The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Final Resting Place

It's funny how these memories get conjured up.   As I sit here in barely quarantine...still, I think about the fact that I was supposed to be in New York this weekend for my annual trip revolving around the Dodgers playing the Mets at Citi Field.

Of course, that ain't happening. 

I also thought that I haven't seen my NY apartment since early February.  I'm so overdue for that.   

And I went one further.   It's been a long while since I paid a visit to Ferncliff Cemetery. 

Located on a quiet hill in the even quieter hamlet of Hartsdale, New York, Ferncliff Cemetery is the eternal home of lots of famous people. Songwriter Harold Arlen, James Baldwin, ice cream meglomaniac Tom Carvel, Joan Crawford, Basil Rathbone, Toots Shor, Ed Sullivan and his orchestra leader Ray Bloch, director Preston Sturges, Moss Hart and his wife Kitty Carlisle Hart, renowned troublemaker Malcolm X, Oscar Hammerstein, Moms Mabley, and (for a while) Judy Garland. Beatle John Lennon was cremated there. The list goes on and on and on. The place includes also a whole passel of my relatives. And the relatives of several good friends of mine.

And my parents.

Indeed, my mom would be happy to know that her top floor studio apartment/niche used to be  a mere three dozen footsteps away from Miss Garland, whom I would have allegedly be named after. If I, of course, was a girl. Not that gender ever made a difference to Judy.  Of course, that eternal connection for Mom and Judy was upended a few years ago when Liza and Lorna moved their mother out to a LA gravesite. 

But, I digress...

Believe it or not, cemeteries were a prime destination for Sunday drives, especially with my grandparents."Come on, let's go see Uncle Fritz."The eight-year-old comedian in me could not resist the witty retort."Yeah, but he can't see you." Ha ha. My grandmother didn't find the funny in funny."Don't be fresh."

Almost as punishment, I was loaded into the car along with a whole bunch of gardening tools and off we went to Tombstone Land. I never understood why my grandmother felt the need to garden some graves, except perhaps we had some family members who were too damn cheap to pay for the perpetual care offered by the cemetery. My grandmother would survey the lawn on top of some relative and if she found it a little too weedy, there would be the beckoning call to my grandfather.

”Pop, bring me the shears!”

And then they would spend an hour manicuring the grounds while I played hopscotch on the bronze nameplates all around me. And then get scolded for that.

”Don’t walk on them. That’s where their head is.”

Huh?

Now, in our family, there were two cemeteries of choice. The old and staid Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx. Most of the older folks wound up there. Cousins who had died of sinus infections in the pre-antibiotic days of the 30s. One young nephew who had accidentally stabbed himself to death while slicing some pork chops in the butcher shop. And now, there in Woodlawn, “reside” my grandparents. In a plot they selected twenty to thirty years before they died. 

By the fence so they could watch all the cars drive by on Webster Avenue. That was the reason I was given. I kid you not. And, I digress again…

The younger relatives were all found in the more modern and up-and-coming Ferncliff up in the suburbs. And that place always managed to give me the creeps. Invariably, I would get sent into the mausoleum to get some water for vases. And the eerie, somber music that was piped into that joint made my trips into them as time-condensed as possible. I walked through there wearing imaginary blinders. If you looked at any of the crypts on the left or the right, you would find decorated to look like real living rooms with kids’ toys on the floor. 

Audible scream!

There was one grave that my father scared the shit out of me with. It seems some real jerk had a bust made of his head. When he was buried, the bust was placed under the nameplate and you could lift it up to look down. One day, my father said, “come on and say hello to Uncle Charlie.” Not knowing the horror to come and being a dumb kid, I did so. Uncle Charlie looking up from his resting place. Audible scream all over again! Nightmares for a week. Thanks, Dad.

Ironically, I’d unwittingly get back at him for this injustice. Years later, the day after he passed away, I went through the robotic process of “making arrangements.” There never was a thought in my mind that his eternal resting place would be at Ferncliff. 

Besides, all the good spots by the fence at Woodlawn had already been taken. 

Anyway, as if I was playing the bonus round on Supermarket Sweep, I blew through Ferncliff and got everything settled in the space of fifteen minutes. Cement vault, hole in the ground, lettering and design for the plaque, timing for a graveside service. Because I don’t believe in the ritual, there would be no funeral parlor viewing. It would be just like the Wild West. 12 Noon at Boot Hill. Be there or be square. And your attendance would be by invitation only. I had it all solved in a flash.

The day before the burial, I got a call from one of my dad’s cronies who had made my A List of invitees.

”So, Len, what time is the cremation tomorrow?”

