My First Date: Step 50

For various reasons most people don’t start dating until they reach high school. One of the obvious reasons is the fear of rejection. Most boys in junior high, myself included, would rather stand around with their friends at a school dance listening to the music, discussing how stupid the decorations look, wondering if the cute girl has the nerve to come over and ask you to dance, than cross over to where the girls are standing to ask one of them to dance. My assumption is the girls actually are glad the boys continue to talk because they fear if one of them does actually get up enough nerve to come over that she would not be the one asked to dance, or worse, she has to dance with the one with a bad haircut and awful breath. Given these conditions it is amazing to me that I actually had my first date while at Samuel Morse. I’m sure it helped that a number of my friends, including Ron and cousin Jim had been invited to Big Steve’s house party and were required to bring a date, too. Three factors that I recall may account for Big Steve appearing more mature than the rest of us. While we never actually called him Big Steve, a fictitious name I give him here to differentiate him from other Steves to come later, there was no disputing he was both older and larger than anyone else in our class, he never raised his voice to make a point, and his brother Frank, an outstanding wrestler, captain of the Custer High School team, and dating a cheerleader, was an inspiration to us all. I’m not sure why Big Steve’s parents let him have this party, but since he was older it probably was his fourteenth birthday. Still, whatever the reason, the thought of calling a girl and asking her for a date to a party struck fear and trepidation into my heart and conveyed an extreme sense of queasiness in the pit of my stomach. Now, there was no doubt once I convinced myself I was actually going to go through with the act as to who I was going to ask. Despite the fact she was a full year ahead of me in school and technically we were distant cousins, her father being the previously eluded to heavyweight boxer, Lolly was my only choice. Her willingness to talk about whatever I wanted to talk about, her ability to laugh without forcing it, her cute smile, not to mention some physical attributes that cause a hormonal teenager to salivate made her the target of my desire. Fortunately, she could not see my trembling fingers or sweaty palms when I dialed the phone I had taken down to the basement to maintain the necessary privacy for such a mission. Once again, the aforementioned attributes, not the physical ones, allowed me to get through the ordeal without vomiting, wetting my pants, or worse still, being rejected. My father drove us to the party but I have no memory of whether we sat alone together in the back seat or on the bench seat in front. Frank and his girlfriend left shortly after we arrived. Ron was there with Janice, and cousin Jim came with Carol, which I thought was cheating since her parents were like best friends with his and my parents. Most of the activities at the party are foggy. What I do remember is slow dancing to Paul Anka singing Put Your Head On My Shoulder. Looking over at Ron I saw his head was conveniently placed on an area just below Janice’s shoulder. Thinking if I just closed my eyes and imitated his innocent look I could do the same with my head, but Lolly was having none of it. I’m sure she laughed or covered up in some other friendly way, but my ego was definitely damaged. At the end of the night, my father had to remind me to walk her to the door. I did, but I knew my first date would be my last with Lolly.

One of a Few Significant Dates: Step 49

In life there are a few significant dates, such as the day you were born, the day you got married, the day you graduate, the day your child is born, the day you die, and for a Jewish boy the day he is a bar mitzvah. Please don’t ask me what day on the Hebrew calendar my bar mitzvah was, but on the one we use everyday in most parts of the world, the Gregorian calendar, it came on leap year day, February 29, 1964. Since the Jewish people follow a lunar calendar the day actually begins and ends at sunset. So, at sundown that Friday, just three days after Cassius Clay who would soon change his name to Mohammed Ali became heavyweight champion, I took on the heavyweight challenge of leading the congregation of my synagogue in the Kiddush, a blessing over wine. As noted before male voices at this age have a tendency to suddenly revert to soprano sounds of childhood rather than maintaining a clear tenor tone. My cantor, who had sung the Kiddush with me numerous times during my soprano years recommended I use the falsetto I was fortunate to possess. It worked that night, but when the main event came the next morning and I sang the maftir I had worked laboriously on for the past twelve months there were squeaks and squeals as bad as fingernails on a chalkboard. Some of you younger readers may have never experienced a chalkboard and so know nothing of the simile I just used to describe the sound, but believe me it is awful. Fortunately, my friends really didn’t care what I sounded like and my aunts still pinched my cheeks and told me how wonderful they thought I was. My parents were always struggling with their finances and while they were thrilled beyond belief to have their son become a bar mitzvah they could not afford to rent out a banquet room and cater a big dinner with a band. So, we had a luncheon in the synagogue social hall that just happened to be in the basement. My parents made sure there was plenty of herring, smoked fish, and lochshen kugel made from egg noodles layered with cream cheese and cottage cheese to which I always added a dollop of sour cream. Of course, the most important part as far as my friends and I were concerned was what was planned for the evening. Since we couldn’t afford to go anywhere my father and I had worked together to get our recreation room ready. We spent hours working together laying the tile floor and putting in a tile ceiling around the light fixtures. Dad recruited a number of firefighters to assist with the wiring and paneling. When the big night arrived we were ready, and while the relatives from out of town gathered upstairs, my friends made their way to the beautiful faux solarium in the basement. On a borrowed stereo phonograph we took turns playing an assortment of 45s and LP records. Most of the titles escape my memory but slow dancing to Gene Pitney and Johnny Mathis had been the standard even when hotshot deejays were hired. But, just a month after their release the needle spent most of its time in the grooves of Introducing and Meet the Beatles, establishing the party in the house on Lancaster Avenue as a complete success. The one unfortunate incident was somebody threw a bowl of popcorn at Janice. A very attractive girl who moved to Milwaukee from Chicago about a year earlier she and Ron had an on again off again romance. Now, I am sure he would not perpetrate such a distasteful and childish prank, but it surprised me when he neither helped clean it up nor console her. I’m just as confused as to what part I played in the events following the popcorn fiasco. But having forgotten to bring my gift to the party, Janice showed up at my house on Sunday, and I still remember the unusually warm smile she gave me. She and Ron continued their on again off again romance until her family made yet another move about a year later. Comments welcome.

