Renee and Jan Become My Bridge to Marshall: Step 74

When I received her call inviting me to a party at her house I really had no idea who the person was. I am pretty sure she must have gone through a list of mutual friends and acquaintances and how she happened to know who I was. Some people would want other people to believe that if someone is Jewish in the city of Milwaukee every other Jewish person in Milwaukee knows that person. Nothing could be further from the truth. But, as soon as I hung up the phone after accepting her invitation my mind started racing through all the places I could have possibly met Renee. All the bar and bat mitzvahs were quickly catalogued in my brain followed by any event at any synagogue or the Jewish Center. It amazed me I could not come up with anything about her; not one feature stood out in my mind. Fortunately, she had told me Artie K would be at the party since he was one of the few people I knew who attended John Marshall Junior-Senior High School. As I stood on the doorstep of the two-story limestone house in the middle of a block of similarly well-constructed homes, my mind started to imagine Renee looking like Annette Funicello. The girl who came to the door had dark hair, a big smile, and a bubbly personality like Annette, but that is about as far as one can take the comparison. She extended her hand, introduced herself, and told me to follow her through the living room and downstairs to the basement where the party was being held. Renee quickly introduced me to everyone, and besides Artie K I knew one other person, Carla, who went to my synagogue. A few of her friends looked familiar, especially Karen who happened to be sitting next to the girl I wanted to get to know. After striking up a conversation with Karen, her friend Jan interrupted and wanted to know if I was wearing Old Spice. Of course I was because that was what my father wore so I had put some on before leaving home, but I didn’t know whether to admit it. Since I hesitated Jan just picked up the conversation by telling me she preferred Old Spice to English Leather, but what she really liked was Canoe. She reached her arm across in front of Karen and pushed her wrist up under my nose. To make things right she held her wrist under Karen’s nose long enough for her to take a whiff and nod in agreement. As the music changed Jan asked if I knew “these guys” like for some reason I would know members of a band. Her nose was too large for her face, but the freckles across it accentuated the twinkle in her eye and when she told me in her small voice that came from her equally tiny mouth that the band was called The Animals my face lit up. Then, as they started to play House of the Rising Sun she did something no one had ever done before, she asked me to dance. As she laid her head down on my shoulder and my arms folded around her I knew I was in love. Later, someone came up with the idea of playing spin the bottle. The girls spun a bottle and whatever boy it pointed to had to go with her into the next room to kiss. When the bottle pointed to me I thought I finally find the girl of my dreams and now my first kiss will be with Carla. But, when we got in the other room Carla said we just had to stay quiet for a few minutes and no one would ask us any questions. She was right, and I was relieved. I’m not sure if Jan took a turn, but if she did I’m sure I was hoping she would fake it like we did. For the next few weeks I wrote Jan all over my book jackets, pocket folders, and spiral notebooks. As far as anyone at Samuel Morse Junior High knew she was my girlfriend, and it would remain that way at least until I got to John Marshall Junior-Senior High and had the opportunity to see if I could make it come true.

More Lessons Not Learned At School: Step 73

We have all seen the movie where for some reason the parents are gone for the night or weekend and the trustworthy teenager decides to throw a wild party only to have them return unexpectedly and catch him in the act. Well, as far as the parties I attended at Ron’s house that never happened. Of course, the definition of wild may be in question for even though I believe we attempted to get girls to come to at least one of these parties that never happened either. In fact, in looking back with an analytical eye it appears to me now that these were the first stag parties I ever attended. Even though these parties occurred around the same time I discovered my father had a worthy collection of eight-millimeter films definitely designed to be kept out of the hands of hormone enraged teenage boys we never watched them or any other films at these parties. We did however raid the equally worthy collection of fine literature Ron’s father kept on shelves in closets, in certain dresser drawers, and under his bed. Besides Playboy, which everyone noted had an artist who shared my surname, there were other noteworthy publications with titles like Swank, Gent, and Juggs. Taking one of these away from their appointed place required the reader handle the document with special care and return it to the precise location from which it had been retrieved. While we were in the bedroom Ron invaded the nightstand next to the bed and pulled out a number of small circular copper tins that he opened. Inside were funny looking pieces of rubber that he started to unroll to form what appeared to be some kind of wrinkly white balloon. Ron explained these were prophylactics or what was commonly known as rubbers. The term condom was not one I would become familiar with until a number of years later. I am not sure any of us knew how it was supposed to work, but we had fun blowing one or two of them up into balloons. Once we had our fill of blowing up rubbers and reading glossy pictures, our attention turned to the main course of the evening, snacking, smoking, drinking and playing cards. Snacks were the usual popcorn, pretzels and potato chips. Cigarettes were courtesy of the many cartons of Winston and Old Gold his parents kept stacked in the hallway by the back door. Drinks were limited to vodka, gin or peppermint schnapps. The first two were easy to cover up by simply adding water to replace the clear liquor taken from the bottle. The third, the most popular choice because of its sweetness, was accommodated by the discovery of green food dye in one of the cabinets. As we sat around the dining room table munching snacks, sipping drinks, filling ash trays, and playing cards, Ron started to tell us about his experience with Linda L. It surprised me that Ron would have any interest in Linda L. for a number of reasons. First, Ron was considered by most girls to be one of the cutest boys, and Linda L. was nicknamed Khrushchev because like the Soviet leader she had a hefty body and scowling face. Second, while her sister Sandy was one of the brightest people in the school, Linda exhibited no sign of mental agility. And third, she was loud, the antithesis of Ron. Yet, here he was telling us about his escapade with her on the playground of Emerson Elementary. He said he backed her into a secluded corner of the building while kissing her, and running his hands under her blouse. Getting her bra undone took great dexterity he claimed because he could only get one arm around behind her and it had three clasps. Finally, he said he put his hand down between her legs and said she was very wet. While others seemed to like this part of the story it served to confuse me. Why, I wondered, would a girl who let a boy touch her there, wet herself? As I lay in bed that night thinking through Ron’s story I didn’t know whether to be excited or disgusted.

Growing Misconceptions: Step 72

One of the transformations that takes place during adolescence for boys and to the best of my knowledge, girls too, is a growing concern over personal appearance. Being a naïve child with a limited aptitude in the area of science as previously noted my mind was filled with numerous erroneous assumptions regarding human development. I got the part about hair showing up in due course under arms, around the genitals, and eventually on the face for boys. What was unclear was why certain males ended up with arms and chests like Mr. T, the Samuel Morse science teacher not the guy on TV, and others ended up looking more like Jackie Gleason or Art Carney. It was evident to me diet played a role in Gleason having a rotund figure while Carney, his co-star on the Honeymooners, appeared to be thin. No such formula explained the appearance of well-defined bicep and pectoral muscles. My ill-conceived notion was these changes somehow paralleled breast development for females. So, just as most flat-chested teenage girls had flat-chested mothers and most buxom teenage girls had buxom mothers, if a boy had a father with a muscular physique, sooner or later I speculated he would have a muscular figure. Even when Cousin Jim got a set of weights and a bench for heavy lifting my thoughts were about adding as many metal disks to the bar to show how strong I was. In an era well in advance of modern health clubs the relationship between weight lifting and bodybuilding was completely foreign. Fortunately, Mr. T knew how impressionable hormone charged adolescent boys were. A number of us were invited to the gym after school one afternoon to meet a couple of men Mr. T introduced as his friends. The shorter man, Dennis, was a salesman in his late twenties or early thirties, who when cued by Mr. T removed his shirt to reveal a torso similar to what one might see at the beach and fail to note any significance. However, when asked to flex his abdomen receded, his chest inflated and his arms bulged with cannon balls jutting under the skin. Mr. T explained that Dennis had been a Mr. Milwaukee a few years earlier, and was pound for pound one of the strongest people he knew. Then, Mr. T turned to the taller, younger, dark skinned man who had been sitting patiently waiting his turn. Jimmy was the current Mr. Milwaukee and when he removed his shirt it was not necessary for him to suck in his stomach to create the ripples that lined his abdomen. Mr. T explained that Jimmy was a student at the local university and had more time to work out with weights. He then had both men explain their daily regiment and how the exercises either helped build different muscles or increase their strength. Some time later, Mr. T brought another “friend” to the gym for us to meet. While he never took off his shirt, a number of us remembered Phil Torre from his days playing first base for the world champion Milwaukee Braves. His purpose was not to impress us with his achievements as a baseball player in the major leagues, but to let us know how weight lifting, or training as he called it, helped give him the strength and endurance to perform well as an athlete. We all listened intently, then went home wanting to know how long it took to build 18 inch biceps or 40 inch chests. When we figured it out most of us were less enamored with the process.

