Bee Bee's Tray

The tray pictured here belonged to my friend's Grandma Bee Bee. She lived at 1900 Quentin Road in Brooklyn, N.Y. When I was in Juinor High I thought nothing was classier than this tray- which was always filled with goodies like Bridge Mix and other delights we didn’t have in my home.

I’m not really sure of the year but it was around 1971 or so when Bee Bee passed away. I was offered a “souvenir” to remember her by- and I chose the tray. To me it epitomized an era of genteel living, when people had “company” on Saturday nights, or “guests” during the week for cards or Scrabble. TV came along and changed all that.

The real “meat” of this story involves the loss and later recovery of this tray- possibly with the aid of “cosmic” forces beyond our understanding or control.

The tray had been on top of a black steamer trunk which I used as a dresser in 1973 while living at 2132 Ocean Avenue in Brooklyn. Remember in July of 1973 I packed up and moved to Ohio where I ended up engaged to Monica and working in the paint factory.

In December of 1973 I left Ohio by car (a 1964 Ford Galaxy 500) for NY- trunk in tow. But the car didn’t make it and I was forced to abandon it on the side of Route 80 in Ohio within sight of an Arco station. Not being able to hitch with the trunk I carried it over to the service station and asked the owner if I could leave it there for a bit, intending to send for it later. The owner gave his consent and I lugged it up a ladder to the attic/storage area and continued to the airport and a flight to NY.

I mentioned to my friend that I had left the trunk at a service station in Ohio alongside Route 80. And then I don’t think I thought about it again except in a passing- “Gee, I wish I had my trunk back” kind of way.

So here it is, almost 2 years later at 2:30 in the morning and my front door bell rings back at 2132 Ocean Avenue. At the door is my friend with a black steamer trunk on his back going “Ho Ho Ho Merry Christmas!” It was my trunk!

Inside we opened the trunk and I started going through all the things I had missed in the previous 2 years. And the big surprise was that not only was the tray in there- but my friend, who had given me the tray to begin with, had no idea it was in there!

Eventually I got the whole story- he had been driving back to NY from school at Ohio State in Antioch and along Route 80 found himself outside of Cleveland when he remembered that I had lived near there a couple of years back. And then he remembered that I had left a trunk at a service station somewhere alongside Route 80.

Looking up he saw the sign for an Arco station at the next exit and got off. He went in and asked the guy if he had ever stored a trunk for some tall, skinny guy with shoulder length hair. The reply was something like- “Yeah, and if he doesn’t come for it soon we’re throwing it out!” So he took it and drove through to Brooklyn and woke me up.

And that’s when he saw the tray!

We have pondered this little oddity between us over these many years. He didn’t know it was an Arco station- he didn’t know exactly where on Route 80 I had left it- and only a brief whim caused him to stop and check it out. Was it Bee Bee calling out to get the tray? Or just one of those odd coincidences that make life the joy it sometimes can be?

I don’t know- but I do still have the tray.
 

Diego Rivera - LIRING/3 - "The Glorious Victory" (1955) - Corrected

I feel it incumbent upon me to offer a correction to this post concerning Diego Garcia as LIRING/3 for the CIA in Mexico. It was not Mr. Garcia. Though I had double checked 2 separate sources, another private author and the Senate hearings, the actual LIRING/3 is an unnamed protege of Mr. Garcia's .

This is the usual "hall of mirrors" employed by the CIA to obfuscate and mislead researchers and law makers in their quest for information. Please except my apologies for the error of being blinded by the light of the reflections/deflections of the CIA. I should have triple checked this source more diligently. At best this was probably a way for them to discredit Mr. Garcia's lifelong quest for social justice.

At any rate, it is not a good reflection on my research into Mr. Garcia , of whom I am a longtime fan. The real LIRING/3 is last referenced in a CIA document from 2013, when he was still alive, still unnamed, and in his 80's. I am now trying to ascertain which Mexican artist is the real LIRING/3.

As Winston "Win" Scott, one of the most enigmatic agents of the CIA, and a "master of deceipt", said in his still unpublished memoirs, "It Came to Little", taken from a biblical passage, "He looked for much, and lo, it came to little....", I expect my search will yield just that.

