My 85th Birthday--a milestone or a millstone?

I received my proof copy of Vol. IV of "Pater Noster". It looks very nice, especially with the cover my grandson, Adam, supplied me. Now I have four books of blog posts being sold in My Llu Store and on Amazon, Borders, Barnes and Noble and also in England, in Germany, and in Japan. Possibly in many other countries. Of course, my books can only be sold on the Internet. If I wanted the books to be sold in stores, I would have to get an agent and a publisher to read and approve it, and that would be a hassle. This way everything is done through the Internet, and the books are just as available as in a book store. Lulu is my publisher and it doesn't cost me a dime to have a book published or to be advertised on bookstore websites. Thus far I have written 1071 pages in the four books that have been published...I've amazed myself. Just take a look at "Book Finder 4U"to the right of this blog. Clicking any one of the titles will take you to where the book is sold.

Yesterday was my 85th birthday, which also amazes me. It feels kind of weird being 85. Growing up I thought 60 was old, now I think 70 is young. It's very confusing. But to carry on this monologue, Rhoda made a party for me at Villa d'Italia and invited 19 other people.

The guest list included friends from East Meadow whom I've known for over 50 years, and several couples from our building. The bill came to $76 a couple. Not too bad. Maybe a little too much for this economy. The guests knew it was dutch treat and we didn't know what our friends could afford; but no one opted out. I got many birthday cards from friends who couldn't make the party. And believe it or not, I heard from every child and grandchild! More amazings.

I will share with you a few of the comments I received: The following one was from the frequent commentator to the Red Baron, Mr. Phil Bergovoy--former colleague. It accompanied a bowl of flowers and a box of cholcolates: "Happy 85th on your way to 100+. We praise the good you have done for this world. You are beloved by everyone who is sensitive to greatness. That includes us. With much affection. Phil and Hindy. Well, perhaps this is a wee bit hyperbolic. It made me a little bit teary eyed. Now I've returned the compliment by dedicating Vol.IV of "Paternoster" to Phil. I will send him a copy of the book shortly.

Yesterday, I also finished the last session of my class where we were reading and enjoying the play of all plays, the Taj Mahal of plays--"Hamlet" I had 14 women and one guy in the class. I had to play Hamlet most of the time, and the one guy had to be the King and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. I had plenty of women for Gertrude and Ophelia. It took eight sessions to finish the play--partly my fault. I usually interrupted the readings by telling the class some good jokes that I received on the internet. I also took some time by acquainting them with Mythology and Philosophy. Although I do enjoy teaching, I no longer have the energy for what it takes with my style. Consequently, and unfortunately I cannot teach any more classes.

The other day I received a CD from Wally "Buster" Kaufman who graduated with the last graduating class at Sea Cliff H.S. in 1957. It was the following year that North Shore H.S. opened. I did teach for a couple of years in Sea Cliff. The CD that Wally sent was a book length history of his class. On this CD he brought back memories of many, many students in the 1957 class. I would like to thank Wally for this CD, but unfortunately I cannot find his e-mail address. If there is anyone out there who can help me--bless you!

"The teacher is like the candle which lights others in consuming itself." (Ruffini)??

I've been getting so many e-mails and messages on Facebook from former students who are now in their 50s and 6Os that it is becoming difficult and time consuming to respond to all of them individually. So I created a folder called "Students" and I put all their addresses in that folder so that if I want too send a generic letter, I could send it to all of them all at once and BCC it so that the e-mail addresses will not show. I sent one out yesterday like this:

Hi all of you. I have a few words in my head I'd like to share with you. On Friday I will turn 85. It feels rather weird to have reached that age. Except for a few physical problems, I feel much younger, and my brain teems with memories of you. I have lived my life with ruthless personal standards of excellence. Of course, I'm human, and along the way, I have fallen a few times, but I always picked myself up and continued my journey which culminated with the publishing my book, "Memoirs of a Tail Gunner" ... my autobiography.... I feel fortunate that along the way my path crossed with yours, and I will always remember you as you were back then, long ago. Beautiful teenagers. Stay well and use your talents to the limits because talent allowed to fust in you unused is a negation of life.

Love, "Doc" Ross

As I've said several times in my blog...these sentiments from students are for the record because I do not want to lose them. Some of them have previously been shared in Vol.IV of this blog which has already been published. If you care to buy one, just "google" the title, "Pater Noster in Condoland Vol.IV. It is dedicated to Phil Bergovoy, my dearest friend and I'm going to send him a copy.

So, here is a sentiment by one of my dearest students:

"You are very special to me, and I love you very much. I always have and I always shall.

You're in my thoughts each day--especially on your birthday....Betsy,'58

Doc,I mentioned on myspace.com that you taught me a lesson of life. I would like to expound a bit if you don't mind.When you coached me in track, at one meet you placed me in the low hurdles. I was blessed with a long torso and short legs. I knocked over more hurdles than I cleared. You had Bruce Roth who would glide over hurdles as if they did not exist. I did not question your reasoning I just listened to your advice. "If you fall down just get up and finish the race". I lost big time, but I never forgot those words. Every time I fell down in life I got up so I could finish the race. Thank you Doc for that life lesson!!

Rich "Ducky" Bennett

Dear Dr. Ross,Warmest wishes to you for a happy birthday on Friday! I will be thinking of you with love. Please know that you changed my life forever, and I have been trying to pass it along in my teaching for the last 45 years.

yours, Betsy Hegeman

Now, as a teacher, what more can you ask of these "seniors"? These sentiments are very uplifting. They clear any depression in a second. I was a teacher and a coach for 30 years and I am humbled that I apparently have touched so many lives; as my 85th birthday approaches, at least that is one legacy I'll be leaving.

