Uncle Irving Meets Bob Dylan

It’s Friday, the day which always brought Uncle Irving; Uncle “I” to me and my brother; to our house. Although I think of him every day, there is still something special about Fridays. This story takes place on one of those days and one of his weekly visits, which are still among my most cherished of memories. I truly loved that man.

The intersection of Uncle Irving and Bob Dylan occurred while I was doing my homework at the round kitchen table and listening to WMCA 560 AM. They played a “double header”, or whatever they called it when they played 2 songs in a row without a commercial break. The 2 songs in this story were both on the charts at about the same time in 1965 and, together, they showcase the diversity in popular music as it was being created at the time, as well as the cultural divide which existed between the younger and older generations.

I was working some multiplication and Uncle “I” was thumbing through the evening’s New York Post; he would lick his finger for traction before turning the page. The radio was doing its job, wailing out Bob Dylan’s nasal rendition of his hit single “Positively 4^th Street”, with its deep and meaningful lyrics. For example;

“No, I do not feel that good when I see the heartbreaks you embrace

 If I was a master thief perhaps I'd rob them

 And now I know you're dissatisfied with your position and your place

 Don't you understand, it's not my problem.”

So, that song ends and the deejay piggybacks that song with the Turtles doing “Happy Together”, which go something like this;

“Me and you and you and me

 No matter how they toss the dice, it has to be

 The only one for me is you, and you for me

 So happy together.

 Ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba

 Ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba.”

Well, the first song ends and the Turtles are midway through their song when Uncle “I” looks up from the paper and says, “So, they still write a few good songs nowadays!” I swear, there was triumph in his voice and tears of mirth in my eyes. No doubt about it, I really loved that man.

Note: The photo above was taken by my Mom in 1941. She was 12 years old at the time. Irving was already 46 years of age. By the time I was born he was old enough to be retired- but he worked until the day he died when he was about 81 years old.

My Father's Army Wallet

My father was a towering figure to me when I was a small fry. My perception of him changed over the years as I grew older; circumstances and reality ultimately prevailing. But when I was about 5 years old this pigskin wallet; which my father carried for 3 years while serving out his time at Fort Dix during the Korean War waiting for a Hardship Discharge; was to me the epitome of manhood. It was kept in his dresser drawer. As far as I was concerned, if only I could be a grown man and have a wallet like that I would never want for anything else in the way of self-esteem. The wallet was always promised to me. It was to be mine “when I grew up.”

So, when my father passed away in December of 2001 I came into possession of this treasured and revered shrine. I received it by mail from my father’s second wife; he remarried after my mother’s death in 1984. She was a loving companion to him for 16 years until he passed away, and I appreciated the gesture honoring this age old pact concerning the wallet.

Some things never live up to the memories attached thereof; but not so with this wallet. Rather, it contained all that I had remembered; plus some unexpected surprises, all of which left me even more confused than I already was about my relationship with my father; which, to say the least, was strained. In fact we had not spoken for almost a decade before he died. We never made that transition and put the past behind us. Neither one of us was capable of taking the first step towards reconciliation, I suppose, but that’s the truth. And that lack of a reconciliation made this wallet even more important. It serves as the only real "link" to my father.

Now, holding the wallet in my hand for the first time in over 40 years; since 1969 give or take; I opened the shrine and relived the excitement of being a child again, looking into my father’s world. The problem was, now I was older than he was when he had promised the wallet to me. Maybe this was going to be anti-climactic as the wallet had been in his dresser drawer for decades since I’d last seen it. So, I thought,what could be new?

Apparently; along with all of the things I remembered as having been in the wallet; my father had been adding stuff to it since I’d seen it last. I remember the Reserve ID card; I now even have one myself; and the crucifix and the penny were always like Sacred Relics to me. The crucifix comes from the Shrine of the Little Flower in Oak Park, Michigan. It was a gift to my father from his older brother Roy, who had served in the Navy during the Second World War. He used to go around the country while on leave, visiting all of the Catholic Shrines. The penny; dated 1950, the year in which my parents were wed; is the one my Mom carried in her shoe on their wedding day. I know this story to be true because I used to hold it in my hand and ask her about it. I never got tired of hearing that story.  

There are other things in the wallet which I remember well; the draft status cards, which run from 5-A to 3-R. The first indicates that he was eligible to be called for Korea, while the second one shows he is no longer available. There were also a few things which my Dad had added to the wallet; things which I found puzzling; given the nature of our non-relationship.