Huh???? I told the guy there would be a burial.

”But your father always told me he wanted to be cremated.”

I thought about the cement vault. Already invoiced. The grave. Already dug. The in-ground plaque. Perhaps being engraved as we spoke. I called my mother and asked if she had ever heard that request. Knowing my parent’s virtual disregard for any timely communication, I was not surprised that she had not. And naturally this was complete breaking news for me.

So, indeed, in death, there would be one last time where I screwed up something for Dad. And, in a way, I was getting back at it for the fright show that had been Uncle Charlie. But, I also thought that my father might have enjoyed the faux pas that only I could have constructed.

On the day of the burial, we stood in the street near the gravesite and waited for the hearse to show up. We saw it enter the gate and it immediately made a hard right turn. Into the section where all the Black people were buried. Most of us couldn’t help but giggle. Suddenly, the hearse slammed on its brakes and started to back up. We imagined that the drivers had been startled by a rap on the window in the back of the hearse. And perhaps a faint voice from the beyond.

”What are you idiots doing? You can’t put me here with all those coloreds.”

When I make my annual visit to Ferncliff now, I survey all the nameplates around my dad and realize that his pain is continuing. Every name is Chinese.

Sorry again.

Now he's been probably wondering why I haven't visited.   Um, COVID-19, Dad.

Dinner last night:  Pepperoni and mushroom pizza from Maria's.

Classic Musical Comedy Production Number of the Month - May 2020

Woo hoo.  A five Saturday month.  That means we get to enjoy a classic musical comedy number.   And here's one back in the day when New York was open and virus-free.   From "On The Town," here's..."On The Town."

Dinner last night:  Cheese nachos.

Len's Jukebox of the Month - May 2020

Still as wonderful as when it first came out in the 80s.

Dinner last night:  Chopped salad with grilled steak.

Hollywood Then and Now - May 2020

Even as a small boy, I remember the news of Marilyn Monroe's death.   I recall it being a big deal with my parents and my aunts and uncles.

Well, the official story is that she took one too many overdoses of pills and liquor.   Of course, there is thought that she was murdered by an injection supervised by then-Attorney General Robert Kennedy.

Regardless, she is still dead and here's where her body was found on a small cul-de-sac in Brentwood, California.

The cul-de-sac still exists in 2020.   There's some new construction on the road, but the entrance to Marilyn's small house is all the way down at the end.

And there is a gate.

But behind it...

It looks very much the same.

Don't worry.  I wasn't arrested for trespassing.   The last photo comes from the real estate prospectus when the house was sold three years ago.

Meanwhile, I have learned to take photos with my camera very quickly.

Dinner last night:  Leftover roast beef and salad.

This Date in History - May 27

Happy birthday to Frasier's engineer, Peri Gilpin.  Queen for today.  But there were a few other heads of royalty anointed on May 27.

927:  DEATH OF SIMEON I THE GREAT, THE FIRST BULGARIAN TO BE RECOGNIZED AS EMPEROR.

....and one that died.

1120:  RICHARD III OF CAPUA IS ANOINTED AS PRINCE TWO WEEKS BEFORE HIS UNTIMELY DEATH.

Richard III, The Prince Formerly Known as Prince.

1703:  TSAR PETER THE GREAT FOUNDS THE CITY OF SAINT PETERSBURG.

This is not, I repeat, not the place when the Mets used to train in Florida.

1813:  IN THE WAR OF 1812, AMERICAN FORCES IN CANADA CAPTURE FORT GEORGE.

So doesn't that make it the War of 1812-1813??

1860:  GUISEPPE GARIBALDI BEGINS HIS ATTACK ON PALERMO, SICILY, AS PART OF THE ITALIAN UNIFICATION.

Guiseppe Garibaldi sounds like one of those names a script writer would come up with for a gondolier.

1883:  ALEXANDER III IS CROWNED TSAR OF RUSSIA.

This is not, I repeat, not the Alexander that you used to be on Fordham Road in the Bronx.

1907:  BUBONIC PLAGUE BREAKS OUT IN SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA.

So, earthquakes now pale in comparison.

1909:  SINGER DOLORES HOPE IS BORN.

She made it to 102.  Hubby Bob made it to 100.  Allegedly.  My friend and writing partner contends that Bob died several months before he hit 100 and was kept in cold storage so they could say he hit 100.  Gee, I have bizarre friends.

1911:  POLITICIAN HUBERT HUMPHREY IS BORN.

He was a rare Vice President...one with a brain in his head.  Not like the last four.

1911:  ACTOR VINCENT PRICE IS BORN.