Doing the Impossible: Step 71

After two years working with Mrs. Haggerty and having received the Sammy for my acting, I returned to school the fall of my final semester at Samuel Morse Junior High expecting to be cast in the lead of the next school play. To my surprise Mrs. Haggerty would no longer be directing. While I cannot recall for certain, my assumption is she left the school for another position, and given what I remember learning years later about her career it was probably in administration. So, there was a new sheriff in town. His name was Mr. Reiser, and as fortune would have it my cousin Natalie was a student in his homeroom. Cousin Natalie had a larger than life personality whose exuberance led her to come up to me in the hallway the previous year, tell me we were cousins and proceed to explain how her maternal grandfather was somehow connected to my maternal grandfather, or something like that. Even though she was a full year behind me in school, her confidence meter ran off the chart. My first meeting with her parents helped explain this phenomenon to my as yet undeveloped psychoanalytic mind. Her father was a quiet man who taught at the university, while her mother, a highly trained professional, spoke at length of the many accomplishments her organization had achieved. Of course, when Natalie told me Mr. Reiser was a “super guy,” and she was certain he would bring a new element of excitement to our production I had to wonder whether it was just her natural enthusiasm or was there credibility to her assertions. When I arrived at her homeroom for the auditions he was sitting behind his desk with a number of students, mostly girls, laughing and giggling at whatever he was saying. Natalie came over to me as I sat down in one of the desks. She started to talk, but before she finished Mr. Reiser came over, extended his hand, which I automatically shook, and introduced himself injecting his first name before Reiser. He proceeded to tell me how Mrs. Haggerty had spoken highly of me, and he had taken the liberty of assigning me the role of Tedious J. Impossible, the villain in the melodrama we were going to do. Since an audition wasn’t necessary he told me I did not need to stay. I stayed long enough to learn he planned to use a strobe light to create the affect of an old time silent era movie. Natalie finished her audition and we walked home together talking about the play. Rehearsals went smoothly with everyone learning their lines with time to spare. Mr. Reiser came up on stage to walk through the steps in the short but critical fight scene between the hero and me. We knew the strobe would make it difficult to detect how we pulled our punches, but he wanted to make sure when I fell on my backside I landed properly. Dress rehearsal was my first opportunity to work with the top hat, cape, and paste on mustache. Keeping the hat in place and pulling the cape to cover my face proved easy enough, but twirling the mustache without yanking it off my face took extra practice. It proved critical because during the play I had several asides where the strobe would stop, everyone would freeze, and I’d step downstage under a single spotlight, twirl my mustache, and tell the audience, “Eh-eh-eh, little do they know, but I, Tedious J. Impossible…” The day of the play the strobe worked perfectly, my mustache stayed on my face, and the small bruise I received for landing a little too much on my side only lasted a week. My final chance to perform at Samuel Morse was a rousing success, but the best part came a few weeks later when I was in an argument with my sister. In frustration she declared, “You are just impossible.” “That’s right,” I said, “Tedious J.”

As Easy As Eins, Tzvei, Drei: Step 70

Looking back there were three reasons I took German in the ninth grade, although with the advantage of hindsight it’s easy to see none of them held the slightest degree of validity. First, Samuel Morse Junior High did not offer Latin my choice because someone had told me it was a requirement to get into medical school an illusion that persisted despite my mediocre performance in Mr. T’s science class and my lack of blood thirst. Not that I was squeamish at the sight of blood, but some of my friends actually popped pimples to see if they could get them to bleed, while others paid money to attend professional wrestling matches in the hopes one of the contestants might spew his blood all over the mat. One has to wonder if any of them had the opportunity to incorporate this irrational thirst into vocational achievement by working in an emergency or operating room. Second, during my short tenure at John Muir Junior High I had the opportunity to take the seventh grade, not for credit version of a German language class. And third, and probably the reason I took the class at Muir in the first place, German was the closest language to Yiddish. Some with far greater knowledge on the subject have told me Yiddish, the language spoken by Jews in European ghettos, is actually something called “low brow (maybe brau) German.” In this country it became the language of Jewish comedians like Mickey Katz, who played the “Borscht Belt” in the Catskill Mountains. My parents owned records of Mickey, whose son Joel Gray starred in the movie Cabaret and granddaughter Jennifer Gray starred in the movie Dirty Dancing, doing his routines in Yiddish. Most significantly, however, it was the language my parents spoke when they wanted to keep secrets from my siblings and me, and everyone can relate to wanting to know what their parents’ thought was so important they had to keep it from the kids. From the single semester of German I took I recall just three sentences, probably all from the same lesson. For those readers well versed in German please forgive my weak attempt to spell out from memory these words from my past. “Comest tu meit in da bibliotec,” means something like “Let’s meet in the library,” and “Seista da blonda? Da blonda ist meine schwester,” loosely translates, “See the blonde? The blonde is my sister.” Unless my father was going to meet his sister in the library these sentences were of little help to me, since there were no blondes in our family and my mother only had brothers. What I recall best of my experience in that class was that Mr. Freund was indeed a friend and due to the popularity of the language classes there were over forty students in the class. For some reason a number of the students in the class were not in the ninth grade, possibly because they had taken the junior high version of the class as a prerequisite. It was my good fortune to sit in the back of the room and visit whenever I could with one of them. She had perfectly cut bangs, a friendly smile with beautiful teeth, and the sweet name of Candy, but I’ll always remember her as Suzykeit, because that’s what Mr. Freund called her.

From Where I Stand: Step 69

Before we sat down to have our first bagel after volleyball this morning Dan said he believed Arizona with its new law designed to crack down on illegal immigration would become the target of late night comedians on television. Unfortunately, neither Sam, who was born in Mexico nor Manuel who was born in Spain played volleyball this week and were not available to comment on the controversial law implemented by our neighboring state. Mitch, the resident attorney, said the law would not change a thing because there was no provision to slow or deter immigrants without proper documentation from coming to the U.S. He said even if the law required local law enforcement to take action and turn violators over to federal authorities that as soon as they were deported they would just turn around and come back to find work. Then I raised the question of whether anyone believed Governor Jan Brewer who after signing SB 1070 into law said it was done for safety reasons and would be enforced without racial profiling. The tallest of the Mikes smiled and nodded leading me to believe he may have questioned the feasibility of such a plan. Dan said they could probably start by questioning anyone who appears to not belong, especially if they have a mustache. Everyone looked at Art who immediately said he had his driver’s license with him, but when asked if he had his green card said he was born in the U.S. and had no such paper. That may be all right here Art, but when traveling to Arizona wearing a mustache one would be wise to have whatever documents local authorities say are needed. Questions arose as to whether any effort by local law enforcement to apprehend illegal immigrants entering either the Angels or Dodgers baseball stadiums had ever been undertaken. Dan said he thought the teams were more interested in another form of green than whether or not any of their fans was carrying their green card with them to the game. Although continuing on his theme that the new law provided fodder for comedy, he said he could imagine a local police officer circling the Diamondbacks stadium in Phoenix during the seventh inning stretch questioning anyone with a mustache. Now, I have not had the opportunity to question my daughter who is attending the University of Arizona in Tucson to see what she and her friends think of the law, but my guess is she may have some thoughts about how it will affect customer relations at Target where she works part time. Two things struck me in the news about this over the past couple days since Brewer signed the bill that becomes law in 90 days. First, the governor’s predecessor, Janet Napolitano, Secretary of Homeland Security, stated she had vetoed similar legislation because law enforcement officials told her it “diverted critical law enforcement resources from the most serious threats to public safety and undermined the trust between local jurisdictions and the communities they serve.” Second, in a letter to the editor of the Los Angeles Times, Jose Figueroa, whose “mother’s family goes back to Texas before the invasion” wants to know “just what kind of papers are people like me supposed to carry?” He claims when he leaves his home in Los Angeles to visit his family in Texas he will be sure to get gas at the border and not stop at his favorite restaurants in Phoenix and Tucson, and “go through the state and not leave a cent.” Your indignation appears appropriate given the circumstances Mr. Figueroa, and may I also recommend that you shave before you leave if you happen to have a mustache.