The first was an old Buffalo nickel with his birth year on it; 1931. I’d sent that to him in 1981 for his 50^th birthday. At the time I was already out of the Navy and working for Military Sealift Command. We were so polarized that I never even stayed with my parents when in New York; about once or twice a year. Instead I stayed with my friends Mark and Lois in Belle Harbor. But yet I still sent the old man a birthday gift; one which he obviously treasured, though he never said a word to me about it. I had even wondered if he ever received it; but never asked. Finding that nickel was quite a surprise for me; did he keep it because I’d sent it? Or was it simply because it was a nickel? 

But the real showstopper was this letter; the contents of which were not extraordinary in any way; I had written many letters home which far outdid this one. It was one of the few not addressed to my Mom and maybe that’s why he kept it. I’ll never know. We hadn’t spoken to one another in a civil manner for years before we finally broke off contact altogether in the early 1990’s. The one exception was when he called to tell me that Nana; my grandmother; had passed away. He said he was calling out of obligation. I thanked him and we hung up. I never saw or spoke to him again after that.

Time is a funny thing. Sometimes we forgive; and maybe even forget. I don’t know whether or not I will ever reach that point in connection with my relationship to my father. It’s simply too complicated. Besides, he’s gone and the conversation would be kind of one sided. But I have to believe he must have liked something about me. Or else why would he have carried that letter?

Baltimore Police Van - 1986

This is an excerpt from “It’s Only Me”, a memoir I wrote back in 2009. It concerns my time in ta Police Van in Baltimore. With that subject being so much in the news this past week I thought I would share my own experience with the subject.

To begin with I had no idea what "minimum wage" was. It had been awhile since I made $2.50 an hour in the paint factory, and being a Merchant Marine had spoiled me in that regard. It was now 11 years later and the minimum wage was only $3.35 per hour! So I started at a Royal Farms Convenience Store as a clerk, working nights and waiting for a better job to rear its head. It took 5 days.

The donut delivery guy came every evening at 7PM and the donuts were fresh. They were made at Donut Delite on the site of the present day Camden Yard Stadium in Baltimore. We were horizontal to Babe Ruth's birthplace. Nearby was where the circus train unloaded the elephants each year and I would re-arrange my whole day to go and see them walk to the Arena.

Anyway, back to the donut guy. He was paying $5 an hour for a 6 hour day which beat what I was making in 8 hours. So I got hired on and assigned to a route that took me through 3 counties. It was at this job that I learned all the back roads of the adjacent counties. I had a lot of freedom and all the donuts I could eat. It was 7 days a week with no holidays off.

Donnie Laws was the boss. He owned several routes and had vans for each one. They were specially fitted with racks for the donut trays to slide in and out easily. My job was to deliver the fresh donuts and remove the "day olds." Everything was done by Invoice, so we carried no cash.

Each day at 2 PM I would load up at Donut Delite and head out for my deliveries. Donnie was the type of guy who would think nothing of sending you out in a truck with no gas and a broken gas gauge. This was a constant source of irritation. Well; that and the fact that he constantly referred to me as "that New York Jew boy" behind my back.

At the end of each day I would return the "day old" donuts to a trash bin located outside Donut Delite and across Martin Luther King Blvd. from the "projects." The kids who lived there had drug addicted parents and didn't get much in the way of treats. So each evening when I returned there was a crowd of kids waiting to ask for some of the "day olds." I would always give some away and throw the damaged ones in the trash bin. This bin would get picked up every two days and transported to the rail yard where it was shipped out to somewhere as "hog feed." When Donnie would catch me giving donuts away he would climb up on the dumpster and piss all over everything so that the kids would not get any treats. This was yet another sore point between us.

I was paid each Friday with a personal check- I was collecting Unemployment out of New York at the time. One Friday I was forewarned by another driver that Donnie was going to lay me off the following week on Wednesday. His brother in law needed the job. Then he was going to stiff me for the 3 days pay, knowing that I couldn't file a complaint due to the Unemployment issue. He was right about that, but there are other ways to skin a cat.

Taking his check over to his bank I cashed it. Getting back in the van I thought to myself, "How can I hurt this guy?" Inspiration came in a flash as I realized that I had about $1,500 worth of fresh donuts. And I was now also one day AHEAD in pay. Driving around in the city a bit I noticed that there were a lot of people sitting out on porches after the long winter had finally broken. It was now late April.

