The Road to Sicily - Part 1

I love those Hope-Crosby-Dorothy Lamour road films where they joked and sang their way through all those exotic places. We recently got back from a week in Sicily, and I wanted to share my impressions of this beautiful island in the Mediterranean, so situated as to look like it is being kicked by the toe of Italy's boot. We had studied a little Italian before leaving, but it didn't help because in Sicily, Italian is spoken sideways. Cultural influences embedded there from all the peoples who have occupied the island have left it with a language all its own. We managed to communicate, mainly because my son is the most ardent fan of things Italian that I know, and his unique combination of speech, gestures and charm got us through.

We arrived on October 17, 2011 in the modern city of Palermo to begin our journey...my son Matt and his wife Alicia, and Jasmine and me. Our first stop was the Grand Hotel Wagner, smack in the middle of town. It is a formidable old palace that looks like Versailles on the inside. The rooms were comfortable, but in the European style which usually means no bath tub. They also have a sensible energy conservation policy where the room lights go off unless you leave a coded card in a slot in the wall. If you forget to leave the card in the slot, it usually means a toe-bruising stumble to the bathroom at night in pitch blackness. The breakfasts were very good though, something you can't take for granted in Europe. As for other meals, Palermo is full of restaurants, one of which, Antica Focacceria San Francesco, serves a spleen sandwich that my son insisted on trying. It tasted like you might imagine.

Like the rest of Italy, Sicily is full of churches. Every town of any size has its duomo, basilica or cathedral that dominates the main square. With our local guide Virginia, whose voice could be used to break down prisoners of war, we toured St. Mary of the Assumption and the Palatine Chapel of Sts. Peter and Paul (left) whose architecture was clearly influenced by the Byzantines. These are serious churches folks, that dwarf the tiny, modern churches we are building in America these days. The labor and craftsmanship required to build them means we will never see their like again. The altars, statuary, ceilings and columns of these houses of worship are awe-inspiring, and one can't help feel the presence of the Almighty while inside. It's a little off putting to see cheesy souvenirs being hawked outside, but I guess everybody has to make a living.

We had lunch outside Palermo at a magnificent estate called Casale Del Principe (which was billed in the brochure as a "working farm"). It may have started out as a farm, but this place is now an architectural gem with impressive rooms and breathtaking views in every direction. The staff there served us a lunch that would kill most men, but Italians take it in their stride. The meal was accompanied by pitchers of local wine that tasted wonderful, and they brought as much as you can drink. The stop was a good one in that once the folks in our tour group had their fill of vino, the shyness evaporated and people were table hopping and taking pictures of one another like they were old pals.

That night we made the first of what turned out to be regular visits to a combination wine-coffee-dessert shop called Spinnato around the corner from our hotel. They don't really have places like this in the U.S. which is unfortunate because you couldn't think of a nicer way to end your day. One of the treats tourists to Italy always talk about is the gelato, and Spinnato had a dazzling array of flavors. One could sit outside as most people do, or at one of the booths in the rear of the shop. One thing I can't understand is that Italians eat lots of pasta and gelato, and drink lots of wine, so how come they all look so slim and fashionable? You could pick the tourists out of the crowd in a heartbeat, the tip-off being the brand-new (and ugly) sneakers they all wear when they travel.

In Part 2 of this journey, we will visit the stunning city of Cefalu, the wineries at Marsala, and the picturesque seaside town of Mondello, home to the mountaintop shrine of St. Rosalia. On the bus everyone! Andiamo.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “BRAINDROPS” POSTS. ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: "SPALDEEN DREAMS"

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS:

Children's Craniofacial Association

The Depersonalization of America

I like to people-watch, and living in New York City is a people-watcher's dream. There are so many different races, ethnic groups, tourists, natives, and borderline wackos to look at. One thing I've noticed is that people seem more detached from one another and attached to whatever electronic interface connects them to the world. The art and joy of face-to-face communication is in serious decline. We tweet, surf, e-mail, and telephone, but we don't talk. People wander around like zombies, a $4 cup of coffee in one hand, and an i-phone in the other, fearful of putting the phone down lest they miss some trivial bit of gossip. I have actually seen friends sitting at a table together over breakfast, each talking to other people on the phone. Walkers pass me in the park staring straight ahead, unwilling to make eye contact or nod good morning. What is happening to us?   

