The Rookie

Since I have been an adult I have had a fascination about relationships between Fathers and Sons. Part of that is because of my personal emotionalism and I guess, mainly because my Dad  died fairly young --at least before I had an opportunity to just sit around and talk about various things with him. As a result I have been left wondering, sadly I might add, what he and I could have had by way a bond; a  comonality linking us together. Last night I watched a movie entitled "The Rookie" It was a story about a high school chemistry teacher who was also the baseball coach of the school and had a group of students who composed the team and were not very good. However his relationship with them was such that they enjoyed each other with much ribbing and kidding and because they were losing more games than they were winning, he challenged them to play better and they accepted the challenge if  he in return would try out for the professional baseball team that trained near their town. He had demonstrsted an ability to really throw a fast ball--throwing the cheese as it was sometimes referred to. He accepted the challenge providing they wouild win the county championship. They did and then demanded he live up to the promise he had made. Well, the story got all mixed up in his fatherhood duties, like changing the babies' dirty diapers at the baseball training grounds and the verbal abuse that he good naturedly received as he was about to go out and show his stuff to the  leaders of the team. The point though, was that his father had never paid much attention to him when he was a kid - like not attending  the games in which he had played and the strained relationship between them. I was reminded of me and my Dad. Not that there was a strained relationship between he and I. For the most part there was almost no realtionship. It was the days of the great depression and he was busy trying to hold a family together and feed them and somehow I understood this and was never troubled by this lack between us. There was never love outwardly spoken of and that was O.K. It was when I was in servi ce during WW2 and had come home on leave rather late at night. I entered my parents bedroom and was softly speaking with my Mother when my Dad woke up and instinctively reached up and wrapped his arms around me--the first sign I ever received that there was a bond between us. It hit me like a lightning strike and tears were running down my face realizing I was loved by my Father. From that night forward, I have always teared up when I would read,  hear or view a father son, show of love or affection. It just would grab me with the knowledge that he and I never had a chance to develop that affection. The world around us was such that I entered the Navy at 19 and married before I was released and then was busy developing my own family. Dad and I were never permitted to have the conversations, the togetherness that allowed a love to grow. The world had passed us by. How sad that I was not adult enough to try harder to love my Father. He passed away at a young age and I was left with a sense of loss that I felt was my fault. I could have tried harder. I should have known better. I am consoled with the knowledge that there will one day be a grand reunion and I will have the opportunity  to make up for that which was lost in this life. Almost sounds like a movie doesn't it? However, as a result, as before mentioned,  that whenever I become aware of a successful father son relationship I am reminded of  my loss. Getting back to the movie, the teacher showed he had the stuff, could really bring it, another baseball term, and became a major league pitcher. As a result he and his father were reconciled and oh I might add that as a boy, my dream of being a major league player was uppermost in my mind way back then--not that I would ever have successfully made it at a major league level but isn't that what dreams are all about? We dream the improbable and are content. Ah, to sleep, per chance to dream and sometimes those dreams become the realities of life. The Rookie made it and, of course, lived happily ever after.