I pulled the truck up on a street that ran adjacent to North Avenue, in one of the poorer areas of the city. Stepping out into the early spring sun I shouted out, "Donuts, free donuts, fresh and warm!"

It was like a scene out of one of those jungle movies where the natives swamp the plane with arms outstretched for food. The trays were flying out faster than I could count and people were shoving bills in my hand, although I had not asked for any money!

Within minutes the van was stripped bare of donuts and I had to jump back in and race off. The rear doors were swinging wildly to shouts of, "Jack it up- get the wheels!"

I now had about $60 and 2 trays of donuts that I had stashed up front. I took these to Keiths Cub Scout Troop which was meeting nearby at the Harborplace that day. I was a hero to the kids as I handed out the donuts. I then parked the truck outside Donnie’s as usual, placing the keys in his mailbox and got in my car and drove home.

The next morning the phone rang and it was Donnie. He wanted to know where the donuts were. I feigned ignorance and then he let fly with what a donut stealing Jew boy I was and how he was gonna get me. I told him that I had no idea what he was talking about and not to call me anymore. I hung up, thinking that was the end of it. Sometimes you can be so wrong...

2 weeks later, on Mother’s day, I was out front washing the car when a police car passed up and then down the street in front of our house. This was very unusual and should have clued me in, but it didn't.

Stepping out of the patrol car I was approached by an officer who asked me if I was "Bob" Williams. This should also have clued me in as everyone ashore called me Robert. But I answered yes and then was asked to step away from my vehicle. This guy was going to cuff me for something but I had no idea what! He explained that Donnie had filed a complaint and though the warrant was not in the officer’s possession he had the right to detain me while the warrant was delivered. I was able to talk him out of doing the handcuffs in front of the neighbors and kids and then got in the back of the car and was taken away. Around the corner he stopped and handcuffed me.

We arrived at the local county station house to await the warrant. I was placed in a common holding area which had 6 bunks and 7 inmates- my addition bought the total to 8. There was a phone, which I was not allowed to use, on the wall just outside of the cell. It was very strange being locked up but I knew that things would work out. It was really a question of how long I was going to be here. To make it worse, I was scheduled to start working on a horse farm in Elkridge the next morning at 8 AM. So I was a little worried about making it there on time. It was now 7 PM on Sunday.

I was the only white prisoner and thinking of the movie "Hard Times" with Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor; particularly the "I'm bad" scene. Just then the biggest black guy in there comes up to me and asks, "What'd you do?" I replied that I had stolen some donuts. This produced some laughter and a scornful "We got us a creampuff motherfucker!" There were now some suggestions being tossed about concerning what could be done with a creampuff when the oldest guy in there, who had been snoozing on heroin, came to life. He explained that "The white boy ain't no fool- them donuts be worth duckies!" Then he went back to sleep.

The dynamics immediately changed with everyone wanting to know how the donut thing worked and could they get in on it? I explained that Donnie went to the Royal Farms store on Security Blvd and Forest Park Drive every night at 7 PM. I also added that he carried a lot of cash. You can imagine my joy when 3 weeks later Donnie was beaten and robbed at that location by a "big black guy."

Now that we were all friends they showed me how to use the phone. I had been calling out "Guard, Guard" and alternating that with "Officer, Officer" to no avail. The big black guy started to laugh and said, "Man, you new to this- you gotta do this to get the phone." He took his shoe of and started beating it against the wall while shouting "MOTHERFUCKER!!!" loudly over and over. This bought several guards. My new friend told the guard that "White bread needs to use the phone." The receiver was passed through the bars to me and the guard dialed O for Operator, instructing me to leave the receiver dangling when I was through. Prison Etiquette 101.

I called Sue, who was very upset, and explained that I would undoubtedly be late that night so don't wait up. I would call her when I knew something.

Shortly after this call the Warrant arrived and I was transported, again in handcuffs, to a Paddy Wagon and driven down to Baltimore City and the Southwest Precinct. This was a very old jail on Ostend Street which has since been razed. I was placed in a private cell next door to the only other prisoner that day- a drunk who had been urinating in public- at Harborplace on Mother’s Day- in full view of everyone there. He had been arrested by a female officer and was highly intoxicated and pissed off. So it was going to be a lonely night.