Time to Reflect: Step 68

“My mother said to me, ‘If you become a soldier, you'll be a general; if you become a monk, you'll end up as the Pope.’ Instead, I became a painter and wound up as Picasso.” After reading Crush It! Why Now Is The Time To Cash In On Your Passion by Gary Vaynerchuk, it became imperative to me to search my heart and soul to determine my true passion. Turning my passion into a business made sense to me. Even those who don’t know the first thing about art know painting was Picasso’s passion. A few readers may know Vaynerchuk’s passion is personal branding. According to Nancy Anderson, a career consultant who wrote Work with Passion and spoke recently at an Experience Unlimited meeting I attended, passion is not only what you love, but also something a person thinks everyone else needs or should have. So, what is it inside of me smoldering like the lava deep at the core of the volcano wanting to erupt onto the scene to create a world where everyone is as impassioned as me? Like Picasso I have no desire to be a soldier or monk, I just want to be who I am. In my quest this morning to find a quotation to reflect my search I turned to the usual sources, essayists, philosophers and world leaders. It was in the revelation of the artist; the acknowledgement that through his art he simply became himself, that I found the journey each of us must take. Unlike Picasso’s mother, my mother offered practical advice when she said to have a profession to “fall back on” should your passion not provide the income needed to live. Considering how many teachers I came to know whose true passion lied in artistic pursuits outside the classroom leads me to assume other mothers may have offered similar advice. But, getting back to the idea of turning my passion into a business by creating a personal brand people can identify with and want for their own, it has become important to me to know what that personal brand is. Not everyone wants or for that matter even likes Picasso. Similarly, not everyone is going to turn to Gary Vaynerchuk for advice on starting a business, social media, or wine. However, little kids can recognize a Picasso and the 80,000 people who visit tv.winelibrary.com know who Gary V is, but what about me. For those readers who have been following this blog watching me struggle with my reflections the conclusion may have become apparent long before I stumbled upon it. My personal brand is looking for the silver lining, which means taking the reader on a trip filled with nostalgia and memories for some, and fun and excitement for others, but a journey that holds value and allows the reader to learn more about him or herself every step of the way.

I Would Like to Thank SMJH for This Sammy: Step 67

One of my least favorite sayings is a job well done is its own reward. While it may be true and something any well adjusted self-actualized person prints on his business card or mounts on her wall, to me it simply misses the point. Rewards are not for acknowledging oneself they are for acknowledging others. Certainly, when a person achieves a goal that has taken a lot of work and a long time to achieve, such as competently defending a dissertation to receive a doctorate degree, the personal satisfaction is paramount. This, however does not preclude the person from receiving his diploma, going through the hooding ceremony, or swelling with pride when his mother introduces him as my son the doctor…no, no, not medical, the other one. Even though the accomplishment was enough reward, it would be selfish to deprive the institution, the friends, and the family the opportunity to bestow their own reward. Now, I know semantically there is a difference between rewards and awards, but in reality they both are given for accomplishment. A side benefit as producers and directors dating back to before the time of Shakespeare have realized is soothing the fragile egos of their employees. Though they have quite a few when taking into account all the ticket sellers, theater operators and stage crew, the actors are usually the ones of greatest concern. Actually, I have always considered my ego to be quite durable but given the nature of adolescence with its raging hormones and incessant peer pressure the reader might understand how I felt when I learned my school, Samuel Morse Junior High, was going to present an acting award on recognition day. As far as I can recall there were no nominations given, no campaigning in the halls or in the school newspaper. In fact, whether the student body, members of the drama club, or teachers were involved in the selection process or Mrs. Haggerty, by virtue of her status as producer and director made the selection on her own is no longer clear. What I do know is that after Mr. Hatton gave out academic awards, and Mr. Krueger gave out music awards, and Mrs. Jordac gave out journalism awards, my heart was pounding as Mrs. Haggerty took the stage. After she got done thanking everyone for being such a wonderful audience and thanking everyone who took part in the productions, the blood was pounding so loudly in my ears I could hardly hear her say my name. Somehow I managed not to trip up the stairs to the stage as I heard Jeff, and some of his friends cheering, “Go Woody!” Winning the first Sammy did not propel me onto a path to become an actor, nor did it provide me with any more satisfaction than either of the performances I had done to that point, and as far as I know it did not change any of the relationships between my friends and me. What it did provide was tangible evidence that Samuel Morse Junior High recognized my achievement, a small token of their appreciation that even though the heads are no longer screwed to the plastic base and the lacquer on drama and comedy is cracking I still treasure dearly decades later.

Nothing to Say: Step 66

We met in Mr. Takarian’s general science class. He was the original Mr. T. long before the guy with the Mohawk showed up on The A Team. For those unfamiliar with the reference he can be found on imdb. Our Mr. T. didn’t have the strip down the middle; his hair had pretty much deserted him. If his good-natured jokes and ear to ear grin didn’t impress teachers and kids alike, his immense pecs, tight abs, and huge guns screaming to burst out of his white dress shirt back in the day when they were simply known as pectoral, abdominal and bicep muscles caught everyone’s attention. He used all of these attributes to charm his students and motivate them in a class he knew they took only because it was required. He also introduced me to her. Actually, the first day of class when he took attendance by calling everyone’s name I paid especially close attention so when he said Becky and her hand went up she would be sure to notice me smiling at her. In the days and weeks that passed and despite my best efforts to say hello to her every chance I had it became apparent there were quite a few boys in class who noticed Becky. Then, Mr. T. in his good natured way began to tease some of the boys that if they wanted her to notice them they needed to step up their science game, because he noted not only was she beautiful but Becky was the best student in the class. In fact I even read the book, worked through the exercises and experiments, and attempted to internalize some of the key concepts, but science was never my strong suit and there was almost no way my best effort would catch her eye. At the same time her genial smile, big brown eyes, and glistening black hair haunted my dreams. In desperation I decided to take action. For some long forgotten reason the Jewish Center was having a dance that everyone was talking about and I decided to ask Becky to go with me to it. Again I was glad Dad had put in a phone jack in the basement, so I could carry the phone down, plug it in, and dial her number in privacy. Her answer was what I wanted, but as soon as I hung up the phone it became a matter of be careful what you wish for because you may get it. Now that I had a date I needed to find someone to “double” with us. Cousin Jim, Big Steve, and Ron were all going to the dance, but none of them wanted to take a date. So I turned to her, but none of her friends wanted to ask someone to the dance. Came the night of the dance I put on my sport coat and tie, my stovepipe pants and Beatle boots. Dad drove me over to her house and waited patiently as I went upstairs to get her. She looked fantastic all the features I’d been dreaming about wrapped in a frilly white blouse and gray wool skirt. Dropping us off, my dad told me to give him a call about 20 minutes ahead of when we wanted to be picked up from the dance. Once we were inside I said the lead singer of the band, The Contrels, was wearing the same kind of glasses as one of the Byrds. She had no idea what I was talking about and that was the last complete sentence we shared all evening. We were friendly. We smiled. We danced a couple dances. We sat in the lobby. We talked to friends. We had sodas. We went inside. We came back out. We were bored. After a sufficient amount of time I asked if I should call my father. She smiled and nodded with relief. When we got to her house I knew what was expected and walked with her to the door. I didn’t know if I was supposed to follow her upstairs, so I started to ask her, but before I could she leaned over toward me as if she was going to kiss me on the cheek, and I pulled away. It was all very awkward. She just smiled, said good night, and went up stairs. Dad asked me if we had a good time and I just smiled. Years later I saw Becky. She was still beautiful. But we still had nothing to say.