Vol. IV of "Paternoster" is in my hands and I also would like to share the dedication on the copyright page:

Phil Bergovoy a "sui generis" persona. A staunch and loyal friend; an outstanding teacher and athletic coach whose friendship I cherish and Honor.

This post has been a joy to write. I only wish there will be some more like this as we live along. Perhaps when I blow out the 85 candles, I will have time for a few wishes.

"Politeness goes far, yet it costs nothing." (Samuel Smiles) ??

I was out to dinner the other night with my in-laws and two of Rhoda's grandchildren, Ilana (15) and Allyson--I think 11.. They were visiting, as they do almost every Presidents' week, and this was the second time we were to dinner with them while they were here. They've gone back to Merrick, NY where it's much colder than here. But they have to go back to work in order to send the girls to college one day, in addition to a Bat Mitzvah for Ally--not to mention the weddings that are very possible in the future. Sometimes I stop and wonder why anyone has children; it creates such a struggle for a long period of time. Schopenhauer suggested that having children be banned--but then again, as I have noted in a previous posting, he was a pessimist. Nevertheless, those loving couples who have recently been married should give some thought to postponing the family plan until the economy improves. But I started this post in order to complain, not only about cell phones, iPods, Blackberries (?) and such and such. The two girls at the two dinners we shared stared at their Blackberries, playing games, or sending text messages all through our dinner without uttering a word, or contributing to the conversations. I mentioned to Jeff, the father, that I would never permit my children to do such a thing--good manners are required in a civilized country. But Dad replied, "It's a different era." At which response I was struck dead. With a little wine, I recovered, and I countered by telling him that the girls' using their equipment at the dinner table was rude. And that was that.

There was an article in today's newspaper about Facebook. It started only a few years ago and now there are millions of people inviting other people, known or not, to be friends. One Facebook socializer maintained that she had 5000 friends! I keep getting invited to join and be a friend by my known friends, mostly former students, and unknown "friends." It seems to be multiplying in my inbox. I did get a welcome note from one of my known friends from high school, Alan Levine:

Norman: Best wishes on your 85th, and many more to come.
You were , and continue to be an inspiration to all who have been taught by you, and by all who closely follow your blogs.

Well, messages like that give me a lift, and it's good to know that there are friends who are following my blog but who are unknown as followers. However, I don't believe there are 5000 of them. At least I hope not, because if there are, I'd be burdened with guilt if I should ever stop writing thus disappointing such a mob.

Today, Rhoda went on a field trip to some castle with a bunch of City of Hope women, and I've been left to fend for myself. So, I went to breakfast at I-Hop where they were doling out a free short-stack of pancakes all day long. When I got there it was a zoo. About a dozen people were waiting for a table, so seeing a seat at the counter, I took it. However, I didn't want the free pancakes; I wanted scrambled eggs and bacon with light toast and coffee and that's what I got. I'm sure one day they'll offer free scrambled eggs and bacon and I'll order a short stack. Well isn't that the way of the world?

1983: A brand new family--starring Rhoda. (Red Baron)

As you can see, I've decided not to end Vol.IV of "Paternoster" where I did. I just had some other things I wanted to say, I guess. Yesterday's post dealt with my family of "blood" relatives, so I decided not to make it "heterogeneous" by including my current second family until I could give them their own space on my blog. First and foremost is my amazing wife, RH+ (Rhoda)! And with this second marriage, I've inherited a second family which includes Renee (cedilla over the second "e"), my stepdaughter, Jeffrey, my step son-in-law, my step grandchildren, Ilana and Allyson, and my stepson, Jon and his lovely wife, Joanne. This is my closest family now; I say closest because they are the ones I see most often. They visit Florida more often then does yesterday's family. But, as I say, I love them all.

For the last couple of weeks, after I'd been invited to meet a friend on Facebook, I've received a plethora of invitations to meet "a friend". Some are relatives, but most are former students. Today I received three; one from Spencer Pyne, one from Barry Meyer. Barry was on my championship Mile Relay team that qualified for the Millrose Games in Madison Square Garden. These four guys called themselves, "The Four Horseman" and I grew very very fond of them. I also received an invitation from Richard Bennett who had this to say on my "wall": "Doc, I am doing well in Virginia. I must say, you have left a lasting impression on me from your guidance during track and soccer. The lessons you taught me are lessons of life not just sports. The regimen to persevere regardless of outcome are etched in my soul. Thank you!!" Well, thank you, Richard. Messages like this from former students back in the 60s and 70s always give me a lift, pulling me out of doldrums or depression because I'm turning 85 this week. These students have to be in their 50s and 60s by now...and I can't remember a single teacher from high school. Speaking of my birthday, I feel kind of weird reaching this "aged" number. I recall meeting other people my age when I was growing up whom I thought would keel over any minute...and we didn't have defibrillators in those days. 85 is a nice round number and I'm looking forward to the next "round" number--and I expect to receive more "slings and arrows" as I go forward. Although I've lost a lot of mobility and activities, I've still got my brain, which is good enough to get through the Washington Post's Sunday x-word puzzle. Not to mention a blog like this. Hi ho.