Around 1 AM on Monday morning I heard the cell block gate open and someone was at the cell next to mine asking the drunk some questions. He began by introducing himself as the "Pretrial Release Officer." I could tell by his voice that he was black and educated. He began asking the other prisoner questions, like his name and contact info. For every question asked he received a scathing racist reply. For instance, to the question "What is your address?" he replied, "I ain't telling nothing to no nigger so he can go up my house and rob it." The Pretrial Release Officer went from question to question without pause and never reacted to the abuse being heaped upon him.

When he came to my cell I was on my feet, and  at attention. I answered everything with "Yes, sir." This really surprised him and he started to leaf through my charging documents. He looked at me and asked for some contact info. I gave him Sue's number and address and told him he could also call Military Sealift Command in Bayonne, New Jersey to verify my identity. Although I was no longer an employee my security clearance was valid for 2 more years and I figured it couldn't hurt. He was impressed with my bearing as well as my response. He told me that the warrant should never have been issued as it didn't satisfy the “who, what, when, where and why” required by the law. He could not dismiss the Warrant but could get me out without bail if my responses were all correct and could be verified at this hour. He left promising to return shortly.

About an hour later he came back with a guard and my cell was unlocked. I was taken to the Magistrates Office where I was told that I had been unjustly confined but that I still needed to go to trial. Advising me to seek counsel I was then released at 3 AM.

For the full chapter hit this link;

http://robertwilliamsofbrooklyn.blogspot.com/2009/10/its-only-me-chapter-27-kids-and-jobs.html

"Lucky"

In the last few years of my mother’s life she began to write. She even took a creative writing class which resulted in her submitting stories to several publications, including the Jewish Daily Forward. I have re-printed one of her stories here before. But I never recall her writing about “Lucky”, the inaptly named pet duck she had when she was about 6 years old. I used to love hearing the story as it reminded me so much of the tumult in “You Can’t Take It With You”, the Kaufman-Hart play which was turned into a classic movie starring Lionel Barrymore. My mother’s home was just like that.

My mother was raised by her mother and a woman named Mary, a delightful Irish lady who worked as their maid and nanny. She became part of the family, with my grandmother and Mary living together even after Mary married and had children of her own. Added to this mélange were my Great Grandfather Max Henkin, from Russia, and his son, my Grand Uncle Irving.

My grandmother had caught her own husband with one of his lingerie models, flagrante delecto, at the time she was pregnant with my Mom, and so, she divorced my grandfather and became a single mother. This was in 1929 and very unusual for the times. She worked, though she didn’t need to, and the care of the children; my mother Ruth and her brother, my Uncle Walter; was largely left to Mary.

I’m a bit unclear as to how “Lucky” got into the picture. I seem to remember part of the story involving Miller’s Meats on Kings Highway, and he may have come from there. Anyway, “Lucky” ended up taking up residence in the bathtub of apartment 3-C at 3619 Bedford Avenue, on the corner of Kings Highway in Brooklyn, quickly becoming my mother's pet. If you live there now this may be of interest to you.

“Lucky” seemed very content with this arrangement, though again, on this point I am unsure just how long the arrangement lasted before disaster set in. In this case the disaster was initiated by my Uncle Irving, who had a desire to take a bath. This was not at all unusual for Uncle “I”, as he was a fastidious person in all aspects of his living.

Reaching past the shower curtain, he started the warm flow of water, waited a few moments and then stepped behind the curtain. That’s when he screamed. It was, reportedly, a scream of epic proportions, echoing throughout the apartment, sailing from the windows into the courtyard and throughout the neighborhood. It came very close to being the "scream heard ‘round the world."

“Lucky”, initially happy to have company in what he perceived to be a spring shower, reacted to the scream by nipping at my Uncle’s legs while flapping his wings and quacking. The quacking and flapping soon ceased, and although it is unclear just who wrung “Lucky’s” neck, wrung it was, and the quacking ceased.

My mom was downstairs playing at the time and, with no foreknowledge of the incident, returned home in time for supper, ready to eat. Mary was finished cooking and my Grandmother had just laid the table when my mother arrived. The family sat down to dinner and my mother started in with relish, as she had been out all afternoon. She had just swallowed her first bite of dinner when Uncle Walter asked her if she was “feeling lucky tonight?” My mother had no idea what he meant by this question and went on eating.