Scream, scream for your life!  The Tingler is loose in the theater.

1923:  POLITICIAN HENRY KISSINGER IS BORN.

This less-than-handsome guy was once seen around town with Jill St. John.   So, I guess he really was a genius.

1927:  THE FORD MOTOR COMPANY CEASES MANUFACTURE OF THE FORD MODEL T.

It always ran better with Flubber anyway.

1930:  THE TALLEST-MAN-MADE STRUCTURE AT THE TIME, THE CHRYSLER BUILDING IN NEW YORK, OPENS TO THE PUBLIC.

Which makes me want to know what's the tallest-non-made-man structure.

1933:  WALT DISNEY RELEASES THE CARTOON "THE THREE LITTLE PIGS."

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

1935:  ACTRESS LEE MERIWETHER IS BORN.

Miss American 1955.  Catwoman 1966.

1937:  THE GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE OPENS TO PEDESTRIAN TRAFFIC IN SAN FRANCISCO.

Which means they just put up a sign...."Welcome Suicidal Jumpers."

1941:  REGARDING THE COMING WORLD WAR II, US PRESIDENT FRANKLIN DELANO ROOSEVELT PROCLAIMS AN "UNLIMITED NATIONAL EMERGENCY."

Um, you figured that out, heh?

1941:  IN THE NORTH ATLANTIC, THE GERMAN BATTLESHIP BISMARCK IS SUNK.

Later a hit song.

1961:  ACTRESS PERI GILPIN IS BORN.

Is it me or does she not work enough?

1965:  ACTOR TODD BRIDGES IS BORN.

Fifty-five today.  And, back when, who thought he would make that??

1967:  THE US NAVY AIR CRAFT CARRIER USS JOHN F. KENNEDY IS LAUNCHED BY JACQUELINE KENNEDY AND HER DAUGHTER CAROLINE.

I always thought these ceremonies were a horrible waste of good champagne.

1968:  MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL'S NATIONAL LEAGUE AWARDS THE MONTREAL THE FIRST FRANCHISE IN CANADA AND THE FIRST OUTSIDE THE US.

Viva Les Expos!

1969:  ACTOR JEFFREY HUNTER DIES.

The original Captain Kirk.  He suffered one head injury after another in 1969 and ultimately bashed his skull on a banister.

1975:  DIBBLES BRIDGE COACH CRASH IN NORTH YORKSHIRE, ENGLAND, KILLS 33 - THE HIGHEST EVER DEATH TOLL IN A ROAD ACCIDENT IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.

Pish tosh, America can beat that.

1986:  DRAGON QUEST, THE GAME CREDITED AS SETTING THE TEMPLATE FOR ROLE-PLAYING VIDEO GAMES, IS RELEASED IN JAPAN.

And this is a positive?

1995:  IN VIRGINIA, ACTOR CHRISTOPHER REEVE IS PARALYZED FROM THE NECK DOWN AFTER FALLING FROM HIS HORSE.

Not a great actor.  Apparently, an even worse rider.

1997:  THE US SUPREME COURT RULES THAT PAULA JONES CAN PURSUE HER SEXUAL HARASSMENT LAWSUIT AGAINST PRESIDENT BILL CLINTON WHILE HE IS IN OFFICE.

Yeah, he didn't touch her either, right?

2007:  ACTRESS GRETCHEN WYLER DIES.

A hidden talent from the 50s.  Check out her old photos.   She was hot.

2006:  THE MAY 2006 JAVA EARTHQUAKE STRIKES BANTUL KILLING 6,600 PEOPLE.

Who knew Bantul had 6,600 people?

2011:  ACTOR JEFF CONAWAY DIES.

Hearse!

2017:  MUSICIAN GREGG ALLMAN DIES.

Cher loses another ex-husband.

Dinner last night:  Leftover London Broil.

Len's Recipe of the Month - May 2020

Well, that was fast.  I was watching a new episode of Valerie Bertinelli's Food Network show one Sunday morning.   She made an entree that looked so good that I wanted to try it immediately.   Did I have all the ingredients in-house?  Yes, sir.

By that night, I had sampled the same meal I first learned about in the morning.  And it was delicious.

Blog readers....here is Vinegar Chicken with Tomatoes and Olives.

And the glory of it is that you can make in one large sheet pan.   Not a lot to wash afterward.  Sweet.

First things first, take that sheet pan and coat the bottom with some EVO.

Peel one red onion and cut it into eight or more pieces.   Spread them around the pan.

Oh, you might as well pre-heat your oven at 450 degrees.   I mean, you're going to have put the food in there eventually.