"Sit the comedy out, and that done, When the play is at an end, let the Curtain fall down." (Thomas Flatman)

This volume of Pater Noster in Condoland is for the benefit of my "current" family and my descendants in...let's say about 2050. Speaking of families I rue the loss of the relatives I knew while I was growing up. (Why do we use the word "up" there? Obviously, you don't grow "down"). In Long Branch there were Uncle Morris, Aunt Celia, Aunt Jean, Grandpa, Grandma, and Dad . In the Bronx, Aunt Bessie, Uncle Isaac, Aunt Esther, Grandpa Isadore, Grandma Rebecca, Aunt Belle, Uncle Harry, Cousin Rosalie and Cousin Frieda. In Chicago, Uncle Herman, Aunt Fannie, Uncle Irving, Aunt Essie, and Cousin Harold. In Brighton Beach, Mother-in-law Gertie, Father-in-law Morris, and Brother-in-lawHarry. Now they have all gone to that retirement village Condo in Heaven. Fact is, I loved them all. Oh, except for Grandpa Isadore whom I despised because he was a tyrant, and I had to live in his Bronx apartment after my father died in 1933. Now, I apologize if this is all somewhat ghoulish being that they are all dead. But death is not final....if--

In Shakespeare's "Hamlet" the King's jester, Yorick's death grieves Hamlet because as he tells Horatio, "I knew him; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times." Unlike abstract death or death in general, Yorick's death reveals a fact of life. Death which touches us personally is more real than the death of a stranger. Yet, the more real the death is, the more living is the deceased. Death is less than death if it is a remembered one; but it is a double death if it concerns no one at all. Yorick is dead but is reborn in Hamlet's memory. Why? Because "he hath born me on his back..." he says. To do that is an act of love which leaves a memory even when the loved one is gone. In short, unlike a stranger, Yorick's death is personal. Love outlasts death because love is remembered. Yorick's love for Hamlet is his immortality. So long as there is love, death does not make life meaningless.

As of this date, I have family and I do love them all even though they are spread out all over the country so that I don't get to see them very often; but I do think about them and I'm in touch with most through e-mail. If there were no such thing as e-mail, there would be a tragic paucity of communication. I have my own group with my children--now all grown up: My son Bobby and his bride, Sabrina, granddaughter Katrina, son Joel and his bride Barbara, my grandson, Adam, my granddaughter Hannah, my daughter Bonny and my grandson Sean, and my son-in-law, Don Butler, my daughter Robin and her dog, Sophie. That pretty much covers my own group, all of home are faring very well in their lives--except for Sophie who doesn't contribute a helluva lot-- and they are all quite close to each other, which cannot be said for many dysfunctional families. Unfortunately, all of my aunts and uncles are not available at this time, but I do have a slew of cousins; Eddie in Las Vegas, Sandi in Boston, Gary in Chicago, Marty in Chicago, Marty in California, Edith in New Jersey, Allen in Phoenix, Barbara in Arizona, and, of course their husbands, wives, and offspring who are second cousins, and perhaps there are third cousins I don't know about--and I imagine there are many of them whom I've never met and may never meet. The Holzmans, the Auslanders, the Allises, the Banens, and the Rosses may multiply forever. I really don't expect to be around forever, but when I'm gone, so long as I'm remembered and loved, then death is cheated.

"As for man his days are as grass; as a flower of the field so he flourisheth." (Psalms CIII)

I am of the opinion that one of the greatest burdens of modern life is noise. Noise is anathema to all intellectual people and is one of the cruelest phenomena that the ears can tolerate. I can remember the pain of it from experiences in WWII. It doesn't take any great imagination for anyone to realize the origins of that kind of noise--the bombs, the ack-ack of anti-aircraft fire, the drone of the engines of one's aircraft for ten hours or more, and much more than that for three years. I'm saddled with hearing aids because of it. But these days, the pain and suffering of noise continues, to my dismay, as it went unabated in the last three restaurants I attended. The chatter was incessant and undoubtedly mindless. Now, the noise in my own apartment has finally ended. Rh+ wanted to "modernize" our two bathrooms, and the noise of that endeavor--the hammering, the cutting of tile, and the constant marching back and forth of the contractor out of the house and then back into it was tortureous and mind rattling. And now, some other resident is beginning to "modernize" and the noise of their hammering reverberates through my apartment. It is incessant--inescapable. The display of vitality which takes the form of knocking, hammering and tumbling things about has proved a torment to me all my life long. And to make matters worse, we overlook one of the main thoroughfares and the constant noise of traffic, horns, and sirens washes over our building. Perhaps the grave will be the solution to this dilemma. As Hamlet lay dying he said to Horatio, "The rest is silence."

And speaking of silence and graves, a recent reading of Schopenhauer dealt with a discussion of the subject of death. The argument was that death was not really "death" as long as the deceased was alive in the memories of his family, his friends, and his colleagues. The soul lives on in the minds and hearts of those who carry on its legacy. The grandchildren remember, and possibly the great grandchildren, until a generation exists who do not remember, and only then does death triumph. However, I plan not to allow that to happen. Some may wonder why I am publishing all the blogs I have written, since most have already read them, and the fact is that I am not leaving them to my current readers, but to that generation who cannot remember their "great, great, great, grandfather," but who can read about his life in "condoland" in the olden days. That will be remembrance enough for me. That will keep the Baron alive.

And so, I conclude "Pater Noster in Condoland Vol. IV".

"Do you not know that I am a woman? When I think, I must speak." (As You Like It)

In 1952 Ashley Montagu (born Israel Ehrenberg) published his book, "The Natural Superiority of Women." Of course it created much controversy. According to Montagu, women are the carriers of the true spirit of humanity, as best captured by the love of a mother for her child. It is the preservation and diffusing of that kind of love that is the true function and message of women. However the philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer had different ideas in his work, "The World as Will and Idea." (London, 1883) Schopenhauer was born in Danzig on February 22, 1788 and he was the "Archduke" of pessimism in his philosophy. His views on the place of women in the world was sharply different from those of Montagu. In his "Essay on Women," he writes, "All women are, with rare exceptions, (like Rh+) inclined to extravagance" because they live only in the present, and their chief out-door sport is shopping. "Women think it is men's business to earn money, and theirs to spend it," This is their opinion of the division of labor. The less we have to do with women, then, the better. "Life is safer and smoother without them.. Let men recognize the snare that lies in women's beauty, and the absurd comedy of reproduction will end." Remember, I didn't write that!