The quote comes from the book of Haggai, 1:5 to 9, when  the Lord speaks to Haggai, a prophet, and says of the people, who have not yet began to build the temple, that though they live in paneled houses and harvest much to eat, they are not yet satisfied, for, "Give careful thought to your ways. You have planted much, but harvested little." Thus was, I believe a reference to the people not yet unraveling the mystery of JFK's assassination. I told you he was enigmatic.

My apologies again for the error of having been misled. I stand humbly corrected.

......................  

Most people wouldn't know it but Diego Rivera was also a link, through an unamed protege named LIRING3 in the Mexico City CIA division in the early 1960's. His story came to light in the late 1960's as the JFK assassination theories were gaining ground. But that's not the focus of this post; which concerns only Mr. River's oil on linen painting by from 1955. 

 It was inspired by the cup d'etat in 1954 in Guatemala. Rather than re-write it in my own words I'll just quote from the two best sites about the painting, which includes The CIA's Dullles brothers, Foster and Allen, center left and Eisenhower on the bomb. 

 Each year around this time I think about the assassination and it's aftermath, up through the 1979 House Committee hearings which sprang from the 1975 Church Committee hearings into the abuses of the CIA. The Guatemalan coup was one of the things covered, or should I say uncovered, in those hearings. 

 By 1979 the conclusion of those hearings was that a conspiracy of some sort, by either the Cubans, or our own Operation Mongoose, had been the operation which led to the assassination of our own President, just 7 weeks after we had killed the Diem brothers in Vietnam, which led to the Gulf of Tonkin incident and resolution in September of 1964.

 Rivera's name enters the picture with the Silvia Duran story. All of that aside, the story told by Rivera in this painting is a story unto itself. You can get into the LIRING/3 aspects on your own if you so chose. But the story of the painting, and the symbolism in it, is fascinating enough. At the end of each of the quotes I have provided the links from where these quotes can be found in a more fuller version. 

Here goes. This is the story of Diego Rivera's "The Glorious Victory." I hope you find this history of the painting as fascinating as I do. 

"The oil on linen paiting addresses the 1954 Guatemalan coup d'état that the CIA backed to overthrow the democratically elected Guatemalan president Jacobo Arbenz. In the center stands a dumbfounded US Secretary of State, John Foster Dulles, striking a deal with Guatemala's newly installed right-wing president, Castillo Armas. To their left is a missile held by Foster and bearing the face of the US president Dwight D. Eisenhower. Other American officials surround them, including Allen Dulles, CIA director, and John Peurifoy, US ambassador to Guatemala. 

The group is wedged between an armed rebellion on the right and the slave labor of banana plantations on the left. These three events that seem to happen impossibly at a single moment, collapsing years of violence and corruption into one massive event."

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glorious_Victory 

 And now from https://sites.psu.edu/arthistory/2017/01/30/glorious-victory/ which contains enlarged insets of the story. 

"On the left side of the mural, Rivera depicts the business of the United Fruit Company. Poorly clothed men carry bananas onto a ship destined for the United States. The onerous burden of the bananas symbolizes not only the physical baggage, but also the political baggage of the United Fruit Company’s presence in Guatemala. 

A stern looking military officer guards the proceedings, demonstrating how tightly intertwined politics and business were. While the left side of the fresco is a representation of subjugation, the right side is a representation of resistance. In this segment, a group of workers and farmers take arms to defend their elected government from the CIA coup. They brandish machetes and fight for the rights of their people, some of whom can be seen sitting in prison behind."

67!

 

Looks like I hit 67!
Never thought I'd be this old.
But my mind still works, I still have my quirks,
And my body isn't cold!

I think I've been extended!
Might see another year.
And if thats true, I'll look for you,
here again next year!

Written just 2 weeks before leaving Hospice after spending the entire summer in the hospital. I was 89 pounds upon release. Within weeks I had gained 50 pounds. 

The Eyes of an Owl

The eyes of an owl
Piercing and wise
Looking within you
Beyond your disguise

Theres no pretension
And never any guile
Within the piercing
Eyes of an owl.