You'll need four to six chicken thighs with the bone in and the skin on.   Have them absorb some of the EVO in the pan and place them skin side up in the pan.

Salt and pepper liberally.   And sprinkle just a little bit of baking soda on the top of the thighs.   That's an America's Test Kitchen trick I've adopted.   That helps meat and poultry to brown and get crispy.

Take some sherry vinegar and drizzle it around the perimeter of the pan.  Don't drizzle it on the chicken itself.

Put this in the oven for about 15-20 minutes.

During that time, take a pint of cherry tomatoes and put them in a bowl.   At this point, Valerie minced some garlic to place over the tomatoes.   Instead, I poured in one jar of garlic stuffed green olives.   You get the same experience.

Sprinkle some fresh rosemary over the tomatoes and the olives.   Drizzle some EVO over them with a little bit of salt.   

Pull the sheet pan out of the oven and spread the tomatoes and olives around.  Return to the oven for another 20 to 25 minutes.

Then eat.   And thank me.

Dinner last night:  Leftover Chinese food.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - May 25, 2020

A perfect match.   Saluting a military hero on Memorial Day and the Democratic moron for President.  And this was back in 2008!!

Dinner last night:  London broil, pan roasted tomatoes in Balsamic jam, Brussels Sprouts and dill salad.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Memorial Day The Way It Used To Be

Well, hell, even last year was different from what Memorial Day will be in 2020, thanks to the crappy situation we are all in...together?  

Let's go back to a previous May.  Here's a snapshot of my grandmother with her winter coat on.  Trust me.  This might have been taken at a Memorial Day barbecue. 

Or maybe, more than likely, the Fourth of July.  My grandmother would not be smiling on Memorial Day.  She took that day very seriously.

Take, for instance, this one particular May holiday.  I had been invited by a new school chum to take in a doubleheader at Yankee Stadium.  I was over the moon with delight.  His family came to pick me up and I raced out of the house.  To do so, I had to scamper right through Grandma's part of the home downstairs.

"Where are you running like a crazy lunatic?"

I explained.  Baseball.  A doubleheader.   Hot dogs.  Peanuts.  Exactly what America should do on a national holiday.

"But it's Memorial Day.  You should stay home."

Huh?  What am I in a quarantine?  Little did I know thne.

Well, I didn't stay home.  And her words bothered me all day.  I was twelve and still trying to put together the pieces of my family history.  Years later, I still have not.

We didn't talk much about it in the house.  The fact that my grandparents had sent four sons off to serve in the military during World War II and only three returned.  Three of my dad's brothers saw action.  My father fought gallantly with a Royal typewriter while stationed in an Army office somewhere in Japan.  One brother was killed exactly two weeks before V-E Day in 1945.  I was named after him.   We discussed him in this blog space before.  I've shared the sum total of information I have about him.

Yep, we almost never talked about it.

I'd ask questions of my parents and, when not reminded that I asked too many of them, got sparse information about the family member still buried in the south of France.  But, my grandmother?   Never said a word.   Oh, his name might have come up in anecdotes about the past.  But we never had a serious discussion about his loss. 

His purple heart hung in her living room.  I've seen the papers from the War Department.  I still have them in a file cabinet.  But they are just typed sentences on a now-yellowed page.  There's no emotion shown in them.   There was little emotion shown in our house. 

But, indeed, it came out in different ways.  Most notably in how my grandmother treated the sanctity of this one holiday.

Looking back, Grandma and Grandpa came from Germany probably around 1905 or 1910.  They were proud to be here in this country.  Who knows what their life must have been like over there?  But they came to America to make themselves a better life and they worked hard to do so.  Unlike the immigrants of 2014, my grandparents did their part to become true Americans.  They learned to speak English.  My grandfather could eventually read and write it.  Grandma would ultimately only be able to sign her name.

But they were Americans.   And, in little ways, I would hear how my grandmother loved the military that defended this homeland.

I'd hear it whenever there was a state funeral of some dignitary on television.  Grandma would look at the pallbearers.

"Those poor boys.  Having to carry that heavy thing up those stairs."

I'd hear it when she'd come in and I had commandeered her TV set for my own use.  I'd be watching some war movie or show.

"Turn that off.  We don't wanna see what happens to those poor boys."

Over and over and over again.   It was "those poor boys."

For years when I was a kid, Memorial Day was celebrated on May 30 without fail.  But, naturally, government workers stuck in their two cents and wanted a long weekend.  The holiday was changed to the last Monday of May.  Grandma was incensed.

"It should be May 30.  But everybody wants a free vacation.  They forget about those poor boys."