That’s when Uncle “I” spilled the beans. Gently, he asked my mother how she liked the taste of duck. My mother stopped eating, and for the first time noticed that the whole table was staring at her. Quickly she put two and two together, and then, running from the table she entered the bathroom, with it’s now dry, and empty, bathtub. “Where’s ‘Lucky’?” she asked in all innocence. “You just ate her”, came the amused reply from her brother.

Sobbing hysterically, and feeling very much betrayed, she ran to her room, where she remained for the rest of the evening, not to be seen again until breakfast. There is no moral here, no lesson to be learned. Not many people keep ducks in their bathtubs nowadays anyhow. It’s just a warm memory of my mother telling me a story while she was preparing dinner one night. Although the story sounds a bit cruel, it apparently left no emotional scars on her. How do I know this? She told me the story while preparing dinner. We were having duck that night.

Aunt Gloria

This is not a picture of Aunt Gloria today. It was taken a few years ago, when she was younger. I’m 60, so she was 15 when I was newly minted and 18 when I first became fully aware of anything. So, my first recollection of her goes only as far back as this photo and the fishing trip to Sheepshead Bay. That was in 1957 when I was 3. I look different, but Gloria still looks and sounds the same to me.

In my mind we took a car; probably stolen; to the Bay. We parked and walked out on one of the piers to fish. My brother wouldn't; or perhaps couldn't; bait his hook. He was almost 2 years older than me and already setting a poor example of the role an older brother should play in the development of his younger sibling. No matter; Aunt Gloria was up to the task of assuming the role of big brother if necessary. She was different than my other Aunts. You always felt safe with Gloria, never threatened. She always had something funny to say; even at funerals. Wait; make that especially at funerals.

Anyway, on this day in Sheepshead Bay, she picked a nice long wiggling bloody worm from a Chinese food container; which is how bait was sold back then; and then swung it before my brother’s face, making him squirm like a worm, and making me laugh like a hyena. Then, after traumatizing him for life, she plunged the hook gleefully into the worm, hitting it mid-section and causing the little fellow to double over. Then she cast the line into the Bay and in short order we hooked a baby carriage, a boot, and finally a huge horse shoe crab. Eventually we did catch some fish; or maybe bought them; to take home.

This is one of my earliest memories of going anywhere without my parents. There would be other outings and adventures. There were Telephone Company ball games; both Gloria and my other Aunt Gladys both worked for Bell; there were days and nights in a bungalow at Breezy Point; movies and just a lot of fun whenever she was around. My Mom was always ill and for 2 summers in the mid 1960’s she and her husband Bobby were like a refuge for me.

So, all my memories of Gloria are all fun memories. And that’s why I don’t really see her as having gotten any older through the years. She’s like her own force of nature. Hell, she won’t even see this until she gets back from the cruise she’s on. She’s always on cruises and has probably logged more miles in the Caribbean than I have in all my travels around the world. She still swims every day, although hopefully that will not be necessary on this cruise.

So, this is my big Happy Birthday to Gloria, who is young at heart and still my favorite Aunt; in spite of the fact that her getting older has aged me…

For a link to the story of Bobby and Gloria's Halloween cruise in 2009 hit this link;

http://robertwilliamsofbrooklyn.blogspot.com/2009/11/fork-and-spoon.html

Old Slides #2 - Learning How to Fly (1957)

Most photos have a “back story” to them; where and when the photo was taken being the least important of the details. What happened just before the shutter clicked can be very revealing in some cases. And that’s what makes the photograph above, which is one of a series taken on Veteran’s day 1957, so unusual. There is none.

As I sift through the old family photos I can find very few where there is not something else that has just occurred which mars the memory a bit. Behind most of the smiling faces there was either a very recent scolding, argument or some other stupid and unnecessary problem. No one is really to blame for that; it’s just the dynamics of an ordinary family living and growing; together or apart.

But, let’s get back to this photograph which was taken over 57 years ago. This one is of me and my Dad. I’m the little guy holding the string. He’s the big guy showing me how to fly the kite. It was one of those big paper kites; bright red and with a tail made of rags. We were at Riis Park; for some reason we were always at Riis Park; winter or summer. I’m not complaining; I loved the place!

Riis Park was named after Jacob Riis, the famous campaigner for decent housing and social reform. His photographs of the Lower East Side at the turn of the 20^th Century are iconic. He championed airways in the tenements and windows in every room. It was only fitting that a bright, sunny, public beach be named for him.

