App-less in Seattle

We are addicted to gadgets, there is absolutely no doubt about it. The technology made possible by geniuses like Bill Gates and Steve Jobs has enabled a host of electronic toys that we can't seem to get enough of. I may not be a gizmo-geek, but I thought I was keeping up pretty well until stuff like smart phones and I-pads came along, Now, and I freely admit this,  I am hopelessly lost in the techno jungle. Even more confusing to me than the gadgets is some of the new software that enables all this functionality, the so-called apps. Apps, apparently, are programs that can be downloaded to your smart phone that enable it to do wondrous things.

I don't have any apps. To the best of my knowledge, I don't need any apps. I am probably in the minority on this issue. I am like Neolithic man looking on in wonder as Paleolithic man uses fire to warm his cold bones. I see the fire, I see the good it can do, but I don't understand it, and therefore, I fear it. Apps are everywhere. I see people taking out smart phones way more advanced than mine and doing things from ordering theater tickets to paying for their Starbucks coffee. I see these little black and white rectangles that look like Rorschach inkblots everywhere I look. These must be the magic symbols that activate the sleeping apps that turn your smart phone into, well, everything.

I've been thinking about taking the app plunge, after all, I want to be more hip and with it. For example, here's an app I could use. You select from one of over 2,500 companies (including all of the Fortune 500), and the app calls the company and waits on hold. When a customer service representative finally picks up on the other end, the app calls you back and you’re free to complain or chat as you will. As great as this app may appear, I can think of an immediate enhancement they should make. When you are finally connected to the customer service representative, they need an app that will help you make sense of the person's unintelligible Indian accent!

Here's another app I might put on my list. Ever been trapped by someone you really didn't want to talk to? They go on and on and there is no escape. Usually I just say something rude like "Don't you ever shut up!?" As you can see, this might upset some overly sensitive people. Smartphone to the rescue with this app, that will give you a fake phone call by simply shaking the phone. Just shake and excuse yourself to take the important "call". This will probably only work once or twice with the same person, so either avoid this person or keep some rude remarks at hand for backup.

After seeing this next app, I'm thinking we might be getting to the bottom of the app barrel. This app does only one thing, it uses the iPhone speaker to blow a light puff of air. That's right, it can even blow out a candle using the smartphone. It's apparently for those unable to blow candles out without assistance, or those who like to annoy their pets. I would like to meet somebody who feels the need to own this particular app. I want to know how they use it. I also want to be able to say that I know someone dumb enough to pay for something to blow out candles.



I'm probably just not an app guy. Maybe if they came up with one that would fetch the TV remote or straighten out my golf slice, I'd consider it, but for now, blowing out my own candles is something I can still manage.

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The Dust Bowl

I finally watched The Dust Bowl" on PBS. Ken Burns did his usual thorough job in bringing us this story of heartbreak and perseverance in the area around Oklahoma and Texas during the Depression-era Thirties. The tale was a remarkable one that told of how farmers, encouraged by the government, plowed up the natural grasslands to grow wheat. At first things went well and families made a lot of money selling their crops. Then came a years-long drought of Biblical proportions that figuratively and literally turned things black. With no moisture, the dried up ground became airborne, covering the area with choking dust storms that often buried cars and houses.

Many farmers understandably lost heart and moved west, mainly to California, to work as migrant fruit pickers. The story of these "Okies" was told brilliantly by John Steinbeck in "The Grapes of Wrath". Remarkably, many families, despite the lack of crops to sell and the risk of losing their farms to foreclosure, stayed and continued to hope for the best. They were referred to by locals as the "Next Year" people because they always held out hope that next year would be better. It wasn't. Years of drought were followed by plagues of grasshoppers that ate everything in sight including fence posts!


As usual with Ken Burns productions the best moments, besides the stunning video footage of the dust storms, were the interviews with folks who had lived through these troubling times. They came from independent, proud families who asked for nothing from the government and wanted no interference with their ability to make a living. When things got so bad that they were starving, they swallowed their pride and took the food the government made available to them. It was sad listening to one woman describe how her hard-working father deteriorated as he watched his dreams go up in black dust. Ironically, it was help from the government that finally pulled these desperate farmers out of the hole. 