Now, far be it from me to comment on Schopenhauer's views because he obviously is/was? a much wiser man than I. His book had more pages than mine. But in all fairness, I will not allow his philosophy to go unanswered. Over the centuries, male scholars have pointed to the larger male brain, skeleton, height, and muscle mass as clear evidence of the male's superiority, as in the view "might makes right." However, Montagu believes that the overall performance of the anatomy and physiology of male and female, women come out on top. Women apparently have a more powerful immunological system, which affords them greater protection against, and better recovery from starvation, fatigue, shock, and illness. Also, says Ashley, although a woman's brain may be smaller than a man's, it has more neurons in the corpus callosum, (whatever that is) which enables better coordination between hemispheres. Consequently, he claims that the female brain is more highly developed structurally and functionally, and it is capable of thinking more soundly and intuitively than the male brain. The end result is that women are more insightful and have greater stamina and longevity—or, in other words, women stand the test of time. Guys don't.

When Montagu claims that women are "naturally" superiour to men, he means not only are they superior physically by "nature", they are by "nature" superior in their desire to protect and preserve life. OK, I'll buy that--and you better!

"The world is too much with us..." (Wordsworth)

If there are optimists who are planning to read this post, I suggest that you sell your wares in another place, because you will find nothing like that here and today. I am one who is a brother to those who suffer from "weltschmerz"--world weariness or pain. I have come to the conclusion after many years of reading and teaching Shakespeare's "Hamlet" that the reason I enjoy reading or teaching it is that Hamlet and I are practically the same person. We both find the world "...weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable." I live every day in angst as the product of a bleak childhood from which there is no escape. Oh, I'm not asserting that there have not been times when I've been very happy. One cannot go through a long life without being teased with those moments, however short or long they last. But I do not believe that the world has enjoyed those moments since the Greeks with Menelaus and Achilles sacked Troy, or since the Romans destroyed the Temple, or since the Inquisition committed multiple crimes, or since World War I, or since the Holocaust in WWII, or since the atomic bomb decimated Hiroshima, or since the invasion of Iraq. Those are events in the world that are "unprofitable." But the human race as individuals has suffered from unimaginable diseases like the Black Plague, or yellow fever, or Infantile Paralysis, or aids, or cancer for which there is still no cure. I'm not even going to go over the "...slings and arrows of outrageous fortune..." which come along with age, like spinal stenosis, or intermittant claudication, or atrial fibrillation, or congestive heart failure, or pneumonia, etc. And I'll just toss into this witches' brew of evil the result of combat in war, PTSD, which can last forever and for which there is also no cure. Therefore, in order to relieve these "...whips and scorns of time...", I've decided to go back to the love of Philosophy, one of my favorite studies in college, a study which engenders calm and wisdom..

Philosophy means "love of wisdom", and there is pleasure in philosophy. It deals with five branches of human endeavor: ethics, aesthetics, logic, politics, and metaphysics. Each of these studies provides hours and hours of medicinal help and comfort for anyone's weltschmerz. Most of us have known some golden days in the June of life when the love of some elusive Truth seemed more glorious than the dross of life. "Life has meaning," says Robert Browning, and to find it's meaning is the soul of philosophy. Philosophy attempts to provide answers to our questions. "Who's there?" shouts the sentry on the parapet of the castle in Elsinore. They are the first two words in "Hamlet." Two words which have led to the seeking of God and the establishment of religion, although the sentry only means to discover the origin of the sound a visitor makes. But one must constantly look for double meanings when reading the plays of Shakespeare. And one must always look to the philosophers for answers to the questions one might make who suffers from "...slings and arrows...". My favorite philosophers are Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Spinoza, Voltaire, Kant, and most of all, Schopenhauer who wrote the mastepiece, "The World as Will and Idea." And although this blog is meant primarily to provide a journal of our life in Florida, I must sometime vent my thoughts about life in general. And this I mean to do, and in doing so will help to relieve my weltschmerz. I am not at all finished with this discussion.

"No man is born into the world whose work is not born with him..." (Lowell)

I just read an article on the internet where Hank Aaron told everyone that "Barry holds the record." Now that's what sportsmanship is all about--and he's right. Barry Bonds holds the home run record regardless of whether he took steroids or not. I don't know what the fuss is about steroids. Has anyone proven that steroids enhance athletic performance? I think not. I believe that Barry Bonds, A-Rod, and Roger Clemens performed on a high level because of superior talent, that's all. Another article I've read blasted A-Rod as though he was a serial killer, a really nasty piece of trash. As far as A-Rod is concerned, his former manager on the Yankees said that he never saw anyone work as hard as he did. And baseball players accused of using steroids still have to put the bat on the ball and still have to get the ball over the plate at 90 mph. Of course there are other ways to enhance performance and one place it can be done is in the weight room. Another is to practice, practice, practice. I believe as a former coach that I have the right to say these things. Why flagellate these guys to death? Why go around ringing your hands over what it does to baseball? Lighten up for god's sake. Get a life. The three that I'm writing about are incredible athletes and until someone can show that steroids enhance performance I'll believe that it is talent that does it. On the list of 104 players there must be many on steroids who have failed to perform on a high level. And then there is Michael Phelps. He took a toke like thousands of other young people have done. Why speak of him as a pariah? And then there is Pete Rose banned from baseball by betting. So he bet on his own team; the man thrilled maybe millions of people in his career. He broke Ty Cobb's record and has over 4000 hits. Banned from baseball? Not in the Hall of Fame? Ridiculous! Is there anyone out there who agrees with me? If not, I care not.