Back in the 1970s when e-mail first appeared on my work scene, company executives hated it. They would have their secretaries (now an extinct species in the business world) read all their e-mails for them and type out written responses. People went for weeks without looking at their e-mail. Now, so attuned to this electronic medium, we read it from home at night or while on vacation. Nobody is ever unavailable for work associates any more. Cowards use e-mail to tell you what they haven't got the guts to say to your face. Schemers with personal agendas send blind copies of e-mails to people with no business getting them as a way of circumventing the chain of command. Outside consultants, professional hatchets, are brought in to handle layoffs. As a kid I worked in a fruit and vegetable store making deliveries. When business dropped off due to competition from supermarkets, the old man had to let me go. He sat down with tears in his eyes to give me the news, and sent me home with enough produce and cold cuts for a couple of weeks. That's how you do it.

Personal relationships are now handled like job interviews. We used to go to clubs and dances looking for dates and companionship. There were rules and rituals and we pretty much followed them. I've spoken before about how guys would show up in the lobby of The Grace Downs Academy in Manhattan, a school that boarded young ladies who were training to become stewardesses, just like the ones on the new ABC show, Pan Am. The girls would come down to look over the male talent seated in the lobby, strike up a conversation if a guy looked promising, and off they would go on a date. Today people meet on Facebook or through e-Harmony.com. It seems safer somehow than the old Grace Downs approach, but it is not. Predators lurk online,  seeking to hide behind the electronic curtain until they are ready to pounce.

The compulsion to deal with the world electronically is a little frightening. For example, driving a car in New York City is really a task that requires one's undivided attention, especially now that people drive vehicles the size of small office buildings. Every day I see tailgaters, speeders, stop sign and red light runners, no-signal lane changers, clueless pedestrians, and innumerable school buses. It takes focus and defensive driving skills to survive in this "Road Warrior" environment, yet I see people texting, talking on cell phones and looking at laptops while the car is in motion! It's as if the fate of the world depended on them answering every inane text and tweet immediately, regardless of the risks.

Generally speaking, depersonalizing human relations is not a good thing. We tend to behave less kindly when we don't have to look the recipient of the unkindness in the eye. It is probably too late to go back...more people are around who grew up in this electronic age than those of us who remember what was like before. I feel sorry for them.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “BRAINDROPS” POSTS. ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: "SPALDEEN DREAMS"

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS:

Children's Craniofacial Association

The Staten Island Ferry

New Yorkers, except maybe once on their prom night, have ever had the pleasure of riding the Staten Island Ferry. The ferry operates 24/7 between the Whitehall Terminal in lower Manhattan and the St. George terminal on Staten Island. The New York harbor crossing is about 5 miles long and takes about 25 minutes. The DOT oversees a fleet of nine vessels that provide a vital transportation link for approximately 60,000 commuters and tourists each weekday. Ferry service has been in place since the 1700s. The fare for the crossing, established in 1897, was five cents for many years. In 1972 it rose to ten cents, and reached fifty cents in 1990. Then, in 1997, the fare for pedestrians was eliminated, creating one of the best bargains to be found in New York City.

There have been mishaps over the years. (Data courtesy of the Staten Island Ferry website):

• On July 30, 1871 at about 1:30 pm the ferry boat Westfield II experienced a catastrophic boiler explosion while in the slip at Whitehall. Several days after the disaster it was revealed that at least 85 people had lost their lives. Several more were added to the death toll weeks later.     
• June 14th, 1901 the ferryboat Northfield was leaving Whitehall when it was struck by a Jersey Central Ferry the Mauch Chaunk and sank immediately. Out of 995 passengers aboard the Northfield only 5 ended up missing. This accident was one of the major reasons that private operations of the ferries were ended and the City of New York took control.
• In 1978, the American Legion crashed into the concrete seawall near the Statue of Liberty ferry port during a dense fog. 173 were injured.
• On April 12th, 1995 The Ferry boat Barberi plowed into #4 slip in St. George due to a mechanical malfunction, injuring a handful of passengers. The doors on the saloon deck were crushed by the aprons. The accident would have been much worse if not for the heroic actions of the bridge man who remained on station and lowered the bridge to the right height to help stop the boat. 
• October 15, 2003 at about 5:30 pm the ferry boat Andrew J. Barberi slammed into a maintenance pier on Staten Island. The impact of the crash snapped the pilings at the seaward corner of the pier like toothpicks. 10 people died that day and an 11th person died two months later from injuries from the accident.

After the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center the Staten Island Ferry transported tens of thousands of people out of lower Manhattan to safety on Staten Island. The captains docked the ferries under zero visibility as the smoke and debris from the collapses filled the sky. The following days passengers were not allowed on the ferries. The fleet was being used to transport emergency personnel and equipment to and from lower Manhattan. In addition to the emergency personnel and equipment the ferries were also being used to transport military personnel and equipment to Governors Island and lower Manhattan. Included in this were U.S. Army tanks. Since that day the Staten Island Ferry no longer carries cars.

