The Mezzuzah's

 

My daughter Sarah went to Halifax on business. She was gone about a week. She lives in a high rise luxury building in Silver Sring, Maryland. They have 24 hour on site Security, cameras and a Concierge. 

When she left, this Mezzuzah, shown above, was hanging on her outside apartment door frame. Sue and I bought it for her when she moved out of our home and married. It has graced the outside door frame of every place she has lived for the last 19 years. Almost half her life. 

She came home to the photo shown below. It is  It is possible, but not very probable, that this was the work of an outsider. More than likely it was done by a custodian, or worse, by a neighbor in the building. Someone she sees each day.

I often wonder about the fate of the many Mezzuzahs which hung outside of my friends apartments when growing up in Brooklyn. My Father and my brother simply left ours when my Mom passed and my Dad moved out. 

I remember that as I left Apartment 2-H that last time, I only had a big scredriver with me and slid it under the edge of the Mezzuzah and pried it loose. I got married 2 years later to Sue, who is Christian, and hung it inside the house on our bedroom door frame. It has hung in that same spot in every home we have lived.

It was a small one, not very sturdily made, or even fancy. Several years ago my daughter bought me a new one,  much larger and more ornate. I took the older, smaller one, and placed the whole thing inside of the new one. And rehung it as one. Somehow that appealed to me. Maybe it represented a sign of continuity. The old one was a part of my life growing up. My Uncle Irving used to kiss his finger tips and then touch it each time he entered our apartment. They are shown, together in the next photo just before I rehung it here at our home on Stonecroft Lane.

No point to this; except that evil will always be around us. It takes many forms. And it is up to us all to report it when it happens, and move to stop it when we see it. And then replace the loss as best we can. It is both the most, and the least, that we can do.

"The Proof of Worth" by Edward Albert Guest

 The Proof of Worth

by Edgar Albert Guest  (1881-1959)

Born in Birmingham, England and emigrated to Detroit as a child. I cannot find the year this poem was published, but it was probably between the two World Wars. His style is somewhat like Rudyard Kipling and reads easily, while still managing to say much. This is one of my favorite poems of his, though it is often overlooked. 

Though victory's proof of the skill you possess,

Defeat is the proof of your grit;

A weakling can smile in his days of success,

But at trouble's first sign he will quit.

So the test of the heart and the test of your pluck

Isn't skies that are sunny and fair,

But how do you stand to the blow that is struck

And how do you battle despair?

A fool can seem wise when the pathway is clear

And it's easy to see the way out,

But the test of man's judgment is something to fear,

And what does he do when in doubt?

And the proof of his faith is the courage he shows

When sorrows lie deep in his breast;

It's the way that he suffers the griefs that he knows

That brings out his worst or his best.

The test of a man is how much he will bear

For a cause which he knows to be right,

How long will he stand in the depths of despair,

How much will he suffer and fight?

There are many to serve when the victory's near

And few are the hurts to be borne,

But it calls for a leader of courage to cheer

The men in a battle forlorn.

It's the way you hold out against odds that are great

That proves what your courage is worth,

It's the way that you stand to the bruises of fate

That shows up your stature and girth.

And victory's nothing but proof of your skill,

Veneered with a glory that's thin,

Unless it is proof of unfaltering will,

And unless you have suffered to win.

"Rich Men North of Richmond" - Oliver Anthony

I've been selling my soul
Working all day
Overtime hours
For bullshit pay
So I can sit out here and waste my life away
Drag back home and drown my troubles away

It's a damn shame
What the world's gotten to
For people like me and people like you
Wish I could just wake up and it not be true
But it is, oh, it is

Living in the new world
With an old soul
These rich men north of Richmond
Lord knows they all just want to have total control
Wanna know what you think
Wanna know what you do
And they don't think you know, but I know that you do
Cause your dollar ain't shit, and it's taxed to no end
'Cause of rich men north of Richmond

I wish politicians would look out for miners
And not just minors on an island somewhere
Lord, we got folks in the street, ain't got nothing to eat
And the obese milking welfare