Besides athletes, I've seen Tom Lautenslager, who is modernizing our bathrooms, perform at the highest level I've ever seen from a worker. Could he be on steroids? The man can do anything. I mean anything and everything. He works here all day from about nine a.m until six or seven p.m.! The man is tireless, he works frenetically. Perhaps there should be a Hall of Fame for guys who do the work he does. Now where would they build it? Hmmm? Somewhere in Pennsylvania I suppose, or someplace else where many blue collar workers reside.

Thissa and thatta (Red Baron)

Today Rhoda had a City of Hope luncheon in the Hilton Hotel in Deerfield. I was supposed to go with her, but I wouldn't be able to get back in time to prepare for my Shakespeare class, Rho told me to stay home, so I did. The class is getting along swimmingly. However, by the end I'm pretty well spent. No more teaching for me. I thought today what if Shakespeare's name were Smith or Goldberg? What effect would that have? Imagine someone saying they studied Goldberg in school--or that they were reading Smith's plays? Simply doesn't have the same kick as the name, Shakespeare.

Since both of us were spent, we decided to go out for dinner to a Thai place which I thought was a fast food joint--something like Wendy's, but when we got there we saw several people waiting outside until they were called in. Turns out that the place was a full blown Thai restaurant. Rh+ was somewhat leary of Thai food thinking that all the dishes were spicy. However, once we got inside both of us ordered Pan Thai and she found it to be delicious and not spicy at all. It was a surprisingly good outing.

Tom is still working on the bathrooms and all the other rooms look as though the house was hit by a tornado. All the stuffin the bathrooms had to be removed and they are now scattered and resting on the floor. In our living room a humongous box is sitting there now for a week or so. Inside of it is a toilet. I can't wait until Tom leaves so we can get back to some normalcy. The bathrooms are going to be great and quite modern. The bathroom in the den is being painted a light blue and so far it looks wonderful. Shower doors were also put on the bathtub. The lady of the house is thrilled by it all. Tom is a nice guy, but weird because he can do everything by himself. Everything and anything: painting, electricity, laying tile, building cabinets. I don't know where he learned to do all this. He is amazing.

Abe, Barack, and Tom

Today is Lincoln's 200th Birthday and I imagine Obama will be going to some celebration of it at Ford's Theatre. They both began their administrations with difficult problems to solve. Lincoln had to go to war to save the Union. Obama has to wrench $800 or so billion dollars from his Congress to save the whole country. Obama also now presides over a war--actually two wars. Lincoln succeeded in ending the catastrophic Civil War, and Obama will be wrestling with the problems of wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Abe was assassinated--and no doubt there are those in this country who harbor the same idea about Barack. Lincoln emancipated the slaves and Obama is now the fruition of that act. Obama is "emancipating" prisoners from Guantanamo who have been there for years without recourse to any laws that might prove their innocence--or guilt. Barack Obama raised his hand and lifted a nation. Happy Lincoln's Birthday!

"I'm not a teacher: only a fellow traveller of whom you asked the way." (George Bernard Shaw)

Hi faithful readers. Since I'm still shaken up from losing all 320 posts on my blog yesterday, I can't even think of something to entertain you. So, I'm posting a letter I once received from a beloved former student teacher.

"Dear Doc,

Thirty two years ago you became the single greatest influence on this scared but eager college student. I was observing a multitude of teachers in the hope of finding the 'right one' who would take me on as a student teacher. Sitting in your classroom, watching and listening to you in awe, it took me all of 60 seconds to realize that I had found a rare and special mentor. It was as if you could see through their eyes and directly into their hearts and brains as you nurtured their growth with discussion, banter, smiles, and raised eyebrows that signaled respect, affection and encouragement. You taught your students to think, appreciate, and speak their minds with intelligence and candor creating an atmosphere in which they freely and willingly addressed their ignorance of Shakespeare, their fear of public speaking, and their uncertainty about showing personal excellence in front of their peers. Your style of teaching remains achievable, but it is unsurpassed in its positive influence.

In my role as a simple observer, you offered me five minutes to prepare for taking over my first class that spring in 1972. I thought I would throw up and contemplated renewing my accounting major. But somewhere inside, I knew I had been lucky enough to find a master teacher who was enhancing his students' growth and who could perhaps do the same for a hopeful, naive, and absolutely green student teacher needing a lot of guidance and security. Under your watchful eye I plunged into this profession with a love and ability that you nurtured from the start.

You told me that day, 'It takes at least 15 years to become a master teacher.' I now know that your belief is well founded. After teaching for 30 years in community colleges, I too enjoy the satisfaction of encouraging my own students. Doc, I am so proud that you are right there along with me in the back of my heart and mind, as part of every piece of positive feedback I receive because of the inspiration you provided. Thank you for all that you are and all that you have been to me both as mentor and friend. With love, Jackie Schillig, student teacher, 1972.

I am not at all ashamed to share any accolade I receive from former students or from student teachers and colleagues. Why should I be? After all what is teaching all about but influencing in positive ways the education and life of the young men and women who are in your charge. If teachers' salaries are on or near the bottom of the totem pole, what's left is what a teacher enjoys the most from his work--satisfaction, thankfulness and respect.

(For your info: If you wish to write a comment, write just your name next to "URL" or "Anonymous": next write your comment, preview, and clidk "Publish.")