People watchers are in heaven riding the ferry. If it exists in the world, sooner or later you will see it on the boat. One of the greatest benefits of riding the ferry is the up-close and spectacular view it affords of the Statue of Liberty. On the Staten Island bound trip, the boat glides by Lady Liberty gleaming in the bright sunshine or bathed in light at night. Tourists armed with cameras can be seen rushing to the statue side of the boat and excitedly pointing out that beacon of freedom to their children in a hundred different languages. If ever we needed reminding that the Unites States is still the world's model for democracy and freedom, I challenge you to witness this spectacle and say it isn't so.

The Staten Island Ferry connects to another transportation system little known off the Island, the highly reliable Staten Island Rapid Transit train. The ferry has been a part of our lives since we moved here in 1971. Whether it was just decompressing on deck with a beer after work, or shepherding a gang of Cub Scouts to see the Lady of the Harbor, I never fail to get a lump in my throat each time we pass her by. May God bless America with the strength and resolve to uphold the ideals contained in the immortal words

of poet Emma Lazarus:  "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"  Wow.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “BRAINDROPS” POSTS. ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: "SPALDEEN DREAMS"

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS:

Children's Craniofacial Association

Serendipity

The Miriam-Webster dictionary defines Serendipity as: the faculty or phenemon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for. Today, serendipity smiled on me. Jasmine and I visited the historic Richmondtown complex here on Staten Island, home to a restored Colonial village and a museum. We planned to see an exhibit about the Negro Baseball Leagues and their place in New York Yankee history. When we arrived, it seemed the exhibit was shut down  because a one-hour class in portrait photography was being held in the same space. The man teaching the class came in to the room where we were waiting. Since only one registered student showed up for his class, he asked us if we would like to sit in for free. And that is how we met Al Efron.

We chatted for a while and Al explained how he had a passion for photography since he was a boy. Being a child of the post depression years (Al is 81) he learned early to hustle a buck. He and his friend would take the subway up to the Harlem dance halls, which were numerous in the 1940s, and offer to take group shots of people's tables for a dollar. They later augmented their small income by running a hatcheck operation and splitting the take with the dance hall owner. This is how people learned to depend on themselves back in the days before welfare removed all incentive to work. But I digress.

After he got married and had kids, Al found he could not support his family as a photographer. For a period of eight years, including a three-year internship, he studied to become an architect. After passing his State certification exams, he and three friends started their own firm. By the time he retired, the firm employed 75 architects. After retirement, Al returned to his first love, photography, but found things had changed so much that he knew virtually nothing about modern cameras. Rather than be content to just buy a digital camera and point and click like the rest of us, he threw himself into learning. He attended schools given by Nikon, and also several week-long Photoshop classes out West where he has a house in Tuscon.

As you have guessed by now, Al liked to chat, since we found out all this and more about him in an hour. He talked about a trip recently to San Diego that required climbing slippery cliffs in  in the pre-dawn darkness so the light would be just right for the birds they were photographing. Not bad for an 81 year-old guy! He also told us he refuses to sell his work although he exhibits it frequently. If someone likes a picture, he gives it to them, frame and all. We sat through his class and Al taught us about how to use light and shadow to create more interesting portraits. He talked about the best times of day to shoot, and also how to make a photo composition more interesting. We saw some of his portraits on his Apple I-pad, and they were very good.

Sometimes life's little unlooked-for surprises can make your day. Al proved to be as interesting and energetic a guy as I have met in a long while. He inspired me to get out and take some pictures, which I did at Great Kills beach immediately on returning home. (See sample above.) By the way, Al's class was in the same room as the Negro Leagues exhibit, so we got to see that too. All in all, a good day.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “BRAINDROPS” POSTS. ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: "SPALDEEN DREAMS"

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS:

Children's Craniofacial Association

Law and Order

I just read in today's paper that the Bronx District Attorney's office throws out twice the number of arrests than the NYC average for the other boroughs. Police are frustrated to see arrests they work very hard to make either plea bargained down to ridiculously lenient charges or dismissed altogether. Even Assistant D.A.s in that office want to push harder for prosecutions, but claim their hands are tied by "top down" policies. In defense of his policies, Robert Johnson, Bronx D.A., was quoted as saying: "We take the deprivation of an individual's liberties very seriously." Guess what Bobby: the people of the Bronx take crimes committed against them very seriously too, and put you in office to protect them!