From Where I Stand: Step 48

First, let me start by wishing my Christian audience a Happy Easter and my Jewish audience a Happy Passover. For those of you in neither category let me just wish you happiness. After volleyball today since bagels qualify as a bread product we were treated to what is referred to as matzah brie. When Manuel asked what it was I explained that it was what a lot of us call fried matzah. To which Manuel said he knew what fried matzah was but this dish looked different. Sam said it was just shaped into a nice omelet form. Mike said it resembled a kugel. I noted that my grandmother used to use the Yiddish word gfrishta to describe the dish, which I believe means fried matzah. Ham never inspired such confusion or controversy, probably another reason it is not kosher. Beyond epicurean delights the news this week contained an unanticipated change. Instead of the continuing loss of jobs our country has faced for the past two years the month of March actually had an increase of 162,000 jobs. According to the Los Angeles Times this marks a “3-year high” in job growth. Some, like myself, feel this must be taken in the larger context of an economy that has lost some 8 million jobs during the tumultuous recession. While I remain cautiously optimistic and continue to look for the silver lining inside each and every cloud I am not ready to say, “We are beginning to turn the corner,” as the president said yesterday. Certainly, it is good to hear people are finding employment even if it is temporary, such as census workers. Another way people are finding employment is by freelancing. From graphic designers and chefs to architects and human resource specialists opportunities to work as an independent contractor for a limited period of time is a growing trend. As is implied in the term freelance the freedom to select the projects the worker wants to become involved in and construct a schedule that balances other areas of personal life remains attractive to numerous individuals. On the other hand many see this as a way for employers to shed responsibility to loyal workers and hire people without providing them benefits such as health insurance or a retirement plan. Coming from a pragmatic point of view, at least I think that’s where I am at, individuals need to decide whether they need the paternalistic security of union bargained or employer granted benefits. While savings may be gained from the group approach, an individual with specific skills related to a given task may be able to gain compensation in excess of previous levels of salary and benefits combined. Only time will tell what freelance or independent contract workers will earn as a segment of the entire workforce in the future. Someone who hasn’t had trouble increasing her compensation package is Angela Braly, the chief executive officer of Wellpoint. Her total earnings rose from $8.7 million to $13.1 million at the same time Anthem Blue Cross, a subsidiary of Wellpoint, announced its intention to raise rates on policy holders by as much as 39%, supposedly because of an increase in medical costs. Even Kobe Bryant who once again is leading the Lakers into the playoffs signed a contract extension which will earn him only $2 million more each year. Makes you wonder what the earning power of one of the Butler Bulldogs or Duke Blue Devils playing in tomorrow night’s championship game might be. If they don’t make it into the NBA they might consider becoming a health insurance executive. Comments welcome.