Once again; back to this photograph. In the years after this was taken; remember I said that every picture has a “back story”? Well, this one really has more of a “front story”, as it was taken less than 2 years before my mother began a long illness, which permeated my entire childhood. I didn't really mind, I just always hoped that she would get better; but she never did.

So, this photo is one of the rare ones in which my Dad is smiling and really means it. Life was good. He had just been through the only job “layoff” he would ever know, and also had pneumonia, one of the only times I had ever seen him ill. The other time was when he gave up smoking in 1962 or ’63 after the Surgeon General’s first warning about cigarettes causing cancer. He didn't even wait until the warning was on the pack. He just stopped. And was very ill; throwing up and bedridden for several days. It was cold turkey, just like heroin withdrawal. He may have lapsed once or twice in the first few years after, but never went back to smoking full time again. Instead he discovered M&M’s.

We would go grocery shopping on Thursday nights when my mother wasn't in the hospital; and my Dad would buy a box of Peanut Chews, or a 1 pound bag of M&M's, which we would eat before getting home.When my Mom was in the hospital, either my brother or I would pick up what was necessary ourselves. We used a pull along type folding “shopping cart” to wheel the groceries home. My brother was not fond of this chore; I think he found it embarrassing for some reason; so I was usually the one “bringing home the bacon.”

So, this is a picture of my father before all the bad times began. It’s also part of a set of 14 photographs taken that day. My Dad’s teaching me how to fly a kite, a skill which I have passed on to my daughter and 2 of my granddaughters. And whenever I look at this photo I remember what it was like to have my parents and my brother, before all the bad times began.

Father's Day

This beautiful cactus was given to me by my daughter Sarah for Father’s day. It bloomed just in time. And it will keep on doing that for years to come. She was moving this weekend; the first time that she has lived in a different city than Sue and I; and so I will not see her until next weekend. Our other two sons, Keith and Shane, live in New York and Texas; respectively; and though we have gotten used to that, we miss seeing more of our grandkids.

The cactus is an important link between Sarah and I. She was vacationing with friends, years ago, as a kid, on the Outer Banks, where she dug some sand cactus up to bring home to me. Nobody, not even I, thought that it would survive the winter weather inland. Well, it did, and has split into a couple of groups, traveling from house to house with Sue and I over the years. Each year, around this time, they too, give me beautiful blooms. It makes me think about the doubters out there, myself included, who didn’t think the plant would survive.

Another, very special gift is the Red Robin Beanie Babie pictured below, nestled with the other 2 gifts. That was a present I gave Sarah when she was sick about 14 years ago. She had scores of them, most of which are housed in my garage. She only took a few when she married and moved out. But, she took the Robin, which always made me feel extra special.  Now that she will be living so far away (a bit more than 2 hours – or, the other end of the earth) she has returned it to me, and I will keep it close at hand as a way of feeling close to her.

Being a father is tough, but being my kid was probably tougher in many ways. It’s hard to grow up, and it’s hard to grow old. There’s no winning the war against time. It merely marches on past us, leaving us in its wake. No matter; I will always have this Robin to remind me of the daughter who learned to fly. And that  trumps any sense of loss I will ever feel.

The Girls are Back in Town.

As you can see, our two eldest granddaughters; Aliyah, 7 and Trinity, 5; have arrived from Texas with our son Shane, for a visit. They’ll be here for a few days and then they'll be off to Maryland for the Pensinger Family Reunion. Then it's back here for a few days before heading home.

Our daughter Sarah will be taking them to the National Whitewater Center here in Charlotte tomorrow. I think they’re going rock climbing…. And, of course, Sue and I have a few things planned with them as well. They're staying with us, so we get first dibs. It's really great to see them again.  Grandkids; if you haven't got any yet;  you should get some. They'll make you feel young again.

Mother's Day

It's time, once again, to pay our respects to Mother's everywhere. From Bristol Palin to Clay Aiken; no matter what your gender; if you are playing the role of mother to a child, you are holding/molding the future for the rest of us. Whether you are a "traditional" stay at home mom; or a single working mom; you walk a fine line everyday in the choices you make for your children's futures. The rest of us; those who have past that stage of life; can only stand by, wishing you well, and providing support where necessary. The rest is all on you.