I wanted to know about one of those poor boys.  But it never was discussed.  I envision in retrospect that the days and years after 1945 had to be hard for my grandparents.  I remember one Memorial Day when Grandma actually hung in her living room window the little banner that showed our family had four people fighting in the war.  It likely hung in their Bronx window back during World War II.  She inexplicably displayed it again.   I never knew why. 

And, of course, my question was likely never answered.

Yes, Memorial Day was serious business for my grandparents.  And, as I sat at that Yankee Stadium doubleheader slurping up all sorts of ballpark treats, I wondered just what was behind it all.  I had still gone to the game that day.  And violated the sanctity of Memorial Day.

But, of course, not before I helped Grandma with the traditional national holiday ritual.

Our flag.

I've written this before, but it bears repeating in light of another Memorial Day and a memory about my grandparents.  You see, we had this flagpole in our front yard.

Do you know how to correctly fold an American flag?  Well, I do.

And it was my grandmother who taught me how.  And, on Memorial Day or Veteran's Day, it was on that flagpole in front of the house.

Yes, my grandparents were that American.

Our big honking flag pole was cemented right in the middle of the front yard. It actually stretched past our apartment on the second floor. It was as big as any you might find in front of the most important of Federal buildings. But it was all ours. Right there where my grandmother could easily see it from her first floor living room window.   

Early in the morning of every national holiday,  I would hear the hallway closet downstairs creak open. I'd envision the boxes being moved this way or that. The smell of mothballs would waft up to the second floor.   

Yep, Grandma was rooting around for the American flag again.

I'd walk around the neighborhood and not see a lot of the same patriotism on these holidays. Certainly, not an American flag being hoisted up a huge pole at the crack of dawn. But, that's what my grandparents did like clockwork.  After my grandfather died, I could no longer exist in mere passive curiosity.   

"You gonna help me now."

Okay, Grandma. I figured it was only going to be a slight diversion to my day of play. Yet, I had no idea how seriously she took this ceremony. The way in which the flag was unfolded. How it was handled with the utmost of care.

And, at the end of the day, the precise folding of the banner. Military style. To the strictest of code. My first few attempts did not go well.

"No, no, no. Not that way. This way!"

The words had a sharp tone. Grandma meant business with this. And I was treating it all like Gomer Pyle, USMC. 

 After a while, I got it. And we responded on every holiday. Grandma and I got into a neat rhythm when it was time to put the flag away. We did it as flawlessly as we could. Moreover, we did it with the proper amount of respect.

Several years later, I asked my father about that tradition. What was I missing? What was behind the flag ceremony?   

"Well, you do know that's the flag that covered your uncle's casket?"

Another small tidbit floating in the Ocean of No Information.  Oh. In this recent picture of that house years after I left it, the flagpole stands as tall as ever.

So, tomorrow is Memorial Day.  May the 25th.  Grandma would be unhappy one more time.  But, then again, nobody is this year.  We simply have to remember from our own personal bunkers.  Maybe I'll drive over to the Veterans cemetery and look at their flags.

And think again about my grandmother.  And the holiday she held so dear.  For reasons I still can only guess about.

Dinner last night:  General Tso Chicken from Mandarette.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - May 2020

Look what movie is...gasp...forty years old this month...

Dinner last night:  Salad.

Even Though Churches Are Closed...

Dinner last night:  Baked ziti.

Yay! I FINALLY Finished Reading Another Book - "The Big Chair" by Ned Colletti

Long time readers to this here blog know all too well about my past lamentations about reading.

As a kind and even into my young adult years, I used to read a lot.   About ten years ago, I stopped.   I kept buying books.   I kept not reading them.  

I challenged myself here to do a book report every time I finished a book.   That increased the output a little.   Indeed, most of my reading was done whenever I had a cross country flight.

And yet the saddest news of all.   The last "Yay! I Finished Reading Another Book" blog write-up was in August of 2017!!!

But, refusing to let a good pandemic go to waste, I am attempting to give this another go.   God knows I have the stacks of books to work through.

"The Big Chair" by former Dodger General Manager Ned Colletti was a book I actually started two years ago.   When I picked it up recently, I was about a third away from the end.   With the lack of baseball tearing at my heart, it was a likely choice to finish.

And I did.

Colletti tells a very insightful tale of his years crafting the Dodger team.   A lot of the young players he found are now stars on the big league roster.   Ned is always amazingly candid and there's one story about an obscenity-filled fight between then-manager Don Mattingly and the petulent Yasiel Puig that was so fascinating I read it twice.