Time to Reflect: Step 47

In The Magician’s Nephew, C.S. Lewis wrote, “What you see and hear depends a good deal on where you are standing; it also depends on what sort of person you are.” Living in Orange County, California provides a distinct vantage point from which to see and hear what is happening in the world. Most of my friends who either grew up here or have lived here long enough to become immersed in the general mindset consider accurate information to be derived the FOX news networks and from talk radio other than NPR and its affiliates. On the other hand, my daughters, especially the oldest, find it difficult to believe I would even listen or watch what they consider trash. As I told my eldest and as pointed out in Lewis’s quote, it depends on where you are standing. When I am working out on the elliptical my eyes fall on a television tuned to a channel set by a staff member of 24 Hour Fitness. Naturally, recognizing most of the members share the aforementioned OC mindset the channel happens to be FOX. Now, I could just look away or strain to see one of the sets showing infomercials, but as the second part of the quote states it also “depends on what sort of person you are.” My thirst for knowledge makes me want to know what someone else sees and hears even if it is completely the opposite of what I am comfortable with seeing and hearing. It is clear my inner self lost some control this week when I found myself laughing aloud at the interview of a congressman who was still talking about repealing the health care law. Even if he was able to sway a majority of his colleagues to rescind the law what are the odds he could find the two-thirds needed to override a presidential veto? All right, it shows poor judgment to laugh at a congressman, but it’s definitely what Kevin Beacon’s character Fenwick referred to as “a smile,” in the movie Diner. Getting back to the place where one stands I have to admit to wondering last summer whether Senator DeMint a man who follows closely in the footsteps of his predecessor, Strom Thurmond, was correct in seeing health care as a Waterloo for Obama. Maybe, where he was standing at the time colored his vision much like mine was this past fall. Our assembly district in Orange County held a special election. Thinking people may see things differently given the opportunity to elect someone with fresh ideas on how to govern our struggling state my time was spent trying to get voters to elect someone from a party that had not won in fifty years. Like the good senator from South Carolina and so many well-meaning meteorologists my prediction was wrong. One of the great lessons the senator and I can take from these miscalculations is not to deny who we are but just move over to gain a more accurate assessment of where people are standing. People wrote off the Republican Party after the Goldwater fiasco…in Step 35 readers will recall my admission of admiration for Barry. But, then the GOP resurrected Nixon and basked in the glory of the Reagan-Bush era. Similarly, people told me Apple was dead. Today they add the ipad to the ipod, itunes, imac and iphone. All right, so someone tell me how far does a person with my view have to move before it no longer looks like I’m standing in front of one of those funhouse mirrors. Comments, criticisms, and controversy welcome.

Clay Beats Liston and the Art of Dignity: Step 46

Sports have always been a fascination for me. I’m not sure where it came from since neither of my parents played any sports nor were they fans of any sports teams or individuals. My Uncle Joe, my father’s brother and Aunt Jane’s husband, loved to watch golf on television and cousin Jim’s father actually played golf many weekends. Yet, for some reason my early interest was not in golf but more in baseball, football, and boxing. Mom told stories of how her cousin Milt had been a professional heavyweight boxer but all I ever heard about his career was he had a glass jaw. While at Samuel Morse the Packers continued to dominate their opponents throughout the National Football League, and none of us believed the rumors that the Milwaukee Braves were going to move out of town. Wrestling carried some mystique because The Crusher was from Milwaukee, and his mother lived in a house on Tim’s paper route. Most of us didn’t really consider it a sport though because we had heard the matches were choreographed. Despite the stories of boxing being infiltrated by some of the most unsavory characters in the entire sports world there was a general consensus, at least among adolescent boys, that only a few fights were thrown and most were legitimate. Few would argue that Sonny Liston had won the heavyweight championship without so much as breaking a sweat when he pummeled Floyd Patterson to the canvas. Scowling, brooding, and sinister the immense and powerful hulk finished off his more affable opponent in a little more than two minutes to win, and ten months later to retain the championship. Everybody believed this massive menacing mauler would remain world champion for the rest of the decade, if not longer, much the same as Joe Louis or Rocky Marciano were able to win fight after fight as heavyweight champions. That is everyone except Mrs. McGuckin and me. She caught my friends arguing with me at lunch. They insisted Liston was just too big and powerful for anyone, especially a guy who shot his mouth off as much as Cassius Clay. Having seen the newsreels of Clay fighting his way to the gold medal at the Olympics I was convinced he could, “Float like a butterfly, and sting like a bee.” It seemed both poetic and completely feasible to me that a faster, smarter adversary could take down The Big Ugly Bear as he called him. So, I was willing to take all of my friends bets and wager my next three years earnings on a fight none of us was going to see live because we couldn’t afford to go to the theater to see a closed circuit broadcast in the days before HBO. This is where Mrs. McGuckin stepped in to take control. Never fortunate enough to have her in class, the former nun who asserted her belief in the 7:1 underdog said she didn’t want to see us throwing all our money away on a foolish bet. She convinced us that a single dollar was sufficient to honor our commitment. She held my dollar and the dimes and nickels that accrued from those who were certain I had just made the stupidest wager of my life. Sitting by the radio my palms were loaded with sweat when the first bell rang and I am pretty sure I didn’t take my next breath until the bell rang again to end the first round. Having made it through the first round was a good sign. Listening, it did seem like Clay was floating and stinging, and when Liston refused to come out for the seventh round my feet lifted off the ground. Mrs. McGuckin told me it was wrong to gloat and to accept my victory with grace and dignity. After all, she said there was little doubt the two fighters would have a rematch and it would be presumptuous to think the outcome might not be altered. No one would have guessed the next time they met it would be Liston on the canvas in the first round. One thing I was already sure of was Mrs. McGuckin was a class act. Comments welcome.