Every lawyer or cop show I watch makes it clear that prosecution of criminals to the fullest extent of the law is no longer anybody's priority. Costs drive our justice system now. Criminals know this and the deterrent of punishment no longer gives them pause before committing a crime. WIth a haircut, a clean suit and a good lawyer, any crook it seems can get his or her sentence plea bargained down without even going to trial. This wasn't always the case in New York. Tough prosecutors like Robert Morgenthau, backed up by tough judges put a lot of bad people away. Organized criminal enterprises like the Mafia (get over it my fellow Italians, it does exist) were cut down and nearly eliminated. This was accomplished by courageous men and women unafraid of threats or reprisals, not by cowards like Robert Johnson who forget what side of the law they are on.

Ever since the Miranda Law was passed, the rights of criminals seem more important to our society than the rights of victims. I detest police brutality, but I also detest the idea of tying the hands of our cops so that they are afraid to do their jobs. This not only jeopardizes their safety, but ours as well. High-minded Liberal legislators pass these laws protecting criminals because it's not their asses in that dark alley trying to collar some drug-crazed felon who is probably armed than they are. Every time a cop fires his or her weapon, the wheels of the bureaucracy begin to turn; reams of forms must be filled out and the lynch mobs start the investigations, led by dirt bags like Al Sharpton. I refuse to refer to him as "Reverend." We are a society of laws, but some common sense must prevail or we will surely lose to the bad guys.

Even those cases that make it to trial are at the mercy of juries so dumb that it beggars belief. Defense attorneys have become expert at choosing jurors who will sympathize with their clients for whatever reason. All it takes is one vote to hang a jury. There should be more to jury duty given all that is at stake. If you are too stupid to understand the evidence that is put before you, or unwilling to convict no matter the preponderance of evidence, then you should be excused. Every defendant is entitled to a fair trial, but we the people should be entitled to some protection too. It's not right that a murderer like O.J. Simpson should be set free among us because of biased jurors, aided and abeted by incompetent prosecutors, a highly unqualified judge, and evidence-cooking cops. We deserve a better system.

I wonder how long before we learn that the Bronx D.A. is on the take. District Attorneys are supposed to prosecute crimes, not dismiss them. Here's my solution: We need more dedicated and courageous prosecutors with the mandate to take cases to trial; justice is not served by plea bargaining and it should be reduced to an absolute minimum; finally, bring back the death penalty and use it.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “BRAINDROPS” POSTS. ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: "SPALDEEN DREAMS"

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS:

Children's Craniofacial Association  

Oh Little Town of Bethlehem

No, not the Bethlehem where Jesus was born, but the steel town in Pennsylvania where the new Sands Casino now sits on a site once occupied by Bethlehem Steel and its 18,000 employees. The company began in 1861, producing mainly track for America's rapidly expanding railway system, and steel armor plate for U.S. Naval ships. By the end of the century, Bethlehem Steel ascended to national prominence in American industry and branched out into ship building, rolled sheet steel for skyscrapers, railroad freight cars, and was the world's largest supplier to the construction sector. The five brick chimneys of its blast furnaces could be seen in the sky from miles around, and still stand today as a reminder of this country's decline as a world manufacturing leader.

In its heyday, America's manufacturing capacity was second to none. The steel industry operated with little foreign competition. Eventually, the foreign firms were rebuilt with modern techniques such as continuous casting, while profitable (and arrogant) U.S. companies resisted modernization. Meanwhile, U.S. steelworkers were given rising benefits due to the intervention of greedy unions whose lack of vision would soon doom America's leadership position, not only in the steel industry, but across the manufacturing sector. By the 1970s, imported foreign steel was generally cheaper than domestically produced steel. In 1982, Bethlehem reported a loss of $1.5 billion and shut down many of its operations.

Inexpensive steel imports and the failure of management to innovate, embrace technology, and improve labor conditions contributed to Bethlehem's demise. Also hampering America's ability to compete with foreign steel producers were ill-conceived protectionist steel trade policies that shielded domestic steel producers like Bethlehem from foreign competition by quotas and voluntary export restraints. A country that once prided itself on its genius for manufacturing innovation, state-of-the-art factories and efficient, hard-working people had lost its way. Starting in the 1970s, manufacturing activities in the United States drastically declined as industry after industry moved overseas, taking millions of American jobs with them.

America did its best to compensate. For example, despite the closing of its local operations, Bethlehem Steel tried to reduce the impact on the Lehigh Valley area with plans to revitalize the south side of Bethlehem. It hired consultants to develop conceptual plans on the reuse of the massive property. The consensus was to rename the 163-acre site Bethlehem Works and to use the land for cultural, recreational, educational, entertainment and retail development. The National Museum of Industrial History, in association with the Smithsonian Institution and the Bethlehem Commerce Center, consisting of 1,600 acres of prime industrial property, would be erected on the site along with a casino and large retail and entertainment complex.