They're green and they're sharp
They take all inside.
From the eyes of an owl
There's no place to hide.

Where do they come from?
These birds of prey
That swoop down and plunder
All things in their way.

With wings that can lift
And smiles that can scowl
Theres no place to hide
From the eyes of an owl.


September 16, 2021
Photo by Francois Bota

The Missing Moon

 

I haven't seen the moon in months,
I mourn its friendly light
I miss the beams and smiling rays
Of its loving sight.

The craters of its face were like
A friend I need to see
Could it be so, I would bring
Those craters back to me.

Its cold light warmed my heart and soul
And helped soothe me to sleep
The stars all paled to the warmth
Its smile always brought to me.

I cannot go outside to glimpse
The phase that it is in.
And to not know again its face 
Is likened to a sin.

To think that I once complained
Its light kept me from sleep
Makes me sad, now I'd be glad
That count again to keep.

The moon that sets the cycles
Of both space and time
I'd  welcome back, it makes me sad
To miss what once was mine.

Oh Moon how I have wronged thee
On nights when you were full
And even in your quarter states
The tides that you would pull.

I write these words at 3 AM
On a night I cannot sleep
For missing you is something that
I shamelessly do weep.


3 AM September 15th, 2021
Photo by Barry Bloom

 

The Oppressed and the Oppressors

I learned more as a child growing up in this building at 1310 Avenue R in Brooklyn than anywhere else since. As in this tale of the Oppressed and the Oppressors.

I lived in apartment 2H across from Mr.and Mrs. Gold; two Orthodox Jews who left Germany just in the nick of time. The rest of their respective families were not so lucky. They did not survive.

Down the hall from us both lived the building's Superintendent and his wife; Mr. And Mrs. John Bucholtz. What makes this even more remarkable is that he was an ex Nazi soldier who was captured and imprisoned in North Carolina. At the end of the war he was allowed to stay, and bought his wife over. He became Superintendent of 1310 Avenue R. in 1961 when the building was just completed.

Every year at Rosh Hashanah the building, with it's 7 floors and 72 apartments, was filled with the smells of all the holiday cooking. All Kosher, as most of the building, with few exceptions, was Jewish.

Mrs. Bucholtz was an excellent cook herself, but not being Jewish was not involved in the preparations for any of the holidays. This story concerns Rosh Hashanah when I was about 11 years old.

Mr. Gold was a wise man. He frequently took me on walks to the western side of Coney Island Avenue, which was heavily Orthodox. He did this for a reason. He would bring things, mostly envelopes containing cash, and point to a particular brick home and instruct me to ring the bell, hand the envelopes to whoever answered, and never divulge his name.

He explained to me that this was a Mitzvah, something his religion required him to perform. Charity without vanity if you will. At 9 years old this made no sense, but I enjoyed the walks, the talks, and of course the $1 he always gave me for my help. I now know better and should never have taken the money, but $1 back then went a long way at the candy store, where it invariably went.

These Mitzvah's continued until I turned 13. After my Bar Mitzvah the walks, talks and deliveries continued, but without recompense. As an adult it was now expected of me to help perform these deeds, which were not very difficult. Besides, if you knew Mr. Gold, it was a pleasure just to be with him, walking and talking.

Now, back to Rosh Hashanah 1965 when I was about 11. The mercurial nature of the Hebrew calendar and the shifting dates of the holidays, make it impossible for me to tell you if it was before or after my birthday, which is also in the fall.

Mrs. Bucholtz was driven that year, more than ever, to help Mrs.Gold with the holiday preparations for the Rosh Hashanah feast. But Mrs. Gold was rigidly Kosher. And so the wisdom of Mr. Gold entered the picture.

Taking Mrs. Gold aside he explained to her the torment that Mrs. Bucholtz endured from the exclusion she surely felt at each holiday of the year. He also explained that it was his duty, as a Jew, to relieve her suffering. What could Mrs. Gold do except to go along with her husband's plan?

