs.  By the 1970's, attention switched to specimens like, insects, plants and even pollen.  More than a hundred years later, these excavations continue.

JUNE - 1983. LA BREA, IS THE SPANISH WORD FOR TAR. IN THE BACKGROUND (IN THE MIDST OF L.A.'s BUSTLE) THE MUSEUM IS SURROUNDED WITH WHAT'S LEFT OF THE ORIGINAL TAR PITS...COMPLETE WITH MODELS OF PRE-HISTORIC (8,000 TO 40,000 YEARS AGO), VICTIMS STRUGGLING TO GET OUT.

Los Angeles' changing environment is proven by the appearance of extinct animals in the pits and those that are no longer native to the area, (like dinosaurs, horses, camels, mammoths, mastodons, long-horned bison, sloths and sabre-tooth cats).

THE SMILODON, (THE MOST FAMOUS SABRE-TOOTH CAT),  IS THE SECOND MOST COMMON BIG ANIMAL FOUND AT LA BREA.  FOR MORE DETAILS, VISIT THE MUSEUM'S WEB-PAGE AND CLICK ON THE SABRE-TOOTH CAT VIRTUAL EXHIBIT LINK .  IN ALL, YOU'LL FIND THAT LA BREA HAS UNEARTHED 660 SPECIES THAT INCLUDE 59 MAMMALS,  (EVEN ONE WOMAN), 135 BIRDS PLUS PLANTS, MOLLUSKS AND INSECTS.

Scientists have proven that 90% of La Brea's victims were carnivores or birds of prey/scavengers.The scenario they set is, a group of meat eaters chase down their meal.  In desperation, the unfortunate soul runs into the "sanctuary" of the sticky goo...and the hunters follow and get trapped too.  Further, the animals were smart enough that this was a rare occurrence.  If only one major entrapment like that happened every ten years over 30,000 years, that would be sufficient to account for the bone volume found at La Brea.

I was disappointed when Winston said that La Brea wasn't on his A-List of day trips.  He said he was too busy organizing excursions to Catalina Island, Olvera Street and some others I never heard of.  While Winston is between these worthy destinations, I have to fight my imagination not to picture him alone, as a sloth-like couch potato, laying around his apartment, watching reruns on TV and getting fat.

THE SLOTH IS A SLOW MOVING, APATHETIC CREATURE WHO HANGS UPSIDE DOWN IN TREES FOR HOURS AT A TIME.  ALSO, SLOTH, (LAZINESS), IS ONE OF THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS.  IT SUPPOSEDLY DESTROYS THE CHARITY IN ONE'S HEART AND MAY LEAD TO ETERNAL DEATH.  IT IS SAID OF SLOTH; FOR SATAN FINDS SOME MISCHIEF STILL FOR IDLE HANDS TO DO. THUS SLUGGARDS, TALKATIVE PEOPLE AND DREAMERS HAVE BEEN CATEGORIZED AS WIND WATCHERS, FANTASY CHASERS AND PURSUERS OF OTHER WORTHLESSNESS.

I have full confidence that Winston will eventually snap out of Southern California's do-nothing, Svengali-like grip.  Just there mere inference that I am comparing him to Lew should spur him out of his tree to greatness. After all, I failed the New Yorker laziness test on my way to the beach and Winston is on his way to Catalina Island...but Lew, the personification of sloth, lives in a beach community and is so pale that he probably has no idea which direction to find the shore.

NO! NOT SENOR WENCES...SENIOR-ITIS !

I made a mistake.  I jokingly warned my son Andrew that as his high school career comes to an end that he shouldn't get caught-up in, "Senor Wences."

WENCESLAO MORENO (1896-1999) WAS A SPANISH-BORN, VAUDEVILLE-STYLED VENTRILOQUIST-COMEDIAN, WHO PERFORMED UNDER THE NAME SENOR WENCES, (SEN-YOUR WENS-SIS).  HE LIVED TILL 103 BUT HIS INSTINCT FOR, "THE SHOW MUST GO ON," MANIFESTED ITSELF IN HIM PERFORMING BEYOND HIS 90's. THAT MEANS, THIS "SENOR" HAD THE WORST CASE OF SENIOR-ITIS...IN REVERSE.  WHEN I WAS TEN, (HE WAS ABOUT 70),  I LOVED TO WATCH HIM ON, "THE ED SULLIVAN SHOW."  HE WAS MOST FAMOUS FOR HIS HAND PUPPET (above) JOHNNY, (YONNY) AND PEDRO, A GRUFF VOICE FROM A BOX WITH THE CATCHPHRASE, "S'AWRIGHT."  WENCES WOULD USUALLY END HIS ACT BY JUGGLING OR SPINNING PLATES WHILE HAVING A FAST-PACED REPARTEE WITH HIS CHARACTERS.

My Andrew has been working his butt off in and out of school so he didn't appreciate my inference of laziness.  Further, he thought I was out of touch with reality because I mispronounced, "senior-itis."  I explained my pun-like play on words and worsened the situation by implying that I was more aware of current trends than he was about those of the past.

In addition to Andrew's part-time job and the pressures associated with college application, he has taken on a full-plate at school with relative ease.  But he was quick to point out that this next week includes his performance (as the coachman), in the Emanon Players, (the drama club's), adaptation of Stephen Sondheim's, "INTO THE WOODS." 