America shifted from a manufacturing to a service economy. We looked down our noses at factory workers, and decided that every kid should get a college degree, whether they had the brains or not. Academic standards were lowered to accommodate marginal students at the same time trade schools were being closed since there were no longer factories to employ their graduates. We now live with a substandard school system and no manufacturing jobs for manual workers. This country was built on the backs of people who worked with their hands, men who carried lunch pails and were proud of doing a day's work for a day's pay. We made a mistake. We forgot what got us where we were, and abandoned an important economic sector for greener pastures that turned brown when the dot.com bubble burst.

As we drove into Bethlehem, Pa. to make a donation at the Sands Casino, one could only imagine the bustle in that town when Bethlehem Steel was at the height of its greatness. You could almost hear the sound of the whistles from the factories that gave people living there an honorable way to support their families. I only hope America can recover from its error. Judging from the current state of the economy, the roulette table at the Sands might be a better bet.

(Some source information taken from Wikipedia.)

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “BRAINDROPS” POSTS. ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: "SPALDEEN DREAMS"

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS:

Children's Craniofacial Association

Good Night Irene

It's 10:30 on Sunday morning and my stomach is still in knots after our visit from Hurricane Irene last night. I hope the worst is over for us, but I'm still worried about friends and family who may not yet be out of the woods. Thankfully the storm did not hit our area with nearly the ferocity predicted. There's been lots of rain, but winds did not get as high as when the storm was stronger. The water is still a big problem, especially for those in low-lying areas. From what I saw on TV, New Jersey and Long Island had it worse. Heavily treed areas saw a lot of damage, especially loss of power as toppling trees took down power lines. By the grace of God we are safe, and for that we are very thankful.

As I look back over the past couple of days, I think about the build-up to this event, especially Saturday's news coverage. Virtually every major network in our area offered non-stop storm programming. Hundreds of reporters, cameramen, and technical support personnel pounded us with Irene stories, most of them redundant and hardly newsworthy.  By the end of the day, viewers were frazzled by the bombardment of images and words. I knew there was a storm coming, and I certainly want to be kept abreast of any changes, but to be beaten over the head with the same information just wears me out. Tired old footage from past storms and countless interviews with people who have absolutely nothing to say makes no sense to me.

All the weather geeks are quivering with excitement and anticipation...instead of being relegated to an afterthought on the nightly news, this is THEIR hour. They try to outdo each other with techno-babble like who invented the scale they use to categorize hurricanes. Who cares! To the best of your knowledge, tell me when the storm is coming and where, what conditions I can expect, and let me know if anything changes. That's all. I don't need 24/7 coverage of mouth-breathers telling me what it was like in 1992 when Hurricane Waldo hit. I would rather see something like a Seinfeld or Honeymooners marathon so at least I have something to laugh at while waiting for doomsday.

And here's another thing. I can understand if hurricanes excite you, after all, they are extraordinary weather events that some people may want to see up close. I can even understand if you're a surfer and want a crack at the kind of waves you'd have to go to Hawaii to see. It's your life and you are responsible for safeguarding it, even if that means ignoring the warnings to stay indoors and away from the dangers of the storm. Here's the thing though...don't expect good people to risk their lives if you get into trouble. If you want to put your life at risk by doing what you are specifically told not to do, then it's your ass. My son is a firefighter and I don't want his life put at risk to save someone too stupid to live.

We are fortunate in New York City. We have four seasons, each with its own pros and cons. We normally don't get the weather extremes like tornadoes, floods, hurricanes and earthquakes that plague other parts of the country, although this week provided us with one each of the latter two. Every once in a while we get a bad snowstorm but that's pretty much it. When we do get exposed to events like Irene, our common sense should prevail, as it does for most people. I think the local governments did a great job in advising people how to prepare, and took sensible measures themselves like evacuating flood-prone areas, shutting down mass transit, and suspending bridge tolls to facilitate movement of traffic. Hats off to the Mayor, and especially to our local officials who kept us informed of area developments.

Advice for future events: To the media, less obsessive coverage please; to the daredevils, stay at home you morons; to the people, do what you're asked to do and keep an eye out for your neighbors; and to the first responders who are out in all the danger, thank you a thousand times over for keeping us safe at your own peril.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “BRAINDROPS” POSTS. ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: "SPALDEEN DREAMS"

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS:  

Children's Cranioacial Association

Canada, Our Neighbor to the North

We traveled to Montreal and Quebec City this past week on our fourth trip to the second largest country in the world after Russia. Canada has always been a favorite place for us to visit. We've enjoyed Ontario, Toronto and Nova Scotia, and the province of Quebec was no exception. The people are friendly, the restaurants are good, the scenery is spectacular, the flight is short, and the money is very comparable to our currency. Summer is obviously the best time to see Canada, unless you like temperatures of forty below zero and constant snow. It is so cold in parts of Canada that many major cities have constructed underground cities miles long that contain shops, places to eat, bars and professional services. Intricate passageways connect these establishments to transportation hubs and apartment complexes so that citizens can conduct their business without ever coming above ground.