"Put money in thy purse." (Iago in "Othello")

Sunday February 8, 2009
"Put money in thy purse." (Iago in "Othello")

In June, 1982, I was told by--I don't remember whom...several people--that I would need less money to live on when I retired than I would while working. Not only that, but the "Bored" of Education offered me $10,000 dollars to get rid of me and the high salary I was costing them so they could hire someone to replace me for about half the amount I was earning. Just as it happens in baseball these days. A team trades a player making $20,000,000,000 a year so they can replace him for someone they contract for $100,000 a year. I was gullible because I never heard of $10,000 before, let alone owning that much cash at one clip. I could use it to get rid of my debts, sell the house, get out of town, and live on my pension of $21,000 a year for the rest of my life. $10,000 was beyond my comprehension and wildest dreams. Consequently, I didn't hesitate, and informed the Bored that I would retire--and I, therefore, collected my ten grand, and while salivating I wondered if it would pay for me to go to Roosevelt Field and run it up at the trotting races? Well, I, wise beyond my years, decided against that because if I lost any of it, I would take hemlock without hesitation.

Anyway, to get on with this too long story, the person or persons who told me that I would have a ball in retirement living on practically nothing were out of their minds. They were blatant prevaricators, or else they were idiots. Not idiot savants--but just plain ordinary idiots. You really need at least twice as much retired as you do when you are working and bringing up the family. And why is this you might ask.
Well, first of all, when you leave town for Florida, let's say, you have to take out a 30 year mortgage to buy your condo which by this time costs you five times as much as it did to buy your big house on Dogwood Ave. in 1956. When the salesman told me how much the down payment was, I broke out in a hot sweat (remember, this was Florida), but succumbed to his sales pitch because the community had a clubhouse with all the amenities I could possibly enjoy--a weight room, a ballroom, a poolroom, tennis courts, a golf course, an indoor swimming pool, a 600 seat theatre, an outdoor pool near my building, a sauna, a jacuzzi, a hot tub, racquet ball courts, and etc. How could I resist such a mesmerizing opportunity? Instead of retirement, I thought I had somehow died and went to heaven. So, I bought the condo.

Since it was a very new community, (only four buildings existed,) very few people had moved in--but still the lure was the clubhouse. I went there almost every day to swim all alone 80 laps in the pool. I pumped iron, I played golf, I played racquet ball (alone), I shot pool. All this in my very own clubhouse! No one else appeared there until several months later.

Let me continue with this story about the falsification foisted on a foolish fellow. In retirement, you need more cash than you do while working because you go out to dinner at least three or four times a week. If you are married and the spouse is also retired, the oven becomes a place for potted plants. Then of course there are the vacations--to Europe, to Asia, to China, to Australia, to Hawaii and wherever there is money to be ripped from your wallet. Each December often is the time to go on Caribbean cruises to enrich Carnival, Holland American, Royal Caribbean, and various other cruise lines. Now, lately, there has been a plethora of casinos opening up in Condoland. Several are run by Seminoles and several by the state. Each, however, has the lure of gambling--poker, black jack, Texas Hold'em, and slot machines galore. Of course, you don't want to lose your pension on these things, so you opt for your social security check instead--which means that at the end of the month you eat in Wendy's.

The lesson to be learned from all of this if you are still in the work force is as Romeo pleads with the apothecary, "Hold, there is forty ducats, let me have a dram of poison."

Friday, February 6, 2009

"Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were." (Lord Byron)

I just got back from teaching the fifth session of my "Fun With Shakespeare" class where we are reading and discussing Hamlet. The class is being held in our clubhouse on Fridays from 3pm to 4:30pm. I believe it will take two or three more sessions to finish the play. Yes, I did retire--from North Shore H.S.--but not from teaching. I few years ago I stopped teaching this class after have read several plays over the years since I've been here--Pater Noster in Condoland--but I haven't held a class for several years until now. Just had the urge to teach Hamlet since we're so much alike. But after our last class, I'm really going to retire from teaching because I'm exhausted for hours after coming back to the apartment. I certainly didn't expect this reaction to happen. I used to teach five classes in school with no sweat. Now, after an hour and a half I am sweating as though I've taken some laps in the pool! I've discovered that teaching is damn hard. I'm not going to do it anymore.
My teaching ability is not the only thing that's changed in twenty-five years. I used to be lean and trim, and running 26 miles was a piece of cake. When I was 57, I weighed about 157 pounds and swam 80 laps (one mile) in the pool every day. Now I'm terrified about standing on a scale. At the doctor's office, when the nurse asks me to stand on the scale, I feel like giving her a whack aside the head--of course, I don't put that into action because I'm civilized. Because I don't get a whole lot of exercise these days, when I observe my body that once was "lean and trim", my gorge rises at it. I will probably never go to the pool or ocean again. I haven't been there for twenty years, anyway. Besides my teaching career being over, so is my acting career. I don't get around much anymore. (Sounds like the song I once knew in my heyday..."Missed the Saturday dance; might have gone but what for...awfully different without you...etc.) Whose song was that, anyway? Lena Horne? Billie Holliday? Groucho Marx?
A President who admits a mistake? Isn't there a rule against that? Is it an impeachable offense? Henny Penny, the sky is falling!
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Wednesday, February 4, 2009

"Arguments out of a pretty mouth are unanswerable." (Addison)

Well, Rhoda's two birthday "parties" are over for this year, anyway. Last Friday we went to dinner with the "East Meadow" gang (our neighbors from the year 1) at Sal's Ristorante. I had made reservations for 9 at a round table; seven people showed up and we had to look at two empty chairs and settings for the rest of the night because one couple never showed up. Rho tried to reach them on their home phone and their cell phone without success. So, it kind of put a slight damper on the evening. Ultimately, contact was made with them, and part of their excuse was that "we forgot," along with other matter that was not acceptable. I was embarrassed by their absence because we didn't need the table we were given as it turned out. Then on Groundhog Day, Mon. Feb. 2, Rhoda's actual birthday, we had dinner with the "building+gang" at Snapper's sea food culinary extravaganza with a table of twelve. A grand evening was had by all (Dutch treat and no gifts). So much for the birthday (which generally comes around once a year).