STEPHEN SONDHEIM (1930-Present),  IS A BROADWAY HALL-OF-FAMER.  FOR OVER 50 YEARS, HIS LYRICS AND MUSICAL GENIUS WHICH INCLUDE "WESTSIDE STORY," GYPSY," "A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE FORUM," AND "SWEENEY TODD," HAVE GRACED THE "GREAT WHITE WAY."

Another part of Andrew's hectic schedule includes next week's visit to a neighborhood elementary school, (he and his school talent show, award-winning super-hero rappers, have been invited to reprise their positive message performance, complete with a meet-n-greet with students).  Andrew then caps his frantic agenda as a contestant in his school's highly coveted, "Mr. Absegami Competition."

THE MR. ABSEGAMI COMPETITION HAS SEVERAL PHASES THAT INCLUDE; DANCING, CASUAL DRESSED TALENT, AN INTERVIEW SESSION IN A TUXEDO, AND SOME BEEFCAKE IN SWIMSUITS.

In regard to this weekend, Andrew was quick to remind me that the seniors in drama were disappointed in the director's choice of, "INTO THE WOODS," because despite it being a lengthy production, there were few major roles, (plus a generous amount of those cherished parts went to underclassmen).  This prevented many of these dedicated senior thespians, from having a last theatrical hurrah.  Interestingly, the moral of "Into the Woods," is, repercussions and responsibility for our actions.  So a couple of kids (not Andrew) have gotten permission to write their own play, to be performed later this spring.  Thus, leaving a mark forever on the Absegami landscape while showcasing the talents of many out-going graduates.

I think that this, "finding a way mentality," is amazing.  While most of us would complain or endure the setback, these budding playwrights took the pro-active approach.  Their never-say-die mindset reminded me of two aspects from John Steinbeck's great American novel (and the movie), "THE GRAPES OF WRATH."

The "Grapes of Wrath," was a metaphor for how our whole country was effected by the Great Depression but epitomized by the plight of the Dust-Bowl Okies, (see my January 12, 2009 blog, "THE BLACK BLIZZARD.")

THE DUST-BOWL WAS A PERFECT STORM THAT INCLUDED THE DEPRESSION, DECADES OF MISMANAGED SOIL AND SEVERE WINDS THROUGHOUT THE 1930's.  TEXAS, KANSAS, NEW MEXICO AND COLORADO WERE HIT HARD.  PLUS PARTS OF ARKANSAS AND NEBRASKA BUT OKLAHOMA GOT THE WORST OF IT.. THE TERM, "OKIES" CAME TO SYMBOLIZE ALL THE VICTIMS .

The perseverance of Andrew's play writing friends, reminds me of the central theme of, "THE GRAPES OF WRATH..." the will to go on.  In chapter two, Steinbeck identified this stick-tuitive trait of the Okies, in the form of a land turtle, (oddly, this crucial point does not appear in the film).

THE MAIN CHARACTER (TOM JOAD), WHILE RETURNING HOME FROM PRISON, CAPTURES A LAND TURTLE TO GIVE HIS YOUNGER BROTHER AND SISTER.  STEINBECK CHOSE A TURTLE TO EMPHASIZE IT BEING OUT OF PLACE IN THE DROUGHT RAVAGED COUNTRYSIDE MUCH LIKE THE TENANT FARMERS BEING PUSHED OFF THEIR LAND.

I remember as a youth, reading this sequence and thinking it was a waste.  Over and over, the turtle kept escaping and getting recaptured.  Finally it prods away one last time until Joad recognizes the beast's need to be free. 

The other message I equate between "THE GRAPES OF WRATH," and Andrew's friends writing their own play, is the concept of, "the circle of life."  Steinbeck embodied this idea in the form of the Joad's eldest (teenage) daughter, Rose of Sharon, (the family simplified her name by calling her Rosasharn). 

*SPOILER ALERT*  I will NOT be giving away the end of the book...but I get pretty damned close.

Considering that Rosasharn is pregnant, it's hard to believe that she's the most unlikeable character in the Joad clan. In the midst of her team-like family being forced off their land and moving to California, she remained impatient and "inflated" by her self-importance.  In the mode of a drama queen, rather than carry her own weight, even as her family's travails worsened, her high-maintenance personality hindered the group, (physically and mentally), so that they would serve her.  This attitude is exemplified by her husband running off during their journey.

 THE ROSE OF SHARON, IN ADDITION TO BEING THE NATIONAL FLOWER OF SOUTH KOREA, IS APTLY NICKNAMED, "THE IMMORTAL FLOWER."

The artfulness of author John Steinbeck camouflages Rosasharn's strength so well that even halfway down the last page, the reader wonders; how will this end.  When it does end...for my taste...this immortal flower blossoms from the ashes of her former annoying and complaining self, to become beautiful, all giving and other worldly, to the point of being saintly.

Shockingly, due to the mores of the time and the fear that taboo subject matter would hurt the film's commercial viability, the heroic nature of Rosasharn, is not mentioned in the movie. Part of this rationale was to end the movie on a high note.  But the reality of the tragedy that sparked the last sequence, while perhaps unsettling, results in an intensely upbeat and hopeful conclusion.  To support my opinion, her skewed fertility parallels the turtle theme, included the notion that the Depression-era migrant workers shouldn't be abandoned by society and in the case of Andrew's playwright friends avoiding senior-itis, to leave a legacy of well-spent charity, good will and ultimate triumph. 