We arrived in Montreal where we stayed at the Hilton Bonaventure, a great hotel in the heart of the downtown area. We had less than five days to do as much as we could, so we wasted no time. In our experience, the best way to learn what there is to see in any new place is to book one of those hop-on, hop-off guided bus tours. We ride the entire circuit of attractions to help decide what we want to see, and then jump off the bus when it stops at our first desired destination. We then hop back on the bus, which usually comes every half-hour, and ride to our next destination. I don't know a better way to quickly learn about a city and preview planned stops than this method. Our first stop in Montreal was the Redpath Natural History Museum on the campus of McGill University.  We also hit the Montreal Museum of Art. I don't mean this in a snobbish way, but coming from New York City, home to some of the world's greatest museums, it's very hard to find many museums that measure up.

Because of its French origins, Montreal is a city of Catholic churches, housing some of the most beautiful cathedrals and basilicas you will ever see in one place. These include Notre Dame, Mary Queen of the World, St. Patrick's and St. Joseph Oratory. The latter is atop a big hill and is reached by a series of escalators. There are also stairs for the less faint of heart. Penitents seeking forgiveness for their sins are known to ascend these stairs on their knees, saying a brief prayer on each step. A young man was doing this during our visit. These edifices are all magnificent structures inside and out, and could never be built today because of cost and the lack of craftsmen. We also cruised Montreal's harbor and got some great views of the city. Finally, the visit would not be complete without a trip to the Casino de Montreal where we actually came out about even for two nights' work.

We took a three-hour bus ride to Quebec City, an old world city that feels more like Europe than Canada. There is a lower city and an upper city at the top of a hill. Tourists travel from one to the other using a "funicular", a kind of glorified escalator. Quebec City features narrow, stone paved streets lined with shops and restaurants. The upper city contains the Parliament Building, the Quebec City Armory, the Grand Frontenac Hotel pictured at left, and the city's Botanical Gardens. We also cruised the harbor where a tour guide filled us in on the history of the city and how, in a matter of minutes, a key battle turned it from a French city into a British one. We could have used another day to walk around this lovely old city, but it was soon time to get back on the bus to Montreal.

Throughout Quebec, French is the predominant language, but English is spoken freely to accommodate the tourists. I thought I sometimes detected a slight undercurrent of French superiority and thinly disguised contempt when they realized you did not speak their language. For example on the bus ride to Quebec City, the driver mentioned there were only two seats left. As we got on we saw two seats up front marked "Reserved". When my wife looked inquiringly at a French woman seated behind the reserved seats she said in her nasally voice: "You can read, no?" I should have reminded her that if it wasn't for the United States saving their raggedy asses in WWII, she would be speaking German instead of French.

The occasionally rude Frenchman is just a minor inconvenience to be sure compared to everything else Quebec has to offer, and we thoroughly enjoyed our trip.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “BRAINDROPS” POSTS. ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: "SPALDEEN DREAMS"

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS:

Children's Cranioacial Association 

You've been through it I'm sure. You make reservations months in advance for that special dinner with the love of your life. You know it will be an expensive night, but it is a special occasion and you decide to shoot the works. The big day finally arrives and you both take a few extra pains with your preparations. Your wife looks beautiful and literally glows with an inner beauty that has kept you in her spell all these years. Even though you will be uncomfortable, you put on that suit and tie, not wanting to look like a bum alongside your radiant spouse. You drive to the restaurant, and after being cordially greeted by the maitre 'd and seated in a romantic corner booth, you tell yourself that whatever this night is costing you, it's worth the money. The waiter brings you a bottle of good red wine, and as you prepare to toast the partner who has made your life worth living, the bratty kid in the next booth throws a packet of sweet and low at your head.

Listen, don't get me wrong. I don't hate kids. We raised three of them and I couldn't be prouder of how they turned out. The reason they passed through childhood and became responsible adults is that when it was necessary, they heard the word "no." Too many kids today are unfamiliar with the word. They have their parents completely bamboozled with their inexcusable behavior, usually described by the ridiculous phrase, "acting out." They're acting out alright, acting like the undisciplined brats they are. In the circumstances described above, the dialog might go like this: Parent: "Tyler, that was not very nice; please say you're sorry to the man." Tyler: "No." Parent, grinning sheepishly, to you: "I'm so sorry, he's usually not like this."  You, knowing Tyler is probably always like this and wanting to push his face into the mashed potatoes: "That's OK, no harm done."