Well God, if you're 5 foot 3 and you're 300 pounds
Taxes ought not to pay for your bags of fudge rounds
Young men are putting themselves six feet in the ground
'Cause all this damn country does is keep on kicking them down

Lord, it's a damn shame
What the world's gotten to
For people like me and people like you
Wish I could just wake up and it not be true
But it is, oh, it is

Living in the new world
With an old soul
These rich men north of Richmond
Lord knows they all just want to have total control
Wanna know what you think
Wanna know what you do
And they don't think you know, but I know that you do
'Cause your dollar ain't shit, and it's taxed to no end
'Cause of rich men north of Richmond

I've been selling my soul
Working all day
Overtime hours
For bullshit pay.

  

Green Irish Eyes

With your flannel shirts and your Irish eyes

it's easy to see that you hold no disguise.

Hair streaming wet and newly Baptized,

there's no escaping your green Irish eyes!

Surrounded by snow, or in the Sun's glow,

whom could you meet that you don't really know?

You may seem private, but not very shy,

there's no escape from your green Irish eyes!

Late in the evening or early sunrise,

with a bold countenance or tears in your cries

You baffle your foes and keep them surprised

you lash them all with your green Irish eyes.

Like the howl of the wolf or the bark of a hound

with a look that speaks in ethereal sound.

Gently seizing souls they can mesmerize,

there is such a strength in those green Irish eyes.

July 20th, 2023

4 AM

Charlie's Good Tonight by Paul Sexton (2022)

What can you say about the Rolling Stones which hasn't already been written? Quite alot as it turns out. Especially in a biography of the enigmatic Charlie Watts. Of all the Rolling Stones he was perhaps the one whose life was the least chronicled until now.

From the very first page, with Forewords by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, this book by longtime Stones biographer Paul Sexton swings just like Charlie Watts did, never missing a beat. And it is certainly on time.

Basically Mr. Watts was a gentleman throwback to an earlier era. He even wished he had been born in the 1800's. He was the most satorially turned out of the band, eschewing the wilder clothes of his profession for the stately dress of an earlier era. He even owned, and wore, antique suits which once graced the body of King Edward III. They were the exact same build, as he found out after buying the suits at an auction, intending to have them replicated by his tailor.

He took pride in his unusual collections of jazz memorabilia, including unplayed 78 PRM's which he bought from an obscure record store in Vienna. These were original issues of some of the finest recordings ever made, still in the original record sleeves, where they remained, unplayed, in his collection.

He had an incureable case of OCD which he used to his advantage in his collections of cars, clothes, antique guns and of course in his music. His sense of humor is unchallenged in the world of rock and roll. Case in point is when a fan, at the conclusion of an interview, which he hated to do, asked him repeatedly for something, anything, to remember her encounter with him. He stood up and gave her his chair.

With his wife of 6 decades, Shirley, he had over 250 Arab Stallions. Some went for as much as $700,000 apiece. Together, the two ran a stud farm. He also collected antique carriages and owned hand bespoke riding outfits, although he didn't ride. Par for the course since he owned many fine automobiles, even though he didn't possess a driver's license. He simply enjoyed sitting in them.

The book was written by Paul Sexton, using private conversations he'd had with the drummer for about 40 years as the basis of the biography. These are carefully collated with memories of those who knew him best. There are stories by childhood friends with whom he played jazz music for the rest of his life. They even toured quietly when the Stones were not on the road.

On the road he missed home, often calling his wife and daughter Seraphina, for hours after a show, while his bandmates lived the wilder side of the business. When he was home he wanted to tour. His only encounter with the wild side of the business came in Paris, when during the early 1980's he had what Keith Richards describes as " a wobble of his own." Alcohol and hard drugs were his choice for just a few short years before he simply quit using them. No rehab. Just quit.

The book is written in the chronological order of his life. His passions, his love of family are all on display. Whenever possible he took his wife on tour with their daughter. In later years his granddaughter Charlotte was his companion on the road. It was a truly loving relationship they shared, and touching to read about.

The book is written in such a way as enables you to keep reading. The book's 330 odd pages flew by with little effort. I thoroughly enjoyed it and hope that others will read it with the same result. It is at once the highly personal biography of a basically private man. He never really understood what all the fuss was about.