FDR's administration provided paying jobs through the Civilian Conservation Corps and also introduced agricultural practices to help combat soil erosion gradually restoring the western plains to productive farmland again. Unfortunately they also began a practice that just seems to go against the grain of what America is all about: with dust storms still prevalent and overproduction of wheat driving prices down, the government began paying farmers not to grow crops. These federal subsidies persist to this day, and once proud farmers who wanted no part of government help were now more than happy to take their money for doing nothing.

Human nature never ceases to amaze me. In the 1950s, with the drought in check and wheat prices rising, farmers again began to plow up previously restored grasslands and plant wheat. The very behavior that caused all their problems in the 1930s was being repeated when it appeared there was a buck to be made. Luckily, smarter conservation policies helped prevent a repeat of the Dust Bowl disaster although some damage was again done to the land. I guess what impressed me most about this part of our history was the resilience of the people. How they managed to stay year after year in conditions that would surely defeat most modern-day Americans is a testament to their fighting spirit and refusal to quit.

The toughness that got America through World Wars, the Great Depression, and natural disasters like the Dust Bowl have always been the hallmarks of the American character. I wonder how today's younger generations who have known nothing but prosperity might fare if forced to cope with such events. 

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Cheating in Sports

The Hall of Fame in Cooperstown decided that nobody in this year's crop of athletes was worthy of admission. Were it not for accusations, both proven and unproven, of steroid use, a number of players would certainly have been elected including superstars Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds. Sadly, the pall cast over the balloting by the issue of drug use may have had an impact on quality players never involved in the drug scandal. In time, many of these deserving players will probably get elected, and rightly so, but the whole issue of cheating is raising questions about who juiced and who didn't. Rigorous testing protocols are now in place to catch players who are still using performance enhancers, but who knows how many did in the past, including now current Hall of Fame members.

Election to Baseball's Hall of Fame is not easy, and that's as it should be. The baseball writers who cast the ballots usually do a pretty good job of picking the right people. The process is by no means perfect. Sometimes deserving players with quiet personalities who played in small market cities get overlooked unless their stats just can't be ignored. Stats should count for a lot, but not everything. Players with borderline stats can get elected based on character, heart and how much they meant to their team and the game. One guy in my mind that falls into that category is Gil Hodges of the old Brooklyn Dodgers. A class guy with good numbers, Gil was a team leader, respected by his teammates and everyone in the game. Hopefully the Hall will amend this terrible oversight one day.

Another player who maybe got a bad deal is Pete Rose. I know, I know, he gambled on baseball games, but in light of what goes on in sports today, that seems almost trivial. Pete never bet against his own team and did nothing to alter the outcome of games; he always played to win. His numbers are off the wall and would have put him in on the first ballot had it not been for the gambling thing. Pete's big problem was his attitude. Had he been more contrite, admitted his mistake and asked for forgiveness, he'd probably be in, but that is not Pete Rose's nature. He would cut off his nose to spite his face rather than grovel. Too bad, Rose was an exciting player who made every team he played for better. His baseball skills and heart were extraordinary, but he wouldn't bow to the baseball writers; that sealed his fate.

A final word about cheating...the case of Lance Armstrong. After being found guilty of using banned substances to enhance his performance, Armstrong was stripped of his Tour de France medals and his name removed from the record books by the Union Cycliste Internationale. The USDA who did the testing on Armstrong accused him of overseeing the most sophisticated doping program they had ever seen for the teams on which he competed. This is not one athlete cheating, but a man who encouraged and systematically perfected cheating for his teams. He tarnished an entire sport and deprived honest competitors (if there really are any anymore) from medals that were rightfully theirs. Now Lance wants to admit all, not because he's truly sorry but because he wants the UCI to remove the ban on his participation in events they sanction. Compared to this guy, Pete Rose was a choir boy.

There seems to be a malaise hanging over professional sports these days. The pressure to win at all costs, and the money that comes with it, are tainting what was once the finest crucible of human endeavor. Honor, sportsmanship and "may the best man win" were the guiding principles. The only sport that rises head and shoulders above all others in continuing and even enhancing these traditional values in sport is golf. Competitors call penalties on themselves, conduct themselves like ladies and gentlemen, and raise more money for charity than all other sports combined. The United States Golf Association and the Royal and Ancient Golf Club in Europe enforce the game's rules and maintain high standards of behavior for players. We need a return to this conduct for all sports if our young people are to grow up with any character.