Unless someone intervenes, Tyler will grow up to become, as they say in the child psychology literature, an asshole. His clueless parents, unable to admit to themselves that this ten year-old has totally defeated them, will go through life pretending nothing is wrong. They will defend Tyler to the death, no matter how horrible his behavior. This little rationalization allows them to keep a shred of parental dignity, while knowingly foisting their demon offspring on an unsuspecting world. They will go toe-to-toe with teachers, sports coaches, other parents, anybody who dares challenge their delusion that Tyler is the perfect child. The really sad thing is that, unless there is a medical reason for the kid's behavior, a little parental responsibility exercised very early on Tyler's road to asshole-ville, could probably have prevented his unfortunate fate. Absent that, Tyler's only hope is for another person to gain the kid's respect and turn the ship around.

In our world today, kids spend more time with their electronic toys than they do interacting with humans, including their parents. Their addiction to these devices is isolating them from reality and affecting their ability to think and be creative. It's not that these devices are inherently bad, but when the average kid spends 6.5 hours a day with some type of electronic media, it takes time away from activity like group play where they learn social skills and how to deal with others. I firmly believe that during their formative years, kids' time with electronic gadgets should be limited and monitored. It's easy to get on Facebook and say hurtful things that damage others, or to meet and communicate with the wrong people. It's also tempting to leave them alone when they're being quiet and not bothering you, but maybe that's the most dangerous time of all.

Being a parent is never easy. Most of what we know comes from watching our own parents and trying to improve on their approach. My own father was never much good at saying no, but my mother had it down pat. She wasn't a tyrant, but she knew when to draw a line in the sand, and God help me if I crossed it. Because of her, while I may not have been a perfect kid, I was no Tyler either. So courtesy of my Mom, for any parent who may need them, here is a free supply of Nos. Don't be afraid to use them. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “BRAINDROPS” POSTS. ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: "SPALDEEN DREAMS"

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS:

Children's Cranioacial Association

America's in Trouble

What is happening to our country? America was the role model for the world, the country every other country wanted to be. The American Revolution sounded the clarion call for liberty and the end of tyranny. Abraham Lincoln fought a war to end slavery and give every man the rights guaranteed in our Constitution. We beat Hitler, Mussolini and Hirohito, making the world safe for Democracy. We put a man on the moon and put the last nail into the coffin of Communism. We were at the top of our game. Now we're drowning in debt; many of our people would rather live off the sweat of others than go to work themselves; our leaders spend more energy fighting with each other than for the country; and there is a sense of hopelessness everywhere you look in our land.

Our economy is in a shambles. If we reduced government spending by one-hundred million dollars a day, it would take us 389 years to pay off the trillions we owe. I just can't get my head around that kind of statistic. 47% of Americans pay zero in Federal Income taxes. That means roughly half the country is working to support the other half. Stop the giveaways and the entitlements immediately. Reward those who get jobs and improve their education, but stop handing our free money to those who refuse to do anything to earn it. Poverty is the greatest incentive in the world for work and self-improvement. When the government takes that incentive away through welfare, people are no longer motivated to get to a better place and the rest of us are forced to pick up the tab.

The faces of our enemies have changed. They hide behind innocent women and children to fight their war of terror, driven by a ruthless lunatic fringe whose religion demands they slaughter those whose beliefs may be different from theirs. We lose the flower of our youth in wars of attrition, with never a clear victory. The "allies" we try to cultivate in these backward Third World regions take our billions in aid while secretly harboring those whose aim is to exterminate us. It's time to take off the kid gloves and stop worrying about our methods of interrogating prisoners of war. Either we seek out and ruthlessly eradicate these elements by any means necessary, or we fold up our tents and bring our soldiers home to their families.

We set term limits for all political jobs. The argument against that is: well what if we get a really good incumbent who we don't want to get rid of after a set term? Here's my answer: out of 100 politicians, how many would you really want to keep when their term limit was up? Not many. More often than not, people like Ted Kennedy, Chuck Schumer and Harry Reid (yes, Republicans too) stay in power too long. They use their influence for mainly one thing: to stay in power. They forget why the people sent them to office. They look for ways to use our tax dollars to fund more entitlements for their constituents, who in turn vote them back into office, and the cycle continues.

Finally, we take a hard look at who gets to vote. Unless you can cast at least a minimally informed ballot, why should you have a say in who gets to run the country. I know someone who, at a job interview recently, was asked just one question by the senior manager at the table: "Can you name the last five U.S. Presidents?" I'm not suggesting we quiz every voter in depth, but surely you should know a little about the issues and what your candidate stands for. If you barely have the brains to find the voting lever for the party you have been told to vote for to keep the freebies coming, then we don't need your vote. If you are so disinterested in the country's future, then let the rest of us decide who to put in office. 