"All right?"  "S'awright!"

THE PSYCHOSIS OF LIME'S DISEASE

When I think of extreme psychotic behavior, I picture a narcissist who is so diluted by self-importance that they believe they can rule all creation.  They crave total control, have no conscience, love seeing others in pain and because they are above everyone else, they're accountable to nobody.

I am a big fan of the 1949 film noir, "THE THIRD MAN."  In it, Orson Welles plays Harry Lime, a black marketeer in post WWII Vienna.  The plot centers on him faking his own death when the authorities are on the verge of apprehending him.

THE AMERICAN FILM INSTITUTE (AFI), VOTED WELLES' PSYCHOTIC HARRY LIME AS THE #37 VILLAIN IN MOVIE HISTORY. 

In the movie's climatic scene atop the Wiener Riesenrad, (the famous Ferris Wheel in Vienna's Prater Park), Lime, tries to rationalize, to his boyhood friend, his brutality for profit which includes selling diluted penicillin...that leads to the torturous death of anonymous children.

Lime says; In Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love and five-hundred years of democracy and peace...and what did it produce?  The cuckoo clock.

Lime's rebuttal to his astonished friend begins, as if he were playing God, when he points down at the people on the ground; Would you feel any pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever?  If I offered you 20,000 Pounds (approximately US $44,000.00 in 1949), for every dot that stopped, would you really, old man, tell me to keep my money or would you calculate how many dots you can spare?

THE WIENER RIESENRAD WAS BUILT IN 1897.  IT WAS THE WORLD'S TALLEST FERRIS WHEEL UNTIL THE JAPANESE BUILT A BIGGER  ONE,  IN 1985. OH YEAH, THAT'S ME IN VIENNA,  AUGUST - 1968, POSING NEXT TO A MODEL OF  IT, IN A PAVILION ACROSS FROM THE REAL THING.

Sometimes, we feel suffocated by the actual villains of the world.  I know it annoys me that I'm not clever, brave or decisive enough to turn the tables against mine. Out of frustration, some victims escape through vice...like drinking, drugs and gambling.  But not me.  I've never understood why people fight adversity by going into self-destruction-mode.  I'd rather be free to, "run in place," vent, complain and hope that the lightning bolt of good fortune hits me, like it did Dustin Hoffman's character, Benjamin Braddock, in the 1967coming of age movie, "THE GRADUATE."

A whole new world will open up to aimless Braddock at a college graduation party in his honor.  His road to salvation begins when a friend of the family gives him career advice by whispering, "Plastics."  While that term became a catchword of the era...that exact scenario played-out at my house, nine years earlier...and played a major role in how the rest of my life played out.

In January 1958, when my neighborhood Canarsie was new and the possibilities seemed endless, my parents invited some friends over for some, day after the blizzard, cocktails. Like most gatherings of this kind, at some point the husbands splintered away from their wives. During the men's conversation, one of the guys from down the street said after his tongue was loosened by several highballs, "I'm getting in on the ground floor of a million dollar idea."

Big talk, relating to get-rich-quick schemes, especially fueled by alcohol, is met with skepticism and is easily overlooked by blue collar men.  Most of the young couples on my street were in, slightly over their heads.  And without loans through the G.I. Bill, they would have had trouble becoming homeowners.  My dad was a fledgling salesman, another worked in a print shop, there was an assistant plumber and among others, the big talking drunk, co-owned a tiny candy store with his brother.

The million dollar man's luncheonette was a couple of neighborhoods away, in the dying community of Lincoln Terrace Park.  Those residents, like refugees, flocked to Elysian-like shores of Canarsie, New York City's last frontier Staten Island, the backwoods of North Jersey or for the more affluent, Long Island. So as his customer base dwindled, his livelihood on Rutland Road making pennies at a time, had an ever- declining, bleak future.

The other men were scoffing his million dollar claim when he added, "I'm tired of living like this. I want to be in charge of my self.  Hell, I can barely afford what I have now so I'm going to take one shot, for two grand and aim at the big money...and it's a great shot!"  Nobody in the room had that kind of money to risk or the autonomy over their wives to make such a move. So the questions he was asked related to responsibility.  He then added, "If I screw-up, we'll have to move into a crappy apartment and I'll have to get a little job.  And yes it's true, maybe we'll be eating canned beans and maybe Loretta will divorce me, but deep down, we won't really be much worse off than we are now...but I won't fail and my kids will appreciate that I didn't let myself get beaten down.  That's why I'm going to see a broker as soon as the roads are clear again."

Just like in the, "GRADUATE," that neighbor said, "The wave of the future will be plastics and I have a dynamite penny stock called, 'WHAM-O PLASTICS,' and it's ready to explode." 

WHAM-O PLASTICS WAS FOUNDED IN 1948.  THEIR FIRST PRODUCT WAS A SLINGSHOT.  IN 1959, THE HULA-HOOP CRAZE PUT THEM ON THE TOY MANUFACTURING MAP AS THEY NETTED $45 MILLION.  THEIR NEXT GREAT ACCOMPLISHMENT WAS THE FRISBEE AND THEN THE SUPERBALL.  OTHER BIG ITEMS IN THE 60's WERE; THE SLIP 'N SLIDE AND SILLY STRING.