I Have to Wonder Where This Will Lead: Step 65

At Grantosa Drive Elementary the Jewish population was probably reflective of the national average, which for my lifetime has been right around two percent. While the percentage rose significantly at Samuel Morse Junior High to lets say ten percent, and became higher when limited to those interested in acting, taking into account the propensity of young Jewish students to gravitate to the arts, odds still favored those of a different faith being selected for the lead in the school’s first Christmas play. Such was not the case. Actually, one who recalls the play better than me, who can’t even remember its title, might contend Melinda shared the lead. Far be it from me to dispute such a contention since it’s difficult to recall even a single line of dialogue. What I do recall is though it certainly didn’t carry the weight of O’Henry’s Gift of the Magi it had something to do with gift giving. Needless to say, Mrs. Haggerty, aware of the law governing separation of church and state and highly sensitive to the feelings of students, selected a story with a secular theme. Although there were some humorous moments in the play and I did my best to punch up my lines that got a laugh, the role of Woody was not nearly as much fun as Oakley Cheever. Melinda played my sister and Mike W. who lived up on the corner of Lancaster Avenue played our butler. Woody and his sister’s parents made short appearances at the beginning and the end of the play, but most of the drama in the one act unfolded between the two children and their butler. Let me just point out that while Mrs. Haggerty was sensitive to the kids in the audience, to the best of my knowledge none of them had a butler. Every evening after rehearsal the three of us would walk home together since we all lived in the same direction. Mike W. whose size and demeanor made him an easy selection for the prototypical butler was six months older and a semester ahead of me. He revealed he just wanted to do something with his extra time but his main extracurricular interest was becoming an offensive lineman on the football team next fall at Custer High. I’m sure I shared my interest in becoming a doctor an idea that persisted from the time I broke my leg until I took my first chemistry class. Even though the bug had bitten me, the idea of pursuing acting, as a career seemed to be the kind of crazy illusive fantasy my dream of being a medical doctor turned out to be. On the other hand, Melinda, six months my junior and a semester behind me, held no illusions about acting. She said she knew it would not be easy and her desire was not to become the next Shelley Fabares or Patty Duke, but to attend a university where acting was taken seriously. She said she knew Mrs. Haggerty took acting seriously helping us build our character, find our marks, use props effectively, and project from our diaphragms. Being so much older and wiser I listened intently, but dismissed her vision as naïve. How well we actually performed the day we presented the play to the school is unclear, but I do recall two things that came as a result. Right after the play, when my parents came backstage, Mrs. Haggerty said she was proud of me and I possessed poise and maturity beyond my years. All right, she was probably being kind. The other thing was Jeff, one of the most popular kids at Morse who would later become the quarterback of the Marshall High football team, started calling me Woody. Mike W. did become an offensive lineman on the Custer High football team the next fall in his sophomore year. As for Melinda, I lost track of her and do not have a clue if she ever became an actress, but if she happens to be reading this now I would love to hear from her.

Pass the Stuffing, Please: Step 64

When I was growing up Thanksgiving was the one holiday more than any other I looked forward to all year long. Hanukkah parties, New Year’s Eve, Passover Seders, Fourth of July, and even Halloween could take place somewhere else, but Thanksgiving was the exclusive domain of our house. Mom and Dad would be up early to fight over what should go in the stuffing, whose turn it is to baste the bird, how much juice to add to the cranberry relish, and whether or not we needed both sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes. Amazingly, everything came out perfect every time. Peggy, Neil and I gathered in front of the TV so as not to miss a minute of the Macy Parade. Aunts, uncles, and cousins poured in to sit around the ping pong table running the length of the living room draped with a sheet since they didn’t make tablecloths long enough to cover it. Many years there were more than twenty people gathered for the feast with each family taking home some of the leftovers. My family ruled the day. We were master hosts. Thanksgiving was our day. That’s why looking back it’s hard to reconcile choosing this highly significant day to be the target of confrontation. But, then again, it was the Rolling Stones. Of course, at that time they were just another band following the Beatles across the Atlantic to steal the minds, hearts and souls of good American kids. On the other hand, after hearing Tell Me, the only Jaggers/Richards song on their debut album, which few recall, I thought their musical genius could rival John, Paul, George and Ringo. One might wonder why they chose to play a concert on Thanksgiving, but then they were from England and maybe their producer forgot to mention it, or they just figured it was Milwaukee and who was going to show up anyway. Besides Ron already had the tickets, his parents were letting him go, and the show didn’t start until the evening after everybody would have gone home. I’m not sure the last part was true, but when you are rationalizing with parents one has to go with whatever seems plausible. Our seats were up in the highest tier, but the crowd was so sparse everyone made their way to within twenty rows of the stage. They started out playing their early hits, Carol by Chuck Berry and Not Fade Away by Buddy Holly. Then, they played songs they had written; Tell Me, Heart of Stone and some songs from albums to be released in the new year. One was called Play With Fire and an upbeat number called I Can’t Get No Satisfaction. Right away I knew the strong beat and the double negative would push it to the top of the charts. They finished with what was their current hit Time Is On My Side written by Norman Meade. Still the music is only a small part of the reason one goes to a concert. More than musicians, more than performers, the Rolling Stones were showmen. Bill Wyman was the stoic bass player moving his hands up and down the neck of his guitar without flinching another muscle. Brian Jones with his silky blonde hair forming a flawless mushroom around his head wore bright orange knit bellbottoms with a white mohair turtleneck. Charlie Watts beat the drums into submission while barely moving his head up and down, similar to how Ron responded to the event. Where as I was jumping up and down like the screaming girls next to us. They weren’t the ones who threw their panties on stage, which Keith Richards picked up and wore as an armband when he went over and started singing in the mike held by Mick. Mick Jagger, not fazed in the least, continued to strut across the stage with a long length of cord following him wherever he went. In stark contrast to Wyman, Mick, who had come out wearing an open sport coat and open shirt both of which he took off, rolled up and tossed to the screaming crowd, moved around the stage in his sleeveless t-shirt pointing at his band mates and audience alike with his head jerking like a proud peacock. What a concert. What a night. What a Thanksgiving.

Ethel Has Her Say: Step 63

During my years at Samuel Morse Junior High there were certain girls who no matter what I did in class or at school to attract their attention they had absolutely no interest. Then, there were girls like Lori who held no attraction for me but I always knew if I showed the slightest interest she would reciprocate. That never happened. Finally, there were the girls who I had no desire to attract and I just assumed had no attraction to me. Ethel was such a girl. She was loud, blonde, and curvaceous. Ethel used a technique known as ratting to pile her hair high on her head and coated it with hairspray. Her perfume preceded her into the room, her lipstick was thick and dark, and her skirt revealed so much thigh that if she moved wrong one might get a glimpse of where they meet. As far as I can recall we only ever had one class together, Mr. Ruvolo’s citizenship class. I had Mr. Ruvolo for social studies, but Ethel wasn’t in that class because it entailed doing reports and studying for tests. In citizenship class Mr. Ruvolo would stand at his door, have the student show him the completed worksheet from the previous day and check it off on his clipboard. Following this simple plan assured a passing grade. One day I was sitting at my desk at the front of the room, when Ethel having just had her worksheet checked, walked straight at me, bent over and said, “Did anyone ever tell you that you have bedroom eyes?” No, no one ever did, not before or since, but it’s stayed with me all these years. I’m not sure if she meant it as a compliment, or if she was putting me on, or she had some other intent, but I am quite sure everyone in the room as well as Mr. Ruvolo at the door heard her. There is little doubt my skin turned tomato red and probably remained that way for the entire class period. However, in my own devious way I had to wonder if a certain girl in that class who fit into the first category might not have gained some interest in me. After all, I had not instigated this attention grabber. I was sure the girl, Pam, a cute slender blonde with a beehive hairstyle and perfect bangs, would think “bedroom eyes” were an asset. Unlike other communities, when I was growing up kids in Milwaukee would go from house to house for Trick or Treat the night before Halloween. To avoid having older kids spoil the fun the city sponsored a dance at each of the junior high schools. Even Mayor Maier came and thanked us for our good behavior, and Tom, the baritone sax player in Mr. Krueger’s band, joined Tony’s Tygers on the stage for a couple songs. Our entire cafeteria was wall-to-wall kids with girls dancing with girls most of the time while the boys huddled on the other side. Finally, after building up enough nerve, I told one of my friends I was going to ask Pam for a slow dance. He warned me she had a boyfriend who attended Marshall who was going to try and get into our dance. Sure enough, after picking my way through the crowd I saw her dancing eyes closed on the shoulder of a boy at least a head taller than me. Naturally, I was disappointed but there was no sense in causing trouble. After all, the lights were probably too low anyway for her to notice my “bedroom eyes.”