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Happy New Year

It's amazing how one's perception of the 'New Year' changes with age. It reminds me of song that Frank Sinatra sang late in his career:  "It was a Very Good Year". For me, the meaning of the coming New Year is dynamic, like the changes in a man's life as time rolls by. 

I remember as a kid getting excited as New Year's Eve approached. The magic of Christmas was already a week in the past, and I needed something to look forward to. We usually went to Grandma Camardi's on Hull Street to party. These were strictly family affairs where the three Camardi sisters brought their kids, and the Camardi son, Uncle Mike, brought his latest glamorous girlfriend. Grandma would cook up a big pot of fried zeppoles sprinkled with powdered sugar, and the kids played a game called "Put and Take" using pennies and a spinning top that instructed you to put in or take out of the pot. The adults all got a little tipsy on rye or homemade wine, and it was fun seeing their party personalities. The absolute best thing about these celebrations: kids got to stay up past midnight! Of course by 12:15 we were passed out on the pile of coats on the bed.

Then came the teen years. I would go to parties thrown by a friend's parents in a desperate effort to keep all of us close to home. Sal Bordenga, father of my sister's friend Phyllis, threw the best parties. Sal and his wife Agnes were the youngest, hippest parents on the block and made us feel very grown up hanging out in their apartment. Sal would slip the guys a watered-down highball and we knew then that we were men. One year we all rode the subway to Times Square to watch the ball drop. On a good year back then, maybe 5,000 people showed up. There was no New Year's Rockin' Eve, just Guy Lombardo and His Royal Canadians. If people felt festive in the cold night air, it was mainly due to the flasks they carried. Afterward we went to eat...pretty much the standard ending for all our adventures. The movie "Diner" captured that scene nicely.

The pre-marriage/dating years meant nightclubs and real dress-up parties. Places like Pep McGuire's or the Jade East in Valley Stream would throw these parties, and for a flat price, you got dinner, music and second-shelf drinks. We would dress up in our cool sharkskin suits with the tab collars and skinny ties, and do our best to have enough fun to cover costs. Drinking and driving were not such big issues back then, and when I think back on how I ever drove home, I shudder a little. The nightclub scenes from the movie "Goodfellas" nailed this kind of party. Of course they sat ringside at the Copa and we sat at the table near the wall radiator in the back. Also, we never shot anybody to cap off the evening; we were too shot ourselves.

Then came the kids. It was hard getting out for New Year's Eve since we had our first child (Laura) ten months after the wedding. In four years came Mike, and in four more, Matt. At first we stayed home and allowed the kids to stay up the way we used to. We'd all drink a toast at midnight and then put the kids and ourselves to bed. As they got older, we started going to Aunt Lulu's house on New Year's Eve. Her apartments tended to be small and we all crowded in sitting elbow to elbow. Lulu's husband Ralph, the clown in the family, always did some outlandish thing to amuse the kids while we ate Chinese food and drank. Being with family and watching all the cousins, nieces and nephews grow up is what I remember best about these parties. 

Now the kids are off celebrating New Year's Eve in their own way depending on their circumstances. The two of us and cousin Joan go to Jasmine's sister's home in Brooklyn for a quiet evening. The food is good and we drink wine now, but seeing in the New Year is a quiet affair. At midnight, the ships still sound their horns in the harbor and the neighbors whoop it up outside. We put on our party hats, blow our noise makers, and share a hug, happy to be around for another year. I think every guy lucky enough to make it to age 70 identifies very strongly with Mr. Sinatra's song. Every year is a very good year, maybe different, but still good. 

I feel blessed to have my family and friends, and wish them health, happiness and peace in the new year.