And in the end, Mick Jagger had it right in 1969, when he famously remarked on "Get Yer Ya Ya's Out", that "Charlie's good tonight...." But then again he always was. This was a superb read. 

"G-Man" by Beverly Gage (2022)

With its 59 pages of Notes covering each if its 58 chapters, and a 20 page Bibliography, this carefully researched biography of J. Edgar Hoover may be the best yet. It is the Winner of the 2023 Pulitzer Prize in Biography, as well as the Winner of the 2022 National Book Critics Circle Award. 

The actual biographical portion spans over 750 pages and after a brief portion devoted to his years as a child, it dives into a decade by decade narrative of one of the most unusual lives of the 20th century. Both his presence and its impact are still felt today. 

From the years leading up to the First World War, the first Red Scare and the resultant Palmer Raids,  through the years of Prohibition and the Teapot Dome Scandal this is a book which  keeps on giving.

Sifting through every source available to the author, Ms. Gage has penned a biography which will surprise you in many ways. It overturns many assumptions made by previous authors on such issues as Hoover's stance on subjects from Japanese Internment Camps; he was against it; to his views on treating Jim Crow and Civil Rights in the same way he viewed Communism. In many ways this book is an eye opener.

And yet, when it comes to his refusal to accept the existence of a nationwide Organized Crime Syndicate, to his rocky relationship with the Kennedy's and his subsequent stonewalling of the Warren Commission, there are few surprises.

The most eye opening portions of this book, for me, involved the way President Johnson was able to get him to view the Civil Rights Struggle in the same way he had come to view Organized Crime and the Labor Racketeers as two sides of the same coin. They were all law breakers. 

His biggest errors are not ignored either. The Cointrel program, in which he justified the Agency's spying on the Civil Rights and Anti-War Movements, are treated as exactly what they were, an Overreach and Abuse of Power which has set the tone of the FBI through to the current day. The book offers no excuses. But it does provide explanations of how it evolved from its initial legitimacy to the rocky and suspect political bureaucracy it has become. 

There is much to be gleaned from this painstakingly researched biography. I have barely scraped the surface in this review. As the longest serving Director if the Bureau, 48 years, this is the story of a man who left his mark on Anerica, for better or for worse. And as such, it is a book well worth the reading.

The Flying Dutchman

We have all heard of the Flying Dutchman, usually as a sea story or the Opera by Wagner. But through the years, up through the 1960's, there have been  many sightings of her, all of which ended in misfortune. Among the most credible is the one by Prince, later King George V,  in 1881. Here is his story, in his own words, as entered in the log of the HMS Bacchante in 1881.

"We Meet the Flying Dutchman"

"The Cruise of Her Majesty's Ship "Bacchante," 1881

"July 11th, [1881] -- At 4:00 a.m. the Flying Dutchman crossed our bows. A strange red light as of a phantom ship all aglow, in the midst of which light the masts, spars, and sails of a brig 200 yards distant stood out in strong relief as she came up on the port bow. The lookout man on the forecastle reported her as close on the port bow, where also the officer of the watch from the bridge clearly saw her, as did also the quarterdeck midshipman, who was sent forward at once to the forecastle; but on arriving there no vestige nor any sign whatever of any material ship was to be seen either near or right away to the horizon, the night being clear and the sea calm. Thirteen persons altogether saw her, but whether it was Van Diemen or the Flying Dutchman or who else must remain unknown."

"The Tourmaline and Cleopatra, who were sailing on our starboard bow, flashed to ask whether we had seen the strange red light. At 6:15 a.m. observed land (Mount Diana) to the northeast. At 10:45 a.m. the ordinary seaman who had this morning reported the Flying Dutchman fell from the foretopmast crosstrees on to the topgallant forecastle and was smashed to atoms. At 4:15 p.m. after quarters we hove to with the head-yards aback, and he was buried in the sea. He was a smart royal yardman, and one of the most promising young hands in the ship, and every one feels quite sad at his loss. (At the next port we came to the Admiral also was smitten down)."