From Where I Stand: Step 62

What an array of topics made news this past week. Headlines included another devastating earthquake in China, immigration reform legislation, a presidential move to grant same-sex partners hospital visitation rights, Tea Party protests on tax day, and unemployment hitting 12.6% in California. While all are important, none of them spoke to me the way the story about the SEC filing a fraud suit against Goldman Sachs did. Now, in fairness to those unlike me who have a strong background in either finances or economics, let me disclose that my last economics class was in high school and my own finances are run through Schools First Federal Credit Union and Union Bank, two institutions I hold in high regard. Although I knew of Goldman Sachs as a firm with an incredible history on Wall Street, their name was not one associated with an average citizen until their former head, Henry Paulson, was making bigger headlines than the two men facing off in the 2008 presidential election. In his role as Secretary of the Treasury he advised President Bush to bailout banks including Goldman Sachs, but not their rivals, Lehman Brothers. This is where we, average citizens, come in, because he used our hard earned dollars to help these poor bankers. Goldman Sachs paid back the billions they borrowed plus 23% interest in just a year. Sounds great, except if these allegations prove true, we start to get a picture of how this conservative institution was able to rebound from devastation to record setting profitability in such a short time. For the simplest explanation I turn to Michael Hiltzik, a business columnist in the Los Angeles Times. “But the ABACUS deal wasn’t a mortgage or a bucket of mortgages. It wasn’t a mortgage-backed security or a portfolio of mortgage-backed securities It wasn’t a collateralized debt obligation, which is a security backed by securities backed by mortgages. It was a ‘synthetic’ version of the latter, which is to say an investment that tracked the performance of certain collateralized debt obligations without actually requiring ownership of them.” In other words it’s a virtual world setup by Goldman Sachs with the help of a hedge fund operator named John Paulson, no relation to Henry, who had a reputation for predicting the collapse of the housing market. They failed to disclose his role in setting up this “synthetic” to the investors who purchased it and lost a billion dollars in a year while Paulson scooped up a billion dollars selling short. Goldman Sachs received 15 million in fees. Amazingly, it is Goldman Sachs and one of their vice presidents, Fabrice Tourre, who initiated ABACUS that are named in the suit, since they allegedly perpetrated the fraud on their investors. One might speculate there was some form of collusion and the suit should have named those who profited from this fraud, but it is important to recognize what a monumental step this was for the SEC, many of whom worked on Wall Street before becoming government agents. Prior to this action, the SEC was reluctant to point a finger let alone bring suit against their former cohorts. Again, I am not a financial wizard, but it doesn’t take a genius to recognize that a bunch of overzealous homebuyers did not cause all this economic turmoil by themselves. In the end I hope some kind of light can be shed on these deceptive practices and it won’t be necessary for me to wear 3-D glasses to figure out what I am seeing.

Time to Reflect: Step 61

Everyone knows you do your best work when you get to that place where you feel great, your mind is clear and your spirit soars. The problem arises in when we take account of how often this happens in our life. For the last few days I’ve dealt with health issues related to an accumulation of certain elements in the atmosphere that despite California being a year round home to numerous forms of plant life becomes even more bountiful in the Spring. So, regardless of the antihistamine resistant drip permeating my throat and lodging in my chest the splendor of the season is a most welcome silver lining. It provides the smiling inspiration for so many of life’s endeavors. In his 1906 play, Doctor’s Dilemma, the brilliant George Bernard Shaw wrote, “Life does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh.” As those readers who read my story yesterday discovered my life was touched by death at a young impressionable age. In looking back over the tragic end of a young friend and the many deaths we all face none of which come at a time we chose it would be easy to turn dark and sinister. Unfortunately, a few do. Most of us, however, recognize the resilient nature planted in our souls allowing us to look back with appreciation for time shared and to look forward to those hilarious moments that split our sides, warm our cheeks, and bring tears to our eyes. Similarly, when we face the day-to-day battles of itchy eyes, runny noses, sore throats, joint aches, headaches, stomachaches, and other symptoms of physical and mental distress we persevere. Last night, unable to remain asleep lying flat in my bed I went out to the family room to attempt some more restful slumber sitting in a recliner. On my way I stopped in the bathroom, turned on the light, saw the reflection of a wild haired lunatic staring back at me and laughed out loud. Fortunately, I caught myself and stifled it before I woke up my wife who is a light sleeper. Recently, a friend, one of the Mikes who play volleyball on Sundays, went through a harrowing experience during several hospital procedures to diagnose a rare blood disorder. Being the kind of person who recognizes how funny life is even during tragic moments, he couldn’t help laughing and finding humor explaining how he was talking to the nurse about Colorado when he started seeing oceans, mountains and clouds form around her just before he flat lined. My friends and I are thankful the nurse, who may not have seen the humor in it at the moment, was, along with her colleagues, able to revive Mike. Jack Lemmon, whose performances in The Apartment, The Odd Couple, and Tuesdays with Morrie evoked a wide range of emotions from his audience, said great comedy makes us laugh and cry, and the same can be said for great drama. After a long winter it is important to welcome Spring even if some elements of it cause discomfort. Not feeling well often makes me want to pity myself and take life too seriously, but seeing my reflection made me realize I should be grateful I can still haul myself out of my bed and laugh.

The Unthinkable: Step 60

When you get to junior high school some things that were considered to be relevant and fun in elementary school suddenly lose their relevance and if you participate in them thinking that they’re still fun your peers don’t want to be seen with you. One of these things is scouting. Wearing a uniform, earning merit badges, going on campouts just wasn’t hip when I was at Samuel Morse. So, I just told my friends who weren’t in the troop I was going camping or swimming, or hanging with some other friends. Which was true, just that whatever I happened to be doing was a boy scout event. Fortunately, for me there was one other guy at Samuel Morse who shared my enthusiasm for scout life and partnered with me in this clandestine activity. His name was Byron G. III, but since his dad was already junior he was simply known as Buzzy. On an early spring day, somewhere around the middle of April, during a weekend camping trip to a wooded area with a small lake Buzzy was the one who dared me to go in the water with him. The air temperature may have been unusually warm, perhaps in the seventies, but Wisconsin lakes, even small ones take their time thawing out between winter and summer. Our skin was immediately covered with millions of goose bumps and our feet as well as our lips took on a beautiful blue hue after our ninety-second emersion. Buzzy was not a mid-year student, and so was a semester behind me in school, but he had twice the confidence, especially when it came to girls. In our tent, after lights out when we were supposed to be silent, Buzz told me about how he had convinced Bernadette to let him touch her breast. Before he told me about how he was kissing her and promised her he would always be true and never tell anyone else about it, he made me promise not to say a word to Tony, our mutual friend and her brother. Actually, Buzzy should be proud of me, because until now I had never shared his story with another soul. Another thing I am pretty sure is true, is Buzz was the first person to call Mr. Ellner, our scoutmaster, Elmo. Unlike other scout leaders, who were usually the parent of one of the scouts, Elmo was a twenty-something who had completed his tour of duty in the Navy and wanted to give back to the organization that had kept him out of trouble and in school. Going over the hills on the way to Friess Lake in his Impala SS with four on the floor and rock and roll blasting was one of the main reasons I took a chance on someone finding out I was still in scouts. My best guess is he didn’t like the nickname but wanted to hang onto as many kids who were in junior high for as long as they’d stay and figured letting them call him Elmo was a small price to pay. He was also the one who explained how serious it was when Buzzy got sick, while our parents didn’t have any explanations. Leukemia was something I had not heard about before, and unfortunately it would be something that would impact my life again in only a half dozen more years. No one is supposed to die at thirteen. There isn’t much I remember about the funeral except Danny, who worked with Dad and was Buzzy’s uncle came over to the house after the service. As we were talking the walls seemed to be moving and my legs became wobbly. Mom had me sit down and said I was probably just starting to feel the impact of what had taken place. Quite honestly, I still feel the impact.