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A Sad Story

 Like the rest of the world, I was horrified at the tragic shooting that took place in Newtown, Connecticut last week. I just can't get my head around the idea of murdering innocent children and those who would protect them. Why is our country becoming infamous for attacks like these? What is it that drives people to commit such atrocities. Many opinions have been heard from various quarters, but the problem is a complex one. I wanted to reflect here about some of the things people are saying. Maybe the saddest thing I read in the case was the words of one young victim's father who said at the child's funeral: "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you." How indeed can we protect our children from the next horrific attack!

While the issue may be complex, for me, the need to immediately restrict access to military-style weapons is a must. There is no reason on earth why civilians should possess such weapons. The ones already out there should be retrieved with a buyback program funded by the government during a period of amnesty where no questions will be asked of those gun owners who come forward. When this period expires, continued ownership of such weapons should be classified as a felony with guaranteed jail time for violators. There is no downside for such actions other than ridiculous second amendment objections that are plain wrong. We don't want to ban all guns, just those meant only for mass killing.

Next we have to evaluate our systems for identifying and treating people with mental disorders who might have the potential for committing violence. There are many programs in place now in schools and the workplace, but they don't seem to have any consistency in terms of not only diagnosing disorders, but providing the right kinds of treatment. It would be easy to stigmatize people with such problems, and that is exactly the opposite of what is needed. Attitudes like that are what drive people with mental issues deeper inside themselves, eventually finding outlets for their pent up frustration and rage in violent acts like the ones we are seeing all too often in America. 

Blame is also being directed at some of the violent video games that kids play where killing is an integral part of the action. Violent movies and television programs might also contribute to the desensitization of people to violent acts. While targeting the makers of these games and movies might help, parents must also accept responsibility for what their kids are playing and watching. These products would not sell if there was no audience for them. We can't just plant our kids in front of a computer or TV and be thankful they're being quiet for an hour...we must monitor what they are viewing and exert our authority when necessary to keep them from seeing things that are not good for their development. 

It has been suggested that "a bad guy with a gun can only be stopped by a good guy with a gun," Using this logic, the head of the NRA believes we should hire armed guards for every school, and allow teachers to carry sidearms to protect themselves and the children in their care. Do we really want schools to become armed camps? How can we expect terrified teachers to shoot it out with a madman in the middle of a classroom? The idea is a dangerous one. Improving school security to keep guns from getting into the building makes sense to me. Not allowing any Joe Blow with the money to buy an Uzi in the parking lot of some gun show also seems smart. There are already too many guns in this country and we need to get them out of circulation.

I wish I could assure that grieving Connecticut father that we will learn from this latest tragedy and do a better job of protecting our children, but I can't. Pressure is mounting on the President and other politicians to finally take on the NRA. I hope they do before we have to witness more funerals.

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What Ever Happened to Style?

We've all seen those hilarious pics of the Wal-Mart Martians wearing their bizzaro-world outfits. The thing is, their look is not so far removed from what we have come to loosely term "casual dress." It all started innocently enough, and with my generation, I am ashamed to say. Unwilling to be bound by the conservative dress standards of our parents, and eager to keep up with the youthful new "Mod" style in clothes, we strayed further and further away from convention. Jackets for men and dresses for women were out. Sensible shoes were replaced by footwear like flip-flops, brightly colored Crocs and sneakers that cost more than a car used to. Today, anything goes. People wear pajama bottoms, thrift-shop discards, pre-ripped jeans and funky hats. We have become a nation of slobs.

I am a big fan of the show "Mad Men". One reason is that it reminds me of the way people used to dress. In any place of business, even the kid in the mail room wore a tie. Men, from the CEO to the junior clerks wore suits and ties. Casual Fridays meant you were allowed to unbutton your jacket. Women wore dresses or blouses and skirts. They did up their hair and put on make-up. The workplace looked like a gathering of professionals, Christmas parties notwithstanding. Except for a few places that still maintain dress codes, office workers today look like homeless folk who wandered in to warm up. Even businesses that deal face-to-face with the public allow their workers to dress like bums. Exceptions are refreshing, like Macy's where the women dress in stylish black and the men in suits...I think it makes a difference.