He went down the hall and explained to Mrs. Bucholtz that, while she could not provide anything to help, she could use her hands as an instrument in helping Mrs. Gold in the kitchen. And so the miracle was performed. Cooked up might be a better way of saying it; pun intended.

And so it came to pass that Mrs. Bucholtz proudly entered the Gold's apartment, and Mrs. Gold's kitchen, the barrier to which was one that even Mr. Gold respected, and he performed what I now know to be a miracle Mitzvah.

Lovingly taking her by the hands, the twinkle in his eyes in direct contrast to the aphrehension in Mrs. Gold's eyes, he lead her to the sink and washed her hands with that red and blue Kosher soap, which was used for the meat or dairy dishes, and recited a blessing in Hebrew. He explained to both women that Mrs. Bucholtz' hands were now as Kosher as Mrs. Gold's kitchen, thus allowing her to assist in the preparation of the holiday meal.

And so it came to pass, that on the first night of Rosh Hashanah 1965, the Oppressed and the Oppressor, became one. And to a boy of 11 the miracle of forgiveness was imparted.

I Know I'll Never See You Anymore

                               

I can still see you there,
you're standing by the door,
wearing your red kerchief and your coat.

And though I think I see your face
so clearly in my mind,
I know I'll never see you anymore.

I can still hear your voice,
it's ringing in my head.
I can hear the words to every song.

And though I think I hear your voice,
so clearly in my mind,
I know I'll never hear it anymore.

Time's the perfect bandit,
it will steal your heart away.
It's robbed me just a little at a time.

And just when you think
that you've got nothing left,
She's taken everything you once called "mine".

 Written in 2009 or earlier.
Before I got the slides back.

For Grandpa

An unseen photograph,

a trip back through time.

You wonder who that fellow was?

He was one of mine.

The stories that he could have told.

Of what he'd been and done,

all have now been lost forever.

Never told; just gone.

There's a sadness in his eyes

that cannot be explained.

It's as if he's seen too much

of life, of death, of pain.

And though I've never met the man,

I see some of him in me.

But that thought is just subjective;

we see what we want to see.....

May 10, 2020

Photo of Grandpa Wm. S. Williams

1919 Seamans Certification photo.

Courtesy of Cousin Patsy Williams.

"Rosebushes Under the Trees" - Gustav Klimdt (1905)

Nora Stiasny was a Norwegian woman living in Austria in 1938 when she was forced to sell this Gustav Klimdt painting "Rose Bushes Under the Trees" (1905) for a pittance of its worth in order to survive the high inflation. Within 2 years she was in a concentration camp where she later died.

The painting wound up in the vast collection of art looted by the Nazis'. In 1980 the State of France bought the painting from it's legal owner and it has been at the Musee d'Orsay in Paris for the enjoyment of all. They had no idea of the paintings history, according to the release.

Yesterday the Musee announced that the painting will be returned to the family of the rightful owner, the heirs of Nora Stiasny.  I'm hoping the family will allow the Musee D'orsay to continue to house and display this treasure for them. And perhaps add a history of the paintings adventure along with a thanks to the family for allowing it to remain....

This painting should not be confused with that of Adele Bloch-bauer, "The Lady in Gold", another Klimdt canvas to be stolen during the early days of the war. Helen Mirren starred in the film about that painting.

The USS Princeton

I have this knack for reading a book about something and having a pivotal event taking place on the same date as I am reading. Take today as an example. I'm reading about President Tyler's administration when February 28th pops up. It is really one single event, but when you scratch the surface you uncover some history, the Annexation of Texas, and a love story.

On February 28, 1844 the USS Princeton was on the Potomac River for a pleasure cruise and demonstration of a new type of gun, capable of hurling a twelve inch 225 pound shell 5 miles with a charge of 50 pounds. What follows is a recap of the events.

The ship was the USS Princeton, Capt. Stockton commanding. The ship was designed with 12 small cannon and a new weapon, made in England, named the "Oregon". Captain Stockton wanted another gun just like it and commissioned the construction of a replica, named the "Peacemaker" in NYC using older techniques of forging. This led to the guns explosion after about 3 rounds.