My dad and none of the others took the gamble but the drunk followed his dream.  He also held onto his crumbling business and kept buying Wham-O stock until he sold all his shares in 1970, for over a million dollars.  The story gets better because that neighbor and his bachelor brother (who made his own separate investment in Wham-O), parlayed their windfall by buying a car rental agency.  Then as a team, they bought a second one.  When the neighbor's (three) sons came of age, another car rental franchise was bought each time.  When they had five locations running well, they began selling them off. They kept the best one, made it mega for the three sons and the two brothers retired.

I knew this history in the early 80's when I was in Las Vegas, dealing craps at The Stardust Casino.  Bob, an eccentric friend/coworker told me he was investing in a penny stock called Lereck Oil.  He said he was going to his broker as soon as he opens in the morning with five-thousand dollars.  For a combination of reasons but mostly because I didn't have faith in Bob as well as my conservative nature and I was too lazy to wake up that early, I refused the offer.

A week later, I asked Bob if he went through with his idea.  He said, "I got 42,000 shares at twelve cents and sold them four days later for sixty-one cents."  While numbers spun in my head trying to calculate his lucrative return he added, " I'm taking next week off and flying down to Guaymas Mexico to do some sport fishing...wanna come?"

BOB MADE GUAYMAS SOUND LIKE PARADISE.  EVEN THOUGH THIRTY YEARS HAVE PASSED AND I NEVER HEARD ANYONE ELSE EVER MENTION THE PLACE, IT'S STILL ON MY BUCKET LIST.

That was the only time in my life that I wanted to go fishing.  But fate dropped another opportunity in my lap this past fall.  A coworker, Bill, (another eccentric), without a family started touting a company that discovered an oil field which was supposedly, the biggest untapped reserve in the world...in all places, Iraq.  With the economy tanking, uncertainty in the workplace and my son about to enter college, I was ripe to take the chance of a lifetime, but I balked at this ninety-cent stock.

I WISH BILL HAD HIT ME OVER THE HEAD WITH A 16-TON WEIGHT...MAYBE I'D BE MARLIN FISHING IN MEXICO AND LIGHTING THE BARBECUE WITH 100 PESO BANKNOTES.

Bill went on a medical leave when the stock was still under a dollar and I forgot about it.  In December, I found out that about twenty others at work took his advice.   I brought the name of the oil company to my accountant, it was trading at $2.32/share.  His research found more negatives than positives (like political unrest) and suggested that I steer clear of it. 

My other coworkers who took the plunge formed a little oil company shareholders club.  When they happily compare notes in the cafeteria, I get jealous and have pangs to go fishing.

A few weeks ago after being out for seven months, Bill returned to work.  He said that everything he said that would happen to his oil company has happened and will continue to do so.  The stock was over six dollars and he said he felt strongly that when a Fortune 500 Corporation buys them out, the value will soar to twenty dollars...maybe thirty dollars a share. 

Plastics ignited Benjamin Braddock and ushered him into a position to be seduced by Mrs. Robinson, save Elaine from a loveless marriage and heroically sweep her off her feet for himself.  On the other hand, I had opportunities to cash in on "black gold," and failed both times.  

EVEN A POOR MOUNTAINEER KNEW WHAT TO DO WHEN HE SHOT FOR FOOD AND UP THROUGH THE GROUND CAME A BUBBLING CRUDE...OIL THAT IS, BLACK GOLD, TEXAS TEA...


My only consolation is that all I want at this point of life is, to work another seven or so years and retire.  But the harsh reality is, the gaming industry is disintegrating beneath my feet.  So instead of fishing in Guaymas, I'm trapped and feel like one of the dots below psychotic Harry Lime and his army of desperate lieutenants who take joy, in randomly crushing us.

THE DEEP END OF THE GENE POOL

Let's all wish my main-man Andrew, (and I do mean main-MAN),  a HAPPY 18th BIRTHDAY!

At the time of your first child's arrival, it is easy to become awed by the miracle of birth, the concept of life, the existence of our planet and the infinite possibilities of the universe. Whether you have additional children or not, over the course of time, "the seen that...done that mentality," infiltrates our psyche and the fantastic process of the stork's delivery system fades, becomes less important and even worse...taken for granted.

I am guilty of this failing but with the aid of great memories, photos, ancient VHS tapes and having Andrew around every day, my appreciation of the endowed blessing that he represents, is never too far away. Then if I need a kick in the ass to remember what he means to me, a special event or another of his incredible accomplishments crop up.

These days, I look up at Andrew with esteemed admiration as he handles his latest whirlwind of  accomplishments.  More importantly, I look behind him and see that the trail he blazes, is not only for himself but for others, inspired by his intelligence, sensitivity and leadership.  I am certain, they gravitate to him because of his charismatic good nature, sense of fair play, humor and earthy seriousness.  These traits encourage others to aspire to higher levels of personal growth and to pursue greater self awareness and improvement.

EARLIER THIS MONTH, ANDREW'S SKILL AND KNOWLEDGE IN A WIDE RANGE OF FIELDS WAS RECOGNIZED WHEN HE WAS VOTED HIS SCHOOL'S "RENAISSANCE MAN."  ADDITIONALLY, HE AND HIS FRIEND KEVIN (above) CHOREOGRAPHED A TWELVE PERSON PRESENTATION AT THE STUDENT TALENT SHOW...AND WON.  THEIR "SUPERHERO RAP," WAS CITED AS AN INFLUENTIAL PATH OF POSITIVE VALUES BY A LOCAL ELEMENTARY SCHOOL WHO  INVITED THEM IN MID-MARCH, TO REPRISE THEIR MESSAGE ALONG WITH A QUESTION AND ANSWER PERIOD, DURING AN ASSEMBLY. 