Of course, I had a great Mom; except for when I was about 15-18 years old. Cultural changes were tearing many families apart, and mine was no exception. But, as I got older, she got wiser, and so we reached a point where we were both comfortable with one another. We had stopped expecting the other to be what we expected one another to be. We accepted one another for who we were. It wasn't easy for either of us to get there, but we did.

Anyway, this is just a Mother's Day rambling from a guy whose Mom passed away in 1984. If you got one that's still around, treat her well. You only get one; ever. So, of course, a very Happy Mother's Day to my own mom, Ruth Marcus Williams. I've heard it said that so long as someone still speaks your name, you will live forever. I still hear echoes of you every day.....

Happy Valentine's Day - and a Birthday, too!

Happy Valentine's Day to my wife of 24 years, Sue. Without her I would walk into walls, sleep in theaters, and sometimes find myself face down in my dinner. Well, maybe I still do, but not quite as often as I would without her in my life. We still annoy one another in small ways, as most married couples do, but we also still enjoy one another. And that is the secret of being in love.

We had a rough beginning, and probably didn't get it right for the first few years, maybe we still don't. But we have always clung to one another on this rocky ride we all call life. We have had a daughter together, raised two sons, and lived to tell the tale. And that's no small feat! So, Happy Valentine's Day, Sue, you will always be my partner in life, even if I am a grouch...

And that brings me to my daughter, Sarah. Here I am, holding her at about 3AM in the morning on Valentine's Day 1987, which just so happens to be her birthday. We tend to do things around holiday times. We were married on the Fourth of July, had Sarah on Valentine's Day, and she got married on Halloween. Go figure... But she has bought much joy into our lives, and so I just wanted to wish her a Happy 24th birthday. As I told her last night, "May you never lose direction, and all your horizons lay just beyond your reach. In that way you will always strive to be more." We now return to our regular broadcast.

Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. I mean it. This has been a rough year for so many people as the economy continues to shrink, wars rage and the conflicts of the world continue to divide us all. And that's not counting all the victims of the earthquakes, hurricanes, volcanoes, floods and famines.

I hope that whoever you are, and wherever you may be today, that you will truly take a moment to reflect on the things in our lives that really count. Being thankful for your family, friends and the blessings of a safe and warm place to sleep, with something to eat when you wake up, would be a good place to begin...

Happy Birthday Favorite Aunt Gloria

Today is my favorite Aunt Gloria's birthday. If age is defined in years, then youth must be defined in the joy of living. And that makes Aunt Gloria one of the youngest people I know! She has always been around, providing the laughter when everyone else is crying. Smiling, while everyone else is busy being blue. She helped me put the first worm on my fishing hook when I was 3 years old. That's her in the photo, standing tall, leading the pack of excited kids on their way to catch Moby Dick. I'm the little guy in front, with my hands in my pockets. Happy Birthday Aunt Gloria, and many more to come. With love from one of your favorite nephews.

Happy Birthday Uncle "I"

This is my great Uncle Irving's 115th birthday. We called him Uncle "I" because it was easier than saying Irving when we were so small. But as we got older we took a secret delight in calling him Uncle "I" simply because it sounded like we were saying Uncle "Lie", in deference to some of the tall tales he told.

Irving lived alone in the "city", which meant Manhattan. He also lived in a hotel! This was so strange to me that it was almost shocking. He had lived with my Grandmother Dorothy (his sister) and their father, Max, along with my parents, until they got a place of their own. When Dorothy moved to California after Max passed away, Irving was left with no place to go. So he got a room in a hotel and lived that way for the next 25 years or so, until he passed away. It wasn't until years later, when I was bouncing around the world and staying in a lot of hotels myself, wishing that I were somewhere else, did I come to realize the singular loneliness of Uncle I's existence. He was kind of like a prisoner in a prison with no bars. He could roam at will, all over the city, but where did he will to roam?

Anyone who knows me, knows of Uncle "I". Some of my oldest friends actually knew him. He was 68 years old in this photo, which was taken at Idewild (later JFK) Airport in October 1963. In the original photo he is holding both my brother and I. I was 9 at the time. Uncle "I" colored every aspect of my life as a kid. I couldn't wait for him to come over every Friday night. I would pepper him with questions about the old days, and he would regale me with stories, some of which were true, about his youth on the Lower East Side, his exceptional athletic achievements and his wit and cunning in the Garment Industry.