Colletti takes us from his first day on the job to the final day where he is replaced by current Dodger GM Andrew Friedman.  Throughout it all, Ned tells us about the good days, the bad days, and the long days.  He does it so with class and insightful information.

This is the perfect book for right now if you are missing baseball.   

Or maybe you just want to say you finished reading another book.

Let's see if I can wrap up another one in a month or two.

Dinner last night:  Leftover Vinegar Chicken.

This Date in History - May 20

Happy birthday, Cher.   And what better way to celebrate than to spotlight your acting triumph in "Moonstruck."

325:  THE FIRST ECUMENICAL COUNCIL OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH IS HELD IN NICEA.  

Meetings in the morning.  Golf in the afternoon.

526:  AN EARTHQUAKE KILLS ABOUT 250,000 PEOPLE IN WHAT IS NOW SYRIA AND ANTIOCHIA.

Now that's an earthquake.

794: KING ETHELBERHT II OF EAST ANGLIA VISITS THE ROYAL MERCIAN COURT AT SUTTON WALLS, WITH A VIEW TO MARRYING A PRINCESS.  HE IS TAKEN CAPTIVE AND BEHEADED.

I prefer to wait for Queen Ethelmertz I.

1293:  KING SANCHO IV OF CASTILE CREATES THE STUDY OF GENERAL SCHOOLS OF ALCALA.

Sounds like some gut courses to me.

1498:  PORTUGUESE EXPLORER VASCO DA GAMA DISCOVERS THE SEA ROUTE TO INDIA.

For you three who want to go there.

1521:  IGNATIUS LOYOLA IS SERIOUSLY WOUNDED IN THE BATTLE OF PAMPELUNA.

Didn't this guy Loyola open up a lot of colleges?

1609:  SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS ARE FIRST PUBLISHED IN LONDON.

When do we see the Cliff Notes?

1775:  THE MECKLENBURG DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE IS SIGNED IN NORTH CAROLINA.

Doesn't Mecklenburg sound like one of those countries in a Marx Brothers movie?

1802:  NAPOLEON BONAPARTE REINSTATES SLAVERY IN THE FRENCH COLONIES, REVOKING ITS ABOLITION IN THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.

I guess that's Shorty's version of an executive action.

1861:  DURING THE CIVIL WAR, THE STATE OF KENTUCKY PROCLAIMS ITS NEUTRALITY, WHICH WILL LAST UNTIL SEPTEMBER 3.   MEANWHILE, THE STATE OF NORTH CAROLINA SECEDES FROM THE UNION.

Why do I think this kind of stuff will happen again?

1862:  US PRESIDENT ABRAHAM LINCOLN SIGNS THE HOMESTEAD ACT INTO LAW.

Pitch your tent here.

1873:  LEVI STRAUSS AND JACOB DAVIS RECEIVE A US PATENT FOR BLUE JEANS WITH COPPER RIVETS.

So that's how they got there.

1883:  KRAKATOA BEGINS TO ERUPT.  THE VOLCANO EXPLODES THREE MONTHS LATER.

From the movie title, I know this is "east of Java."  Or was it West?   Who does remember that film anyway?

1891:  THE FIRST PUBLIC DISPLAY OF THOMAS EDISON'S PROTOTYPE KINETOSCOPE.

Two on the aisle please.

1899:  THE FIRST TRAFFIC TICKET IN THE US --- NYC CAB DRIVER JACOB GERMAN WAS ARRESTED FOR SPEEDING WHILE DRIVING 12 MILES PER HOUR.

He probably contested it.

1902:  CUBA GAINS INDEPENDENCE FROM THE US.

Babalu.

1908:  ACTOR JAMES STEWART IS BORN.

This will be a wonderful life.

1915:  ISRAELI POLITICIAN MOSHE DAYAN IS BORN.

Are they coming on the left?

1916:  THE SATURDAY EVENING POST PUBLISHES ITS FIRST COVER WITH A NORMAN ROCKWELL PAINTING.

It was a boy with a baby carriage in case you're in a trivia contest.

1919: COMEDIAN GEORGE GOBEL IS BORN.

No longer lonesome.

1927:  CHARLES LINDBERGH TAKES OFF FROM ROOSEVELT FIELD IN LONG ISLAND TO MAKE THE WORLD'S FIRST SOLO NON-STOP FLIGHT ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.  HE LANDS IN PARIS THE NEXT DAY.

After what we learned later on, it's a shame this was a round trip.

1932:  AMELIA EARHART TAKES OFF FROM NEWFOUNDLAND TO BEGIN THE WORLD'S FIRST SOLO NONSTOP FLIGHT ACROSS THE ATLANTIC OCEAN BY A FEMALE PILOT.