One of the side benefits of birthday celebrations is, we reflect on that person's history.  Some birthdays have a greater implied weight because of its number and to me, Andrew's eighteenth is a major milestone. He is now a man, eligible to vote, serve his country in the military or even work in a New Jersey casino, (let's try not thinking of the latter two).  While manhood opens up a whole new world of opportunities, (he'll be starting college in six months), it also serves as an exclamation point to close his childhood as well as marking the end of organized birthday parties, (by parents).

At Andrew's first birthday party, I proposed a toast.  I raised my cup of Diet Pepsi and said, "Here's to Andrew."  Then I paused and said to the crowd, "There's nothing better than babies."

FEBRUARY - 1995. WITH THE HELP OF A KNOCK-OFF BIG BIRD COSTUME PROVIDED BY HUIED, KURUDAVE ENTERTAINED THE MASSES.

Our early kiddie parties for Andrew included, clowns, magicians and singers.  We had them at the Children's Museum, Tunnels of Fun, Diane's Tot Spot, the bumper bowling alley and McDonald's.

ANDREW'S SECOND BIRTHDAY WAS SO JOYOUS THAT HE NEARLY STRANGLED KERMIT IN THE EXCITEMENT.  NOT PICTURED WAS THE ROCKING HORSE THAT HE HUGGED AND SAID, "GREATEST!"  ODDLY, HE REGISTERED LESS THAN AN EIGHTH OF A MILE ON THAT BABY, DUE TO MOTION DIFFICULTIES.

The festivities became more sophisticated as he got older.  His Bar Mitzvah in 2007 was obviously the pinnacle of those events.  But his roller rink party and surprise fourteenth birthday party were special to him too.

LUCKILY, SECURITY APPREHENDED AND KICKED-OUT THIS UNDERAGE GATE CRASHER AT ANDREW'S SURPRISE FOURTEENTH PARTY.

In celebration of all things Andrew, I choose to digress to a nearly infamous party and honor someone other than the birthday boy.

Andrew's fourth grade birthday seems to be easily overlooked but it has left an indelible mark on me and one of...if not both of the principle characters.  The parents of one of his friends, invited him to an indoor pool party at a high school, a few communities away.  The party was such a success that my wife Sue put heads together with another mom and had a joint birthday extravaganza for Andrew and Joey, (the other kid), there.

The mom's split the cost of the package that included, up to sixty attendees, two lifeguards, a swimming safety lesson and the use of a party room.  Both boys had mutual friends from the neighborhood, school and scouts so it felt like one gigantic party...but the highlight of the day had nothing to do with an invited guest.

About forty kids, (mostly around nine years old), changed into their swimwear and met with one of the lifeguards.  The guard led a fifteen minute briefing on safety policies, do's and don'ts, diving restrictions and emergency procedures.  The lecture was just about over when a late arriving straggler entered the pool area...unescorted by a parent.

The two host families knew all the kids from the class, so this girl was welcomed in and encouraged to listen to the lifeguard.  The girl was famous in their class for two distinct reasons.  One, at a time when the average kid carried no money or at best a buck or two, she regularly flaunted big money, (over fifty dollars), around at school.  The other thing was, she was foreign and attended the English as a Second Language (ESL) Program.  We had no idea that she had zero command of English and couldn't understand much either.

During the party, I took a dip in the pool and horsed around with the kids.

 ANDREW AND I BOTH  GOT THE, LOVE FOR SWIMMING GENE, FROM MY DAD.  THAT'S THE SEA-BREEZE MOTEL, ON ROUTE-40 IN WEST ATLANTIC CITY.  IT WAS FAMILY ORIENTED  IN 1967 BUT NOW, IT'S A HAVEN FOR CRACK WHORES.

At Andrew and Joey's party, I was in the shallow end, splashing around with Bill, (an invitee's dad), when we encouraged Tony, (the other birthday boy's father to join us).  In street clothes, he said he wasn't big on swimming.  Tony also made some other lame excuses but we guessed that he wanted to save face and not admit that he forgot to bring a swimsuit. 

A shrill whistle echoed through the pavilion.  Everyone stopped for a second as one of the lifeguards caught a kid running.  That boy was penalized and was not allowed in the water for five minutes.  At the same time, Bill, Tony and I focused on the deep end where four girls were holding up the diving board line. 

It seemed three of them were loudly shaming the one having second thoughts about taking the big plunge.  Finally, the scaredy-cat got the attention she craved and routinely jumped in.  She disappeared underwater for a few seconds before bobbing back to the surface and swimming to the sanctuary of the water's edge.  In an almost identical manner, she was followed by a black-haired girl. Next, to the satisfaction of the onlookers, the blond did a colossal cannonball and backstroked to the exit ladder. 

When the area was clear, the last girl...the foreigner who arrived late...casually walked to the end of the board and jumped in.  She disappeared for a few seconds underwater...but DID NOT bob back up to the surface. Before I could even process the information and call a distress signal out, Tony took off along the side, towards the diving section.  Both lifeguards reacted to his running and before they realized what he was doing, Tony dove in fully clothed and brought the girl to surface.  The lifeguards followed, took over and got her out of the pool.  She was given mouth-to-mouth resuscitation before anyone else moved a muscle.  Although the girl was still a little pale by the time we were in the party room, she was thankfully fine.