What Was That All About Anyway?: Step 59

Probably everyone remembers a fight or two from their days in school, but chances are if you are anything like me you have not the faintest clue as to why the fight took place. Two such fights took place during my years at Samuel Morse Junior High. Word spread like wildfire that Mike M was going to fight Vic. Both were Italian. Both were short with well-developed upper bodies. And both had a large circle of friends. Vic had the dark wavy hair and brooding good looks of the stereotypical Italian leading man, while Mike had blonde curly hair accented by his black rimmed glasses and gleaming smile. Vic and his friends had little use for school and only planned to hang around until their sixteenth birthdays when they were eligible to dropout and go make some real money. Mike M was the kid Mr. Hrlavich trusted to lock up his office and make sure everyone was out of the locker room, something that teachers can no longer do because of liability issues. He was also an amateur boxer who fought in Gold Gloves tournaments and had plans to go to college. The fight took place in the grassy area in front of the trees at the corner of 84^th and Congress, a spot later to be designated as a city park. As soon as they had taken off their shirts and were facing each other wearing T-shirts that revealed their muscular torsos Vic charged Mike and kicked him the groin. Mike’s hands went down and Vic plowed his knuckles into the side of his face cutting the flesh and causing blood to gush forth. Vic started to kick Mike in the side, but despite his obvious pain Mike grabbed Vic’s leg and threw him to the ground and started to beat on Vic’s head with one punch after another until everyone heard the sirens. All sorts of rumors circulated about what transpired after the crowd dispersed, and neither one returned to school for a while after the fight. When they did return there were no evident injuries or scars as far as I could tell, and for some reason Vic and Mike M became friends despite their differences. Now, the other fight took place between two girls I had known since my earliest days at Grantosa Drive Elementary. In fact, it took place in the empty lot across 82^nd Street from the school and just south of Hampton in what would become in another year the parking lot for the first Kohl’s Department Store. As described earlier, Linda V was a rather flamboyant and flirtatious girl, which stood in stark contrast to Kathy D. who other than the fact she was on just about every class picture I took at Grantosa and my neighbor Wade liked her quiet demure behavior in the third or fourth grade was somebody who was otherwise completely off the radar. Since this was the first fight between girls I would attend I had no idea what to expect, but being an adolescent boy my imagination kicked into high gear and caused my already out of control hormones to ravage my body even further eliciting several responses that I tried futilely to suppress. As a result I held a certain degree of ambivalence toward watching the actual event and made sure to keep my books in hand. Most of the boys wanted to see the girls rip each other’s blouses and a few even yelled out instructions. They immediately went for each other’s hair and both pulled out clumps from the other’s skull. Then, one threw the other to the ground and they tore each other’s pantyhose and when they yanked on their underwear revealing areas even men’s magazines didn’t expose at that time most of the boys, myself included, turned away disappointed. It took the girls a while longer to resume their friendship, but eventually they shared the same common bond they had for years. Which of course leads to the question, what was that all about anyway?

Meeting an Important Celebrity: Step 58

Being a teenager in the era before the internet and ipods meant spending most of your spare time listening to the radio. During the time we spent at Samuel Morse Junior High FM radio was in its infancy and the few stations that existed usually played classical music. In Milwaukee there were two AM stations that played popular, or what became known as Top 40 music. They were WOKY 920 and WRIT 1340. My Uncle Frank had his dentist office in the WOKY building at the corner of Sherman Boulevard and Fond du Lac Avenue. Once I saw Bob White one of the daytime disc jockeys emerge from the station on the main floor as I was leaving. In present day terms this would be about as significant as riding the elevator with the program director for Ryan Seacrest’s radio show. As I mentioned before Gary M had the most popular disc jockey in Milwaukee at the time, Bob Barry, spinning records at his bar mitzvah at the Blatz Pavilion in Lincoln Park. That was before Barry assured himself a place in the Wisconsin Broadcasters Hall of Fame by introducing the Beatles at their only appearance in Milwaukee. It was also the year that Barry was joined by Barney “The Peanut Butter” Pip. Arriving from Youngstown, Ohio with his trademark bugle, Barney Pip would introduce a record by playing an awful note on his instrument, screaming “Peanut butter forever,” and telling kids to wear paperclips to show their solidarity. Bringing to radio the same absurd and obnoxious artistry Steve Allen and Soupy Sales used to capture television audiences, Barney Pip would only stay a year in Milwaukee before catapulting to super stardom and one of the first six figure salaries at WCFL in Chicago. When Ron and I heard that WRIT was bringing a new disc jockey to go head to head with Pip we knew he had to be good, or no one would listen to them anymore. While we usually liked checking out the 92 top songs on the WOKY chart that was available at either the record store or drugstore, the shorter WRIT list of only the top 40 songs often featured some inside information on either the artist at number one or some up and coming group. Adding a publicity photo of one of their disc jockeys was something the station premiered with the arrival of this new guy who was promoting himself as The Duke of Dilemma. In an effort to build excitement for their new personality WRIT announced he would make his initial appearance at Gimbels at Capital Court. Rather than join the crowd in the record department, Ron and I decided to watch for the car we had seen before with the station call letters on the side. Fortunately, we guessed right and Eddie Doucette, The Duke of Dilemma came to the west parking area and was greeted by two boys ten years his junior but just about the same height. Wearing a black sport shirt and black levis he looked the part. He autographed the Top 40 chart writing his name across his promotional photo and asked us where we went to school before handing one to each of us. As we walked with him toward the store we told him the name of our school and he said he’d be sure to mention it on the air. Whether he actually did I can’t recall, but we had connected with the latest personality to penetrate the adolescent audio market. Eddie Doucette lasted a few years in Top 40 and then he became the voice of the new NBA franchise, the Milwaukee Bucks.

Maybe a Genius, Definitely an Extravert: Step 57

Though I have never considered myself shy I sometimes struggle with whether I am more of an introvert or extravert. With some people, such as Mike from Detroit, the classification was evident. As noted previously, Mike played the main character in the original stage production at Samuel Morse Junior High. For some of the cast, like Gary, the stage was an opportunity to open up through a character without feeling the vulnerability he felt when confronting his peers in the classroom or hallways. For Mike it was a chance to parade himself in front of his peers and show what a dynamic personality he was even when playing a fictional character. Despite numerous remedial classes, some filled with intellectually challenged kids as well as misplaced under achievers, there was at least an equally large pool of highly intelligent students at Morse during those first few years. Being categorized as highly intelligent was not good enough for Mike who declared himself a genius. When someone said he was just being conceited, Mike said it was not conceit just a fact his parents had established by having him tested. Funny thing about tests though Mike told us he purposely put no effort into the standardized tests we took at the end of eighth grade. Actually, he didn’t share this with anyone until somebody asked how he was able to get done so much faster than anyone else. He said he just randomly marked the answer sheet. After all, he asserted, the standardized tests have no impact on the grades obtained in class, and he rationalized that if in fact one does poorly on such tests expectations are lower. Then, he postulated that if the teacher sees he did poorly compared to others on the test, but performs well in her class she will come to the conclusion the test is wrong or he is an over achiever. In either case, he contested; colleges look at grades, and special tests for admission purposes, and not the generic ones given in eighth grade, and usually give scholarships to over achievers. Mike convinced me he had knowledge beyond his years by teaching me a rather expensive lesson. We were at my house and there was a deck of cards. For some reason that I do not recall I owed Mike a quarter. He asked me if I wanted to cut the deck for double or nothing. A cut is when each player turns over some random card in the deck and the other turns over another card, and the higher card wins. It took only five cuts for Mike to turn that quarter into eight dollars. Mike said if I kept going odds were in my favor to come out owing him nothing. Statistically, he was right, but I was going to have a hard enough time coming up with eight dollars. Again, to show he was the genius he stated he asked me if I knew what the pin Mr. Hatton, the assistant principal, wore on his lapel was. Conceding I had not the slightest clue, and he being the complete extravert without the slightest inhibition dragged me over to where Mr. Hatton stood in front of his office and asked him to explain the reason he wore his Rhodes Scholar pin. After Mr. Hatton explained how he had been fortunate enough to participate in the program that sends the highest performing college students in the United States to study at Oxford University, Mike flatly stated his intention to wear his as proudly someday.