This one she actually finished.

1940:  THE FIRST PRISONERS ARRIVE AT A NEW CONCENTRATION CAMP AT AUSCHWITZ.

And so it begins.

1944:  SINGER JOE COCKER IS BORN.

He'll get high.  With help from his friends.

1946:  ACTRESS/SINGER CHER IS BORN.

We got you, babe.

1948:  CHIANG KAI-SHEK IS ELECTED AS THE FIRST PRESIDENT OF CHINA.

Waiter, Kai-shek, please.

1964:  DISCOVERY OF THE COSMIC MICROWAVE BACKGROUND RADIATION BY ROBERT WOODROW WILSON AND ARNO PENZIAS.

Oh, good, now we can heat up lunch.

1966:  ACTRESS MINDY COHN IS BORN.

Saw her once picking up take-out food at Blue Plate Diner in Santa Monica.

1969:  THE BATTLE OF HAMBURGER HILL IN VIETNAM ENDS.

Hold the pickle.  Add the napalm.

1983:  FIRST PUBLICATIONS OF THE DISCOVERY OF THE HIV VIRUS THAT CAUSES AIDS IN THE JOURNAL SCIENCE BY LUC MONTAGNIER.

Uh oh.

1989:  ACTRESS GILDA RADNER DIES.

Marvelous talent.  What a waste.

1990:  THE FIRST POST-COMMUNIST PRESIDENTIAL AND PARLIAMENTARY ELECTIONS ARE HELD IN ROMANIA.

Da, I can vote now.

1996:  THE SUPREME COURT OF THE US RULES AGAINST A LAW THAT WOULD HAVE PREVENTED ANY CITY, TOWN, OR COUNTY IN COLORADO FROM TAKING ANY JUDICIAL ACTION TO PROTECT THE RIGHTS OF GAYS AND LESBIANS.

And now you can legally smoke weed in the same state.

2012:  SINGER ROBIN GIBB DIES.

How do you mend a broken heart?   You really can't.

2013:  SINGER RAY MANZAREK DIES.

From the Doors....now knocking on Heaven's...well, you get it.

Dinner last night:  Bacon caesar salad.

Not The Donna Summer One

Desperate times call for desperate television watching.  Oh, how this quarantine can change you?

Trust me when I tell you that, of all major sports, pro basketball is my very least favorite.  Actually, I hate it.   Don't get me wrong.   I know some of them are phenomenal athletes.   But, from my POV, most of them are as dumb as door knobs.   And they are often impossible to understand.   

So, I was perhaps the least likely viewer to the ESPN miniseries "The Last Dance," which is all about Michael Jordan and the uber-successful Chicago Bulls team of the 90s.   But I was intrigued when I heard Los Angeles Dodger players discussing the show on one of their Zoom calls.  And then friends of mine, who are clearly not fans of the hoops either, told me how interesting it was.

I had nothing to lose but a little time.   I was already behind the 8-ball as six of the ten episodes had already aired.   How the hell was I going to catch up?

I am shocked to tell you how easy it was.   I got sucked in like it was a Dyson vacuum cleaner.   It was all oddly, oddly, oddly entertaining.

Don't get me wrong.  Knowing that Air Jordan himself was one of the executive producers, I figured this was going to be...no pun intended...a white wash.  That said, the fact that Jordan comes off as a bit of a jerk makes me think that he's an even bigger jerk and narcissist than I I thought.   "The Last Dance," in a bizarre way, is another "Tiger King" except at a much higher salary level.  Except for Head Coach Phil Jackson, no one is very likable.   Scottie Pippen is a jerk.   Dennis Rodman is a jerk.   And Jordan, of course, has his own issues.

This non-NBA fan remembers vaguely some intrigue about Michael's gambling and the bizarre death of his dad.   It is touched on here, but almost completely dismissed.   Once again, who is the executive producer?

Even more curious is Michael's personal life.   There's never a mention of a wife or a kid.   This non-NBA fan wondered.   Was he ever married or a parent?

Well, Wikipedia tells me about two different wives and a few kids.   Yet, there is only one fleeting reference when old footage includes somebody telling Jordan that his wife is on the phone.

Why the omission?  To respect their privacy?   To prevent more questions?   It is quite noteworthy in my book.  

That said, I was captivated by it all.   And there's actually footage of a playoff game against the Knicks, which marks the only time I ever went to a pro basketball game.

During a pandemic, "The Last Dance" is good television.   If there was no Coronavirus, I probably would have ignored it competely.