(SUMMER - 1999, OCEAN CITY MARYLAND'S BOARDWALK).  SOMETIMES...EVEN AT A BIRTHDAY PARTY, THE MEMORY OF THE BIG CELEBRATION PAYS TRIBUTE TO SOMEONE OTHER THAN THE GUEST OF HONOR.  TONY'S HEROICS OVER SHADOWED THAT PARTY AND ARE CALLED TO MY MIND FREQUENTLY.

That foreign girl moved away about a year later, so I don't know whatever became of her.  But I do know her irresponsible parents(?), who dropped her off alone, at a swimming party, knowing she couldn't swim or speak/understand English, never acknowledged Tony's deed.

Yes, birthdays help us conjure up thoughts of the miracle of birth, respect for the blessing of life, the beauty of our planet and the endless possibilities beyond the farthest stars.  That's why I salute and appreciate Tony especially because the right people didn't or couldn't figure out how to express it. 

As for my birthday boy, I marvel at the perception that somehow, he sifted through and took on the best qualities of his mom and dad while adding a few of his own.  Now as I look at him and his Renaissance Man credentials, I see him in the future, excelling in countless varieties of greatness and continuing to inspire others to have a positive impact on society.  Then when the time is right, I have confidence that my main MAN will have his own family and his scions will continue to forge even better versions of him.

DANDY JAN

In the early 80's, when I lived in Las Vegas, I was watching the NFL's opening week highlights on TV.  At the end of a New York Jets segment, the camera focused on a celebratory fan running down the Shea Stadium aisle.  In the close-up, I saw it was my friend, Jan Soodak.

My move west in 1979, acted as a natural end to the ties I had with my community (the Canarsie section of Brooklyn) and friends. But fate lured me back home for eleven months in 1984.  That's when my wife Sue and I moved in with my parents, (while waiting for my New Jersey casino license to be approved).

Canarsie changed a lot during my five-year absence. Far worse, everyone else I was friendly with had also fled the old neighborhood.

When summer rolled around, I tried to revive an old past time by getting a lime rickey with friends after playing stickball, at Goody's Luncheonette.  The big difference that day was, I didn't play stickball and I had my limeade alone. But to my happy surprise, on my way out, Jan Soodak was coming in for a newspaper.

WAY BACK WHEN, NON-ALCOHOL VERSIONS OF A LIME RICKEY (OR LIMEADE) WERE POPULAR AT NEW YORK CITY SODA FOUNTAINS.  I'M SURE THEY'RE STILL AVAILABLE...IF YOU HAVE THE PATIENCE TO FIND THEM.

My chance meeting with Jan turned out to be a long, pleasant reminiscence of our past.  Unfortunately, he also told me about strange health symptoms that months earlier, forced him to cancel his much awaited try-out with a professional soccer team. Despite his disappointment, Jan remained upbeat as he bravely told me his dire news. Soon there after, he said he needed a transplant to survive. 

A couple of years after I moved to South Jersey, I learned that the transplant never came...and Jan died.

During the early stages of that conversation in front of the luncheonette, we touched on a lot of topics that all involved playing sports.  We agreed that we first met, (I was ten and he was eleven),  when my block challenged his gang, in street hockey.  Over the next twelve years, at different times before I left the area, we were teammates or adversaries, in countless basketball and softball pick-up games.

In organized sports, we became Golden Eagle teammates, on the John Wilson Junior High softball team.  For two years, we were rivals in Canarsie's PAL Roller Hockey League.  At Brooklyn College, Jan and I teamed-up again in the first of my back-to-back intramural floor hockey championships.  More interestingly, in the spring of 1970, we walked to our first Canarsie High School football try-out together.  Later, we became teammates on our school's first JV team and later on the varsity.

On the varsity, Jan (a senior quarterback) and I, (a junior guard) were second-stringers on a potent offensive juggernaut. That meant that we got a fair amount of late game playing time, in blow-outs.  We even scored a few touchdowns that year.  One memory in our 50-12 win over Wingate was Jan calling a quarterback sneak.  When I exaggerated my stance away from the center, Jan said out loud, (in addition to his signals for the rest of the team), "You better know what the f**k you're doing."  When I plowed my man into the defender next to him, Jan easily got the first down.

While we strolled down Memory Lane outside Goody's, we focused on our (shared)greatest moment.  The greatness happened after the JV, (Canarsie Junior Chiefs), lost our first three games.

OCTOBER - 1970,  (above) PRIOR TO OUR 8-6 LOSS AT HOME, IN SEAVIEW PARK, TO THE PIRATES OF TOTTENVILLE (STATEN ISLAND).  THIS IS THE ONLY JV PHOTO OF JAN (#17) AND ME (#72) TOGETHER.    (PLEASE NOTE: A NEPHEW OF JAN RECENTLY COMMENTED ON MY MAY 3, 2010 BLOG CALLED, "PATRICK CLARK;  #61 IN YOUR PROGRAM AND #1 IN OUR HEART,"  BY SAYING...HE NOW OWNS HIS UNCLE'S,  #17 JV JERSEY).