Defying the Odds of Popularity: Step 56

Kerry was the kind of kid who when evaluated from a purely objective standpoint had three strikes against him on the popularity chart. First, he was new in town, arriving just a few weeks before my bar mitzvah. Second, his voice was high and childlike. And third, he was short, at least a full head shorter than me. None of this mattered, because Kerry had the swagger and confidence usually reserved for the starting quarterback of the championship team. Before he was at Morse even a week he was going steady with Lori, the shortest but one of the cutest girls at the school. Now, let me explain what going steady means in junior high school terms. Usually, but not always, there is a friendship ring exchanged. The girl may either wear this on her finger or on a thin chain around her neck. The boy will call the girl every night and whenever possible will walk her home from school. They exchange photographs and often go to the photo booth at Woolworth’s to get a set of pictures of themselves together. Each will write the other’s name all over their slam book and will duly note their relationship in the slam books of all their friends. Finally, kissing, second base, or any other hanky panky is mutually exclusive. For Lori going steady meant staying interested in the same boy for two to three weeks. I remember her telling me at the faculty-student basketball game she had gone steady with everyone on the team. When I reminded her she had gone steady with most of the boys in the school she giggled and feigned slapping me on the arm. At any rate, her relationship with Kerry established his credibility with the female population of Morse. Most girls regarded Kerry and Lori as the cutest couple and couldn’t wait for them to break up to have their shot at Kerry. During the course of those two weeks Kerry started making friends and sending out invitations to his bar mitzvah. When I received mine it was too late to mail him an invitation to my bar mitzvah, so I got permission from my parents and called. He came, had fun at the party, and gave me the latest fashion from Johnny Walker’s, a sharp looking red cardigan sweater with black piping and buttons that I would wear every chance I had for the next year. His bar mitzvah was a tandem affair because at the time his synagogue, Beth El, had an enormous congregation and probably a hundred kids trying to fill the fifty-two slots in a year. However, the celebration at Fazio’s on Fifth, an impressive nightclub in downtown Milwaukee, was his alone. Dark, despite the daylight outside, the club served excellent cuisine in the quintessential atmosphere. After lunch the adults, many in from Chicago, danced to the jazz combo while the kids went in the front foyer and sang Beatle tunes. That night a few of us were invited over to Kerry’s house for dessert. I had never been in an apartment larger than the home in which I lived. Kerry gave us a tour of the apartment and then took us in back to see the pool that had been drained for the winter. He said he’d have us back to go swimming in the summer. Then, we went inside and sat on the bottom of the spiral staircase. We transformed ourselves into Dave Clark of the Dave Clark Five singing and using silverware to pound out the beat to Glad All Over and Bits and Pieces. We never did get to swim in that pool because Kerry moved back to Chicago by the time summer came. I’m afraid we did not keep in touch, but the guy who had his bar mitzvah with him that day at Beth El, yet another Steve, who I know simply as M, would eventually become my lifelong friend.

From Where I Stand: Step 55

Among the many dramas continuing to unfold this past week but not discussed around the table with bagels and juice was what did the pope, who was then Cardinal Ratzinger, know and when did he know it. The case involving an Oakland, California priest known to have molested two juveniles brings into question what actions or inaction did the then cardinal take and when did he or did he not take it. Kind of reminds me of questions surrounding Nancy Pelosi and what she knew and when after the CIA revealed she had been briefed on water boarding. I’m surprised such an issue didn’t arise during the health care debate. As if things were not difficult enough Pope Benedict learned late this week that the president of his predecessor, John Paul XII’s native Poland was killed in a plane crash. What we did discuss after volleyball this morning at the table over bagels and juice was a more local issue. Having received an oversized glossy card in the mail this week regarding an upcoming election here in the golden state I inquired as to who else had been privileged to get this important document. When the puzzled looks on their faces made it clear that wives had disposed without sharing the item I spoke of, Sam asked what it concerned. As soon as I said it was about a proposition Sam wanted to know if it had anything to do with electricity. Affirming his suspicion Sam said it was just PG&E, better known as Pacific Gas and Electric, attempting to control the market. No one seemed to think the proposition had merit, and Sam said he did not like the whole idea of propositions. For those of you unfamiliar with the process, a proposition is a way for citizens to make laws without the participation of the legislature. In theory, any person can propose an idea, gather enough signatures on a petition, and place the item before the voters. What usually happens is a special interest group finds the elected officials do not share its agenda and a proposition is used to circumvent the legislative process spelled out in national and state constitutions. Sam related how this impacted him recently when he went to a local mall and was approached by a person wanting him to sign a petition to lower his auto insurance rate. He asked the person how much compensation she received, and was told it was two dollars per signature. Wanting to know more Sam asked how she was doing. She told him she needed to gather about 200 signatures a day to pay for her travel and hotel expenses. I said it appears difficult for many people to trust the people they elect to make good decisions. I said I don’t decide someone I voted for is doing a bad job just because they don’t vote the way I want them to on every issue, but apparently some people do. Sam said we could just wait and see what Jerry Brown is going to do. Once again, for those outside of California, Jerry Brown was governor of California 35 years ago, and he’s running for that position again. Dan said the problem is we have one person who’s spent his life in government, referring to Brown, running against someone who has no idea how government works, referring to Meg Whitman, former E-Bay CEO, who has spent millions of her own money in a primary against the state insurance commissioner, Steve Poizner. I had to admit I admire her tenacity and enthusiasm. Your comments are appreciated.

Time to Reflect: Step 54

Before stating this week’s quote it is important for me to acknowledge that while my current writing covers my schooling during my adolescent years the path of classes continued through institutions in three states and up until three years ago. For my efforts I have accumulated over 300 college credits, three degrees, and numerous certifications. But, as Mark Twain, an author from whom I draw great inspiration stated, “I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.” Of course I have gone a step further than most people in the world of schooling, since I participated both as a student and a teacher. Maybe it was as a teacher of teachers that I came to the conclusion that the term lifelong learner was more than just a cute little axiom to trot out at educational conferences or when applying for a teaching position. Nothing amazes me more than people who have no desire to learn anything new unless it is something they are required to know to perform their specific task in life. In which case school was a complete waste of time, because it never taught me how to prepare a meal, make a bed, wash dishes or laundry, or pay a bill. It did provide me with lessons on how to drive a car, but these days most schools have turned driver education over to private companies. Besides filling me with a bunch of esoteric facts like the ability to perform multiple column multiplication problems, something a cheap calculator can do faster and with greater accuracy, school taught me to reason, analyze and comprehend beyond simple calculations. Knowing the names of all the state capitals or presidents of the United States does not uniquely qualify a person to be a citizen. However, when someone claims to be a patriot because he joined a movement to curb government such as the tea party it would help if he knew whom the guy on the twenty-dollar bill was. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that in this age of plastic currency my use of cash is limited, but even if he doesn’t know that Jackson was Andrew Jackson, famous general at the Battle of New Orleans known to his men as Old Hickory whose wife Rachel smoked a corncob pipe, he should know he was our seventh president. Yes, if he has any ability to think at all he can simply go online and google the answer. Fair enough, but even though I am laughing I am more than a little embarrassed by the answer he gives Jay Leno. My first thought is to blame the school system for failing to provide him with the answer. Actually, it didn’t. Every school system teaches a basic social studies curriculum, but that shouldn’t interfere with a citizen’s education. A calculator can add up the numbers, but it never says what to do with them. Google will store tons of information, but they are not going to tell you how to use it. To think that wanting less government or lower taxes makes you the kind of patriot depicted in schoolbooks throwing tea into Boston harbor precipitating a revolution misses the real lesson. The slogan was no taxation without representation. The lesson not in the books that is clear if one thinks is some of those who threw the tea became representatives and helped build the government of this nation. I hope people keep this in mind when they vote this fall and make sure the man or woman running in their district has some idea who is on the twenty-dollar bill. Comments welcome.