Maybe the biggest decline in acceptable dress has been in the House of God. When I was a lad during the Grant Administration, parishioners at Our Lady of Lourdes showed up for church scrubbed and dressed. Even the less affluent always  wore their Sunday best. Ladies who were showing too much décollage were asked to pin lace hankies to their dresses in the interest of modesty. I see people in church wearing get-ups that would be considered daring at the beach. Bare midriffs, skin-tight jeans, plunging necklines, and those are the men! The pastor recently had to print a warning in the bulletin about inappropriate dress and deportment (there's a word you don't hear any more), but I'm sure his pleas will be ignored. 


Style was always synonymous with elegance, good taste and well made clothes. Public figures like movie stars wouldn't think of being seen anywhere looking like they had just come off a three day jag. Every guy I knew wanted to look like Cary Grant, suave, debonair, not a hair out of place. I see leading men in the papers today who look like beggars, unshaven, rumpled clothes, and dirty. Female movie stars looked stunning when they left the house, begowned, bejeweled and bedazzling! Who do we have leading the fashion parade today? Lindsay Lohan in an orange jump suit. I think Europeans put us to shame when it comes to casual dress. Of course many of them also have the figures to look good in whatever they wear.

I know I'm fighting a losing battle here, but can still hope against hope that one day those suits and ties will come out of the closet, and style will be in style again.

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The Grinch Report

I thought it would be nice to write a rant based on things related to Christmas. Let it not be said that I lack holiday spirit. 

Christmas trees, a lovely tradition started by the Germans I believe, used to cost five or ten bucks. Some enterprising elf would set up in a vacant lot or on a street corner and have a supply of trees trucked in from God knows where. There was only one kind, Douglas Fir I think. You would wander down and find one that looked decent enough to haggle over. For a few dollars less, especially the closer you got to Christmas Eve, you could negotiate for the tree that had a bare side. Once home you could turn that side to the wall...who would know...and you'd be three bucks to the good. Now buying a tree is complicated. They have Christmas tree farms that grow a half dozen varieties, and all cost seventy-five dollars. They are all perfectly shaped so there is no bargaining with the tree guy around a fire blazing in the 50 gallon drum. Humbug.

Then comes the decorations. We used to dress up those scrawny trees with ornaments that had been in the family forever. The Christmas balls were beautifully made and sturdy. The colored lights were real bulbs that could be changed if they burned out. You could buy 4-watt bulbs or, if you lived not too far from the firehouse and craved adventure, the 9-watt babies. A few boxes of tinsel and a star would complete the job. Now tree ornaments are made so cheaply in China, and they break if you look at them too hard. Same for the crappy lights that come in a long string of 50 or 100. While safer to use, if one light goes, the whole set is useless. And the defective light never shows itself until the tree is up and fully decorated. And it is always the middle set of lights. Humbug.

It's a wonder there are any trees left given all the catalogs that start appearing in mailboxes around the holidays. I'm not exaggerating when I say we get at least 5 catalogs a day. Acorn Media sends me three a week in case I want another chance to order season 1 of the Inspector Morse mysteries. My favorite is the Hammacher-Schlemmer catalog that offers the most expensive yet wildly impractical gifts ever conceived by man, like the Porsche slot car racing set with precision detailed race cars for a mere $125,000. I also love the America's Heartland catalog that features outlandish items that I'm sure are found under many a redneck's Christmas tree..."three realistic duck decoys, two purple satin love pillows, and sweatpants that look like jeans." Humbug.

My final holiday beef is a musical one. Some radio stations in our area start playing 'all Christmas' music even before Thanksgiving is over. It sounds like a nice idea until you listen for a while. I'm going to throw out a number here, purely guess work on my part, that there are at least 3,000 Christmas songs available for play. When you consider that each one may have been performed by multiple artists, the number grows. My question is this: with all those songs to choose from, why do I hear the same few songs played over and over? Last Christmas, by George Michael, All I Want for Christmas, by Mariah Carey, and the much despised Holly Jolly Christmas by Burl Ives. I swear one day I will drive over a cliff lurching for the radio dial every time one of these comes on. Humbug.

Don't misunderstand, I really love Christmas. I look forward to decorating the house, I watch all the mandatory Christmas movies, I even go to Christmas day mass even though I know my regular seat will be taken by some jaboney who shows up once a year. Maybe this year Santa will hear all my Scrooging and send the ghost of Christmas Annoying to visit me.