In those first three losses, we mustered only two touchdowns, (both scores came on defense).

BEFORE OUR SEASON STARTED, I HAD NICKNAMED JAN, "DANDY JAN," AS A TAKE-OFF OF ALL-PRO NFLer AND FELLOW #17 WEARER, "DANDY" DON MEREDITH.

When we had three losses under our belt, Jan a true leader, blamed our team's offensive, offensive performance on himself.  He told me, "Don't compare me with Meredith, I'm more like Harry Theofiledes."

ANOTHER #17, QB HARRY THEOFILEDES HAD SUCH A SHORT NFL CAREER THAT THIS IS THE ONLY INTERNET PHOTO I COULD FIND.  IN 1968, HE APPEARED IN FIVE GAMES FOR THE WASHINGTON REDSKINS.  HE THREW 20 PASSES, COMPLETED 11, FOR 211 YARDS WITH TWO TOUCHDOWNS.  HE NEVER STEPPED ON THE FIELD AGAIN BUT WAS ON THE NEW YORK JETS ROSTER FOR A SHORT WHILE.

The Canarsie Junior Chiefs fourth JV game was against Lincoln High.  We were told that the Junior Honest Abes were better than the teams we already lost to.  Plus, they had a monstrous, one-man wrecking crew linebacker named Sanford. A player from our varsity described Sanford as so tough that he chewed on nails and spit out nickels.  Maybe he was trying to motivate us when he added, "They better have an ambulance parked on the field because it'll be like a man playing against you babies." Speaking strictly for myself, I felt like the game was already lost.

CONTEMPORARY LINCOLN FIELD.  LOCATED IN CONEY ISLAND, THE SCHOOL WAS BUILT IN 1929.  SOME OF ITS FAMOUS ALUMS INCLUDE; MARV ALBERT, NIEL DIAMOND, JOHN FORSYTHE, LOUIS GOSSET Jr. LEONA HELMSLEY, HARVEY KEITEL, HERBIE MANN, ARTHUR MILLER AND NIEL SEDAKA. 


The game was played at noon, on a grim Sunday, in mid-October.  During our pre-game drills, I was awestruck watching the Adonis-like Sanford strut through his warm-ups. Soon I noticed many of my cohorts who hadn't been swayed by his reputation, were suddenly just as psyched-out as me when they saw this bearded fifteen year-old giant's aura of invincibility.

Our varsity head coach coached the JV too.  However, he had other obligations that day and turned the reigns over to his second in command, running backs coach Stu Yaker.

Coach Yaker gathered us in the dingy visitors locker room for his final pep-talk. Maybe he was too new at it or perhaps I was so intimidated that I let myself get distracted.  I scanned the room's rusty, decayed and broken lockers.  Next to a leaky pipe, I saw paint peeling off the ceiling.  My gaze finally fixed on the cracked, opaque window and how the grayness of the day filtered through the little hexagon-shaped safety wires in the glass.

To make matters worse, our best athlete didn't show up.  We were about to "storm" onto the field when H. Minis (#83), (our fastest player...who at six-foot-three, could jump high enough to dunk a basketball), sashayed in.  Coach Y. was not pleased by his tardiness and lack of urgency.  He hastily organized a player's only meeting for the purpose of deciding if Minis should play or not. 

In the impromptu private meeting, one of the captains, (swayed by the idea of more playing time for his less talented cronies), demanded that Minis not only be kept off the field but to be permanently kicked off the team. 

Minis and I had been childhood friends.  Even though peer group and social pressures caused us to grow apart, I still appreciated the strong bond we shared in elementary school. Additionally, Minis was experiencing personal problems.  I never understood the specifics but, I knew he had a real job that got him excused from several practices.

Due to my allegiance to Minis, I didn't need a push to vote in favor of letting him play. However Jan Soodak took control, rebutted the captain's selfish motives and championed Minis' cause.  In a short speech, he eliminated the politics and bullshit and rallied the locker room (by a narrow margin), to allow Minis to play.

IN 2002, TO HELP HONOR HIS GRAMMA'S 72nd BIRTHDAY, MY SON ANDREW POSED IN THE SAME JV JERSEY I WAS WEARING WITH JAN, (see picture above).  ALSO, MY BOY IS HOLDING MY SENIOR JERSEY IN HIS LEFT HAND AND MY JUNIOR YEAR'S, IN HIS RIGHT. 

We charged out onto Lincoln Field and found the bleachers empty. JV games attracted few spectators, no cheerleaders and no band.  A handful of family, friends and curiosity seekers made-up the twenty-plus witnesses that rimmed the side lines.  To prove the insignificance of these games even the officials were unpaid volunteers in street clothes and the scoreboard was not used.

The game seemed like an instant replay of our previous three losses.  Our defense gave a worthy effort but our offense remained stymied. In the waning moments, we clung to the consolation of having muddled through without an embarrassing slaughter.

We trailed 16-2 when we got the ball back on our own thirty-five yard line with a minute and a half left in the game.  The attitude in the huddle lacked intensity as Jan called for a screen pass left.  I ran parallel to the line of scrimmage and knocked a defender on his back as DRJ (#7), caught the ball behind me and cut up field.  DRJ wove through the enemy secondary before being tracked down by Sanford, sixty-one yards later, (by far our longest gain...ever).