Rumors, Unfair and Out of Balance: Step 53

One of the great mysteries of life is why we choose to believe certain stories we hear while rejecting others. Certainly, one method we use to determine the validity of a story is the source from which we receive it. Another factor we consider is the amount of information we have to support the story even if that mass is just as fallacious as the original. Without a doubt it helps if the story fits with what our view or assumptions are about the situation or the individuals involved. Lately, some of the sources that report events have taken to fact checking. Unfortunately, when an adolescent is exposed to a tantalizing story about his peers there usually isn’t someone in the halls or on the playground checking the facts. So, for example, when a friend, who is just as hormonal as the rest of the junior high school male population and equally prone to wildly delusional images of eroticism states without equivocation that a certain girl who just recently has appeared on everyone’s radar is easy there is no one for you to turn to for statistical data to support the assertion. This dilemma was hard at work when someone, and for the life of me I’m not sure whether that someone had an extra X or Y chromosome, told me that Doris, better known as Kitty, liked me. Let’s be clear, while I was thrilled to hear of this revelation I had only recently become familiar with who this girl was, had never taken a single class together with her, did not know if we had any mutual friends, and of course had never spoken to her. Still, it was nice to know she cared. Now, while I can’t be sure where Kitty first saw me I know I first saw her and spoke with her in the school auditorium, where they showed movies during the lunch period. These movies were particularly popular during inclement weather, and in Wisconsin this can become a fairly regular occurrence. During the movie she sat with her friends and I sat with mine, but afterwards we’d talk before heading to class. Then, it happened. I should have seen it coming, but I’m afraid she caught me totally unprepared. Perhaps, it’s just that girls mature earlier than boys, but she took the bold step of asking me if I wanted to come over to her house after school. Rather than just saying yes, which is what I probably wanted to do, or finding some feasible reason to decline I just went blank and stared. Our romance was over before it began. Weeks later, when I learned she was going steady with Roger I didn’t want to believe it, but then I saw them together after school and his arm was draped over her shoulders. Rumors flew, and even Shotsie, who knew a lot about what was happening between different couples, would neither confirm nor deny that they were doing it. One story claimed Kitty had to wash sheets to get rid of his pubic hairs. That one was too much for me. I had to know. I still remember looking in the mirror in the locker room and Roger smiling at his own image while combing his blonde wavy locks. Then, he casually glanced over at my reflection and said, “Come on, you’re an intelligent guy.” Exactly, that’s why I want to know where the fact checker is hiding when you have to be sure to draw the right conclusion.

A Teacher, A Student, A Lesson in Life: Step 52

When we were quite young my parents decided to enroll my sister, brother and myself in a fitness program. Long before the advent of the modern fitness club there were special athletic programs and Milwaukee Turners was one of them. In the year or two we attended I learned to climb a rope, do a somersault, a headstand and a handstand, and an exercise on the rings known as a bird’s nest. The only reason I reference this experience is it served as a precursor for my decision to participate in the gymnastics program at Samuel Morse Junior High. We spent an entire semester getting ready for a single tournament that involved a limited number of junior high schools. Mr. Hrlavich was a young physical education teacher with a lot of energy and an earnest desire to help adolescent boys achieve athletic success. He took each kid where he was and encouraged him to develop whatever skill he was working on to the maximum of his ability. More importantly he did not tolerate anyone making a discouraging comment or belittling in any way the efforts of any students. Boys who had always dreaded the idea of attempting any physical activity due to thinness, fatness, lack of coordination, weakness, slowness, or whatever, actually looked forward to participating in Coach Hrlavich’s gym class. This is not to say that he converted awkward gangly kids into outstanding athletes, or that he didn’t have a group of athletically gifted students he favored, just that he recognized the importance of instilling in all his students a desire for physical fitness. In no way should one get the impression I was one of the elite athletes for nothing could be further from the truth. As far as I can remember everyone competed in all events, and no one specialized in any particular event. In other words, even though Wally was stronger than most high school athletes and could perform an iron cross on the rings, he would not be the one to represent the school in the rings exclusively. Everyone had to do the rings, and Wally would have to do the horse, parallel bars, horizontal bars, and tumbling just like the rest of us. There were certain athletes, like Roger, who had the strength, grace, and coordination to make any exercise look simple. Beyond that, Roger was the kind of kid who understood two concepts that made him seem less adolescent and more mature. Roger was kind and humble. He showed me how to apply the right amount of chalk to my hands to soften the friction, and helped me arch my back to gain proper form on the horizontal bar. In the locker room, when one of the kids said we would win the tournament because we had Roger, Roger said he was pleased the kid had confidence in his ability, but knew there would be other great athletes coming from the other schools. He was right. I don’t remember how we did, how Roger did, or how I did, but I do remember being a part of a team that got to go to Coach Hrlavich’s house in the suburbs one evening after school. His wife and little kids were in the backyard with us, and before he passed out awards for participation in the tournament and thanked us for all our hard work at practice, he grilled burgers and shared stories of his days as a minor league catcher. Comments welcome.

Gray Plus Brown Equals Dirksen: Step 51

Anyone who has been reading my story probably came to the conclusion some time back that most of my interests in school had little to do with the subjects taught in the standard educational curriculum. Some might even question whether I bothered to show up to class, but let me assure you my attendance record throughout my years as a student was nothing short of excellent. Occasionally, I would even pay attention. When we studied the different states in fifth grade and started to learn about the branches of government my curiosity was sated. A few experiments and projects like making a salt map or simulating a lava flow, and anything dealing with reproduction, such as pistils and stamens, captured my imagination. But, for the most part most of the academic lineup created little desire or hunger for learning and had my parents allowed me to use the most precise word to describe my level of interest it would have had to have been boring. By the time I left Grantosa Drive there was no basic arithmetic problem that posed a challenge. Yet, for some reason the counselors at Muir and Morse placed several more gifted mathematicians and me in a remedial class. As noted before, there were some outstanding teachers at Samuel Morse Junior High, but as you might expect there were some exceptions. A kind and gentle soul with wavy silver hair my belief to this day is Mr. Gray never intended to intentionally harm anyone. My other assumption is he suffered from a condition which many teachers contract after years of giving their best only to be rewarded with dismal results. This condition may have not had a name during my years as a student, but as a teacher I knew it as burnout. To cope, everyday he would go over homework, introduce the next assignment, ask one of the students to mark down any misbehavior, and then leave the room for twenty minutes. While he was out we passed around spiral notebooks known as slam books. Inside was a page you signed up and took a number. This page was torn out if you were caught with your slam book. Then you used your number on each page to answer important questions like: What is your favorite song? Who is your favorite group? Who do you like? Are you going steady? Along with numerous other important statistics. When Mr. Gray returned smelling of smoke and so shaky you worried that breathing on him too hard may cause him to fall over, all the slam books disappeared and assignments were front and center on our desks. Naturally, we all passed but had to take yet another remedial math class with Mr. Brown. Now, don’t ask me why I absolutely abhorred being in this class, perhaps it was the complete repetition of the same work we completed the previous semester, or that Mr. Brown was so rotund his mass completely hid his chair from view, or that he never got off the chair to demonstrate, help, or instruct in any way. In order to relieve the tedium several of us took to playing cards at the rear of the classroom. Imagine my shock when after two weeks of our uninterrupted game Mr. Brown reached down and grabbed my cards from me. My immediate reaction was to reach up for the cards, and as I got up from my seat my hand smacked across his face. Whatever words were exchanged at that point in time escape my memory, but it seems like an infinitesimal amount of time passed before my father arrived and found me sitting in the guidance counselor’s office. When the counselor said, “It’s good to see you, Abe,” and Dad responded with, “Good to see you too, Art,” I knew my days on earth were numbered. I was reassigned to Mr. Grotbeck’s math class, and he helped me get ready for algebra. For some reason I don’t remember what punishment was involved but I always treaded softly when I went past the office or saw Mr. Dirksen in the hall.