If any Liberal should read this by mistake, please spare me your comments. You've done enough to screw up this country.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “BRAINDROPS” POSTS. ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: "SPALDEEN DREAMS"

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS:

Children's Cranioacial Association

Hamina, Hamina, Hamina

I heard once that, second only to death, the thing people fear most in life is speaking in front of a group. "Glossophobia" or speech anxiety comes from the Greek word glossophobia  meaning tongue, and phobos, fear or dread. If you've ever waited in the wings to make a presentation, cotton-mouthed and sweaty-palmed, you know the feeling. I shudder when recalling the first time I had to speak in front of a business group. I was in the sales training program for the Standard Register Company. Before trainees were admitted to the sales force and assigned a territory, they had to make a presentation to the rest of the sales team and several managers including the regional Vice President. Although you might think this would be a relatively friendly audience, this was not the case at all. This rite of passage was hell for the trainees because the audience got a fiendish pleasure out of hazing the presenters. Heckling, rude noises and rapid-fire technical questions about the company's products were par for the course.

I was nervous for two reasons. First, there was the aforementioned fear of public speaking. We wore suits and ties in those days and I was sweating like an Enron accountant. Second, I really didn't understand the company's products all that well. Standard Register made electronic cash registers and data handling equipment like "bursters" that removed the margins with holes that fed the continuous sheets of paper through the printer. This was in the days before sheet printers eliminated these clunky machines. Although I didn't even have the sales job yet, I had a sinking feeling that sales was not the career for me. Because I sensed there was no future in this job, I didn't exactly kill myself preparing for this gig. I could see some of the older guys, Lou, Bob, Bill, Stan, Larry and my manager Alex, signalling by gestures that they were laying for me. What could I possibly say to hold their interest and keep them from humiliating me in front of the big V.P. who would decide my fate?

There were no desktop computers or snazzy visual aids in the 1960s; no PowerPoint software that in 30 minutes could whip out a professional presentation with stunning graphics. All we had were big flip charts on which we wrote out our story using magic markers, the smelly kind that could get you high if you sniffed them long enough. I had maybe a dozen sheets filled with bullet points about what I wanted to say about our company and its products. I was careful not to put too much text on each chart because I was told that reading it can become tedious for the audience. I was going to paste colored pictures of our product line on the charts to supplement my talking points, but at the last minute made a change in the charts. As the other presenters finished their remarks, it was now my turn. I could see Lou nudge Bill; two of the biggest b-busters in the office were getting ready to ambush me; the blood was in the water.

I could barely speak as I croaked out my first few lines. My mouth was dry and my voice quavered. (Later in life as I became a more experienced speaker, I learned that these symptoms never go away, you just learn to deal with them better.) My introductory remarks were met with bored stares. At least four speakers had preceeded me, and I was standing squarely between these guys and their lunch. Alex, my manager, gave me the "speed-it-up" signal. As I flipped the next chart page there was an uproar in the group. In place of the colored pictures of company products, I had substituted pictures of scantily clad women from the pages of an old Playboy that was floating around the office. The audience was all men, and I immediately had their undivided attention. I didn't miss a beat. I told my story with a straight face, exactly as I had rehearsed it. I don't think the guys heard a word I said, but they hooted and applauded as I turned each page. As any secretary in the room could tell you, the regional V.P. was the biggest letch in the room. He smiled and nodded through my entire pitch.

The ploy worked. As I heard the audience's laughter and applause, I relaxed. My voice became strong and assured, and I pulled it off without a stumble. When I finished, it was handshakes all around. Over the years I have learned that humor in a presentation can be a great tension reliever, but it can also lead to disaster. I once saw a V.P. at Con Edison, who was making a presentation to the company's Board of Directors, tell the most inappropriate joke anyone ever told to a business group. The deathly silence that followed was a sure indication that not only would he not get a promotion to senior V.P. (which this presentation was kind of an audition for) but shorthly thereafter, he was let go by the company. Oh by the way, I did get the sales job, but as I suspected, it was not for me. I hated making cold sales calls trying to sell people stuff they really didn't need. I soon left Standard Register for a job on Wall Street, and single-handedly caused the market crash of the mid-Sixties that temporarily ended all those fat bonuses I was promised, but that's another story.

I always felt like I cheated in getting through my first real public speaking experience. Giving a good presentation is really an art form, and later in my career I had occasion to give many that I thought were pretty good. I can't help but wonder though what my fate would have been if I tried to survive Lou and Bill that day without help from Playboy.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “SPALDEEN DREAMS” POSTS. ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: BRAINDROPS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS:

Children's Cranioacial Association