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My Kind of Priest

Father Patrick McCarthy is a parish priest at Our Lady Queen of Peace in New Dorp on Staten Island. We started going to OLQP after the death of Father John Comiskey from St. Anne's, about whom I wrote in an earlier blog. http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?  One of the first Masses we attended was celebrated by Father McCarthy  a young man of around 40 with thinning hair, a Van Dyke beard, and horn-rimmed glasses. He has a very distinctive way of speaking, one I found very difficult to understand. At first, Lord forgive me, I tended to tune him out because of this. I have since amended my disrespectful ways after listening to a number of his wonderful homilies. Now I strain to hear him.

Let me give you an example. In today's homily his subject was humility, which for me ranks right up there after charity as a highly desirable Christian trait. There's an appalling shortage of it in the world. Father spoke about when he trained as a seminarian in Europe, and how periodic fund raising dinners would be held to benefit the school. Usually a few well known types would be invited, presumably to raise the profile of the events and hopefully draw more people. Father McCarthy smiled shyly as he told us that his job for these affairs was to stand outside in the dark holding a lantern and to guide the cars of the arriving guests into the parking lot. He recalled that on one cold evening he was amusing himself by trying to guess the status of arriving invitees by the kind of car they drove.

On this particular evening, the seminary was expecting members of the Hapsburg family, Europe's most powerful royal family. They supplied the continent with a nearly uninterrupted stream of rulers for more than six hundred years. With only one exception, the Hapsburg family also ruled the Holy Roman Empire from 1438, when Albert II was elected, until 1806. Father McCarthy imagined that such dignitaries would surely arrive in an expensive luxury car "like a Maserati", after all, people of importance like the Hapsburgs surely would travel in an automobile that suited their exalted place in life. Much to his surprise (and delight) their party pulled up in a Chevy Malibu! "How democratic they must be" he thought.

He then tied up this little story with the observation that Jesus lived a life marked by humility. He repeatedly told those on whom he worked miracles not to tell anyone what had happened. He refused to rise to the bait when Pontius Pilate asked him if he was a king, and said instead that His kingdom was not of this world. I guess we would all like to roar through those pearly gates in a shiny red Maserati, but maybe we'd have a better chance in a Chevy Malibu. These are the simple but profound lessons I like to take away from attending Mass. I don't need to hear about sinners being punished on Judgement Day...I know I'm far from perfect and I'm working on it. Talk to me of hope and redemption, tell me  forgiveness is possible, even for the weak like me. 

If you look around at the congregation for a typical Mass, the average age I'd say is about 60. That does not bode well for the future. If the Catholic Church is to survive for another 2,000 years, it needs young people. More priests like Father McCarthy not only talking about humility, but living humbly, would be a good start toward bringing them in. 

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Random Thoughts

In the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, with all its devastation, I love the car dealers and department stores that are trying to peddle their sleazy merchandise in the guise of "relief for Sandy victims." Have you no shame. Sales are so slow that they will stop at nothing to unload mounting inventory. If you're so concerned, write a check to a bona fide relief agency, or give your employees a day off if they volunteer to help with the cleanup. Don't try to con us with this make-believe concern when it's all just a ploy to make money. Same goes for the people who live in areas that were hit hard, and are scamming the relief services for money, even though they personally didn't suffer any real loss. When that Wheel of Life spins around, payback is a bitch for bums like you.

Saw the first installment of Oliver Stone's enlightening new show: "Untold History of the United States". The Showtime series "...runs over 10 one-hour episodes, beginning in World War II and continuing through the Obama administration". With newsreel footage, extensive research and Stone’s own understated narration, “Untold History” revisits familiar events, but professes to dispel the myths of history through a more objective retelling of the facts. For example, Stone states that contrary to accepted beliefs it wasn't America and Britain that defeated  Germany in WWII, but really the superhuman effort expended by the Russians. Their defeat of German forces at the bloody battle of Stalingrad was a turning point in the war, and proved Hitler was not invincible. Also, he points out that Russia suffered a staggering 27 million casualties compared to 1 million for The U.S. and England combined. Can't wait for episode 2.