A Christmas Story

No, this is not another of those stories as first told by Dickens, rather, it is another chronicle about my various writings over the years with a particular regard about the dreaded Christmas letters. You know, like those you receive where proud parents are proclaiming each or maybe all of their children will certainly become Secretary of State or possibly even President. I am now old enough, without any fear that my meanderings will be read by any of them, to state, I disliked them and finally reached a point where, knowing what they would include, didn't read them. Gasp! That subject has been written by Ann Landers and others to a pont of distaste but this is finally MY attitude toward them. First of all I was  always urged, coerced, threatened and sometimes even received bodily harm from my darling wife to write the Christmas letter, which was always about our kids. Now that's an admission that in part I was guilty of the same things our friends wrote about. However, I never wrote about how very  wonderful they were because  others used to write tales ad nauseaum (sp?) on that subject and I tried to make mine more of a discription of some of their antics that might bring a smile to the faces of those reading them. I hoped to entertain my friends rather than bore them. Admittedly, I did receive some nice comments from some of my readers--two to be more precise, my Mother and my wife. both to assauge my ego and to hope that the following year might not take as much pleading. I wrote how my oldest daughter, age four
had cut off the hair of my youngest daughter, age 3, so that she looked like a badly shorn sheep or I might state that all of my sons were  athletes, sometimes prone to misplay a ball, but never did I write anything that might have been how fantastic they were (although they were pretty nifty). But after some 34 years of writing our annual Christmas letter, I finally gave up for lack of humor surrounding the past year. Even Louise concluded they weren't what they used to be and I was relieved of that duty. However, they were all included in a book and now once in a while I will get it out and smile as I read one or two. They are not a journal writing. I was never in to that. But they do give an historical remembrance to some of the those days of long ago and of what once was. Having said all this, I am left with the thought it might be a good time to say a very Merry Christmas to those of you who may read this and whom I love. May the next year find you healthy, wealthy and wise enough not to bore your friends with another Christmas story,

The Music Shop

For several years I have driven down the same road passing all the same things without paying particular attention to them. Amongst these is a drab little shop with a nondescript sign blinking sporadically, Music Shop. I have thought to myself, every time I have passed it by, I should drop in and see if they can tell me where I can buy some song books but have also had the feeling that they don't look as though they could tell me anything about song books. Now one might ask what do I want with song books? It's a legitimate question. I can't really give it a legitimate asnwer but the thought persisted and finally, having some extra time the other day, I decided to stop in and ask my question. As I entered the shop I first noticed several violins sitting in a rack with a note saying "For rent or repair". I saw many other instrumens in quantity and  became aware of the size of the shop and the magnitude of musical supplies of various kinds However, I also noted off to the side, a rack of what appeared to be various pieces of sheet music and song books. I was  pleasantly surprised to see quite a large collection of the books with various titles indicating  the years in which the songs had been written. I saw books titled "Songs of the 40's, Songs of the 30's, Songs of the 50's" and several more years. Once you get past the 60s. and the Beattles, there's  little or no music that was of any interest. I understand that every generation thinks its music is the best ever but where do you read lyrics like "I'll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places, that this heart of mine embraces all day through. In that old cafe, the park across the way, a childrens carousel, a chestnut tree, a wishing well". Or "Long ago and far away, I dreamed a dream one day and now that dream is here beside me. Long the skies were overcast but now the clouds have passed. You're here at last".
 Oh, I know it doesn't read as well as it sings but I remember that and other songs from when I was in high school and I still recall the lovely words so often that set this or that song above all the rest. The lyrics of today total"Oh baby. Oh baby". Where are the Johnny Mercers, the Irving Berlins and the Oscar Hammersteins of yesteryear?  They just aren't and I feel like something is lost in this day of computers and Ipods. I miss the old songs and I guess that answers the question asked above. That's why I bought the song book of the 40s and in the not distant future, I'll go back and get "Songs of the 50's and maybe the 30's. Why? So I can refresh my memories and this onset of nostalgia. I'm a boy of that era and so very glad  it was my time of life. I wouldn't change it for anything.