Now for our condo which currently is non-sterile owing to the fact that we are having both our main bath and the guest bath gutted and "modernized". The modernization operation is Rhoda's idea. I felt perfectly at home with the bathrooms as they have been for upwards of 25 years--I had just gotten used to the height of the commodes, and finally figured out the best means of getting off of them. Now, there are two humongous cartons in our living room containing two new toilets--one for each bathroom. We don't have room for a his and hers in our bedroom bath. But, the weird story is that we at first had gone with the contractor to Home Depot and picked out two white toilets, but when the day rolled around, the lady of the house decided that we needed to have two biscs? (beige) ones. So, we went to Lowe's and bought two beige ones that were about $200 cheaper than the ones from Home Depot. So, that night, Tom--the worker--brought the white ones back and then picked up the bisc ones at Loew's and deposited them in our living room! The main bathroom is just about finished with new tiles for the shower wall, the shower floor, and the bathroom floor. There is also a new cabinet and the wallpaper has been scraped from the wall, and just about ready to be painted. Rhoda doesn't like wallpaper. I do. I may secretly get up one night and shmear the walls with paper. Next job? The guest bathroom. Hopefully, the toilets will find an appropriate location. I really wanted to try them out in the stores, but was told it wasn't allowed. I couldn't understand that. You're allowed to test drive a car before you buy it. What's the difference?
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Sunday, February 1, 2009

"What millions died--that Caesar might be great!"

A student from Sea Cliff High School's class of '57, Wallace Kaufman, has gotten in touch with me through an e-mail. Wallace informed me that he was doing a history of his class, and asked if I would respond to some questions. Of course I told him that I would be delighted to answer some questions as long as they were not too difficult. I imagined that he would want to inform members of his graduating class that Dr. Ross was still alive, living in Florida and spending his hours writing gazillions of blogs once I found out what they were. I did send him an attachment of a Boca Raton News article that spoke of the military awards I received belatedly from the Navy...mainly the 10 Air Medals and the two Distinguished Flying Crosses. Part of his response follows:
"Thanks, Doc. I will make good use of the article. And congratulations. We are both old enough now to be frank. First, I admit that I'm given too excess sentimentality at times. Which leads to the next sentiment--that I am sad that we knew nothing of your pre-Sea Cliff life when you stormed into Sea Cliff School and became part of it in the mid 50s. One class member I sent to your blog has asked why not, why didn't we know? Some reasons are obvious, but the fact is we knew almost nothing about any of our teacher's prior lives or personal lives other than where they went to college. Was it school policy that there be a wall between students and teachers' personal lives? ... I know that many veterans feel it is akin to boasting to talk of their service, and others would rather not remember the dangers, the fears, the others who suffered and died. In any case, knowing more about the service given by our teachers might have had some small but important influence on our understanding of military service as well as the character of our teachers. Whatever the case, a very belated and sincere thanks for what you did."
Now, I will not speak for every veteran or teacher, but I think it was a mistake not to discuss the war experience with our classes. Out of such discussions I believe would have come more first hand knowledge of what the war was like and about, accompanied by more respect for the teacher. I don't believe a veteran's discussing his experience would be boasting; and I'm sure it was not the reason for failure to communicate that experience to the kids. I think Wallace was right when he said perhaps it was the case that their teacher would rather not remember his (or her) fears and horrors by dredging it up in the classroom. In my own case, the war was still too close in my memory. I tried with great difficulty to forget it and to press on with my life. My brain was still littered with scorpions...and to this day I still mourn for my buddies who did not return. This failure to reveal one's war experiences in the classroom was not due to any "school policy" nor was there any real "wall". It was just the way it was and will always be.
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Friday, January 30, 2009

" 'Tis neither here nor there."

Well now, a new record has been set. The blog I wrote yesterday has 11 comments and two by Deborah French because I liked it so much. Then there is a comment by someone named "Taconia". I don't know who that is, but I suspect it is a former student from the class of 1957. I love that class. It was the first that I taught in Sea Cliff. Perhaps Taconia will email me and reveal her/him self forthwith.
There also has been some comments about my use of the tilde as "the little curvy thing." I will rename that umlaut "the little curvy thing" instead of "tilde". It is much more colorful and easier to memorize. I don't know who named it the "tilde"; it doesn't make any sense. If the Spanish want to use the word "ano", (which means anus or ass) to also mean "year" by using a little curvy thing over the "n" instead of just using a different word then I fail to understand the reasoning and motivation about that practice. I also find it objectionable to name a planet "Uranus".
Tonight we went out to Sal's Italian Restaurant to celebrate Rhoda's birthday. Our friends from East Meadow were all invited including my sister and brother-in-law. One couple we invited never showed up because they forgot about it. That should never have happened. It did cause a little disappointment. However, if you're elderly you have a tendency to forget events that are important, as well as other matters. It is written.
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Thursday, January 29, 2009

"Now is the Winter of our discontent." (Richard III)