Jan immediately realized that with just one big play our entire season of futility was over. His resolve took a 180 degree turn and this confidence boost radiated through all of us.  He called a simple running play.  The line fired-out, our halfback N. Bitetto (#9), ran through a gap and into Sanford's arms, but he squirted free, twisted and lunged into the end zone.  That touchdown, our first EVER on offense, made the score 16-8. 

That one score was enough of a moral victory to have us all run off the field with our head's held high, as if we accomplished something.  But quarterback Soodak and flanker CHSCHIEF, (#85), kept everyone's emotions focused.  They helped us understand that we were still fighting an uphill, yet winnable battle.

In lieu of kicking a one-point, "extra-point," a team can "go for two points" by running one normal play, from the two-yard.  Since we didn't have a place kicker, we would have had to go for a two-point conversion under any circumstance.  Incredibly, we succeeded.

The score was 16-10 as Coach Yaker gathered us during a time-out.  After a ton of rah-rah stuff, his exact quote was, "Does anyone know what an onside kick is?" 

An onside kick is a specific type of kick-off.  It is designed to avoid giving possession of the ball back to the enemy.  Usually, this desperate ploy is used by a losing team near the end of a game. The rule is, after a kick-off travels at least ten yards, it is a free ball...and whoever recovers the ball, (similar to a fumble), gains possession.

Due to limited funding, our JV only practiced once a week.  So this rarely used tactic was never rehearsed by us.  C. Avitto, (#8), responded to Coach Yaker's question like an inspired kid answering a question in school.  He enthusiastically raised his hand and his exact quote was, "I do coach!  And I CAN do it!"

ON FEBRUARY 7, 2010, IN SUPER BOWL XLIV, NEW ORLEANS SAINTS COACH SEAN PAYTON, SHOCKED THE INDIANAPOLIS COLTS AND THE FOOTBALL WORLD BY OPENING THE SECOND HALF WITH AN ONSIDE KICK.  HIS STRATEGIC GENIUS, (THE FIRST ONSIDE KICK PRIOR TO THE FOURTH QUARTER IN SUPER BOWL HISTORY),  CHANGED THE MOMENTUM OF THE GAME AND LED TO AN IMPRESSIVE AND PROBABLE WIN.

Onside kicks, especially from an inexperienced player, tend to be soft taps into, "no man's land." The result looks like a demolition derby as eleven players from each team crash together, in a frenzied attempt to recover the ball.  That's what I was expecting as I watched from the near side bench.

I was directly behind Avitto as he took a diagonal path to the ball.  To my surprise, the kick was a classic, skip, skip, pop-up.  Along the far side line H. Minis jumped, snatched the ball and raced, untouched for a game tying touchdown.  BUT NO!  The volunteer referee correctly disallowed the kicking team (us) from advancing an onside kick.  But we were awarded possession of the ball, forty-five yards from more paydirt.

Jan, the eternal optimist, didn't think a total comeback win was abstract or implausible.  But his Harry Theofiledes opinion of himself centered on his awareness that he did not have a howitzer for a throwing arm.  So by being a realist about his shortcomings, instead of trying to throw an expected bomb into the teeth of a prevent defense, Jan confidently called another screen pass to DRJ.  We didn't get the same rich success as the previous sixty-one yarder but we got down to Lincoln's twenty-five yard line.

Jan called our last time-out.  While we were in our huddle, the referee said, "Boys, I'm letting you and Lincoln know, this will be the last play of the game."  Jan was left with no other choice but to go for broke.  By NFL standards, the twenty-five yard line is almost close.  But to "Dandy" Jan, twenty-five yards was the high end of his throwing distance range. So, in the era before the phrase, "Hail Mary," came into popularity, all he could do was give the ball, the old heave-ho...and pray.

The offensive line gave Jan plenty of time.  When the pass was released, I disengaged my defender and watched the ball's high arcing, wobbly flight and lame duck descent.  In the right side of the end zone, all I saw was a school of white-shirted, ball-hawking piranhas, waiting to feast on the apparent interception.  Then suddenly from out of nowhere, like a single, dark blue, killer whale at the Sea World show, Minis leaped between the waves of defensive backs.  He reached over their greedy out-stretched hands and snared ball like a tasty fish-food treat...TOUCHDOWN !

We were happily shocked to tie the score at 16-16.  Lincoln was stunned!  But Jan knew there was still work to be done.  He huddled us together for the two-point conversion and swiftly called a quarterback sneak.  We charged up to the ball...our rivals were back on their heels.  Off a rarely used quick count, the Canarsie Junior Chiefs all surged forward. 

I was tangled in a heap of bodies as I heard the final whistle.  In the surreal next three seconds, I was disoriented as I tried to free myself from the mass of humanity.  The first thing I saw when I was freed from the pile-up, was the referee's hands and fingers pointing, straight up.  I saw the hulking figure of Sanford which had obliterated Jan's #17 jersey stand up.  That's when I pieced together the significance of Dandy Jan's torso, straddling the goal line.

To this day, I'm not certain whether I got more satisfaction over the unlikely finish to our first win, 18-16...or how upset Sanford was and seeing other Lincoln players actually cry.

Jan was the first friend of mine that died.   It's too bad that during our last conversation in front of Goody's, I forgot to tell him that I saw him on the TV highlights...it would have brightened that part of our chat.  But I'm glad we got to rehash our first organized football victory...because I like telling that story and by telling it, it helps keep my dandy memories of Jan alive.