Dinner last night:  Leftover Chinese food.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - May 18, 2020

What's better than dogs and babies?

Dinner last night:  Vinegar chicken with tomatoes and olives.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Doubleheaders

And here's another Sunday without baseball.   A tear comes to my eye.   I am missing my seats at Dodger Stadium under the glorious sunshine.

Now one of the notions being discussed in what now may be a futile attempt to salvage baseball in 2020 was the return of some Sunday double headers.  

There might be a reader or two now with quizzical looks.   What the heck is that?

Another tear comes to my eye.

"Let's play two!"

That was the daily battle cry of the Chicago Cubs' longtime hero, Ernie Banks.  You see his photo at the top.  This classy guy never played in a World Series game, but certainly you didn't hear a whole lot of whining from him about that. He was simply content to put on a uniform and play America's pastime from sunrise to sunset. And that included a bunch of doubleheaders in Wrigley Field, which didn't even have lights until 1988.

Of course, Ernie would be much annoyed if he was still hitching up the stirrups as an active player in 2020. Because doubleheaders as we used to know them no longer exist. Actually they disappeared over twenty years ago.  Those Sunday afternoons devoted to two games, usually starting at 1PM and then winding up around 7PM. These days, the Yankees and the Red Sox usually play a single game in that same time frame. But, back then, this was one neat day at the ballpark. Tons and tons and tons of baseball. Two games for the price of one. Such a deal.

I went to a few of them when I was a kid and they were still regularly scheduled. Armed with my scorebook and a brown bag filled with two Taylor Ham sandwiches, I was neatly tucked away for a day full of memories. I craved a double bill and my father reluctantly complied for a while. I figured he saw a bargain with two games offered for the price of one ticket. Eventually, his participation fell to the hands of that dreaded four word declaration. 

"Too long to sit." My dad would ultimately adapt this time-honored phraseology into other great excuses. 

"Too hot to stand." 

"Too far to drive." 

"Too crowded to go." He turned it into a science. 

But, soon enough, I was old enough to battle them by simply going off to enjoy said event with my neighborhood friends. And that most certainly included a baseball doubleheader.

I remember a bunch of them. There was one on a long ago Independence Day when, in the first game, the Mets' Tom Seaver once again flirted with a no-hitter until the Padres' Leron Lee broke it up with one out in the ninth inning. 

There was another late August one in 1984, prompted by a rainout, where the Mets swept the Padres and showed their fans that years of suffering were paying off thanks for the efforts of Dwight Gooden and Keith Hernandez. 

Indeed, I go back deeper into my annals for a doubleheader I didn't attend. When the Yankees hosted the Minnesota Twins one hot Father's Day in the non-refurbished Yankee Stadium for the first ever Bat Day. Despite my pleading, that one was denied to me via a festival of Dad's excuses. 

It was too hot to stand. 

It was too far to drive. 

It was too crowded to go. 

The hat trick. What made this even more devastating to me was that the fact that most of the other kids in my crowd went. All summer long, I was the only one playing baseball without a Tom Tresh bat.

You don't get these opportunities anymore. Whereas teams used to regularly schedule seven or eight of these Sunday doubleheaders every season along with the impromptu twi-night double dips precipitated by early season rainouts, we are denied now the chance to enjoy six or seven hours of baseball for one admission. Teams now don't want to give up single games of ticket, hot dog and beer sales for the sake of playing two games for one admission. 

And, now, you don't even get this via a rainout. Because, in these greediest of days, major league franchises have now discovered the wonderful financial gluttony of a day-night doubleheader. There's one game in the afternoon. Then the crowd files out, the stadium is allegedly cleaned, and then you have to buy a completely new ticket to see the game at night. Every franchise does this now. And it sucques.

Despite the double admissions, there are other financial benefits that teams enjoy as a result. Many years back, I was at the daytime first game of one of these travesties at Shea Stadium. I engaged an usher in a conversation and he also explained to me that state labor laws are constructed so that the employees do not get overtime on these days. So, essentially, they are working two games in one day, but getting less money than they would if they were attending to a traditional doubleheader. Another buck saved so we can pay that overrated fifth starter 10 million dollars a year.

Time passed and there is only an illusion of progress. We can gripe all we want, but nothing changes. I adapt my father's adage one more time.

"Too frustrated to complain."

But, for me, I'll take some post-pandemic doubleheaders.   Oh, who am I kidding?   I'll be happy with just one game at all.

Dinner last night:  Hot and sour soup, scallion pancakes, and General Tso's Beef from Mandarette...Take-out Saturday.