The Phenomenon: Step 45

During the month of February, 1964 three astonishing events took place. In reverse chronological order they were my bar mitzvah, a flamboyant but as yet unknown fighter upset the meanest baddest heavyweight, and four Liverpudlians managed to create a revolution the likes of which had not been seen since Cornwallis surrendered to Washington. Vee Jay and Capitol records released Introducing the Beatles and Meet the Beatles, respectively, in January. But, it was their appearance on the Ed Sullivan show for three Sundays in a row that sealed their fate. They were simply a phenomenon. Even my mother, a classically trained pianist, found their music more melodic than the songs of previous rock and roll hits, like Elvis. Through the marketing genius of their manager, Brian Epstein, the Beatles appeared for less money than they were offered, but opened and closed each of those shows. Wearing what for the time was considered long hair and matching four button suits they sang the songs on the aforementioned albums, including the hit singles I Want To Hold Your Hand and Please, Please Me. By singing Do You Want to Know a Secret and She Loves You on the later broadcasts they set the stage for the release of their next albums and the longest run of the same artist holding the number one spot with a series of hits on the Billboard charts. Not only was their music played continuously on both WOKY and WRIT the two top forty radio stations in Milwaukee, their images adorned the posters plastered over the walls of every teenage girl’s bedroom, and that spring instead of Eddie Matthews and Hank Aaron being the most popular trading cards, John, Paul, George and Ringo were swapped throughout the halls of every junior high in the city. In September they would actually come to Milwaukee and play at the arena. My first concert was still months away, but cousin Jim’s sister Shelley was one of the lucky ones. Amazingly, though, it was that February when those four with the youngest not yet twenty climbed onto that stage in New York, already battle tested in Hamburg, and captured the minds and hearts of millions of young Americans. With the gifted musician standing in the middle playing the intricate melodies on his lead guitar, flanked by the left handed bass player with the smooth voice and dashing good looks on his right and the prolific inventive writing rhythm guitarist on his left, backed by the drummer on the stand brought in just eighteen months ago to be the glue, they changed the face of popular culture forever. Sometimes, it is hard to imagine in this age of sophisticated music videos that some simple four part harmonies accompanied by holding the word “high” for an eight count, shaking heads back and forth while squealing an ooooooooh, and a few yeah, yeah, yeahs was all it took.

A New Kind of Store Comes to Town: Step 44

Most commerce in the first half of the twentieth century followed the same pattern as the first 150 years of our country’s existence. For everyday purchases people shopped at nearby markets and general or dime stores, and for special purchases they would venture on a weekend or day off from work to the city center, often referred to as downtown. As noted last week this pattern was changed forever by the advent of shopping centers and malls. Not long after Capitol Court was built a new kind of store and shopping experience arrived on the northwest side of Milwaukee. For some reason, one that I neither understand nor am able to research well enough to explain, this store required membership, and in order to be a member you had to be a government employee. Most people, my father included, chose to work for the government despite its low wages because the work served the community and they felt secure that their services would not be terminated in times of economic hardship. Over time wages have risen and in some instances rival or are better than the wages paid in the private sector. However, along with this rise there has been less and less security as government workers including teachers, firefighters and police have suffered layoffs. At the same time, I speak confidently when I state that none of these people became government employees so they could shop at the Government Employee Exchange or GEX as this store became known. Now, here again, I am not sure whether this was a one of a kind store, a local, regional or national trend. When we first went there my father had to present proof he was truly a firefighter before they would issue him a membership card. What first struck me after my father had filled out the necessary forms, received his membership card, and the attendant buzzed us through the turnstile was the number of shopping carts. Department stores did not have shopping carts and the largest grocery stores maybe had fifty to one hundred. This store had hundreds of carts. Next, there were rows of cough syrups, laxatives, tooth paste, soap, laundry detergent, insect repellent, drain cleaner, floor wax, brooms, mops, waste baskets, light bulbs, shirts, pants, blouses, skirts, dresses, shoes, spaghetti, sauces, soups, breakfast cereal, spiral notebooks, paper, pens, pencils, glue, paperbacks, magazines, and most importantly vinyl records. Never before had such a wide assortment of products been offered at one store. Then, there were the prices. Everything in the store was twenty to thirty percent less expensive than at the grocery or department stores. Nearly everything we needed including my first LP albums came from GEX. In a few years the dime store Kroesge would reinvent itself as K-Mart and Daytons, a large department store chain would develop Target, and along the path I walked to Morse Junior High a Kohls grocery store would attach a discount store with the same name. Decades later, Wal-Mart and Costco would come to fill the void left by GEX’s disappearance.