Jimmie From JN's

In the dim, dark, distant past when I was working in a department store and was asked by management to do various things outside the norm of what I had ostensibly been hired to do. To explain; when I came home from the Navy, I went to work as a menswear salesman during the Christmas rush and while waiting for college to open up it helped pay some bills. Little did I know at the time that it would become my lifelong career. However, that's a story that has already been told more than once. To get back to the department store and its callings of odd requirements, one of my early jobs was to "hawk" a rather unique men's razor in a booth. In a loud voice I would be shouting the virtues of this forenamed instrument but selling very few of them. There was a time when I was to don a type of rabbit costume and go into the main street window to talk to small children in what I thought to be a rabbits voice. I am sure my very large rabbit head dulled the assumed voice but I could see the little kids smiling and waving and pointing at the Easter Bunny. So, having established myself as somewhat of a nut case, who would do anything to earn a buck, sometime later, I was asked to replace Johnny Corbett. At what, you might ask? Well that's where the title of this piece comes into play. Johnny worked for WBEN, a radio,TV station in Buffalo, N.Y. and had a weekly 15 minute television program in which he extolled the virtues of various store items. It could have been a new iron, a ladies dress the store was promoting or even, possibly, fishing equipment--it could have been anything. He went on vacation for two weeks each year and the program became Jimmie From JN's. You guessed it! I took over. Its like the old commercial "Give it to Mikey". And so for that two week period, I was the personality that became the "star" of the show. Standing there in front of the cameras, I would tout any object left at the studio for my spiel and it was somewhat of a test of my ability to attempt to put any kind of a twist on the object to produce interest. But again, trying to earn a buck and only earning $40 a week, the extra $25, per program, would come in handy. I did this for 2-3 years and never got a raise which may tell you something about my talent although I might emphasize this was only for that two week period Johnny took off. I remember, one time I was closing down the program after reading the sign stating " 3 minutes" after which additional signs would be displayed for me to gradually stop talking. As the "1 minute sign appeared, there was suddenly a flurry of excitement and some one came back with the 3 minute sign which meant, although I, in the act of saying goodbye, now had to fill 3 minutes of conversation to amuse the viewing audience. I never knew whether they did it on purpose to test my recovery capabilities or whether is was a prank but filling three minutes of empty airtime did cause some consternation. However I had done my stint for the required 10 days with a check for $25 per day, when I received a call from Louise in tears and crying. She told me she had an accident with the car and had been told it would cost $250 for the repair(Try getting work done for that these days-Hah!) However, in my best Edward G. Robinson snarl I said "That's O.K. baby, I have a check with the imprint "WBEN Radio and Television" and guess what? Its for $250." Hurrah! Another emergency covered! For maybe the two older people who might wonder who the above mentioned stranger is, he was a popular Hollywood character who made his living playing tough guys. Incidentally, that ended my career as a TV personality but, as I went around doing my regular job as a buyer for Menswear, it was always amusing that so many people recognized Jimmie from JN's.

As Age Approaches

I've been accused of getting old and in my usual whimsical manner, I reply "Age is only as old as you feel" and while that is a cliche, it has some truth to it. I admit to rarely going out dancing--like never, but it is only because I find myself more and more often, seeking the confort of that big, easy chair sitting in my living room. However, I have noticed at certain family gatherings, when I am surrounded with many, much younger than me, that I now, instead of being the center of attention that was once the case, I find myself off in a corner, satisfied to watch and smile at someone else's antics. Having noticed that as one of my more recent characteristics gives pause for me to analyze myself. What has happened to the old Jim?? Well, let me think:I am a diabetic with high blood pressure; I have four stints in my main heart artery. My blood sugar is being checked every morning to see what my sugar intake was for the previous day and I don't seem to climb the stairs as I did once. Adding that up makes me a bit unsure of my physical condition. But, you know what? I feel good!! I occasiionally have a little trouble with balance but all in all, I sincerely do not feel my age. However, having said that, there was an incident at a family gathering where 3 couples, and the guy now occupying the center stage. His humor was paralyzing the 3 couples with laughter. They were cracking up so badly that I was concerned with either regurgitation or possibly ruptures. However that was not my foremost concern. I was not getting the humor that was creating this rampant display of laughter. I was not in tune with what was being said. My grandchildren and nephews were in agony probably hoping there would be a let-up in the wise cracks. It was then I realized maybe age had a hand in my ignorance, but for a guy who was once labeled as the wittiest in the 500 graduation class of 1940, it was difficult to swallow my pride and admit defeat. But, swallow I did, realizing that I was no longer in contention for glib remarks and, just maybe, I had better it. I am advancing toward the point where, it is possible, age is approaching. However, I, emphatically state, I don't feel it! And, inasmuch as I have to run catch a plane, I'm just going to have to live with it.