I love Governor Chris Christie. He may sometimes speak intemperately, but he is totally honest and you always know where he stands. So many politicians never give a straight answer to a question; that's why they became politicians. Christie talks the way people talk on the street. When frustrated New Jerseans were calling utility companies to jam up their phone lines and harass them so they'd respond more quickly to power restoration efforts, Christie told them on the air to "Cut the crap and let these people do their jobs". You won't ever hear Chuck Schumer, Christine Quinn, or any other fence-sitting politico speak with such plain passion for fear of offending somebody. That's why Christie is worth ten of them. I hope I live to vote for him for President one day. Then I can go to that big golf course in the sky knowing the country, and my children's future are in good hands.

Sometimes we take for granted the people who provide the services we count on. That is until some disaster like the Trade Center attacks and the recent hurricane again remind us that they must leave their own families in troubled times so they can help ours. They were interviewing two local precinct cops recently on television about the heroism they displayed during Hurricane Sandy in rescuing stranded people along the battered Staten Island shore. The male officer said he thought of his own two daughters as motivation for helping families get to safety. The female said that situations like these are why she joined the force...to make a difference. You could sense they were uncomfortable talking about their personal roles, and stressed that it was a team effort. I was so glad to see them recognized for their thankless task of running into danger when everyone else is running away. May God keep them all safe.

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Oh Sandy!

After nine days off the grid, our power came back today. We have lived on Staten Island for 41 years and lost power maybe three times, and then for not more than a day. Luckily we had a gas fired hot water heater, a gas stove that we used for cooking and heat, and a number of battery powered lanterns and flashlights. We also, by God's providence, had just filled both cars with gas. For entertainment, I had a battery powered radio/CD player, and we sat in the dark listening to music and a bunch of old radio programs like Sherlock Holmes and Boston Blackie that I have on CDs. It was like living in 1938. We also played, Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit, and endless games of gin rummy and Solitaire. We supported each other and got to talk to some of our neighbors more than we ever have before.

Having worked for Con Edison for 30 years, I knew this was a bad storm, but never in my wildest dreams believed we'd be out for nine days! We were optimistic at first, but grew more concerned as houses all around us began to get power back, but not us. Turns out that a substation in our area had been flooded and the feeder that supplied us was out of service. Con Ed was distributing dry ice on our corner and that helped a lot. Communication from Con Ed, however, was horrible. Every time I called I got a different story. People answering my calls were located in Con Ed's Westchester office in Rye, and had no clue what was happening in my neighborhood or even where it was located! There were no Con Ed trucks visible in the street. One day, maybe five days after the storm, a Con Ed guy wearing a green safety vest and carrying a clip board showed up but had no information.

Each morning we used up a few precious ounces of gas to drive to the Staten Island Mall. We did our walking exercise and had a good, hot breakfast...then it was back home to light the candles and four stove top burners for light and heat. We did crossword puzzles and wore a path to the windows looking for the blue and white trucks. The nights were hard because it got dark so early and you got the feeling you should be in bed, but it was only 7:30 PM. We piled on the covers and slept warmly enough, but overnight the house temperature dipped into the fifties, and morning wake-ups were chilly. Hot showers worked wonders to keep us going, and a delivery of Chinese food was cause for celebration. The night before our power was restored, we went to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants and that was a huge treat.

The experience was a stressful one; I had a constant headache for nine days. Luckily my wife is very patient and calm, although I know I tested her patience more than once. We had no cell phone service for the first few days and I could only communicate by texting. I am not good at texting, and my rants and curses after pushing the wrong button surely were annoying to her while elevating up my blood pressure. We managed to vote (to no avail since Obama got another four years). I never cease to be amazed at the people they get to staff these polling places. They are as inept and clueless as anyone you will find on this earth. And these ridiculous paper ballots...they seem even more unreliable than the old clunker voting machines.

Despite the inconvenience and stress, we were among the lucky ones. Staten Island and other tri-state areas never saw a storm like Sandy and many are still suffering her wrath. I saw hundred-year old oak trees lying on electric wires, power boats blown around like toys, an oil tanker pushed up onto Tottenville Beach, and peoples' houses washed into the water. The people of Staten Island, and indeed all around the area, have been so caring and supportive that it makes an old cynic like me melt. There are relief collection stations everywhere and people just helping each other in small ways. The government response has been positive but could be better coordinated. The gas situation is downright criminal. 