I really don't know where to begin. My head is filled with miscellaneous items swimming around in my brain--which I hope, at my age, is still viable enough to cast these in some kind of order onto this blog. Ironically and unhappily, the first topic has now birthed and unfortunately it is about death; John French, the principal of North Shore H.S. has died and I was sorry to get that news from Debbie (Benson) French, his daughter-in-law. John and I were friendly activists for the 30 years I taught at his school. He was a fine educator and administrator, and his leadership was laudable. He will be missed. Debbie is one of my most favorite students; she was and is as bright as a button on a sailor's coat (and where did that metaphor come from?) It's a mutual love affair--as far as love goes between teacher and pupil. Fortunately, Debbie is not the only former student that has popped up in my e-mail; there is Bob Marsden, Betsy Krumrine, Carol Schutzman, Ellen Bliss, Nancy Leo, Bob Perry, Wendy Martin, Alan Levine, Magda Machado--and I could go on. All this happens because of the computer--or it would not happen at all. I love to hear from these people, most of whom are now in their 50s and 60s, and who remembers any of their high school teachers enough to stay in touch with them? These students have wonderful things to say about me, and how gratifying is that after 30 years in the classroom?
And now, sadly, another downside topic has come to this page--the economy. I know there is enough about it in the media, but some of it is quite personal with me. Everything about the economy in this country reeks of--not "recession" but depression. I can clearly remember the situation in the 20s when millions of people were out of work, where homes were being lost, where lifetime savings were disappearing in the market, where homelessness was growing exponentially. I remember disheveled men and women selling apples for a dime on the street, and the concomitant lyric "Brother, can you spare a dime?" I remember how humiliated I felt when the mayor of Miami stopped at our door on Thanksgiving Day one year with a donated turkey. It was then that I realized how poor we really were. And I was eight or nine. In our paper today there was a picture of a homeless man and woman seated on a bench waiting for their turn to take a shower in a church. This was not a pretty picture and served to make me--and certainly others--thankful for what we have and what we are.
Strangely, it seems that only depressing things are coming out of my grey matter, and I'm sorry and apologize for that; but what can I do? I have been feeling ill the last couple of days because of the constant pain I'm feeling from my fractured rib and sore knee. I'm taking pain pills for it, but it doesn't seem to help very much. As a result of a bone density test my internist prescribed Caltrate D, an over the counter pill that supposedly helps to prevent osteoporosis. Rhoda picked up a bottle of that medication and when I saw the pill, I balked like a stallion in panic--the pill was huge and I knew I'd have a problem swallowing the thing, so I told Rhoda that I was not going to take any more pills. I'm over medicated as it is. Every time I come up with another illness, disease, or accident I get another pill prescribed. Rhoda says that I am a "disaster ready to happen." I am tending not to doubt that.
January 2009 saw the election of an exciting new president and February will see two birthdays--Rhoda's on the second (Groundhog Day) and mine on the 27th. If my mother had waited two more days I would have birthdays on Leap Years, and I would only be about 25 now instead of 85! What a nice thought to end this blog with--er, with which to end this blog. Felice año nuevo, and Vaya con Dios.
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Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Toilet Tree

I am gabberflasted! The bathroom in our bedroom has been gutted by a guy named "Lautenslager" if you can believe that. You can't peepee in there anymore because he kidnapped our toilet. You can't brush your teeth because the sink has disappeared. The pretty blue wallpaper has been harshly dealt with. You can't take a shower because he purloined the doors so that you could be seen naked by anyone passing by--that is, if there was any showerhead or water to take a shower with,,,er, with which to take a shower. The walls, devoid of paper have holes in them. Our bathroom now is just a hut without any furniture or decorations. All this because Lautenslager decimated it and then had the nerve to demand threeeee thousand dollars! I wish I could say that this is the end of the noise and the madness, but not so. The bathroom in the den will be next to suffer the same fate--Armageddon. So now I suppose the result of all this will be trips to Home Depot, Lowes, and Bed Bath and Beyond to find replacements for our losses--a brand new toilet, a shiny new sunken sink, medicine cabinets with lots of drawers. We will need lots of drawers, I suppose, because for some reason we have collected five jars of Vaseline, two bottles of hydrogen peroxide, several tubes of neosporin, four bottles of shaving lotion, and numerous other condiments that we will have no use for. I did feel really bad about losing the toilet; I mentioned to Rh+ that it really should be donated to some charity rather than finding its way to the city dump. So what if it was 25 years old? A new toilet will serve the same function as the old one. I am opposed to treating elderly things as if they no longer have any usefulness. I may even form a protest group to carry signs in the street protesting the toilet tissue--issue, I mean. It will be interesting to see how this situation in our bathroom will be resolved.
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Sunday, January 25, 2009

"How are the mighty fallen!" (II Samuel I)

One of the losses I have encountered is being able to dance. A few weeks ago I saw the movie, "Mama Mia" and then last night in the clubhouse I saw a group calling themselves "Adbacadabra" and their whole performance was music from ABBA and it was smashing! Once they started to play and sing "Dancing Queen" the urge to dance shook my whole body, and at that point I realized that I could no longer dance at affairs like Bar Mitzvahs and weddings, nor anywhere else. This hadn't occurred to me until then. I recalled my younger years--my teenage years when I danced to the music of Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, and Vaughn Monroe. It so happens that I was the best "lindy hopper" in my club. Bernie Masef was pretty close. All of our gang could swing with the best of them. All the girls were great dancers as well, and I did win a couple of lindy hop contests. When I met my ex, Thelma, we were a great dance couple, and fortunately Rhoda is also a terrific dancer--although she was not from the lindy hop generation. She was from the "Hustle" generation, and we were some kind of hustlers when the time came for us to get on the dance floor! But the hustle and the lindy were not the only dances we could do. We also did the tango, the rumba, and the Cha Cha--among some others. But the dancing days are over, unfortunately. Aging is a time for losses. Wherever I am, if I hear dance music, whatever table I'm sitting at, I'll bang on it--in rhythm and also a bit in anger. I don't like losing.

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