And every Friday night would end the same way. We would walk together on Avenue R to East 16th Street and then to the Quentin Rd. entrance of the Kings Highway Station, where he would catch the BMT back to Manhattan and his little hotel room. Then he would belong to the rest of the world for another week. But each Friday, he always came back, and I was always waiting. Happy Birthday Uncle Irving...and thanks for everything you gave, asking nothing in return.

A Childs' Perspective by Sarah Hoffman

My wife, Sue, sent out an e-mail asking for responses about Great Grandma Deamer. This is the response from my daughter Sarah, encompassing her entire view of the adult world around her as a child.

--- On Sun, 6/28/09, sarah hoffman wrote:

From: sarah hoffman
Subject: RE: Romancing the Road

Well, I remember:

-going through her photo albums and being jealous that she got to live through the 1910's, 20's, 30's, 40's, AND 50's, 60's, 70's. I was jealous because I think it would be cool to be able to say that I remember a time when there were no televisions. I sat on her living room floor facing her tv set considering the impact this must have had on someone who grew up without one. There was no PBS to babysit her generation.

-her knitting/crocheting miniature stockings for Christmas (that was her, right? I was really little so I am uncertain).

-her sitting on the couch at every Christmas eve party.

-that she referred to modern pop music as not music but "just beats".

-that she had a cat...and it was usually in hiding. For a while I didn't believe that there even was a cat.

-that her house and the long drive to it were both extremely creepy. I think the entirety of rural Pennsylvania is haunted. I've never been anywhere in PA outside of Philadelphia that didn't creep me out.

-I remember her being present at family picnics.

I don't remember much, really. Perhaps Keith and Shane were old enough to remember things more in detail. I was too short and too involved with things on the ground (toys, bugs, leaf piles) to really pay much mind to my relatives. As far as I was concerned they were grown-ups and lived several feet above me most of the time. Like upstairs neighbors, I only saw them in passing and for special events. For the most part this is how I perceived anybody taller than me for quite some time. I believe this state is called "childhood" but I'm unsure if that is exactly what was wrong with me for 11 years. I knew each adult as a concept.

Sue - Mommy - Food - Comfort - Nourishment

Robert - Daddy - Protector - Endless supply of information and Tales

Keith - Keithy - Big brother - protector - nerd

Shane - Shaney - little Big brother - guardian - martial artist

Grandma - lady that we visit alot (didn't realize I was related until I was like in 1st grade) - gives me cookies - I like her

Grandpa - really cool old guy with a stash of peanut butter cups - loves this woman we call grandma/takes care of her - seems pretty tired by us running around but we don't care we want more peanut butter cups!!!

Uncle "Mike" - guy who lives with that old couple we visit alot - seems rather unwell - somehow related to Tracy and Mikey

Tracey/Mikey - rug rats who live with those two old people who give us cookies

Gerusha (spelling?)/Melissa - teenagers.

Other cousins - other kids

Other aunts/uncles - grown ups who know mommy and daddy

"Grandma Deamer" - the chief/elder

Seth - this guy we see every once in a while with big hair who lives in Disney World!!!

Rose - the sweetest lady in the world - someone to strive to be like - a saint

"Mr. Ollie" - lives in an oxygen deprivation chamber with a bunch of birds - not somebody to strive to be like - somebody to attempt to understand so that emulation can be avoided

Steve and Ann(e) - plastic Disney action figures come to life

Ms. Sherry - the worst person in the world - a bitch - the devil

Ms. Lisa - pretty lady with two out of control sons

Eric and Anthony - evil twisted kids who couldn't get enough of hurting each other (they say "let boys be boys" but I draw the line at shooting at one another with a nail gun).

Ms. Samantha - trampy lady with pretty lingerie hanging in the bathroom

I think children's perceptions are pretty clear, though they may not always understand connections (such as how Tracy and Mikey were related to "Uncle Mike" didn't dawn on me until I was pretty far into elementary school. And I didn't put it together that "grandma" was my mom's mom until I was in 1st grade). But to a kid, none of that matters. What matters is the example set and how the child is treated. Every little thing an adult says and does in front of a child contributes to the child's opinion of them. In the adult world things are much simpler. Pretty lady = hired. In the kid world there is soooooooooooo much more to it. One wrong move and you've got a bawling kid on your hands.