Besides the renewal of my faith in human nature, I hope we come away from this storm wiser and better prepared to deal with (God forbid) the next one.

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS  

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

The Italians

I recently attended a lecture at the Garibaldi-Meucci Museum given by Professor Louis Leonini. The talk was to be about Amerigo Vespucci, the explorer for whom America is named. Professor Leonini spent some time discussing this remarkable man along with other Italian explorers like Christopher Columbus  Giovanni Cabotto (known to us as John Cabot) and Giovanni da Verrazano for whom our  Staten Island bridge is named. Soon our speaker  warmed up and began to point out how history has not always been kind to Italians. Our heroes were either ignored or their heritage disguised so that other ethnic groups could lay claim to their deeds. As Professor Leonini put it: "Success has many mothers, but failure is an orphan."

He mentioned how the French try to claim Verrazano as a Frenchman because in 1506, he settled in the port of Dieppe, in France, where he began his career as a navigator. In fact, Verrazano was born in Greve, a tiny town south of Florence in the Tuscan wine region. When we visited there a few years ago, we saw Verrazano's statue proudly looking out on the town square. John Cabot was an Italian navigator and explorer whose 1497 discovery of parts of North America under the commission of Henry VII of England is commonly held to have been the first European encounter with the mainland of North America since the Vikings visited. I grew up believing him to be English, but in fact he was born in southern Italy in Gaeta (my wife's grandmother's home town) and raised in the great port city of Venice.  

Perhaps the greatest slur on Italian culture has been the attacks on Christopher Columbus, an Italian from Genoa who sailed under the flag of Spain. Revisionist historians, with little or no proof, have characterized Columbus as a murderer and rapist, interested only in acquiring wealth for his European masters. The great courage, intelligence and bravery displayed by Columbus is written off by people with agendas who do their best to minimize the contributions of not just Italians, but all Western Europeans. They fabricate out of whole cloth, great (but imaginary) accomplishments for their own ethnic constituencies, while denigrating the real achievements of others. This is sad and pathetic; these half truths and outright lies must not be accepted unchallenged as history.

Italy spawned one of the most advanced and admired civilizations in the history of man. The modern renaissance in art, writing, architecture, philosophy and science was begun in Italy and its greatness is acknowledged to this day. Italian immigrants contributed mightily to the building of America, and their descendants continue to earn recognition in every field of endeavor. It was not always so; during the great wave of Italian immigration (1880-1925) many children of Italian parents were told by their school teachers that they were little more than savages who had to be subdued and acculturated to all things American if they were to be worth anything as citizens. Italian culture was denigrated, the Italian language was abandoned, and children were told to become Americans at all costs. 

It is supremely ironic that today in America, all  things Italian (clothes, jewelry, films, cars and cuisine) are considered to be the height of cool. Not that people still aren't taking shots at us with TV shows and movies that often portray Italians as gangsters, but Italians have largely outgrown this false characterization and emerged as the true (sometimes flawed) individualists they are. Talented, intelligent, family-oriented, temperamental, emotional, fun-loving and passionate, Italians have assimilated with a vengeance here in the United States. Grandma's black dresses and Grandpa's DiNobili cigars were put away while we all donned the mantle of "Americans." The time has come for our generation to reclaim its Italian roots.


Talk to your children and grandchildren about the great men and women Italy gave to the world. Show them the work of DaVinci, Michaelangelo, Donatello and Brunelleschi; read to them from Dante, Pirandello, and Carlo Collodi, play for them the music of Caruso, Mario Lanza, Pavorotti, Renata Tebaldi and even Frank Sinatra; talk to them about the Italian explorers who defied existing beliefs and stretched the boundaries of the world, and most of all, take them to Ellis Island to see and hear about the sacrifices made by their great grandparents so that they could enjoy life in America. 

As Italians, we should not let our culture be defined by revisionist historians who tear us down with lies. We should speak up when ignorant people make statements about Italians that are biased and misinformed. In the last 100 years we have put great emphasis on the American part of Italian-American; its time to be proud the Italian in us.

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS  

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association