 

The explosion took place just abeam of Mount Vernon and was meant as a salute to George Washington. That blast killed Secretary of State Abel P. Upshur, Secretary of the Navy Thomas Walker Gilmer, and four other high-ranking federal officials. The disaster on board the Princeton killed more top U.S. government officials in a single day than any other tragedy in American history.

President John Tyler, who was aboard but below decks, was not injured. Had he not gone below deck to hear a  musical entertainment, he too would have been killed. Since he had no VP at the time, this would have resulted in the Senate choosing a President under the existing Article in place at the time.

To succeed Gilmer as Secretary of the Navy, Tyler appointed John Y. Mason, another Virginian. Secretary of State Upshur was about to win Senate approval of a treaty annexing Texas when he died. Under his replacement, John C. Calhoun, annexation was deliberately delayed, so as became an issue in the presidential election of 1844. So much for the history. On to the love story....

Julia Gardiner, who was below deck on the Princeton when her father David died in the Peacemaker explosion, became First Lady of the United States four months later. She had turned President Tyler's marriage proposal down over a year earlier in 1842, though sometime in 1843 they agreed that they would marry, but set no date.

The President had lost his first wife in September 1842, and at the time of the explosion he was almost 54. Julia was barely 24. She later wrote that her father's death changed her feelings for the President. "After I lost my father I felt differently toward the President. He seemed to fill the place and to be more agreeable in every way than any younger man ever was or could be."

Because he had been widowed less than two years and her father had died so recently, they married in the presence of just a few family members in New York City on June 26, 1844. A public announcement followed. They had seven children together before President Tyler died in 1862, and Julia, despite her relative youth and beauty, never remarried. It was not for want of hopeful suitors.

In 1888,  Nellie Bly quoted Julia Gardner Tyler as saying that at the moment of the Peacemaker explosion, "I fainted and did not revive until someone was carrying me off the boat, and I struggled so that I almost knocked us both off the gangplank". She said she only later learned that President Tyler was that man.

PS Julia Gardner Tyler was the 2nd youngest First Lady. The youngest was Frances Clevland who was just 21 when she married Grover Clevland in the Blue Room of the White House in 1886.

There is another unusual l love story there, as Frances was his friends daughter, and when her father died Clevland became her unofficial guardian. She was about 8 years old. In effect, 13 years later, he was marrying his de facto daughter.......

It's Not How, It's Who

The friends who used to play with me
Sometimes write and ask of me,
"Robert, my old friend, how are you?"

I always have the same reply,
And with a twinkle in my eye,
I smile and say, "Not how, my friend, but who."

For I lie abed in many forms,
Some well known, but all well worn.
Characters from books; both old and new.

And, like the lad in "Counterpane",
armies lain before me, in a game;
I always win when there are less than two.

I draw upon books I may have read;
and then tell stories in my head.
I make myself the hero; wouldn't you?

When the game is up I'm out of bed.
But the stories remain inside my head,
and next day I'll live them all again, re-newed.

"The Quare Fellow" - 1962

This is the story of a newly minted prison guard in Ireland, 1962, on death row duty and the story of how it affects him. Taken from the Irish play by Brendan Behan, the film is a convincing argument for both sides of the issue raised, yet still leaves room for the viewer to question both beliefs. Behan does this by making the focus of this play about the effects on the people involved, rather than the issue itself. It is the same technique which he employed brilliantly in his 1958 play, "The Hostage". 

I saw this performed in repertoire in NYC in the early 1980's. Even today it would not be too difficult to find it still playing somewhere, as it has been translated into about 22 languages. The ballad is sung by none other than Kathleen O'Connor. Not withstanding any changes in the adaptation to the screen, this is an excellent film, summed up in this exchange between the newly hired guard and his supervisor, a 22 year veteran of hangings on Death Row;  

"If you feel as you do about the job Sir, then why do you stay?" 

 "It's a soft job between hangings." 

 You might say that the older man, who is Catholic, has come to question the validity of the job he was hired to do all those years ago. Only the innocence, and presence, of the new guard allows the older man to give voice to his long pent up feelings about the job he has been doing for years.